Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The next day, Aemon woke up early and sought out Rhaenyra, who was fully absorbed in her road-building efforts.

"Dragonfire!"

Rhaenyra sat atop her dragon, Syrax, issuing commands with evident boredom.

Syrax lazily sprayed flames over a pile of stones, as laborers from the captured Firecloaks tribe stepped forward to break the rocks and mix them with clay and sand to pave the road. The workflow was seamless.

Aemon smiled and said, "If Jessamyn hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known you get up so early."

"I don't have the bad habit of lying in bed," Rhaenyra replied, her lips curving slightly upward. Then she shot back, "How was last night's chat? Are you satisfied?"

Aemon's expression turned amusedly peculiar. "Jealous, are we?"

Rhaenyra's face flushed a brilliant shade of red, and she fiercely denied it. "I'm only concerned about you."

Whether she was jealous or not was irrelevant—what truly mattered was Aemon's demeanor last night, which she found deeply reassuring. However, she couldn't deny feeling a bit irked at Jessamyn's arrival.

"Ohhh~~" Aemon teased, deliberately dragging out the sound.

Rhaenyra's embarrassment shifted to irritation, and she snapped, "If you're here to replace me, then you handle the road work!"

"Of course not," Aemon said, shaking his head.

After working on the roads for half a month, even Vermithor had grown restless, nearly turning on his master. Since then, the bronze dragon had taken to lounging in the high mountain roost, sleeping away the days alongside Silverwing.

"Then why are you here?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone impatient.

Aemon crossed his arms and answered nonchalantly, "Gonsor is leading a thousand troops to the Mountains of the Moon. I'm here to invite you to join the campaign on dragonback."

Hearing this, Rhaenyra froze, her irritation melting into surprise. She couldn't resist the temptation of such a grand adventure.

North of the Highlands

Aemon sat astride his majestic white stag, leading a force of nearly a thousand soldiers.

The army included 150 Vale knights, 800 longbowmen, and 30 Vale knights led by Adrian Redfort, who had insisted on joining the campaign after hearing of it. Aemon, ever strategic, gladly accepted his help.

"Are you sure you won't ride your dragon?" Rhaenyra asked, perched on Syrax's back with a slight frown.

"With Syrax and Grey Ghost, we have more than enough firepower to handle the mountain tribes," Aemon said confidently.

Bringing Vermithor, with his molten bronze flames, would risk setting the entire forest ablaze—a disaster waiting to happen. Besides, the point of this campaign was to train his soldiers, not to rely solely on overwhelming dragonfire.

"That's fair, but we haven't seen a single mountain tribesman along the way," Rhaenyra noted, sounding slightly disappointed.

"A true hunter must be patient," Aemon replied, pulling her reins to steady her horse.

At this moment, the petite figure of Rhaenyra was nestled against him, and she cast a sidelong glance upwards but said nothing.

The steep terrain forced them to abandon their warhorses, relying instead on Aemon's mighty white stag, which strode through the rugged paths with effortless grace.

Suddenly, the sound of rustling bushes reached their ears.

Aemon's ears perked up, and he quickly nocked an arrow onto his dragonbone bow, releasing it with a sharp twang.

Thud!

A dull sound echoed as the arrow struck its target, followed by the anguished yelps of a dog.

"Whine… Whimper…"

Gonsor stepped forward, using his greatsword to part the brush and pull out a sleek black dog.

"Your Grace, it's a hunting dog," Gonsor noted, his keen eyes examining the animal.

Rhaenyra stared at Aemon in awe, still stunned by his quick reflexes and precision.

Ignoring her gaze, Aemon called for a longbowman from the Firecloaks tribe and asked, "Do the mountain tribes keep dogs?"

Resources were scarce in the mountains; most tribes could barely feed themselves, let alone maintain animals.

After inspecting the dog closely, the longbowman exclaimed, "This is a mountain hound from the Painted Hounds tribe!"

He went on to explain that the Painted Hounds tribe was one of the larger mountain clans, boasting a population of over five thousand. Known for their expertise in raising hunting dogs, they used the animals to aid in hunting and reconnaissance.

"They say the Painted Hounds have wargs among them, hunters with the ability to warg into their dogs and see through their eyes across great distances," the longbowman added.

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock. "Wargs? Are you serious?"

Wargs were the stuff of legends, whispered about in tales of the First Men. They were said to possess the rare ability to inhabit the minds of animals and control their actions.

Aemon, however, was unimpressed. "Are wargs scarier than dragons?"

He ordered the dog put out of its misery, suspecting it had been controlled by a warg. The death of its host animal would likely inflict pain—or worse—on the warg connected to it.

Two Weeks Later

The campaign had stretched on for half a month with no sign of any mountain clans or their settlements.

It became increasingly clear to Aemon that the tribes had united against him.

At a temporary camp, Aemon sat cross-legged by a campfire.

"Syrax!"

The golden dragon swooped low over the trees before landing heavily.

Thud!

Rhaenyra jumped down, holding a freshly caught rabbit.

"How did it go today?" Aemon asked routinely.

Rhaenyra shook her head. "The Mountains of the Moon are the mountain clans' home turf. They're hiding in the ravines where dragons can't spot them."

Sighing, she knelt by the fire, expertly skinning and gutting the rabbit. Over the past fortnight, even the pampered princess had developed some survival skills.

"You should head back to wash up before returning," Aemon suggested, his tone half-teasing.

Rhaenyra glanced at her dusty, disheveled appearance, her silver hair tangled from neglect. "Is it that bad?"

"I just mean there's no need for you to suffer unnecessarily," Aemon clarified, his lingering conscience stirring at the sight of her uncharacteristic disarray.

To his surprise, Rhaenyra smiled. "I don't mind. It's freeing—no politics, no court intrigues—just you, me, Syrax, and maybe a little cake if we're lucky."

"You're serious about the cake, aren't you?" Aemon said, shaking his head with a wry grin.

They chatted for a while longer before a scout interrupted, reporting signs of mountain tribes twenty miles north.

Aemon instantly sensed danger. "What's the terrain like?"

"There's a narrow mountain path leading into the valley—it could be an ambush site," the scout warned.

Aemon nodded decisively. "Inform the troops to split up and take shifts heading downhill. We'll search the valley tomorrow."

As the camp settled in for the night, a pair of glowing green eyes peered out from the underbrush.

A sleek mountain hound crept silently away, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.