Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Looking west, the mountains loomed in the distance.

Aemon and his party halted their mounts to rest by a clear stream.

Aemon led his white stag to drink from the water, gazing at the surrounding landscape.

"The northwest really is a remote place," he murmured, scanning the rugged terrain.

The Eastern Reach of the Vale stretched out like an egg-shaped extension of the Mountains of the Moon. Their journey had taken them through a full circuit of the region—from southeast to northwest—revealing the sheer size and dominance of House Royce's lands.

Most noble families had fragmented territories, with their domains split into several isolated holdings, known as enclaves.

But House Royce controlled nearly all of the Eastern Reach as a continuous domain, leaving only a small corner for Gulltown, another powerful house.

In fact, the only noble families with comparable lands were the great lords of the Riverlands and the Reach.

Within the Vale itself, only the Arryns of the Eyrie surpassed House Royce in terms of territorial control.

"Could I establish my base in the southwest?"

Aemon pondered the sights he had seen so far but frowned at the thought.

The southwest was sparsely populated, offering vast tracts of land but few settlements. And any land he claimed there would still be under the shadow of House Royce, branded with their influence.

What he sought was true independence.

He needed a domain free from both the Targaryens and the Royces—an independent foundation that he could call his own.

"Bleat."

The white stag nudged him gently, lowering itself to the ground, inviting him to ride.

"Thank you, Whitey," Aemon chuckled, stroking the stag's head.

Well, if the southwest didn't work, he would move closer to the mountains.

There must be some unclaimed land out there.

The guards were tending to their horses when they noticed Aemon mounting the stag.

"Hold on. I'll go with him," Gonsor Royce said, cutting off a white knight as he vaulted onto his black horse. His voice, as always, left no room for refusal.

A Hidden Treasure

After a short ride, Aemon arrived at the foot of a barren mountain range.

Unlike the lush, green hills typical of the Vale, the peaks here were rocky and bare, an unusual sight in the region.

"This looks... different," Aemon noted, urging his stag closer to investigate.

Ahead lay a ridge stretching north to south, forming a natural barrier between the Eastern Reach and the heart of the Vale.

Suddenly, the white stag's hoof crunched down on something brittle.

Aemon glanced down and saw a jagged black stone beneath the stag's foot.

Curious, he dismounted and picked up the shard.

It crumbled easily between his fingers, leaving a black, sooty residue that clung to his skin like charcoal.

"Is this... coal?"

Aemon's heart skipped a beat.

Bringing the blackened fingertips to his nose, he sniffed.

A faint scent of oil and soot confirmed his suspicion.

"It really is coal!"

Excited, Aemon started scouring the area, his eyes darting from rock to rock.

If there was more coal to be found, it could mean a coal mine.

And judging by the exposed veins on the surface, this wasn't just any coal mine—it was an open-pit deposit.

For a land like Westeros, where winters were harsh and long, especially in the Crownlands, the Vale, and the North, a coal mine was worth a fortune.

"If this really is a coal mine, I've hit the jackpot."

Aemon's breath quickened, his face flushed with excitement.

He scrambled along the mountain's base, digging through the dirt like a prospector.

Sure enough, he found more coal deposits—small piles of black rock hidden beneath layers of soil and stone.

"Whoa there!"

Gonsor arrived just in time to see Aemon grinning like a fool, clutching a handful of black stones.

His usually calm purple eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Come, look! Isn't this coal?"

Gonsor dismounted, grabbed a chunk of rock, and crushed it between his calloused fingers.

He even brought a piece to his mouth, chewing it briefly before spitting it out.

"Bitter and sooty. No doubt about it—this is stone coal," Gonsor confirmed, wiping his mouth.

Aemon blinked in surprise.

"You're... thorough," he said with a laugh.

Coal—also known as stone coal in Westeros—was mainly used in remote areas like the Raventree Hills, where firewood was scarce.

"Prince, there's plenty of this stuff in the Raventree Hills. It burns well enough to keep warm during winter," Gonsor explained, though he frowned slightly. "But the smoke is toxic. People only burn it when there's no wood left."

"That's fine," Aemon replied, more excited than ever.

If it could burn, that was all he needed.

In Westeros, most homes relied on wood-burning hearths.

It was true that unprocessed coal produced toxic fumes, but that was only because no one in Westeros had yet discovered how to refine it properly.

In Aemon's mind, this was a gold mine of untapped potential.

"Monopolize the knowledge, and the rest will follow," he thought with a grin.

He turned to Gonsor.

"What did you call this place again? Raventree Ridge?"

Gonsor nodded, pointing beyond the ridge.

"If you're serious about claiming land, this ridge can serve as a natural barrier. But your real territory should be beyond the mountains."

"Why?"

"Because that land used to belong to House Royce," Gonsor said plainly.

Aemon raised an eyebrow.

"Go on."

It turned out that the hidden valley beyond the ridge had once been a Royce outpost.

However, after years of conflict with the hill tribes, it had been abandoned and left to ruin.

Now, the land was unclaimed—a perfect spot for someone looking to establish an independent domain.

Aemon chuckled softly.

"So, my mother sent me here for a reason after all."

Gonsor nodded.

"If you want a stronghold, cross the ridge. The valley beyond is perfect for building a base."

Aemon's excitement grew.

He glanced at the sky—it was still early.

"We have time. Let's take a look."

Gonsor hesitated before nodding in agreement.

"We'll need twenty men. The hill tribes are always a threat."

Aemon agreed.

The group would travel light and fast.

Just as they were about to set out, White Knight Ser Steve rode up with a message.

"Prince Aemon, a raven from King's Landing."

Aemon took the letter, curious.

But as he opened it, his expression grew more complicated.

The letter wasn't from Rhaenyra—it was from King Viserys.

The king was inviting Aemon back to discuss Rhaenyra's marriage prospects.

"She's sixteen already," the letter read.

Aemon snorted in disbelief.

"They're still trying to tie me down."

It was clear.

Viserys was desperate to keep him close, even going as far as using marriage as a bargaining chip.

"Looks like they're afraid I'll build my own power in the Vale," Aemon muttered, tucking the letter away.

His independence was making them uneasy.