Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 474: Aurion – Biography of a Dragonlord Family

Bang!

Rhaegar casually tossed a book, hitting Aegon's head with pinpoint accuracy. "Get to work, or I'll break your legs!" he snapped, his tone brimming with irritation.

Aegon let out a soul-shattering howl, rubbing the bump on his head as he scrambled to find another book.

"Serves you right!" Aemond snorted, dutifully placing the parchment at his brother's feet.

Rhaegar's face remained impassive as he leafed through the ancient books, his eyes dark and almost watery. "What a Citadel, it's truly a secretive place," he murmured.

He picked up a yellowed ancient book and opened it, revealing the words "Aurion Family" on the first page. Rhaegar's eyes grew solemn as he carefully read the contents.

In ancient Valyria, there were forty Dragonlord families, and the Aurion family was among them. According to Qohor's history, after the Doom, a male member of the Aurion family became one of the surviving Dragonlords.

He recruited men from the Qohor colonists and declared himself the first Valyrian emperor. Riding a full-grown dragon and leading 30,000 infantrymen, he aimed to rebuild the Freehold by marching towards the ruins of Valyria. But no one ever saw Emperor Aurion or his army again.

The ancient book in Rhaegar's hands was a biography of the Aurion family, containing descriptions of the Fourteen Flames, the dragon's lair, and dragon breeding practices. There was even a short spell for binding.

"The Aurions were truly wealthy," Rhaegar thought to himself.

The combined strength of this Dragonlord family was recorded in the brief history of House Targaryen. One of the oldest and most prestigious Dragonlord families in ancient Valyria, the Aurion family was always ranked among the top ten and frequently in the top five. At its peak, they had an astonishing twenty adult dragons and often led the Freehold's external expansions.

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"What a fierce house!" Rhaegar gritted his teeth in envy.

When the exiled Aenar crossed the Narrow Sea and migrated to Dragonstone, the family had five dragons. The other four died one after the other, leaving Balerion as the sole survivor. Today, the Targaryens have eighteen dragons in total, with only Vhagar, the Cannibal, and Vermithor being full-grown. This highlighted how powerful the Aurion family was, controlling twenty adult dragons. They could have silenced the Free Cities one by one.

Rhaegar took a deep breath and continued to examine other ancient books. These included the biographies of Belaerys, Aethyrys, and some of the smaller Dragonlord families.

There was even a biography of House Targaryen among the books, written by the exile Aenar himself. It recorded the location of the family's ancestral estate sold in The Lands of the Long Summer and a hidden corner of the Fourteen Flames where dragon eggs were concealed.

The house leader, fearing that the dragons would be affected by their exile on Dragonstone, had made arrangements to leave a legacy for future generations to make a comeback.

Rhaegar read it carefully, sensing a deep sense of anxiety. In some passages, it was mentioned in a veiled manner that the family was declining and that migration might be a prudent option. This ancestor seemed truly fearful of making a wrong decision that could affect the entire House Targaryen.

"Alas, who would have thought that the Targaryens would become even more prosperous after moving to Dragonstone," Rhaegar sighed, unwilling to let the ancestor down.

He compared the map of the Smoking Sea to the location of the ancestral lands. Most of the land had been reduced to ruins and had become part of the Smoking Sea. Due to their relatively weak power, the Targaryens had some of their holdings far from the core area of the Fourteen Flames, preserving them on the remaining peninsula, The Lands of the Long Summer.

As he looked closely, Rhaegar let out a "huh" and found a special piece of land on the map. It was located in the southeast of The Sea of Sighs, the only part of the Lands of the Long Summer that had been preserved relatively intact. There, House Targaryen had built a small town where they kept a large number of war slaves and mined a special ore that enhanced the power of the Spirit. This ore contained a substance that, once ground into powder and purified, was used by pyromancers to develop secret medicines.

Rhaegar's eyes flashed as he muttered, "The Soul Restoring Orchid is not enough. Father needs a medicine stone to boost his Spirit."

He wanted to explore the Smoking Sea again, but various reasons held him back. His father was not in good health, and as the heir to the throne, he could not risk going alone. Thinking of this, Rhaegar took out a pen and marked the location for future reference.

His last exploration of the Smoking Sea had given him a vague idea of the dangerous area. There were safe places, provided they were far from the original site of the Fourteen Flames and not covered by smoke.

Rhaegar continued to look through the ancient records of the Dragonlord families, each boasting of their wealth to varying degrees. These locations were not deliberately concealed and could all be traced on the map. As he leafed through the pages, he sneered, "The Citadel is truly amazing, hiding so many secrets."

The Citadel collected ancient texts openly and secretly, and the secret library was only accessible to Archmaesters. Oh, that's right. Archmaester Vaegon, the Dragonless, should not be included in the public list.

"Brother, there's a strange book here," Aemond called out, poking his head out from the sea of books.

Rhaegar put away a dozen rare copies of the Dragonlord family and approached. It was a thick leather book, so greasy that its original material was obscured. The pages depicted a dark city, and the writing was in a strange script.

Rhaegar recognized it and said in doubt, "The writing of Asshai?"

He had once killed a group of Shadowbinders while exploring the ruins of Belaerys and obtained a book written in the Asshai language. After being translated by several Maesters, the book was revealed to be a spellbook, recording many evil magical rituals involving blood sacrifice and killing. The price for this knowledge was very high, and the rewards were uncertain. Rhaegar had burned it to ashes and returned it to the Shadowbinders in Hell.

Aemond, full of curiosity, asked, "What does the book of Asshai say?" He was illiterate about this language, having suffered from a lack of education.

Rhaegar opened it and frowned. Bang! The pages closed, and flames shot out of his hands, burning the book to ashes in an instant.

"Hey, why did you burn it?" Aemond exclaimed in disappointment.

Rhaegar's face darkened, and he snapped, "It's not a good book, you can't read it." The first page was an analysis of necromancy.

Damn Citadel, they dare to study anything! Looking at Aegon, who was slacking off, Rhaegar gave him a kick and ordered, "Find me all the evil magic from Asshai and destroy it."

He was a person with double standards. The Targaryens could learn fire magic and blood magic, but no one else was allowed to touch the dark arts. No wonder Westeros banned magic—this self-serving nonsense should be thrown into the trash can of history.

"Don't kick me, I'm looking for it," Aegon grunted, moving forward reluctantly like a donkey pulling a millstone.

Rhaegar snorted and continued searching for all the useful ancient books.

...

At dusk, the sun set behind the Citadel gate, where two green sphinx statues stood guard. In front of the gate, a small hill several meters high, covered with books, fluttered in the evening wind, creating a loud rustling noise.

Many Maesters gathered at the gate, their expressions ranging from disbelief to cold indifference to profound regret. Rhaegar stood before them, casually picking up a book titled "On the Sacrifice of Alchemy."

Aegon and Aemond looked at the group of self-serving maester with cold disdain. Who would have thought that the Citadel, known for its studies of cures and astronomy, also delved into harmful theoretical knowledge?

Archmaester Luwin, his face reddening with embarrassment, stood in front of the group of Maesters, closing his eyes in pain. "The purpose of the Citadel is to find the truth, and we do not believe in magic."

Rhaegar walked up to him, snapping the book's pages against the fat old man's face. "You don't believe in it yourself, so why do you collect these books?"

Archmaester Luwin endured the humiliation, as if the veil of shame had been lifted, exposing the Citadel's dark side to the sun.

Rhaegar raised his hand and threw the book back into the pile, his voice cold and harsh. "From now on, if the Citadel produces any more books about the dead, it doesn't need to exist anymore."

Archmaester Luwin lowered his head and said bitterly, "Yes, Prince." He hadn't collected those books; they had accumulated over generations. frёeωebɳovel.com

Rhaegar's eyes were as sharp as blades as he turned and shouted, "Dracarys!"

Cannibal, crouched at the gates of the Citadel, slowly rose to its full size at the sound of the call, its monstrous maw aimed at the mountain of books.

"Roar!" A thunderous roar echoed as the green Dragonfire spewed forth.

Boom! Thousands of books quickly turned to ash, the scattered fragments burning with green fire, flying through the air before disintegrating.

All the Maesters stood silent, watching this book-burning ceremony. Rhaegar mounted the dragon and found Ormund in the crowd. "I will visit the High Tower tomorrow. Lord Ormund, prepare well."

Ormund's face was strained. "I will not disappoint you, Prince."

After dealing with the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel, the butcher's knife finally hovered over House Hightower. Ormund smiled servilely, but inside, he nearly cried out in despair.

"Roar!" Cannibal let out another roar, and the dust from its wings scattered across the sky, carrying its rider back to the Starry Sept.

Rhaegar looked down at Ormund, who was visibly agitated, and a deep meaning flashed in his eyes. After all this time of bluffing, the fish should be hooked.

...

The sun set in the west, and the sky grew dark.

At the Citadel's Weeping Dock, clusters of firelight moved in the dimness, and the sound of waves lapping against the pier filled the air. Ormund, holding a torch, led a black-robed man, glancing left and right cautiously.

A small boat was tied up at the dock, and several sailors bearing the emblem of the High Tower were loading supplies. Ormund sighed and said, "Alicent made a bad move. He will settle the score with you sooner or later. Leave while you still can."

The black-robed man looked out at the vast sea and replied, "I'm leaving. What about Hightower?"

"Don't worry about it. I wasn't involved. Rhaegar can't deal with me," Ormund advised.

The black-robed man responded, "I have no evidence against me, so I can stay and fight with you."

Ormund shook his head repeatedly. "Whoever gets the evidence of the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel, that Targaryen madman will kill without blinking an eye."

There were ten members of the Conclave, but only two survived the massacre, and one of them turned traitor. Think back to before. The rebellion in Dorne had only lasted a few months, but the Dragon's Wroth had slaughtered more than a thousand nobles and Knights, and thousands of civilians had been affected. It was even more ruthless than the Conqueror and even more ruthless than the cruel Maegor.

Upon hearing this, the black-robed man remained silent for a long time, then walked to the deck of the ship.

Ormund let out a sigh of relief. "I've arranged a boat to Pentos. I've already spoken to the prince."

"Good," the black-robed man agreed. He looked up at Ormund and took off his hood with both hands, revealing a middle-aged face with a luxuriant beard, meticulously combed hair, and deep, gloomy eyes.

Ormund grew anxious and shouted, "Hide your identity. Your whereabouts cannot be exposed."

Otto smiled and said, "Brother, you are always more practical than me."

"Nonsense!" Ormund lectured. "You have only known how to study since you were a child. How many times did Father lecture you about the need to gain experience in the family business? You never listened."

Otto listened carefully, a strange look flashing in his eyes. He asked in return, "Do you know why I devoted myself to studying?"

At the time, he studied hard and forgot to eat and sleep in order to get ahead. During the reign of the Old King, he was one of the most learned men in the kingdom. Otherwise, he would not have become the Hand of the King.

Ormund waved his hand, uninterested. "You should leave soon. We can talk about old times later."

Otto was unmoved and said lightly, "I'm afraid I won't have the chance later."

"What a stupid thing to say."

"Oh, I was just joking." Otto smiled sincerely and said in a deep voice, "Brother, take care."

With that, he climbed into the cabin. Ormund stood stunned, watching the ship sail out of the harbor. He scratched his head and returned to the High Tower.

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