Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 437: Blackmailing House Hightower and the Citadel

The need for appeasement left the nobles speechless.

Rhaegar surveyed the room and asked, "Any further questions?"

"Appeasement is possible, but who will be responsible for food and medicine?" Ormund asked pointedly.

The noble lords exchanged uneasy glances and nodded. Helping their old enemies, the people of Dorne, was not a task any of them relished.

Rhaegar, anticipating this, replied firmly, "House Hightower will provide the food, and the Citadel will support the Maesters and the medicine."

Ormund immediately objected, "Prince, House Hightower has already paid a heavy price for the war. It is not obligated to help the people of Dorne."

"This is an order!" Rhaegar commanded.

"You can't force me. I'll have to consult with Your Grace," Ormund replied defiantly, his expression unwavering.

"Are you sure?" Rhaegar asked, narrowing his eyes. He gently pushed Helaena, who was clinging to him, aside and approached Ormund.

Ormund glared back but didn't move.

Rhaegar continued to close the distance, his purple eyes gleaming with a chilling light that seemed to pierce through all deceptions.

Ormund swallowed hard and looked away, unable to maintain his defiance.

"The cargo ships of Oldtown have never stopped sailing since the war began," Rhaegar stated coolly, his chest nearly touching Ormund's as he towered over him.

"Oldtown is the center of trade in Westeros. Maritime trade is natural," Ormund stammered in defense.

"Did I say maritime trade should be suspended until the war is over?" Rhaegar asked, his voice dripping with cold menace.

"That was for transporting supplies to The Disputed Lands," Ormund replied, his face pale and sweating.

Since the outbreak of the Narrow Sea War, maritime trade in the Narrow Sea had been heavily restricted. Lord Bartimos Celtigar was stripped of his title and exiled to the Wall for trading illegally with the hostile Triarchy.

Rhaegar's lips curled into a slight smile as he leaned closer and whispered in Ormund's ear, "The cargo ships from Oldtown are sailing to The Disputed Lands and Volantis without permission. How do you explain that?"

"No, that's not true," Ormund protested weakly.

"Oh?" Rhaegar's voice turned icy. "Alicent is the queen, but she is only a queen. How long can you protect her, and how long can she protect you?"

Ormund's fear was palpable, his face ashen and his lips trembling. At the beginning of the war, Oldtown's port had never stopped trading, leveraging the Queen's status and the influence of royal figures like Helaena.

Ormund had secretly purchased large quantities of food from The Reach under the guise of military requisitions, selling it to Volantis at exorbitant prices. And where did Volantis send this grain? To finance new allies, of course.

Rhaegar laughed, patting Ormund's stiff shoulder with a relieved smile. "I don't care about the previous supplies. The port of Oldtown will be closed until the rebellion in Dorne is over. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Ormund replied, his leg muscles cramping up. His face turned a ghastly shade of green as he shivered. "The Citadel will provide food to The Prince's Pass, and I will ask the Citadel to send Maesters to treat the victims in the name of the Lord of Oldtown."

"Very good!" Rhaegar's smile grew even brighter, and he pulled Ormund into a hearty embrace. Obedient nobles were good nobles.

"I've given Alicent face, so now you must give me face," Rhaegar thought.

Ormund, on the verge of tears, forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. He couldn't fathom why the heir prince had suddenly taken such a keen interest in House Hightower. He had always managed to evade scrutiny.

In the bright hall, the noble lords watched the interaction between the prince and Ormund, their faces reflecting a mix of emotions as they suppressed their temper. They knew that prince had dirt on House Hightower, and they were not necessarily clean themselves. Nobility wasn't about who was better, but who was worse.

Thump! Thump! Rhaegar slammed his fist on the table, his face turning cold again. "After dealing with the refugees, the army will immediately approach Kingsgrave and try to break through The Prince's Pass within half a month."

"Yes, Prince," the lords responded in unison.

"Kingsgrave is vulnerable, and the enemy is still at Skyreach," Rhaegar continued. "Withtwo dragons burning Kingsgrave repeatedly; it can't hold out much longer."

...

As the Reach army entered the Prince's Pass, the Boneway and Stormlands were thrown into turmoil.

Royce Caron, upon receiving a distress letter from Nightsong, hastened his efforts to sweep the remaining Dornish forces.

That night, a fleet of ships docked at the port under Stonehelm's jurisdiction, supporting the 5,000 Stormlands troops. The troops divided into two groups, with 3,000 soldiers boarding the ships.

At the same time, an army of thousands, fully equipped, arrived at the entrance to the Boneway, near the Prince's palace.

The moon shone brightly through the hazy clouds.

Roar!

A massive, bronze-scaled dragon with a fearsome appearance soared across the night sky and landed at the Prince's palace.

"Your Grace!"

"Your Grace..."

Viserys, dressed in his black crown robes, dismounted from Vermithor. Three Kingsguard in silver armor and white cloaks hurried forward: Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, and Criston Cole, who had recently returned triumphantly from the Stepstones.

Viserys addressed them with a relieved tone, "First, let's go to the palace and discuss the strategy for attacking Wyl Castle."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"The palace is half-built. Your Grace, watch your step," Cole advised.

The three Kingsguard surrounded the king as they entered the Prince's Palace. Located at the entrance to the Boneway, the palace was strategically situated near mountains and water.

The palace was magnificent, divided into an inner and outer city. The inner city, built of white marble with carved beams, painted rafters, pavilions, and towers, rivaled the beauty of Highgarden. The outer city was still under construction, with only the foundations of the city walls laid.

As Viserys walked, he admired the surroundings, passing a dragon sculpture. "It's well built and in a good spot," he remarked with a smile.

Located at the entrance to the Boneway, the palace served as a crucial staging point for the kingdom's army to invade Dorne.

...

Beyond the Narrow Sea

Pentos, the harbor.

"Kill! Sailors ashore!"

"Prepare the catapults! Destroy the harbor defenses!"

Under the dim night sky, the crescent-shaped bay was a scene of chaos.

Over 30 warships sailed into the harbor, their purple sails casting a sinister hue over the sea. Sailors bustled about, loading catapults with flaming logs to bombard the unprepared defenses.

Within a quarter of an hour, the bay was ablaze, and smoke filled the sky. The emergency bell rang in Pentos, summoning mercenaries from their homes to defend the city.

Someone spotted the invaders' sails and screamed, "Purple ships! Braavos's strongest fleet!"

Since its founding, Braavos had established the position of Sealord and trained a formidable fleet. Alongside this, a fleet of purple-sailed merchant ships operated. Together, these fleets—one for attack, one for trade—had made Braavos a maritime powerhouse.

Boom!

The purple fleet issued orders with precision, launching relentless catapult attacks on the vulnerable harbor.

Whoo-hoo-hoo!

A chilling horn sounded as sailors rushed onto the deck, drawing their curved swords in preparation to go ashore. Against the backdrop of purple sails, the midnight air was thick with murderous intent.

In the harbor, a white stone tower.

Prince Reggio leaned against the window, watching the devastation unfold, and prayed, "Gods, please don't let Braavos get away with this."

Boom!

An explosion rocked the tower. Reggio shuddered, closing his eyes and muttering a prayer.

Looking back at the harbor, he saw the purple fleet had breached the defenses. The harbor was full of burning cargo ships. As the warships docked, sailors poured out, attacking the port with deadly intent.

The Purple Harbor's merit system meant every sailor was a key player.

"Kill! Capture the fat prince of Pentos alive!"

"Archers, cover!"

The garrison, still forming, was quickly overrun by Braavos's seasoned sailors.

Hoo-hoo!

A salty, bloody wind blew as dark clouds obscured the moon, deepening the night. On the vast sea, only the chaotic firelight of the harbor remained.

A sense of fear permeated every corner of Pentos.

"Roar!"

Suddenly, a piercing sound wave spread through the night, as if it could shatter eardrums.

The next moment...

"Dracarys!"

A huge scarlet dragon, long and slender, sliced through the night sky, accompanied by a proud and resonant male voice.

Boom!

Caraxes twisted and glided over the bay, unrestrained, spewing Dragonfire. The scarlet flames cut through the purple-sailed warships like a fiery pillar, destroying the siege equipment on their decks.

"Roar..."

Another dragon's roar echoed through the night, filled with deep, untouchable rage.

The sailors on deck looked up in panic, catching only a glimpse of scarlet.

"Dracarys!"

Rhaenys, her eyes bloodshot, shouted at the top of her lungs. Meleys' wings spread wide, its body blending into the night, transforming into a crimson ghost.

Boom!

The ghostly figure hovered over the harbor, unleashing a torrent of red dragonfire that engulfed the Braavos sailors who had disembarked.

"Dragon!!"

"How can there be a dragon in Pentos?" "Break through the defenses and enter the Free Cities for street fighting. Do not meet the dragon head on!"

The Braavos sailors were horrified, but the captains remained calm and urged their men to flee to the city. The dragons had cut off their retreat to the ships, leaving the city as their only refuge.

Daemon, clad in black armor, smiled sarcastically. "Cousin, I'll take care of the harbor. Don't let those guys get away."

Ruling Tyrosh and commanding a Free City as he pleased was exhilarating.

Rhaenys' eyes were filled with grief, and she gritted her teeth. "I'll take care of the harbor!"

"Roar..."

Sensing its rider's fury, Meleys surged forward with unrestrained speed, a red lightning bolt leaving a trail of wreckage and charred corpses in its wake.

Daemon watched with interest, amusement tinging his voice. "A dragon mother who has lost her cub."

When news of Laenor's murder reached the Disputed Lands, Rhaenys, who had lost her son in middle age, nearly went mad.

After a moment, Daemon lost interest. He slapped Caraxes' scarlet scales and commanded in dragon tongue, "Burn them all!"

He had learned the binding spell as well.

"Roar!"

With bloodshot eyes and a habit of screeching, Caraxes charged into the purple battlefield. Soon, the scarlet dragonfire engulfed the bay.

A massacre of blood and fire began silently.

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