Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Dragonstone Island, across the sea.

"Roar!"

Cannibal lay panting before the stone drum tower, its chest heaving from the exertion of a night-long flight from Oldtown to Dragonstone.

Inside the stone drum tower, a figure hurried out. "Cannibal, let's go," Rhaegar called, his face beaming with excitement as he cradled two dragon eggs in his arms—one bronze, the other dark green. These were precious relics from the ruins of the Dragonlords families, intended for the children's cradle.

Cannibal's deep, green eyes flickered as it spread its wings and prepared for flight. Rhaegar mounted the dragon, securing the eggs against his chest. With a powerful whoosh, the dragon's jet-black wings unfurled, and they soared into the sky.

Rhaegar's smile never wavered as they left Dragonstone behind, heading toward King's Landing. Soon, they entered the Blackwater Bay area. Suddenly, the sea below began to churn subtly, and the atmosphere seemed to shift.

"Hmm?" Rhaegar glanced around, sensing something amiss.

"Roar!" The Cannibal's heightened senses had detected it first. The dragon turned its neck, eyes fixed on the northeast corner of the Narrow Sea, toward the Shivering Sea.

Rhaegar followed the dragon's gaze. In that direction lay Claw Isle and Gulltown, and further north, White Harbor and the Three Sisters Islands. Across the Narrow Sea was Braavos, one of the Nine Free Cities.

"Roar!" Cannibal let out a hoarse growl, dragon saliva dripping from its mouth. Rhaegar shuddered, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Since his transformation into a Dragonborn, his sensitivity to magic had intensified.

The steady tide of magic had stirred, as if a pebble had been thrown into still waters. This subtle shift, imperceptible to normal people or even pyromancers, was as clear to Rhaegar as a fly buzzing past his face or a drop of water landing on his ear.

"Cannibal, you sense it too, don't you?" Rhaegar patted the dragon's back, his thoughts drifting. Since the appearance of the Red Comet, the tide of magic had been rising, revitalizing both dragons and dragonlords. This resurgence was like a nourishing mother's milk to a baby, creating an environment of comfort and growth.

The sudden tremor in the magical tide unsettled him.

"Roar!" The Cannibal's cold, green pupils scanned the horizon, sniffing the air, trying to pinpoint the disturbance.

Rhaegar stroked the dragon egg in his arms, contemplating the possibility. After a moment, he said, "Let's return to King's Landing first. Then we'll investigate around the Shivering Sea." He suspected the source of the magical disturbance was near Braavos. With Dorne conquered and the Oldtown issue settled, Braavos would soon need to account to House Targaryen.

"Roar!" The Cannibal roared, flapping its wings as they flew over Blackwater Bay. As they ascended through the clouds, the dragon cast a final, inquisitive glance back, its green pupils reflecting a deep, unspoken question.

...

King's Landing

As dawn broke over King's Landing, the sun rose, casting its first light over the bustling streets of Flea Bottom. The early risers were already out, busy making a living.

Roar!

A black dragon soared into the sky from the Mud Gate, its massive wings blotting out the sun like a dark, ominous cloud. The dragon circled the city before slowly descending into the back garden of the Red Keep.

Maegor's Holdfast, Princess's Bedroom

In the princess’s bedroom, Rhaenyra lay on a chaise longue, her eyes tender as she cradled two swaddled babies. Suddenly, the door burst open with a bang.

Rhaegar rushed in, his eyes locking onto Rhaenyra as she hummed a lullaby to soothe the children. The song halted abruptly. Rhaenyra looked up, her eyes lighting up with a radiant smile. Rhaegar stood transfixed, overwhelmed by the sight before him.

Rhaenyra kissed the baby's face and said, "Come on, the children are waiting for you."

Rhaegar snapped back to the present and hurried forward, carefully setting down the dragon eggs he had brought. He approached the recliner and squatted down, his purple eyes wide with emotion as he looked at Rhaenyra and the two tiny faces swaddled in her arms.

"What, don't you have anything to say?" Rhaenyra asked, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position, her smile growing.

"On the contrary, I have so much to say," Rhaegar replied, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and gently held one of the baby's tiny feet, laughing with pure joy. "Balerion be praised, you really have two babies in your arms."

Rhaegar’s expression softened as he felt the delicate life in his hands, his heart melting.

"Do you want to hold them?" Rhaenyra offered a swaddled cloth.

"Of course!" Rhaegar answered immediately. Instead of taking the cloth, he gently embraced Rhaenyra, burying his head in her neck. "Rhaenyra, I'm home," he whispered. He loved children, but he loved the mother of his children even more. Children were an extension of one's emotions, but they could never replace the person in one’s heart.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened further as she rubbed her cheek against his head, softly complaining, "You haven't been back for a long time."

Rhaegar tightened his embrace, saying nothing. Since the rebellion in Dorne, it had taken two months just to prepare for Dragon's Wroth. Including the time spent planning, he and Rhaenyra had been apart for four months—the longest separation since he became heir.

"Look up. I don't blame you," Rhaenyra said softly, enjoying the closeness.

Rhaegar obediently looked up and noticed her slightly pale complexion. Concerned, he asked, "Let me guess, something must have happened while I was away from King's Landing, right?"

"You didn't receive a letter from the Hand of the King?"

"Letter?"

Rhaenyra was taken aback. "You really didn't receive a letter? Why did you return to King's Landing?"

Rhaegar replied sincerely, "I felt my child was born last night, and I rode the Cannibal dragon back to King's Landing."

The Cannibal was known for its speed, and the dragon's wings had almost smoked from the journey.

"You're something else," Rhaenyra laughed, skipping over the question. She brought the two swaddled babies closer together and changed the subject: "Come and see, the two babies look exactly like you when you were little."

Rhaegar took the swaddling clothes and observed them closely. He knew better than to spoil the joy of the moment, understanding that sometimes, happiness was best savored without probing too deeply into the worries that could cloud it.

He lifted the swaddling cloths and gazed at the two children intently. They were tiny, their white, delicate arms and chubby legs resembling bamboo stalks, their faces no larger than his palm. One slept soundly, thumb in mouth, while the other, legs exposed, swung his chubby limbs unconsciously—the little feet Rhaegar had just touched.

Entranced by the sight, Rhaegar asked, "They look so similar. Which one is the older brother?"

Rhaenyra gently touched the child sucking his thumb. "This is the older brother. He was born five minutes before his younger brother," she said proudly, her chin lifting slightly.

Rhaegar tried to distinguish between the two. The older brother lay on his left, the younger with the dangling legs on his right. He looked up to see Rhaenyra's expectant smile. She declared, "Compared to conquering Dorne, you're the true hero, overcoming the hardest challenges."

Rhaenyra's playful snort turned into laughter, and Rhaegar joined in, raising his left arm to examine his eldest son. "A healthy baby who can eat and sleep—definitely my heir, the future king on the Iron Throne."

Rhaenyra’s smile widened, her amusement clear. Rhaegar then raised his right arm and kissed his second son’s cheek. "Look at him, even exercising in his sleep. He'll be a powerful warrior and dragon rider, conquering the Disputed Lands and supporting his brother."

"Haha, you really know how to make me happy," Rhaenyra said, charmed by the family warmth but still pragmatic. "Are you sure you want to give him the entire Disputed Lands?"

"Why not?" Rhaegar replied confidently.

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with relief. "You can assign them as you wish. I am confident I can raise them well."

Rhaegar's actions and words hinted at his intentions—his children were destined for greatness, with the Iron Throne and the Narrow Sea as their inheritance. He kissed the children repeatedly, savoring their presence. Legally and emotionally, his eldest son would be his unshakable heir. Beyond the Iron Throne, there were many lands to bestow upon the princes. The second son, if capable, would lead conquests in Essos, expanding their domain. If less so, he would inherit the title of Prince of Lys from Rhaenyra, keeping control over Daemon and Aegon.

Breathing in the sweet scent of milk, Rhaegar suggested, "We need to give the children names befitting their status."

"You've finally come to your senses," Rhaenyra teased, rolling her eyes. "Father is still bedridden. I want him to name the children when he wakes up."

Rhaegar paused, then agreed. "Yes, that's the right thing to do."

Naming was not his greatest strength, and Rhaenyra had often mocked his choices for their swords. He noticed two exquisite yellow pine cradles at the edge of the bed and gently placed the children in them, covering them with soft silk blankets.

Rhaegar took out two dragon eggs, full of hope. "Shall I place them, or will you?"

Rhaenyra took a dragon egg and looked at him. "One each. You can't have them all."

Rhaegar grinned and placed the bronze dragon egg in the firstborn's cradle. He wondered how pure the blood of these children would be, considering he had not yet transformed into a dragonborn when Rhaenyra conceived. The pros and cons of being a dragonborn were yet to be seen in them.

Rhaenyra placed the dark green dragon egg in the second son’s cradle. Rhaegar, returning from his thoughts, looked at the two beautiful, innocent children. These healthy babies, he was sure, would grow up to achieve greatness.

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