Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Late at night, by the campfire, Viserys sat alone.

The flickering flames illuminated his face, revealing shadows of sorrow and fatigue.

Sizzle!

He poured half a cup of wine onto the flames, which hissed and popped as they consumed the liquid.

His heart felt heavy, weighed down by a mixture of frustration and regret.

The day had been taxing. Jason Lannister's arrogance, Otto Hightower's incessant manipulations, and the futile search for the white hart had left him drained.

At this moment, he felt utterly defeated, both in mind and body.

"Are you all right, Your Grace?"

A soft voice broke the silence. Alicent approached cautiously, her expression tinged with concern.

Viserys didn't turn to face her. Instead, he spoke as though talking to the fire itself:

"I named Rhaenyra my heir to prevent Daemon from ruining the realm."

Alicent froze, stunned by the unexpected confession.

"She was my only child at the time, the kingdom's brightest hope."

Viserys's voice was filled with melancholy. "I chose her out of love... but also because I no longer believed—"

He stopped abruptly, as though swallowing the rest of his sentence.

Alicent stood motionless, absorbing his words. She hadn't expected such raw emotion from her usually composed husband.

Viserys sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping.

He loved his brother Daemon—deeply and truly. They had grown up together, shared countless memories, and stood by each other through thick and thin.

In the years leading up to the Great Council of 101 AC, when the question of succession arose, Viserys hadn't been confident in his own claim.

His cousin Rhaenys, "the Queen Who Never Was," had seemed the natural choice. She was bold, intelligent, and married to the wealthiest man in the realm, Corlys Velaryon.

But Daemon...

Daemon had unwaveringly believed in Viserys.

He had worked tirelessly to secure Viserys's claim, rallying lords, spending vast sums on mercenaries, and even threatening to take up arms if Viserys was denied.

His loyalty had convinced the old King Jaehaerys to call the council and declare Viserys the heir.

Now, years later, Viserys sat by the fire, questioning everything.

"When did it all go wrong?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

He stared into the flames, red-rimmed eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Deep down, he knew when things had changed.

Daemon's brashness, his impulsiveness, and his sense of entitlement had slowly eroded the trust between them.

The breaking point had come with Aemma's death and the incident at the brothel.

Viserys, egged on by Otto, had banished Daemon from King's Landing, severing their bond.

But even with Daemon gone, the unease hadn't dissipated.

Viserys felt trapped in a cycle of threats.

First Daemon, then Corlys, and now Otto.

Each time one danger was dealt with, another would emerge.

"What is it you no longer believe in?" Alicent asked hesitantly, breaking the silence.

Viserys shook his head, swaying slightly as though the weight of the question were too much to bear. "It's nothing... just a dream."

A dream that had once consumed him.

In his youth, he had dreamt of a son crowned with Aegon's crown, ruling a prosperous realm.

That dream had driven him to desperation, pushing him to try for a male heir at any cost—even at the expense of Aemma's life.

After Aemma's death, he had tried to forget the dream, convincing himself it was nothing but a cruel illusion.

Naming Rhaenyra his heir had been his way of atoning, of finding some semblance of peace.

But it had only brought more chaos.

Alicent, watching him closely, chose her words carefully.

"Rhaenyra is doing her best to become a worthy heir," she said softly.

"What?"

Viserys blinked, as though he hadn't heard her correctly.

"She cares about you," Alicent continued, her tone steady. "She's afraid of disappointing you, of losing your approval. That's why she hesitates to speak with you. But deep down, she loves you."

It was a blatant lie, but Alicent delivered it with such conviction that it sounded like the truth.

Viserys stared at her, hope flickering in his eyes.

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Of course."

Their gazes met, and Alicent held his stare, her expression resolute.

Viserys's face broke into a tentative smile. "You're such a kind and understanding wife."

"This is my duty, Your Grace," Alicent replied, forcing a smile as she helped him to his feet.

She had learned to play her role well. Saying what Viserys wanted to hear was the easiest way to manage him.

For now, she had achieved her goal: reinforcing his faith in Rhaenyra while sowing doubt about Otto.

Viserys, oblivious to the subtle manipulation, felt a rare sense of satisfaction.

With Alicent's support, he could finally address Otto's overreach without hesitation.

"Thank you," he murmured as they walked back toward his tent.

Alicent smiled faintly, but as she lowered her gaze, her eyes hardened.

Men, she thought. How predictable.

Elsewhere

"Mother, I'm a man too!"

Aemon's indignant voice echoed inside a small tent.

"Then act like one," Lady Rhea Royce shot back, tossing him a blanket. "If you're so grown, sleep outside."

Aemon caught the blanket, pouting as he eyed the two beds—a large one for his mother and a smaller one for him.

This was the Royce tent, spartan and practical, without the luxuries afforded to royalty.

If he made a fuss, he'd end up sharing quarters with the guards.

"Didn't you always beg to sleep beside me?" Rhea quipped, raising an eyebrow. "And now you're playing coy?"

Aemon winced, sensing the trap. "Fine, I'll take the small bed."

He flopped onto the cot without further protest, clutching his blanket like a shield.

His plans were far too important to risk being derailed by his mother's sharp tongue.

Rhea snuffed out the candle, settling into her own bed with a sigh.

As the tent fell silent, Aemon lay wide awake, thoughts swirling.

He had set two plans in motion: Alicent's independence and Rhaenyra's renewed determination.

By the time this hunt concluded, Otto would likely lose his position.

But once Alicent and Rhaenyra began to clash in earnest, King's Landing would become a dangerous place for someone like him—a fence-sitter playing both sides.

No, it was time to leave.

"Mother," he whispered into the darkness.

"What?"

"Can I borrow a squad of Vale knights tomorrow?"

"For what?"

"Rhaenyra invited me hunting. It might be dangerous."

It was a lie, of course.

He had two goals:

First, to track down the elusive white hart.

Second, to stir up enough trouble to justify leaving King's Landing and returning to the Vale.

The capital was no place for long-term growth. He needed time and distance to build his own power base.

Rhea Royce, ever perceptive, saw through his pretense.

"Fine. Gonsor will organize it."

Aemon grinned, relief flooding him. "Love you, Mother."

"…Hmph."

Rhea's curt reply came after a pause, but there was a hint of warmth in her tone.