Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The Vale, Runestone.

Boom!

A massive bronze dragon soared across the sky, its colossal wings casting shadows over the lush green forests below.

People emerged from their homes, gazing upward in awe.

"It's the Prince!"

"Prince Aemon and his dragon!"

"Look at Vermithor!"

Their fear of dragons had long since turned to pride. The sight of Aemon Targaryen riding Vermithor was a source of admiration and hope for the people of the Vale.

The mighty bronze dragon descended outside the gates of Runestone, landing with a thundering impact.

Aemon dismounted with practiced ease, his silver-gold hair shimmering in the sunlight. His eyes scanned the familiar surroundings, a warm smile spreading across his face.

No matter how much King Viserys had tried to keep him in King's Landing, nothing could keep him from returning to his true home.

The tensions between Alicent and Rhaenyra had grown unbearable.

Both women sought his allegiance, hoping to sway him to their cause. The court was divided, with the factions of Black and Green beginning to take form.

Aemon knew he needed to act fast—he needed to build his own independent power base. Only by establishing himself as a third force could he remain a stabilizing influence in the realm.

Raising his chin with a playful smirk, he proclaimed:

"The Vale! Your prince has returned!"

"Roar!"

Vermithor's bronze eyes gleamed as it let out a low, rumbling growl. The dragon stomped closer, demanding its due.

Aemon rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically.

"You're unbelievable. Can't you maintain a shred of dignity?"

But Vermithor merely snorted, lowering its massive head onto the grassy hill. The message was clear: Feed me.

"Fine, fine! You greedy beast."

Though he grumbled, Aemon signaled for the dragon to be fed.

Over the past four years, Vermithor had grown significantly. The dragon's body was now nearly ninety meters in length—on its way to surpassing even Vhagar.

A group of guards soon approached.

One of them, Ser Steve, dismounted and bowed.

"Prince Aemon, welcome back! Lady Rhea has been eagerly awaiting your return."

"Good. Let's not keep her waiting."

As they walked through the gates, Aemon glanced over his shoulder, reminding the dragonkeepers to tend to Vermithor.

Inside the great hall of Runestone, Aemon greeted his mother, Lady Rhea Royce.

She raised a skeptical brow as he shared his plan.

"You want your own lands?"

Rhea crossed her arms, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Is Runestone too small for you, or have you grown restless in King's Landing?"

Her disapproval was evident. She wasn't pleased that her son had spent so much time at court.

"Mother, you should be proud. I'm not asking for much—just a chance to make my mark."

Aemon grinned, taking a seat beside her.

"The Royce family has accepted me as one of their own, but you're still young and healthy. Surely, there's room for me to expand our holdings."

It was a practical argument.

Since he had bonded with Vermithor, the entire Royce household had changed their tune. The once-wary nobles now revered him, terrified he might leave the Vale for good.

Rhea gave him a sidelong glance.

"So, where do you plan to claim land? Most of the Vale's fertile lands are already part of the Eyrie's domain."

"Who says I can't find new opportunities? I'm willing to explore."

Aemon leaned closer, his violet eyes sparkling with determination.

"All I need is a small force. I'm not asking to go alone."

Rhea sighed in exasperation but eventually relented.

"Very well. Take some men—but don't expect me to bail you out if you get into trouble."

"Thank you, Mother."

Aemon hugged her tightly, then dashed out the door before she could change her mind.

The Next Day.

Aemon mounted a majestic white stag and led a procession of 150 Vale knights out of Runestone.

Fifty of them were his personal guards, while the remaining hundred had been assigned by his mother.

For a young prince in the Vale, this was an impressive entourage.

"Your Highness," Ser Steve rode up beside him, "Lady Rhea suggested you inspect the local villages before traveling farther afield to meet your bannermen."

"I know, Ser Steve. Don't worry."

His mother wanted him to get familiar with the lands he technically ruled under Runestone. Finding a suitable plot of land for expansion was secondary.

"Shall we head to Gulltown first?" asked Ser William, a mischievous grin on his face.

"The local lord, Ser Lyon, just welcomed a new son. We could stop by to offer congratulations."

Aemon shot him a knowing look.

"You mean you want to visit Gulltown for some fun?"

William grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Life in the Vale could be dull, and Gulltown was the only place with any excitement.

"We'll head to the eastern coast first," Aemon decided.

"There's a small fishing village I'd like to see."

The Vale was vast, with natural barriers like the Mountains of the Moon protecting the Eyrie. Beyond those mountains were lands like the Fingers, the Sisters, and Crab Bay.

Runestone, along with Gulltown, was part of an area known as Eastlands.

Most of the fertile lands in Eastlands fell under Runestone's domain, making it one of the most significant holdings in the Vale.

For this journey, Aemon chose to ride the white stag instead of flying Vermithor.

"Understood, Prince!"

The knights followed closely as Aemon led the way, their banners fluttering in the wind.

The Bronze Rune of House Royce and the Targaryen three-headed dragon flew side by side—a symbol of unity between two ancient houses.

By sunset, they reached a modest fishing village.

The homes were simple and low, with smoke rising from chimneys. The village had a rugged charm, though it was clear the people lived modestly.

Aemon dismounted near the village entrance, watching a group of children collecting seashells in baskets.

"These people have it tough," he remarked, his brows furrowing.

Ser William shrugged.

"They're better off than most. The folk of Runestone don't go hungry."

Aemon glanced at his White Knight, Gonsor Royce, who nodded silently in agreement.

Still, Aemon couldn't shake a feeling of unease.

During the reign of his great-grandfather, Jaehaerys I, Westeros had prospered. When Viserys took the throne, he inherited a peaceful, thriving realm.

But prosperity hadn't trickled down to everyone.

For the common folk, life remained a struggle.

"Why is it always this way?"

Aemon pondered as they walked through the village.

Then he smiled wryly.

"The world isn't fair—but we can make it better."

His thoughts turned to Viserys.

"Uncle may be soft, but he's a kind king."

Aemon shook his head, amused.

Even if he entertained rebellious thoughts, he had no valid reason to act on them.

"Let's stay the night here," Aemon announced, eager to observe the villagers' way of life.

The knights dismounted and began setting up camp.

As news of the prince's arrival spread, the village buzzed with excitement.

Aemon's journey had begun.

He would soon carve out his own legacy.

But for now, he would start small—step by step, village by village.

One day, his name would be spoken with reverence throughout the Vale and beyond.

The Prince of the Vale had returned.