Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 328: Young Dragons Hatchilings – Moondancer and Morning

Creak-

The door to the room closed from the outside. Aemond walked briskly down the hall, a smug look on his face.

Aegon had woken up, but instead of screaming in pain or cursing as expected, he sat quietly against the bed, lost in some inexplicable contemplation.

Bored with the lack of reaction, Aemond decided to slip out and head for the Dragonpit.

As for possible consequences, would there be any punishment? Aemond's footsteps slowed momentarily as he looked back with disdain. He thought to himself, "I have dragons, and my father and mother aren't in King's Landing. Who can come and punish me?"

...

"Kid, you think you can escape? Obediently accept your punishment!"

The corner of Rhaegar's mouth curled into a cold smile, his tone full of menace.

The sun had not yet set, and the fiery clouds of dusk painted the sky like summer saffron, creating a dramatic backdrop for the moment.

Aemond, with a forlorn expression, stared dazedly at his older brother. He hadn't even managed to slip out of the Red Keep before being captured by the arriving Kingsguard.

"Teaching Aegon a lesson and running to the Dragonpit for refuge—are you underestimating me?" Rhaegar folded his arms across his chest and stared at his younger brother, who was hanging upside down from the gallows.

Three new gallows stood in the front garden of the Red Keep, side by side. It was a gathering place, bustling with people, and a group of onlookers whispered about the situation.

Aemond's face was pale, his feet tied with rope and his body hanging in the air between two stiff corpses in tattered clothes.

Rhaegar leaned in and cupped Aemond's chin, turning his face towards each of the corpses. "Look at them. They're dead because of you. How does that feel?"

"It's a shame I have no one to spend my hard-earned bag of gold dragons on," Aemond muttered, his face flushing with embarrassment and regret over his lost money bag.

Smack—

Rhaegar slapped him on the head. "Your money bag and the gold in it are confiscated," he declared.

"Aegon snitched?" Aemond winced in pain.

"It wasn't him. If it were, you wouldn't even have made it to the secret passage."

Rhaegar shook his head, gripping Aemond's chin firmly. "Teaching Aegon a lesson is one thing. I'd even enjoy seeing you knock his sword away and pin him down with your fists."

Aemond stayed silent, eyes wide.

Smack—

Another slap. "But you're a coward. You hired two brutes to sneak up on Aegon, resorting to disgraceful tactics."

Rhaegar's disappointment was palpable. He couldn't believe that Aemond would have the audacity to scheme in the Red Keep and buy his way out of trouble.

"I... oooo..." Aemond tried to speak, but a piece of rag torn from a corpse was shoved into his mouth.

Rhaegar stood and wiped his hands in disgust. "Prince, what should be done?" Lorent, the Kingsguard, stood ready, his bald head and piercing eyes a perfect match.

Rhaegar shoved Aemond, spinning him in the air. "Hang him until this time tomorrow. Give him water at intervals."

"Oooh, I have to pee..." Aemond flailed, mumbling through the gag.

Lorent looked to Rhaegar for guidance.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Water isn't necessary. He can take care of it himself."

...

Time flew by, and a week passed.

In the meeting hall of the Maegor's Holdfast, Rhaegar sat at the head of the table, dressed in plain white, diligently filling out a list with a feather quill.

The table, emitting a pleasant woodsy fragrance, had a round porcelain plate in its center, holding six stone balls of different colors, indicating a recently concluded meeting involving six people.

Tap... Tap...

Rhythmic footsteps echoed from the corridor, and a delicate figure appeared at the open door.

"Rhaegar, the meeting is over."

Rhaenyra leaned on the doorframe, her tone carrying a hint of dissatisfaction. She wore a black corseted dress robe, delicate light makeup, and her soft silver hair was pulled back, giving her a noble and competent demeanor.

Rhaegar paused his writing, ruffling the silver-gold hair covering his eyes, and playfully said, "Believe me, I'm not staying here by choice."

"So, official duties tied your hands and feet and refused to let you travel with me on a dragon?" Rhaenyra grimaced, glaring at Steffon and Lorent, who were guarding the doorway.

The two Kingsguard nodded in unison, knowing their place and silently retreating.

Without the presence of outsiders, Rhaenyra's anger flared. She approached aggressively, "Rhaegar, don't you realize we haven't seen each other for four days?"

"Uh..."

Rhaegar blinked, innocently replying, "But I feel like you've been by my side."

"Cut the crap!"

Rhaenyra glared at him, casually picking up a few pieces of unsealed letter paper on the table and skimming through them. Though she wasn't skilled in governance, she feared becoming irrelevant if she didn't help her brother.

Rhaegar continued writing, a slight smile on his lips, "No need to look, that one is a letter from the Oldtown Citadel. They're electing a new Grand Maester."

With the death of Mellos, the court needed a new Grand Maester.

"You just talk a lot." Rhaenyra gritted her teeth and stomped on his foot.

Rhaegar grunted in pain and obediently shut up.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and continued reading the letter. The Citadel's election list had Orwyle as the top candidate, followed by several knowledgeable old-timers. Additionally, to make amends for Mellos's dereliction, the Citadel proposed appointing a young maester as the history recorder, splitting some of the Grand Maester's authority.

Rhaenyra frowned, puzzled, "A separate recorder? Why does that feel odd?"

Without looking up, Rhaegar responded, "The Citadel fears our family's dragons. Orwyle won’t obey them; it's just a pretext."

The clumsy tactic was infuriating. If the Citadel weren't so influential and essential to the nobles of Westeros, Rhaegar would have ridden Cannibal and incinerated it with Dragonfire.

Rhaenyra raised her eyes in surprise, a flicker of admiration in them. She had to admit, their father's foresight wasn't wrong; Rhaegar had always been more politically astute than her.

Seemingly thinking of something amusing, Rhaenyra pursed her lips and snickered, switching to another letter. Traveling by dragon might be difficult, so she decided to stay and assist with political affairs.

A glance at the sender revealed the signature: "Syrio Friar."

Rhaegar swished his pen and said, "The letter confirms that Daemon is indeed plundering ships in the Stepstones Islands and is suspected of trying to provoke a war."

After a moment of thought, he added, "Look at the next one. It’s from a red priestess of Volantis, describing the legend of the Red Comet. She requests permission to cross the Narrow Sea to spread the beliefs of R’hllor in Westeros."

He vaguely guessed Daemon's intention to use the war to seize territory beyond the Narrow Sea. It wasn’t a bad idea, but the timing was crucial. He would advise his father to warn their uncle when time allowed.

The red priestess's letter had some intriguing points. It clarified that the red meteor, known as the Red Comet, could induce fluctuations in magical tides.

According to her, the comet appeared once every few hundred years. The last time it did, it was before the Doom. This time, its appearance was causing unstable magical tides, sometimes raging, sometimes calm.

The priestess advised him to prepare and to accept the faith of R’hllor, suggesting that kingship and divinity should work together to handle the impending unknown.

Rhaenyra, intrigued, read the letter carefully, her violet eyes reflecting her concern. She didn’t fully grasp terms like red comets and magical tides but knew that magic was tied to dragons. When magic was strong, dragons thrived; when it waned, dragons perished.

"We can't let R’hllor's faith spread in Westeros. It's too dangerous," Rhaenyra said, feeling uneasy.

"I refused her request but agreed that Syrio could bring her around Westeros," Rhaegar replied. He didn't trust the predictions of the red-robed priest or the knowledge of the tides from a lesser-learned red priestess. However, discussions could lead to valuable exchanges of knowledge about magical tides.

"Well done." Rhaenyra smiled approvingly.

Rhaegar laughed and closed the last page of his list, exclaiming, "The last one!"

He pushed his chair back with a creak, leaned back lazily, and asked casually, "How's Aemond?"

"He left this morning. He was waiting for you to see him off, not realizing that someone had been buried in his office," Rhaenyra replied, picking up the list she had just filled out and gloating.

Rhaegar nodded, propping his legs onto the conference table and closing his eyes in feigned sleep. Aemond had chosen Cassandra to be engaged to and had officially set out to escort his fiancée back to Storm’s End.

Rhaenyra looked at the list and read aloud, "Reclamation of wasteland within the Crownlands: allocate three hundred plough oxen and one thousand wooden plows..."

After a moment, she remarked, "Wasn't three thousand acres of wasteland reclaimed last year to support over a thousand tenants?"

"The treasury draws down once; it can't just be for three thousand acres. It has to be followed up year by year," Rhaegar explained. There was much wasteland within the Crownlands, especially around the mountains and lakes near King's Landing.

Master of Civil Affairs Otto had led the effort, gathering more than 2,000 workers from Flea Bottom to cultivate the land. A considerable amount of money and supplies had been allocated from the treasury for this purpose.

Fortunately, the results were promising, and the crown had added three thousand acres of medium fields to sustain a labor force of over a thousand people.

Rhaegar decided to continue this initiative, opening up more land for farming and relocating the underclass that had accumulated in King's Landing.

Rhaenyra frowned slightly and whispered, "There was no food left over from the previous year. It was all fed to the reclaimers, and the treasury can't make ends meet."

"Self-sufficiency is quite good," Rhaegar replied confidently. "Look at the long term. After three to five years, the royal family will have tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of acres of grain-producing fields."

The land and climate of the king's territory were favorable. With 100,000 acres of land, enough food could be produced to feed an army of 5,000 men.

Rhaegar was jolted from his dozing state by a warm kiss on his cheek. Before he could react, a pair of firm thighs, wrapped in tight black pants, straddled his waist, pinning him effortlessly.

He looked up to see Rhaenyra's stunning face, her smile both playful and inviting. Rhaegar straightened his posture, his eyes lighting up with anticipation.

"Father is too cruel to you, leaving you here while he enjoys himself," Rhaenyra teased, her long hair cascading down her back as she leaned in closer.

Rhaegar brushed aside a stray lock of her hair and replied, "Father is giving me time to learn my duties, but he’s certainly having too much fun."

He understood his father’s intentions. After a tour in Maidenpool, his father had taken Alicent on dragonback to Harrenhal, reportedly spending three days indulging in the hot springs on the Isle of Faces. While Rhaegar was swamped with responsibilities, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

Rhaenyra stole another quick kiss, this time on the corner of his lips, leaving Rhaegar relishing the affectionate gesture. Her beautiful eyes sparkled as she leaned in even closer and whispered, "You have to make time for me today."

"With pleasure," Rhaegar replied, his voice smooth and magnetic. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist as their faces drew closer, their reflections merging in the glazed window beside them.

Knock knock...

A sudden, insistent knock on the door interrupted the moment. A little girl's excited voice followed, "Princess, my dragon egg has hatched!"

Two dark-skinned girls burst into the hall, one cradling a dragon egg. The intimate scene between Rhaegar and Rhaenyra was quickly disrupted as they pulled apart, leaving a lingering trace of their closeness.

"Next time, don't mention Helaena. Your two foster daughters have impeccable timing," Rhaegar muttered, his mesmerized eyes clearing as he glanced at the girls.

"Let go!" Rhaenyra snapped, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. She tried to dismount from Rhaegar’s lap, but his hands held her in place.

"Rhaegar," she warned, her eyes flashing.

Rhaegar simply smiled provocatively, ignoring her.

Rhaenyra sighed, then turned to the girls with a forced smile, "Your dragon eggs hatched?"

Baela and Rhaena stood at the table, exchanging curious glances at their cousin and foster mother.

Baela eagerly nodded, holding up a light green dragon egg with cracks revealing a pinkish-white membrane. Through the membrane, a small shadow squirmed, struggling to break free.

Suddenly, a tiny pale green head poked through, blinking its amber eyes as it took in its surroundings. Under the watchful gaze of the room, the young dragon wriggled out of its shell, revealing light green scales, delicate horn crowns, and moon-white wing membranes.

"Roar~~" The young dragon let out its first, tentative roar, perched on top of Baela’s head.

Baela beamed with joy, gently cradling the hatchling and announcing, "My dragon hatched! I’m naming it Moondancer."

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