Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

"No!"

Gerald recoiled in terror, stumbling backward to dodge the blow.

In the very next instant, Ser Steve and Gunthor drew their swords and crossed them against his neck without hesitation.

Aemon thrust forward—his blade pierced through the leather armor, pressing against the soft flesh of Gerald's abdomen.

Gerald froze, shocked that a child would dare to be so ruthless. He turned to Lady Rhea for help.

But Lady Rhea averted her gaze, ignoring him completely.

A sense of despair washed over Gerald.

"Ser, didn't you hear me the first time?" Aemon pressed forward, his voice calm but firm. "You clearly still don't understand proper etiquette. Perhaps you need to be taught."

He slowly twisted the bronze blade. The leather tore, leaving a clean gash.

Gerald made to stop him, but the twin swords resting on his shoulders glinted with cold light—pressed just close enough to slice skin. There was nowhere left to retreat.

His legs gave out, and he dropped to one knee with a dull thud.

"Your Highness… I'm sorry."

Eyes shut tight, Gerald lowered his head and confessed his fault.

Aemon held the sword steady at his neck, fingers tightening slightly.

"Enough."

Lady Rhea stepped in at just the right moment, halting her son's next move.

She could see he was beginning to mimic his father's reckless way of handling things.

Aemon paused, jaw clenched, and after a couple of seconds, he pulled back the blade.

He had truly wanted to run Gerald through.

Lady Rhea stepped forward, holding the long, ancient sword she'd polished earlier. "Cousin," she said solemnly, "my son has made his choice. Now, you must make yours."

Gerald opened his eyes, visibly shaken.

Lady Rhea drew the other two swords and gently rested the ancient blade on Gerald's shoulder. Word by word, she declared, "Aemon is my heir. You will swear loyalty to him."

She then handed the sword to Aemon.

Surprised, Aemon took the heavy blade—it was clearly not an ordinary weapon.

A notification echoed in his ears:

"You have discovered a magic-infused item. Magic Essence +10."

He looked more closely and quickly recognized it: the Royce family's Valyrian steel sword—Lament.

The slender blade shimmered faintly with ripples, and its crossguard bore runes carved deep into the metal. The hilt was over a foot long, radiating age and dignity.

Lady Rhea gave him a meaningful look. "One day, it will be yours."

Gerald said nothing. He understood he had no right to refuse.

Steeling himself, he bowed his head and recited, "I, Gerald Royce, hereby swear fealty to Lady Rhea and her heir."

"I pledge to serve with loyalty and courage, to defend them, to be faithful, and never to lie."

After a pause, his tone became devout: "Let the new gods and the old bear witness to this oath."

Lady Rhea nodded, satisfied, and looked at her son.

Aemon hesitated briefly, then said with sudden clarity, "I, Prince Aemon of House Targaryen, accept your oath of loyalty."

He then returned the vow of protection, promising not to shame, neglect, or dishonor his vassal. Instead, he would offer trust, generosity, and respect.

Finally, he said, "You shall always have a place by my hearth."

"Thank you, Prince."

Gerald bowed deeply, his neck exposed.

Aemon gently tapped his head and shoulders with Lament, sealing the oath.

"Not bad," Lady Rhea remarked. She gave Gunthor a glance.

Gunthor pretended not to notice, silently sheathing his massive greatsword.

Aemon chose not to push him further.

Gunthor, though rough and blunt, was proud and reserved. Aemon was still too young to earn his full recognition.

Gerald stood and quietly stepped aside.

From that moment forward, he was Aemon Targaryen's sworn knight—bound to serve faithfully or lose his honor and become nothing more than a mercenary.

Lady Rhea took back Lament, clearly not interested in further discussion.

"Mother, we'll be off then," Aemon said, and the others followed him.

William was the most excited. He quickly retrieved the two-part flag and practically danced around the prince.

One banner—one knight. Amazing!

Aemon pushed him aside with a frown and offered Gerald a few polite words of reassurance.

Truthfully, he didn't want to accept Gerald. But family was family. He couldn't reject him outright or easily cast him aside.

He remembered something an old mentor once said: Either accept someone fully, or eliminate them.

This time, he'd accepted him—and gained more in return.

Another warrior for his cause.

As they left the hall…

Gerald caught up silently and dropped to one knee again. "Prince, I have 500 archers under my command. They will all pledge their loyalty to you."

His eyes flicked to the rolled-up banner in William's arms.

The message was clear: Raise the banner, and they'll follow.

"I understand, Ser."

Aemon helped him up.

Gerald held significant authority in Runestone City.

The city had a large territory with fertile fields and enough taxes to support a force of 3,000.

Of those, 800 were cavalry directly under the lord's command.

1,000 archers were split between two commanders.

1,200 infantry were drilled biweekly by the city's instructors.

Lady Rhea supported her son, and Gunthor trained the infantry.

Now with Gerald's allegiance, most of Runestone's military stood behind Aemon.

It was secure—at last.

Mid-May arrived quickly.

The valley was warm and alive with thick grass and flocks of birds.

In the front yard of Runestone City, Aemon stood focused, gripping a wooden sword.

"Prince, mind your breathing!" Ser Steve instructed, launching a swift overhead strike. His wooden sword blurred through the air, each swing faster than the last.

Aemon braced himself, feet planted, deflecting the blows.

Even when hit, he quickly recovered and kept his form.

Two months had changed a lot.

He had grown taller—from barely over a meter to nearly 1.2 meters.

As he grew, his body shed its baby fat. His once chubby cheeks had thinned, making his delicate face even more striking.

His belly was gone entirely.

He now had a lean figure, with long silver-gold hair tied back, giving him the appearance of a proper young noble.

Clang!

Steve dodged and knocked Aemon's sword from his hand.

Aemon let out a breath, ending the match.

"Your swordsmanship is improving quickly," Steve praised, picking up the dropped weapon. "But you should try using both hands—so you won't be disarmed so easily."

Aemon replied, frustrated, "I've tried. It's like my left hand doesn't listen."

Every time he tried to grip the sword with both hands, it felt like someone else was fighting for the hilt—his balance would break, and he'd fall.

He had begun to consider focusing entirely on one-handed swordsmanship.

After all, once his father Daemon passed, he would inherit Dark Sister.

As that thought struck—

A strange sensation rippled through him.

Hissss... GRAAAH...!

A sharp roar echoed from the sky.

Aemon looked up—and froze.

Boom—

A scarlet beast tore through the clouds, wings spread wide, buffeting Runestone City with slicing wind.

Its horns curled back like blades. Its serpentine neck gleamed red, and its powerful wings carved through the sky.

"A dragon... Caraxes!"

Aemon's eyes widened. He knew that silhouette instantly.

The dragon's massive shadow loomed over Runestone. Wind howled. Soldiers and knights scrambled for cover.

"It's a dragon!!"

Chaos erupted. People ran blindly, shielding their eyes from the gale.

Aemon stood his ground.

"Don't panic! It's Caraxes, Prince Daemon's dragon!" Steve shouted, donning his helmet and stepping in front of the prince.

But the thunderous roar drowned him out.

Hissss... GRAAAAH...

The dragon circled the city three full times, its molten eyes glaring down.

Finally, at its rider's command, it descended slowly toward the front wall.

Boom!

Caraxes landed with a quake, neck stretched low and wings folded behind.

Its back came into full view.

Aemon stared up and recognized the rider at once.

Silver hair, violet eyes.

A stern face, proud eyebrows, high nose—wild and dangerous, just like the dragon he rode.

There was no mistaking him.

His father, Daemon Targaryen.

Knighted at sixteen. Gifted Dark Sister by King Jaehaerys himself. Admired by many as the Rogue Prince.

Now… he may have come to crown himself King of the Vale.

- - - - - - - - -

You can get advance chapters on my patreon

Patreon(.)com/izan24

•TIER 1 you'll get +15 ADVANCE CHAPTERS

•TIER 2 you'll get +40 ADVANCE CHAPTERS

•TIER 3 you'll get +60 ADVANCE CHAPTERS