Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

"Magic-infused ordinary creature discovered. Gained +1 essence."

Aemon took the small black kitten as the system displayed a prompt.

"Mew mew~~"

The kitten, held by the scruff of its neck, arched like a shrimp, its tiny paws flailing about, seemingly searching for its mother or milk.

Aemon examined it closely, an amused smile spreading across his face. "Little one, your luck has just turned."

Shadowcats were formidable predators, with adult ones rivaling tigers and leopards in size and far surpassing them in ferocity. Aside from dragons, only direwolves from beyond the Wall could outmatch them.

And this tiny creature was worth 1 point of magical essence.

Decision made—he would adopt it!

"Pack up the spoils; it's time to head back," Aemon said, slipping the kitten into the pouch at his waist, eager to raise it as a fierce companion for his household.

"EEEEK!!"

A sudden, sharp squeal pierced the air.

Aemon's face fell as he hurriedly opened his pouch. Inside, the golden-nosed mouse looked utterly horrified, its tiny paws clutching a silver fork it had somehow procured, and it was repeatedly thwacking the kitten on the head.

"Mew~~"

The weak kitten mewed in pain, unable to defend itself.

"Snowy, what are you doing?!"

Aemon, exasperated, pulled the mouse out and placed it on his shoulder.

The golden-nosed mouse trembled with indignation, tears welling in its beady eyes as it brandished the fork like a weapon, gesturing angrily.

It couldn't fathom how a proud mouse like itself was now expected to share a space with a cat.

"Apologies," Aemon muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he tucked the mouse into his collar for safekeeping.

A month passed in the blink of an eye.

By July, in the height of summer, the Vale's progress was clear.

Good news:

The first building of Vale Keep had been completed and named Summer Hall.

Bad news:

Neither of the people mentioned in the two letters he had received showed up.

At the moment, Aemon sat by a window in Summer Hall, his smirk betraying his amusement.

No bad news, really—both absences were blessings in disguise.

Light footsteps echoed as Johanna entered, clad in a flowing black gown, her face radiant.

"Your Highness, as you instructed, our briquettes have finally reached the markets in the Eyrie," she reported.

"How much are they selling for?" Aemon asked, his interest piqued.

"Three copper stars per briquette for now. A few merchants have begun stocking up," Johanna replied.

"Well done. Feel free to lower the price," Aemon said with a satisfied nod. "I don't mind taking a loss initially. The goal is to get these briquettes into circulation. Eventually, they'll reach the hands of the nobility."

With access to coal mines, he had ventured into business, producing briquettes—a simple mixture of coal dust and clay, molded and dried.

Captured Firehand tribe members, including the elderly and children, handled production.

Idle prisoners? Not on his watch.

"But the briquettes are hard to ignite and produce smoke," Johanna pointed out.

"It's fine; they're priced for the common folk," Aemon assured her. "Later, we'll produce high-quality briquettes to sell at a premium in King's Landing. That's where we'll make our name."

Fuel was a luxury for commoners in this era. Firewood belonged to the nobles, and cutting down trees for fuel was a punishable offense.

Johanna nodded thoughtfully. "One more thing—Gonsor Royce has successfully recruited 800 men. They're training by Long Lake."

"Let's take a look," Aemon said, springing to his feet.

After capturing 1,500 Firehand tribe members, the Vale's population had increased by 50%.

But these highland tribes were unruly by nature. Simply relying on dragons and 150 knights of the Vale wouldn't suffice; rebellion was a constant risk.

Training a dedicated force of Vale soldiers would serve as a strong deterrent.

At the same time, Aemon implemented a dual strategy: forcing the tribesmen into grueling labor in the coal mines and offering them hope.

If they toiled until Vale Keep was completed, they could shed their prisoner status and become full-fledged residents of the Vale.

The first group of captured Firehand tribesmen—74 in total—was split up.

Some became smiths; others were assigned to quarrying stone.

Paid wages and granted basic rights, they were treated as equals.

Among the 800 new recruits, 30 were Firehand tribesmen, further integrating them into the Vale's society.

Aemon exited Summer Hall and observed the scene outside.

Three thousand workers were busy constructing his second royal residence behind Summer Hall.

"They're making remarkable progress," Aemon noted.

"Indeed, and the materials are exceptional," Johanna agreed.

"Remind Ser Laen to expedite the next shipment of materials," Aemon said, his mood buoyant.

Walking across the pristine white marble floors of the Keep, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.

Pride made him tilt his head back—and he caught sight of something remarkable.

In the sky, a golden dragon soared gracefully, its wings beating softly, its body sleek and powerful.

"Ah, yet another dragon," Aemon remarked with a chuckle.

"Roar!"

The golden dragon, Syrax, flew over Long Lake and headed directly toward him.

Aemon's smile froze as realization struck.

"Syrax?! No, it can't be…"

"Descend, Syrax!"

A clear, youthful voice rang out from the dragon's back.

Syrax's intelligent, golden-green eyes scanned the ground before landing smoothly, her massive talons leaving shallow impressions in the earth.

"Boom!"

The ground trembled as the dragon settled.

"Long time no see, Aemon," Rhaenyra greeted, sliding gracefully off Syrax's back, her smile radiant.

"Rhaenyra? It's really you?"

Aemon was dumbfounded.

"What, aren't you happy to see me?"

Rhaenyra tilted her head and walked toward him confidently.

As she approached, she tugged off her gloves with her teeth, her gaze teasing and suggestive.

Once she stood before him, she leaned closer, pressing forward insistently.

Aemon, thoroughly exasperated, pushed her back. "Keep your distance. You reek of dragon."

"You don't? Aren't you practically a dragon yourself?" Rhaenyra countered, unaffected by his rebuff, and instead clung to his arm.

Aemon tried and failed to pull away, sighing in resignation.

"Weren't you supposed to be touring the kingdom in search of a husband? What are you doing here?"

Her proximity wasn't helping—some things were better left to the imagination.

Rhaenyra smirked and leaned in closer, whispering into his ear. "The one I want to marry is right here."

Her breath was warm against his skin, her words leaving him momentarily speechless.

Why did she have to be so direct?

Finally regaining his composure, Aemon managed a forced smile. "Princess, this way, please."

As Rhaenyra followed him into Summer Hall, her keen eyes took in every detail of the building.

She wasn't a fool—she could see the effort and expense that had gone into this endeavor.

Meanwhile, Johanna, watching from the distance, remained rooted in place.

She glanced around, her expression unreadable, before heading off to attend to other matters.

At Summer Hall, Aemon stared at Rhaenyra as she unabashedly helped herself to the refreshments, eating with gusto.

Between bites, Rhaenyra casually recounted her journey: her royal tour had begun in the Crownlands, stopping at Harrenhal and Riverrun, where she met the lords of the Riverlands.

Her next destination was the Westerlands, starting at Casterly Rock.

But she had overheard a servant mention Lady Rhea's plans to arrange a marriage for Aemon and decided to sneak away.

"Did you meet her?" Rhaenyra asked, sipping her wine.

"Who?"

"The lady your mother picked out for you."

"Nope. Stood me up," Aemon replied with mock regret, though his grin betrayed his relief.

No matchmaking meant no pressure.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "Lady Jeyne Arryn's claim to the Eyrie is being challenged. Her cousin, Arnold Arryn, has been sent to Runestone as Lady Rhea's cupbearer."

"Ah, so she's been preoccupied," Aemon muttered.

He knew Rhea Royce was determined, but even she had her limits.

"Now that I'm here, what's next?" Rhaenyra asked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Aemon studied her for a moment, a sly smile forming.

"I might have a small task for you."

"Oh?"

"Follow me."

At Raven's Ridge, laborers worked tirelessly, flattening the ground to pave roads.

"Dragonfire!"

Rhaenyra's voice rang out as Syrax unleashed a golden-orange flame, reducing a pile of limestone to glowing embers.

The Firehand workers hurried forward, breaking the cooled stones into lime and mixing it for road construction.

"Not bad," Aemon remarked, testing the firmness of the newly laid road.

Rhaenyra, however, gave him a withering look. "This is your 'small task'?"