Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Aemon paused briefly, his gaze firm as his quill began to glide once more.

Scribble, scribble...

He wrote down a name: "Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Beside it, he sketched a cartoonish pig's head.

When it came to the matter of marriage, many aspects had to be considered.

He liked Rhaenyra, and her feelings for him were burning hot.

What else was there to say? She was obviously the top choice.

In terms of status, the two were perfectly matched.

One was the heir to the Iron Throne—though unfortunately a woman.

The other was a young prince, already capable of taming an adult dragon, yet perpetually relegated down the line of succession.

Together, they would compensate for each other's shortcomings.

In a word: legitimacy.

Aemon nodded slightly to himself and moved on to the second name.

"Laena Velaryon."

Next to it, he drew a cartoonish bunny head.

Beyond Rhaenyra, Laena was likely the next best candidate.

If he could pair his Vermithor with her Vhagar, their combined strength would be insurmountable.

Throw in his aunt Rhaenys and cousin Laenor, who were also dragonriders, and they'd be practically unbeatable.

In terms of sheer power, this alliance was terrifying to imagine.

"Not quite feasible," Aemon muttered, his brow furrowing as he circled her name.

The Velaryons came with too many strings attached. Aligning with them would be like lighting a powder keg, risking offense to his uncle Viserys.

Finally, he added a third option in small lettering:

"A potential match from the Vale."

This time, he doodled a cartoon sheep with its rear end in the air.

Aemon chuckled and immediately crossed it out.

Marrying a noblewoman from the Vale was the most practical, immediate choice.

It would allow him to integrate into the Vale's power structure and establish a foothold among its nobles.

But he couldn't stomach the thought of marrying someone just to blend in.

"If I wed a girl from the Vale, my father Daemon might just fly back from the Stepstones in outrage," he thought, barely stifling a laugh.

3. Future Direction

"To establish a foundation in the Vale, conflict is inevitable," Aemon mused, his eyes flickering with a dangerous glint.

He jotted down his goals:

Seize control of the Moon Mountains.

Undermine House Arryn's influence in the Eyrie.

Subdue the Vale's insular, tradition-bound nobles.

"I'm short on allies, vassals, and soldiers," Aemon muttered, making a note.

A potential match with the heiress of House Arryn crossed his mind—but only briefly.

Such a union would be nearly impossible.

A duchess of her stature would demand a husband neither too strong, lest he supplant her, nor too weak, lest he become a liability.

And they hadn't even met, so there was no telling whether they'd be compatible.

Knock, knock.

A soft knock at the door was followed by the faint creak of it opening.

"My prince, it's time to depart."

Johanna, clad in a flowing black gown, spoke in a voice smooth as silk. "The old maester's nephew has arrived, along with a migration of peasants heading for the Vale."

Aemon brightened at the news, rising from his seat.

He rolled up the parchment and slipped it into a green satchel on the table.

"Squeak, squeak!"

A tiny golden-nosed mouse scurried over, its little paws ready to stash its master's belongings.

"We'll talk on the way," Aemon said, grabbing his bag and heading out with Johanna.

As they exited the castle, they spotted a bronze dragon lounging nearby.

Johanna's eyes sparkled with a mix of awe and trepidation as she spoke. "With these new settlers, the Vale finally has its first population base."

"No need to rush."

Aemon smiled knowingly, seeing through her veiled ambition.

It had taken considerable effort to secure Johanna, his "black swan," as an ally. His mother, Lady Rhea Royce, was a strict woman who had sternly forbade him from dalliances too early in life.

"Roar!"

Vermithor stirred, its golden eyes gleaming as its massive body shifted.

"Gulp…"

Johanna froze mid-step, clearly intimidated by the dragon's imposing presence.

"Give me your hand," Aemon said calmly, taking her trembling hand in his own and leading her closer.

He guided her hand to the dragon's thick bronze scales, pressing it gently against Vermithor's neck.

Johanna's face drained of color as her heart raced wildly, but her apprehension soon gave way to awe.

"Don't scare her, Vermithor," Aemon said softly, resting his forehead against the dragon's sturdy neck.

To win the loyalty of a clever and capable subordinate, one had to demonstrate equal courage. Nothing commanded respect quite like a dragon.

"Roar!"

Vermithor glanced at Johanna, then tilted its head upward, signaling its readiness to take flight.

"How does it feel?" Aemon asked with a smirk.

"I… I…" Johanna stammered, her cheeks flushed as a genuine smile spread across her face.

The unspoken understanding between them was clear.

Johanna was now truly his, heart and soul.

"Skreeee!"

Moments later, Vermithor ascended into the heavens, carrying two figures into the clouds.

Noon: The Vale, at the Foot of the Mountains

"How's the progress?"

Aemon strode toward Ser Steffon, the White Knight overseeing the construction efforts.

"All obstacles have been cleared," Steffon reported. "The elder masons have surveyed the terrain and are currently compacting the foundation."

Aemon surveyed the site.

At the mountain's base, an area spanning half a kilometer in length and width had been cleared and leveled. Piles of stone and other materials were neatly arranged nearby.

The ground itself had been covered with a mixture of sand and clay, which was being pounded flat by workers wielding wooden mallets and stone rollers.

"Let me test it."

Aemon stomped on the ground with force, leaving only a shallow dent.

"It's solid," Steffon assured him. "We've followed the highest standards to ensure the foundation is secure."

"Barely adequate," Aemon muttered, dissatisfied.

A single meter of compacted soil wouldn't suffice for the monumental structures he had in mind.

Still, he knew the limitations of the construction techniques available in Westeros.

He turned his attention to the supplies provided by the [Heavenly Palace] card.

The first batch of materials was nothing short of extraordinary.

Aemon inspected the bricks and tiles—each one perfectly shaped, their quality unmatched by anything made locally.

There were also beams of rare wood, including twelve golden-hued timber pieces with intricate grain patterns, ideal for the palace's central hall.

Finally, a modest supply of provisions had been included, enough to feed 3,000 workers for a month.

"This is premium craftsmanship. Worth every bit of its cost."

The card's mission required the construction of a palace, with the materials provided in stages. The estimated timeline was one year—remarkably fast for a structure of its scale.

Aemon's eyes gleamed with determination. "Time to get to work."

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a cavern on the mountainside, faintly illuminated from within.

"Skreee!"

The sound of a dragon's growl echoed from the cave, accompanied by the emergence of a massive, shadowy head.

Another dragon awaited.