Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 430: Weirwood Blessing

"Please, have a seat. The guests will be here soon," Margaery said, settling onto a brown stool and smiling warmly at the Targaryen siblings. Her bright, beautiful face, with brown eyes like a fawn in the forest, could make one's heart skip a beat.

Rhaegar glanced at her and felt an unexpected sweetness. It wasn't that he lacked an eye for beauty or had a discerning taste. But when you have endured fire and blood, witnessed charred corpses, heard endless screams, and smelled burning flesh, it's hard to be easily moved.

Rhaegar thought, smiled, and sat down on a round stool.

"Brother~," Helaena said, tilting her head, sensing something unusual. Those with sensitive minds are always a step ahead.

Rhaegar paused, rubbed her little head, and smiled. "Don't worry about me. You're a bit hot. Enjoy the ice."

As a Dreamer plagued by nightmares since childhood, his mind was resilient. The heavy killing had cast a shadow on his heart, but he managed to keep it at bay, like a servant sweeping up the garbage with a broom.

Helaena looked at him seriously, then nodded, trusting her brother's reassurance. If he said it was okay, then it must be okay.

Margaery, who had witnessed the exchange, said admiringly, "You two have a wonderful relationship. Prince Rhaegar, you are especially gentle, even more so than my two late brothers."

The men of Highgarden were known to be softhearted, high-profile gentlemen. Rhaegar's eyes flashed, and he unconsciously raised his glass, taking a sip of sweet fruit wine. Helaena's face flushed as she raised her glass and gulped down the sweet wine.

Margaery watched, perplexed, wondering if she had said something wrong. Her eyes fell on Helaena's freckled face, puzzled by her sudden blush.

Rhaegar felt a nudge under the table from Helaena's foot. How could anyone truly understand the Targaryens?

Guests began to arrive, and the banquet officially commenced. After a round of tedious greetings, some peace was finally restored. Rhaegar's smile grew strained, and he began to drink more frequently.

Margaery laughed quietly to herself. "The prince is still so shy."

Rhaegar smiled politely, bound by his position. The guests this time were of extraordinary pedigree, including members of House Rowan, Tarly, Beesbury, and Redwyne.

Although most were women, they represented the face of their respective Houses. The soldiers under their command had fought for the Targaryens, and Rhaegar had to show his appreciation.

As the singer plucked the strings of his lute, the melodious sound spread, infusing a romantic atmosphere into the hot summer day. Margaery, ever the chatterbox, kept her small, rosy mouth in constant motion. Listening to her lark-like voice always lifted one's spirits.

Rhaegar didn't notice at first, but Margaery had embraced the drunken Helaena, her pretty face pressed against the other's. He had to admit, the sight of the two beauties, one taller and one shorter, was captivating.

"Uh..." Rhaegar's eyelid twitched as he hesitated, unsure whether to intervene. His thoughts drifted to Jeyne, who was pregnant and living in The Eyrie. Before they met, she had an unusual relationship with Jessamyn, a topic of secret discussions among Westeros' nobility.

Rhaegar could attest that the two women shared an intimate, albeit platonic, bond, often sleeping under the same quilt. Occasionally, Jeyne would tease him about inviting Jessamyn to join them, though Rhaegar knew Jeyne couldn't endure such closeness.

"Helaena, you're even prettier than the last time I saw you. Your skin feels like custard pudding, so soft and springy," Margaery praised, finally letting go of Helaena, albeit reluctantly.

Helaena, unaccustomed to such intimacy, blushed deeply and stammered, "No, I'm just happy to be riding a dragon." Her forehead was tense, almost steaming with embarrassment.

Rhaegar put a hand on his forehead, unable to bear watching. She was clearly taken aback.

Margaery smiled, letting Helaena lean on her chest to sober up. She then turned to Rhaegar and said, "I heard that Lord Ormund Hightower is very unhappy about the Oldtown visit and wants to be the commander of the Reach coalition."

Rhaegar's spirits lifted. Intrigued, he asked, "Oh, what candidate does Lord Tyrell have in mind?"

Ever since Alicent married his father and Otto became Hand of the King, the Hightowers had been exerting increasing influence. Even the old Tyrells, known for their stubbornness, wouldn't encourage Hightower's arrogance.

Margaery smiled playfully. "Of course, it's Lord Thaddeus of House Rowan. He and his brother-in-law, Lord Donald Tarly, are both good men and loyal. Though," she added in a low voice, "Lord Thaddeus is a bit chubby; it's doubtful he can wear armor." She giggled happily after her revelation.

Rhaegar understood her point and smiled. "Lord Thaddeus is a good man, but Ormund Hightower will be furious."

The House of Rowan had been a top noble family in The Reach for generations, rivaling House Tyrell in some respects. Thaddeus Rowan, whose sister was married to Lord Tarly of Horn Hill, had both wealth and martial prowess. Not that Ormund, the big-nosed fool, couldn't challenge him.

Margaery's smile widened. "I also heard that the Hightowers are sailing to Myr and Tyrosh, planning to open overseas trading posts."

As the Rose of Highgarden, she naturally harbored animosity toward the Hightowers of Oldtown. Their secretive dealings with the nobles of The Reach had angered the Lords of Highgarden.

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. It was the first time he had heard of this development. The three Free Cities are major ports that dominate maritime trade on both sides of the Narrow Sea, with potential to surpass even Oldtown, the leading port in Westeros.

With the Hightowers' cunning and business acumen, they would undoubtedly thrive in any of the Free Cities. Rhaegar thought to himself, "A vassal who is too rich can be dangerous.

The Hightowers were already affluent, with the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel within their domain, making Oldtown a hub of culture and trade. Rhaegar felt a wave of resistance at the thought of his stepmother, Alicent: "A foolish woman with delusions of grandeur."

As he and Margaery conversed animatedly, a slender figure approached. Lady Alyssa smiled graciously. "Margaery, so many noble ladies are looking for you. I can't keep up with the demand."

Her voice was soft, her demeanor dignified. At first glance, she seemed like a valuable ally. Rhaegar and Margaery looked up simultaneously, their expressions subtly unreadable.

For a moment, there was silence.

Rhaegar cleared his throat. "I'll take Helaena to rest. You two carry on.

"The party has just begun. Won't you stay a little longer?" Lady Alyssa's face paled slightly, her expression turning unnatural.

Rhaegar shook his head. "No, I'll just wander around the garden by myself later."

Margaery stood up, handing the still-dazed Helaena to Rhaegar, and apologized, "Then I'll take my leave."

She walked past Lady Alyssa and joined the group of young ladies. Lady Alyssa, feeling embarrassed, found an excuse to leave.

Rhaegar watched her retreating figure and chuckled. "Who doesn't have a stepmother? Her acting is far worse than Alicent's."

Although Alicent was irksome, she had significantly contributed to the Targaryens and helped manage the Red Keep. With Rhaenyra and him, she maintained a facade of civility.

In contrast, Lady Alyssa clearly lacked the finesse.

"Oh~," Helaena murmured, her eyes misty. "What happened to Mother?" She thought she had heard her brother mention her name.

Rhaegar picked her up, speaking with a mix of grumpiness and affection. "Nothing, just praising her."

"Oh." Helaena believed him, her eyes closing once more.

Rhaegar, both angry and amused, looked at his sister. Alicent truly had a good husband and good children. Feeling the light and soft touch of Helaena in his arms, he found one more reason to be forgiving of Alicent.

Damn it!

...

It was dusk. The temperature had cooled slightly, and the fiery clouds in the sky resembled splashes of dye, accentuating the magnificent sunset.

In the Godswood, a secluded green courtyard, Rhaegar strolled along the white marble path, his silver hair flowing freely over his shoulders. The path was lined with exotic flowers and plants, with stone sculptures and pools complementing the scenery.

"Hmm hmm hmm," Rhaegar hummed a popular ballad he often played on the harp. He could have taken out his harp and played it, but there was no need. He wasn't particularly fond of the song he was humming; it was just a catchy tune for his amusement.

Before he knew it, a peculiar-looking Weirwood tree appeared at the corner of the garden. Highgarden, a castle that welcomed both old and new gods, allowed for the worship of all deities.

Rhaegar approached the unusual tree, his eyes scanning its grotesque form. The Weirwood's roots spread far and wide, protruding from the ground like veins on the back of a human hand.

The thick trunk split into three parts, coiled like a python, with branches sprouting large red leaves that cast shadows over the land. Each pale trunk bore a carved human face, displaying expressions of laughter, sorrow, and grief.

Rhaegar was captivated by the tree's bizarre appearance. He walked up to it and touched the rough bark. As soon as he made contact, he shuddered, a glimmer of light flashing in his eyes.

After a moment, he withdrew his hand and stepped back, crossing his arms as he gazed up at the towering scarlet crown. "What a thing, the aesthetics are truly deformed," he muttered, before turning and walking away, his pace quickening.

He considered himself a pure Valyrian dragon. A dragon king had no faith. He could pretend to believe in the Seven or the Old Gods, but only as far as it served his purposes.

Rhaegar glanced back at the Weirwood, his eyes wary. When he touched it, he had felt a surge of magic power, fleeting and elusive. It was a sensation he had never experienced before, as if something was hiding from him, unwilling to be discovered. He decided to let it go for now, not wanting to investigate further.

As he walked, a thought crossed his mind. Compared to the meddlesome Seven Gods, the Old Gods seemed to have something intriguing about them, though he wasn't sure how much.

"I haven't had a dream in a while. I'm going back to bed," Rhaegar yawned, making his way slowly back to the castle. The encounter with the Weirwood had unexpectedly alleviated the stress brought on by the war. He suddenly felt that the burdens he carried weren't as heavy as they seemed.

Rhaegar clasped his hands together, muttering, "Old Gods and Weirwood, please bless me." He didn't truly believe it, but he was willing to give it a try.

As he left the garden, the sun had nearly set. Rhaegar's expression was calm, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He felt relaxed and his mind was active. He had already devised a strategy for Dorne and a plan for dealing with House Hightower.

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