Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 408: Rhaegar: Why Doesn’t He Get a Break?

The next day dawned sunny with a gentle breeze.

In the basin of the Mander River, Bitterbridge stood alone on either bank, hardy as a solitary tree, fearless of wind and frost.

The long river, more than a few dozen yards wide and as deep as a house, flowed with crystal clear water. The sandy ground at the river's edge gave way to lush lawns where flowers swayed gently in the breeze. After the night's rain, the flowers and plants looked refreshed, though small animals remained hidden. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"Roar..." freeweɓnøvel.com

Upstream, a massive dragon as black as charcoal crouched in the water, its huge body blocking the river like a black stone dam.

Cannibal shook its head, sending water splashing over its hard scales.

The entire dragon lay on its back in the river, the water barely covering its chest and belly, while its towering spine remained dry.

With a snap, its slender tail lashed violently, causing an explosion of water to spray upward before cascading down.

Cannibal’s green pupils narrowed slightly as it rested its head on the riverbank, allowing the river water to wash over its body. The dragon was uncomfortable after being drenched in the rain all night.

The river, blocked by the dragon, slowed its flow, creating a serene yet imposing scene.

Plop—

A silver-haired figure broke through the water, swimming to the side of the giant dragon.

"Whew! That feels amazing," Rhaegar exclaimed, dripping wet and fully enjoying the caress of the gurgling water.

"Roar..." Cannibal glanced at him, seemingly puzzled by his rider's early morning swim.

Rhaegar squinted as he wiped away the water droplets, then spoke soothingly, "An occasional outing does wonders for the mind and body."

He shook his head, sending bead-sized droplets flying, and wrung out his damp silver hair to the side.

Man and dragon relaxed in the water, comfortable in each other's presence.

Rhaegar’s form was striking, his porcelain-white skin gleaming in the sunlight, and his solid muscles sculpted like a masterpiece.

Cannibal’s green pupils half-closed, lazily shaking its massive body, disturbing the fish and shrimp in the water.

When Lord Caswell of Bitterbridge arrived, he was greeted by this extraordinary sight.

Lord Caswell was momentarily mesmerized, his gaze filled with awe and reverence.

The Heir Prince had his back to him, silver hair cascading to his waist, his naked body a marvel of craftsmanship.

The river water reached up to his waist, splashing a fine mist as it crashed against his skin.

Raising his hand, Rhaegar gently rubbed the dragon's long, thick neck, the porcelain white of his skin contrasting sharply with the dragon’s pitch-black scales.

"Lord Caswell, your gaze is rather presumptuous, even for a man," Rhaegar’s voice cut through the air, tinged with disgust.

Startled, Lord Caswell looked up to see a slight change in the scene.

Cannibal's vertical pupils showed a hint of displeasure, and the dragon's head now hung menacingly above him.

Rhaegar faced him, his handsome features carrying an air of enchantment.

As a child, Rhaegar had been cute and fragile, with a slight aura of gloom. But as he grew, he became stronger, his features developing significant masculine traits. Now, as a dragon descendant, his body had become nearly perfect, with an added androgynous beauty.

"Mother gave me a good look," Rhaegar mused inwardly, donning a white scarf as he walked toward the riverbank.

Cannibal was the first to rise, spreading its enormous pitch-black wings and shaking off the water droplets into a fine mist.

Rhaegar stepped out of the river, a hint of red veins emerging on his porcelain-white skin as the water vapor naturally evaporated. He casually took out a set of black clothes from his space bracelet and dressed as if no one else was around.

Loosening his collar, Rhaegar asked, "Lord Caswell, I have something else to trouble you with later."

Allun Caswell, still bowing, dared not look directly at him. Sniffing, he replied, "It is my honor to serve you."

"Go on," Rhaegar said, amused, patting Allun Caswell’s shoulder.

Only after Rhaegar walked a few steps away did Lord Caswell straighten his back and follow, his shiny bald head gleaming in the sunlight.

The House Caswell of Bitterbridge was indeed loyal, executing Rhaegar's orders flawlessly. Rhaegar glanced back at Bitterbridge, contemplating how best to utilize this territory.

Despite House Caswell title, their wealth and status rivaled most noble houses in the Reach. The castle's excellent location served as a crucial road leading to the king's territory.

As they walked, Rhaegar shared his ideas with Lord Caswell, who listened intently and praised him repeatedly. Although the strategies, such as craftsman registration and reclaiming wasteland, seemed challenging and ambiguous in execution, the expansion of trade into the Reach with Bitterbridge as the first stop promised economic growth and prosperity.

Within a short time, they returned to the castle where servants had prepared a sumptuous breakfast. Lord Caswell's wife, a virtuous woman, stood at the door to welcome the Heir Prince. Rhaegar greeted her with a friendly smile, enjoying the harmonious atmosphere between ruler and subject.

While eating breakfast, Rhaegar calmly sliced fresh ham with a table knife. Lord Caswell, sitting straight, invited, "Prince, why don’t you stay in Bitterbridge for a few days and experience the customs of the Reach?"

As a lord eager for progress, Lord Caswell looked at the yellow centaur emblem hanging in the hall, dreaming of carrying his people forward.

Rhaegar was moved and thoughtful. He thought of another tournament at the Lake of the God's Eye, another ceremony on the island of Dragonstone, and the looming war over disputed lands that would involve both sides of the Narrow Sea. The prospect of these events was exhausting.

The Red Keep was still hosting the Maiden's Day Festival, adding to his burdens. Most of all, he longed for solitude, away from his sisters.

Thinking back to his childhood, riding Cannibal and knowing everything, he found his life at sixteen even more exhausting than that of his father, the old king.

Damn Ormund with his big nose, always saying that Aegon was young. Didn't he want a little freedom, too?

Thoughts swirled in his

Rhaegar's thoughts were clear, and he was about to agree when—

"Gah gah..."

Suddenly, a piercing chirp rang out, and a raven flew through the open castle doors, landing on the table.

The guards, startled, drew their weapons to intercept it.

"Stop, this is a messenger raven," Lord Caswell quickly intervened.

Rhaegar, propping his chin on one hand, frowned as he recognized the dull-headed raven. It was Tormund's skinchanger raven, often a harbinger of bad news.

"Looks like the vacation is over before it began," Rhaegar muttered, removing the slips of paper tied to the raven's legs.

The first note detailed the previous day's events at the Red Keep, including Aegon and Helaena's departure with their dragons.

Rhaegar's frown turned to a wry smile. "Alicent is really good at self-sabotage."

In her eyes, he was always a threat. She seemed convinced that once he ascended the throne, he would imprison her and eliminate his younger siblings one by one.

Aegon, who had a promising future, was now a pawn in her misguided attempts at control. To counter this, Rhaegar would take Aegon on dragonback across the Seven Kingdoms, allowing him to marry a noble lady from any family they favored. With his prestige and Aegon's pure blood, the nobles would compete to offer their daughters.

As he read the end of the note, he saw that Helaena had gone to Harrenhal.

"Smart girl," Rhaegar chuckled. "She knows to stay away from fools."

While Aegon might be trapped, Helaena remained free. Alicent alone couldn't restrain a dragonrider without the intervention of her father and brother.

Opening the second note, Rhaegar's smile faded as he read the contents.

It was a message from Myr:

[The old powerful and noble forces have started a riot. Lower-class civilians are smashing and looting. The city-state is in chaos.]

The note ended with:

[The Magister's Palace has collapsed. A large hole has appeared underground, suspected to be the ruins of a Dragonlord family...]

Rhaegar's eyebrows shot up, and joy surged through him.

"Dragonlord ruins?" he murmured, excitement tinging his voice.

Such a find was a treasure trove, an ancient site of immense value.

Years ago, the Ancient Valyrian Freehold had conquered the lands where the nine free trade city-states now stood, creating a vast territory. Lys had been the summer sanctuary of the Dragonlord families.

Myr and Tyrosh were trading ports under the Freehold. The Doom of Valyria came suddenly, burying many Dragonlord legacies in time.

The Targaryens, having fled, had scant records of these legacies. Yet, Myr's proximity to Ancient Valyria made it plausible that remnants of the Dragonlord families' buildings still existed.

"I cannot guarantee that I will find the systematic inheritance of bloodmages and pyromancers, but uncovering knowledge of dragons, even fragments, would be invaluable," Rhaegar mused.

However, the riots in Myr seemed suspicious. The suppressed old nobles had suddenly risen up, and civilians, barely surviving before, now had weapons, using the chaos to kill a large number of Fearless soldiers on patrol.

"Braavos," Rhaegar thought, his eyes narrowing. The quieted city-state likely had a hand in this. Braavos was undeniably powerful, the foremost of the nine free trade city-states.

But no matter how large their ships or fierce their mercenaries, they couldn't withstand the dragonfire. Their strength lay in economic sanctions and trade restrictions, not direct confrontation.

"A cheap trick," Rhaegar snorted disdainfully.

To prevent the resurgence of the Triarchy's old party, he had prepared extensively. As long as his army remained within the city-state, a few skirmishes were insignificant.

This situation presented an opportunity to root out the disobedient and cleanse the corrupt system.

Folding the letters, Rhaegar addressed Lord Caswell, "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must depart soon."

Lord Caswell, respectful and understanding, replied, "You are the Heir Prince, and important matters await."

He didn't inquire further, offering unwavering support. Lord Allun Caswell, still young and childless, hadn't participated in the Maiden's Day Festival organized by King’s Landing. If not for Rhaegar's unexpected visit, he might never have had this opportunity to serve the Prince.

Rhaegar smiled, gesturing towards the castle forecourt, "After I leave, please ensure Lord Peake is safely escorted to Highgarden. Lord Tyrell will handle the rest."

Lord Caswell’s eyes followed Rhaegar’s gesture. In the forecourt, a figure with a rope around its neck swayed on the gallows, surrounded by a dozen charred corpses.

Noting the Three Castles House emblem on the chest of the hanged man, Lord Caswell nodded vigorously, "Rest assured, he will be safely escorted."

The man had been gagged all night, but he was still alive.

Rhaegar stood and clapped his hands, ready to take his leave. After a moment of contemplation, he made his decision.

The Red Keep was cold and quiet. Returning to Myr seemed the better option.

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