Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

After half a cup of tea's time.

Aemon jogged back to the camp, panting heavily, but with a mischievous grin stretched across his face.

In his right hand, he held a wooden cane.

Turning to glance behind him, he chuckled. "Not bad, Clubfoot. Your brain works wonders."

Unfortunately, your legs don't.

As the campfires were beginning to glow across the grounds, Aemon casually tossed the cane into the nearest fire. It landed with a crackle, adding to the flames.

"Well done!"

Pleased with himself, Aemon clapped the dust off his hands.

Moments earlier, he had pulled off quite the stunt—snatching Larys Strong's cane and kicking his good leg for good measure.

That cunning "Clubfoot" had been trying to manipulate him, whispering schemes about pitting Alicent and Rhaenyra against each other to coax Aemon into choosing a side.

Larys even had the audacity to suggest that Alicent, neglected by her father and the king, was the perfect vulnerability to exploit.

"Ha." Aemon snorted.

The mere thought of betraying Alicent, his dearest friend and closest confidante, was laughable. She was like a sister to him, someone he trusted deeply.

"Second sons always have that small-minded greed, don't they?"

He muttered under his breath, feeling relieved to be an only child.

By now, Larys was probably crawling out of a ditch somewhere, cursing his luck.

The little ambush was just a minor lesson—Aemon's way of thanking him for inadvertently clarifying his own thoughts.

Yes, Larys's crafty tongue had given him a revelation.

"There's no point fussing over the endgame when the Black and Green factions haven't even formed yet."

Aemon chuckled to himself.

The real opportunity lay in the here and now, in steering events before the factions solidified.

Both Rhaenyra and Alicent were still dependent on their fathers' authority; neither had emerged as the true leaders of their respective camps.

At present, the political landscape revolved around King Viserys's attempts to weaken Otto Hightower's power and reshape the Small Council.

Soon, Otto would be dismissed and sent back to Oldtown, leaving a vacuum in the court's power structure. That void would be what allowed Rhaenyra and Alicent to rise.

Until then, they hadn't truly charted their own paths.

"There's plenty of room to maneuver."

Aemon's lips curled into a sly grin as he made his way toward the queen's pavilion.

It wasn't far before he reached his destination.

"Your Highness, may I ask your purpose here?"

Standing guard outside the pavilion were two identical knights in white cloaks—the Cargyll twins.

"I'm here to see Alicent," Aemon replied confidently.

No sooner had he spoken than a gentle voice rang out from within the tent.

"Is that Aemon? Let him in, Ser Arryk."

There was a rustling sound, as though someone was hurriedly tidying up.

The twins exchanged glances before the knight on the left nodded. "You may enter."

"Thank you, Ser Arryk," Aemon said sweetly, flashing a smile.

Ser Arryk blinked, surprised the boy could tell him apart from his twin.

"I have sharp eyes, you know. Great for archery," Aemon added with a cheeky grin, lifting the tent flap to step inside.

The Cargyll brothers, moderately aligned with the "Queen's Party," resumed their watch as Aemon disappeared into the pavilion.

Inside, the light was dim.

Alicent was kneeling on a soft carpet, her eyes slightly puffy. She looked up in surprise. "Aemon? What are you doing here?"

Her hand instinctively brushed against her reddened eyes, trying to hide the fact she had been crying.

Aemon's smile faded. "Have you been crying?"

His tone was soft, but his concern was evident.

"N-no."

Alicent shook her head, forcing a strained smile.

"You're a terrible liar."

Aemon sat down beside her without waiting for an invitation.

The truth was written all over her face, and it put a sour note in his mood.

Alicent, in this phase of her life, was still too fragile. She bore too many burdens—guilt, shame, frustration—without an outlet to express them.

"I'm sorry, Aemon," Alicent murmured. Her voice was low, tinged with regret. "I shouldn't have antagonized Rhaenyra, let alone brought Daemon into it."

She didn't know what had come over her.

She had just wanted Rhaenyra to falter, to feel even a fraction of the bitterness she carried every day.

It was petty and selfish, and she hated herself for it.

"No need to apologize."

Aemon leaned his head against her shoulder, speaking softly. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. And I know you're not happy."

"I—what? That's not true." Alicent stiffened, caught off guard.

"You can fool others, but not me. And not yourself."

Aemon lifted his head, meeting her eyes. "You're not happy, are you?"

Alicent opened her mouth, but the honesty in Aemon's gaze made it impossible to lie.

No, she wasn't happy.

She and Rhaenyra had once been close friends, yet she had been thrust into the role of stepmother—an awkward, shameful position.

Her marriage to Viserys brought her no joy; he was a grieving, aging king with no love to offer.

And now her father, Otto Hightower, sought to use her and her son Aegon as pawns in his ambitions, forcing her into conflict with Rhaenyra against her will.

Her life felt like an endless series of compromises, each one draining her spirit a little more.

Tears welled in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm so… lonely," Alicent admitted, her voice breaking.

For so long, she had been trying to endure—pretending everything was fine when, in reality, her world was crumbling.

Aemon reached out to wipe away her tears. "Alicent, do you remember your dream?"

"My dream?"

The question caught her off guard.

"Yes," Aemon said firmly. "The one you told me about when we were younger."

Alicent blinked, her thoughts drifting back.

She did remember. She had once dreamed of living a peaceful life, far from courtly schemes, with someone she cared about.

A simple, quiet happiness.

"Do you still remember?" Aemon asked again.

Alicent nodded slowly.

"Alicent, do you trust me?"

Aemon leaned closer, his small forehead pressing against hers.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then listen to me. Don't let anyone push you around."

Aemon's voice was steady. "Your father is a politician, not a good parent. You need to be strong for yourself."

"But he's my father," Alicent murmured.

"And we both know what it's like to have irresponsible fathers."

Aemon's tone was sharp. "Your father needs you; you don't need him."

Alicent looked at him, her resolve growing. For too long, she had been Otto's pawn. Perhaps it was time to break free.

"What should I do?" she asked, her voice trembling with both fear and determination.

"Nothing. Not yet."

Aemon's grin was small but confident. "Just wait."

Alicent hesitated but eventually nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?"

Aemon tilted his head, doubtful.

Alicent didn't answer, wiping away her tears as a smile crept back onto her face.

She had understood one thing clearly: her father was no longer her ally.

"Thank you, Aemon," she whispered.

Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to his, a gesture of affection and trust.

In that quiet moment, Alicent made a decision. If her father continued down his path, she would find her own.