Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

Blackwater Bay.

The sailboat skimmed swiftly across the water, the silhouette of Dragonstone Island visible in the distance.

"Hey."

Aemon sat at the stern on a small stool, casting his fishing rod with exaggerated force.

The hook splashed into the sea, and the fist-sized bait stirred up the water wildly as it struck the nest.

"You're never going to catch anything like that."

Laena approached quietly, her white wrists resting against the boat's railing. She leaned forward, her lean yet well-defined figure framed against the sea.

Aemon gave her a sideways glance and said with disdain, "The willing ones take the bait. Understand?"

Fishing for fish? Not exactly—he was fishing for a state of mind.

Laena tilted her head and pointed out, "The boat's moving too fast. Even if the fish smell the bait, they can't catch up to it."

Aemon raised his chin arrogantly. "My fish basket doesn't need trash."

"That… actually makes sense."

Laena nodded thoughtfully, then picked up a rod herself and stood there to cast.

She was even more capitalist than Aemon—didn't bother with bait at all.

Aemon scoffed. "You don't even deserve the title of 'nest-making fairy.'"

His bait was ula grass—irresistible to fish, like a drug.

What was his method?

"Squeak."

A furry golden-nosed rat popped out from Aemon's collar and pointed its tiny claw at the silver-haired beauty.

Quite the performance.

Laena rolled her eyes but didn't bother replying to either the man or the rat.

Time passed.

The ula grass began working, attracting a swarm of fish.

Aemon busily reeled in rod after rod, barely catching his breath.

At first, Laena was surprised, but soon he just silently watched Dragonstone grow closer.

"Are we staying the night?"

Aemon suddenly asked.

Laena blinked. "What?"

Still pulling up a fish, Aemon replied matter-of-factly, "Dragonstone! I can treat you to grilled fish."

The sail from King's Landing to the Throat took about a day.

Dragonstone wasn't far—perfect as a transit stop if there was no rush.

Besides, Tidehead Island was just beside Dragonstone.

It would be even more convenient for Laena to return home.

"Alright then."

He agreed readily, putting away his rod with a sigh. "You grill the fish, I'll show you Dragonmount."

Aemon frowned.

He admired his mentality. Even with no dragons of his own, he still smiled.

Laena pointed to Dragonstone and explained, "Two baby dragons hatched on Dragonmount. One is gleaming gold, the other deep cobalt blue. You'll love them."

The Targaryens were obsessed with dragons—especially attractive ones.

She was sure her little cousin would go wild.

Aemon's eyes lit up. He really wanted a dragon.

Even second-best—getting close enough to harvest some magical essence—was worth it.

As they talked, the boat subtly shifted course.

Dragonstone was now within reach.

"Hiss!"

Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out.

Aemon was startled and looked toward the sound.

On the eastern shore of Dragonstone, near a rocky reef not far from the beach, a petite light gray-white dragon appeared.

Aemon narrowed his eyes.

The dragon dove into the sea, snatched a silver-scaled fish, and then vanished into the mist in the blink of an eye.

Just like that.

Its pale, mist-colored scales made it blend into the fog—perfect for concealment.

"Do you know that dragon?" Aemon asked, dazed.

Laena's expression turned serious. She pulled him toward the bow and whispered, "It's a wild dragon. Best not to provoke it."

Wild dragons were unpredictable. Best to avoid them.

Who knew when one had arrived on Dragonstone—and this one looked like a juvenile.

Aemon, still being dragged, suddenly gasped, "My fish! I didn't collect my fish!"

"I'll have someone pick them up later," Laena replied.

He didn't argue, just watched the fish flopping on the deck—clearly a bit of petty revenge for not catching anything himself.

——

Noon.

The sailboat resumed its original course, sailing farther and farther away from Dragonstone.

Aemon leaned over the railing, his pale face filled with despair.

"My dragon didn't even land on the island…"

He had been so ready.

Why wouldn't they dock and begin a proper dragon-training arc?

Nearby, Laena in her blue tunic leaned lazily on the railing, clearly enjoying the sight of him sulking.

Aemon reached out a hand dramatically, as if to grasp the opportunity slipping away.

Originally, they were planning to stop at Dragonstone.

But his mother, Lady Rhea, had suddenly insisted they leave Blackwater Bay immediately.

"Why, mother?" Aemon asked, crestfallen.

Lady Rhea's expression was cold as frost. "Your father is back—and he's already treating his niece's fief like his own."

In other words, she refused to set foot on the same island as Daemon.

Aemon blinked, surprised. "Wasn't he at war?"

"He won."

Lady Rhea's voice was icy. "Laena received the letter. Your father took a desperate gamble—charged alone into the Stepstones to lure the enemy deeper, and killed the Crabfeeder in single combat."

Aemon turned to Laena in disbelief.

She gave a small nod. It was true.

"Seven Hells…" Aemon muttered, slapping his forehead. He wasn't sure if he should feel proud or frustrated.

Daemon's victory was technically good news.

But between the complicated web of marriage and blood, it was hard to feel celebratory.

"And your uncle sent reinforcements too," he added, clearly overwhelmed.

Alicent had told him that Viserys had a change of heart and sent troops to support his estranged brother.

Aemon had hoped to be the one to repair that broken bond and be the hero.

But everyone had overlooked something important.

Daemon, the "Rogue Prince," was cunning and bold—his life already worthy of an epic saga.

You couldn't expect him to act like a normal person.

Lady Rhea crossed her arms and asked, "Coming with me, or staying at Dragonstone?"

"I'll go with you," Aemon replied with a sigh.

"Good. Then shut up."

Lady Rhea was clearly on edge. Mentioning Daemon put her in a sour mood.

Aemon had no choice.

Staying meant running into Daemon, and there was no love lost between them.

Better to leave.

Just then, the watchtower's horn blew.

Laena glanced ahead and said, "That's Tidehead Island. I'm getting off here."

"I'll miss you," Aemon said flatly.

Laena gave him an amused, annoyed look. He bent down until they were face-to-face and pinched Aemon's cheeks. "Rhaenyra asked me to look after you. I'll ride Vhagar later and wave goodbye for the last time."

From his angle, Aemon got an eyeful—and was momentarily stunned.

Compared to him, even Rhaenyra felt lacking.

"Bye. Next time, come visit me at Tidehead."

Still enjoying herself, Laena rubbed his face a bit more before finally letting go.

Once he turned away, Aemon grumbled, "You're so presumptuous."

Just pinching his cheeks like that—what, you think you're right just because you're bigger?

Now they hadn't landed at Dragonstone, and his companion had left too.

Dejected, Aemon returned to the stern to resume fishing.

Targaryen men do not succumb to beauty.

Fishing was truth.

Then he noticed something.

The fish basket was empty.

Aemon froze.

The basket had been knocked over—and every single fish was gone.

"Where are my fish? Where's my whole basket of fish!?"

He collapsed, wailing—someone had stolen a child's catch.

Looking closely for clues—

The basket lay overturned, the deck wet with signs of singeing.

Only half a fishbone remained.

Aemon crouched and picked up the sorry remains.

Then slowly tilted his head upward toward the sky.

"You damn fish thief!"

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