Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 497: The Rise of the New Generation

127 AC

Early spring, early morning.

In the towering Red Keep, people bustled about with purpose.

“Brother, hurry up!”

In the courtyard, a little boy with silver hair and purple eyes hid behind a wooden post, waving urgently toward the stables.

“Shh, be quiet.”

Behind the trough in the stable, another boy's head poked out, warning him in a serious tone. He glanced around at the crowd before running to his brother.

As soon as he got close, he punched his younger brother in the stomach with his small fist.

“Ouch!”

The little boy cried out, tears welling up in his eyes.

The older brother glared at him, looking every bit like a little lord, and said sternly, “Aemon, we’re going to the Dragonpit to get a dragon egg for our brother. Don’t mess this up.”

“I won't, don't hit me again,” Aemon retorted angrily, wiping away his tears. Despite the pain, he didn’t cry or make a fuss. He was stronger than most children.

Baelon ignored him and scanned the crowded courtyard for a suitable path. He knew exactly what his little brother was like—just like his dragon, a bit of a troublemaker.

Seeing that his older brother was ignoring him, Aemon puffed up his cheeks and marched through the crowd.

“Aemon, don’t let anyone see you,” Baelon hissed, trying to pull him back.

Aemon shook his head and said angrily, "If we're getting out of the Red Keep, it's because Father agrees."

It was just a little trick of their father.

Baelon’s cute face fell at this realization, and he followed his determined little brother in silence. Aemon was right.

The two silver-haired boys walked through the front courtyard, holding hands as they navigated through the adults’ skirts. Remarkably, the two boys looked almost identical. They had the same height, build, and fair complexion.

To tell them apart, one had to look closely at their expressions. The older brother had clear eyes and moved with purpose, while the younger brother’s eyes darted around, full of liveliness and intelligence.

“Drink!”

“Prince, be careful.”

As they passed by the martial arts arena, the clanging sound of metal clashing filled the air. Baelon stopped and turned his head to see a gathering of nobles watching a martial arts performance.

“Let’s go have a look!” Seeing his brother's expression, Aemon dragged him into the crowd without hesitation.

The nobles, noticing the two little ones, humbly made way for them.

In the center of the crowd, two figures were dueling.

Criston Cole, dressed in white cotton armor and wielding a hammer, smiled as he swung his weapon with sharp precision. His opponent was a young man with a black eye patch and silver hair.

The duel quickly turned fierce. Cole used a familiar move to break his opponent's shield, gradually reducing his mobility.

Swish!

The young man moved swiftly, resisting the hammer twice, then discarding the broken shield and dancing with his sword. In a blink, Cole swung his hammer, but he couldn’t dodge in time. The young man's eyes were sharp, his sword pointed directly at Cole's neck.

Cole made a slight movement, and a trickle of blood oozed out.

“Oh, Uncle Aemond has won!” Aemon clapped his hands and cheered.

Baelon tugged his brother away, smiling, “Okay, let’s go to the Dragonpit.”

The two children, small and nimble, quickly slipped out of the crowd.

In the middle of the arena, Cole looked helpless. He dropped his flail and panted, “Well done, Prince. You’ll win the tournament soon.”

Aemond’s eyes were cold as he lightly withdrew his blade. “I don’t care about any tournament,” he said indifferently.

Turning his head, he noticed the retreating backs of the two boys, smiling and frowning at the same time. “My dear nephews have run away again.” fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Cole was even more helpless, unable to say anything.

In the blink of an eye, six years had passed, and the Prince had grown up at a tremendous rate. He could no longer keep up with the prince in martial arts or intellect.

The source of this is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Clang!

Aemond casually dropped his one-handed sword and turned to walk toward Maegor’s Holdfast. “I’m going to find my brother. I heard that Rhaenyra has given birth again.”

...

On the Road

The two children successfully escaped the Red Keep and boarded a wheeled carriage driven by the Kingsguard.

Ser Steffon, clad in a black robe, patiently advised, “The ride will be fast, so the two little Princes should sit tight.”

“Don’t worry, Ser,” Baelon assured him.

“Full speed ahead. My whip is hungry,” Aemon declared eagerly.

Steffon sighed but had no choice. He drove the horses forward at a brisk pace.

Inside the carriage, the two boys exchanged a glance.

Baelon watched as his brother fumbled with something in his pants and couldn't help but ask, “How did you manage to steal that?”

Aemon raised his little face, looking for praise. In his chubby hand, he held a long black whip. The handle was made of Valyrian steel, engraved with strange inscriptions. It was a dragon whip used to herd dragons.

Baelon snatched the whip from him and asked, “You stole the dragon whip from our father? This is a rare treasure. How did you manage to do it?”

Aemon crossed his arms proudly. “Mother was in labor, and Father was too busy to pay attention to us. So, I took it.”

“Awesome!” Baelon exclaimed, excitedly hugging the dragon whip to his chest. He decided to confiscate it immediately.

...

The Princess's Bedroom

In the familiar layout, several experienced maids gathered around a birthing chair. Rhaenyra lay in the arms of a plump maid, covered in sweat, gritting her teeth and gathering her strength. In front of her, the maids held basins of water and wrung out towels.

The scene shifts to the corridor outside the bedroom. Rhaegar hunched over, his head down, his back against the wall, looking like a child who had made a mistake. Six years later, the boy had become a young man. Rhaegar’s face was more handsome than ever, his tall and slender figure exuding a noble air of superiority. His silver hair naturally fell over his shoulders, and his purple eyes were clear and slightly sad. Servants passing by, male or female, would steal a glance at His Grace.

“Ahem.”

A few light coughs interrupted his thoughts. Rhaegar turned his head and asked, confused, “Father, what's wrong?”

Closer to the door, Viserys sat in a wheelchair, his legs covered by a blanket. After stepping down, he had gradually relaxed. Time had been kind to the former king. Viserys, who had put on weight and had a bit of a receding hairline, said reassuringly, “Don't worry, Rhaenyra will be fine. This isn’t her first time giving birth.”

He leaned forward, looking past his eldest son to see a little one. Rhaegar forced a smile and followed his father’s line of sight. A baby boy in a little outfit sat on the ground, staring blankly at the cracks in the brickwork. The baby boy looked to be about two or three years old. He had short platinum hair, violet blue eyes, and a pale, chubby face. At this moment, the little one was sitting on the ground, his short legs apart, holding a dark red dragon egg in his arms.

Rhaegar shook his head and sighed, then bent down to gently stroke his son's head. “Maekar, why aren’t you playing with your brothers?”

Maekar, born in the summer of 124 AC, was the third child and third son of Rhaenyra and Rhaegar. He had a different appearance from his parents and two older brothers, with slightly different hair and eye colors.

Maekar lowered his head, his little body like a ball, his delicate face tinged with sadness, his chin resting on the dragon egg. Hearing his father’s question, the little one tilted his head and said honestly, “They think I’m stupid and don’t want to play with me.”

Rhaegar was speechless, silently comforting his youngest son. “They have a mission, and you’re still too young.”

“Oh.” Maekar turned his head back and continued to stare at the brick gap.

Rhaegar stood up helplessly and gave his father a look of regret. The younger son was good in every way, except that he was a bit of a loner. He clearly wanted to be part of his two older brothers but was always too timid to join in.

Viserys laughed. “There’s going to be another little one in the house soon, and Maekar will have someone to play with.”

Just then, a scream came from the bedroom.

“Ah!”

The three of them twitched their ears and shuddered at the sound. Rhaegar lowered his head again and prayed silently for everything to be all right. Maekar closed his eyes, hugged the egg, and whispered, “A sister, a sister.”

Rhaegar kicked him lightly on the butt and glared at him. “You ungrateful little brat, make a wish outside the delivery room.”

“Ahhh!” Suddenly, another scream rang out, even more piercing than the last. Then, a child’s cry was heard.

“Waa waa waa...” There was a flurry of activity in the bedroom, and the fat maid’s honest voice could be heard through the door.

“Great, it’s a healthy girl.”

Outside the door, the three of them heaved a sigh of relief, and the weight on their hearts lifted. Rhaegar’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat, and a smile reappeared on his face.

Maekar exclaimed, “It’s a sister, it’s a sister.”

Bang! Another light kick.

...

The Boardroom.

Creak.

The door opened, revealing a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a wide view. A desk was placed in front of the window, and sunlight bathed the documents on the desk.

Purr...

Two young people sat behind the desk. A beautiful maiden with silver-gold curls, dressed in a beige skirt, leaned back in her chair, her eyes slightly closed, face flushed from the sun, and head resting against the chair. She was dozing off.

Beside her, a young man with messy silver hair lay on his back, arms stretched out in front of him, sleeping soundly. The siblings had a pile of papers in front of them, and the breeze from the window rustled the pages.

Creak! Creak!

Aemond stood in the doorway, gritting his teeth and staring at the scene, his clenched fists making a loud cracking sound. He mumbled a few words to himself and then walked over to the two with heavy footsteps.

Three chairs were behind the desk. The siblings each occupied one, leaving an empty seat in the middle. Aemond didn’t bother asking permission and sat down. He moved the papers in front of his sister Helaena and began to read them with a serious expression.

Since Rhaegar ascended the throne, he had reclaimed most of the power from the Small Council. The advantage was increased efficiency, but the downside was dealing with every little detail. His philosophy was clear: “If I'm not comfortable, no one else should be either.”

After a year in office, Rhaegar had dragged his three younger siblings into the council hall to help him read petitions. The kingdom belonged to the entire Targaryen family, and he couldn't suffer alone. They should all experience what it was like to be a king.

“Ohh~”

Helaena opened her eyes and looked around in confusion as she heard the sound of rapid writing. At that moment, the Master of Coin, Lyman, finished some paperwork and walked past the siblings without a word.

Aemond continued writing with his quill and, without looking up, asked, “Lord Lyman, what's the latest news?”

Lyman, a bit surprised, responded slowly, “Prince, shouldn't you ask Tormund for information?” He was not the Master of Whisperers, after all.

Aemond paused for a moment, his one eye sharp as a knife. “Tormund reports directly to the king and should not exceed his authority.” Returning to his original question, he asked, “What news from Driftmark? Is Daeron doing well there?”

“Of course. Prince Daeron is the cupbearer of the Sea Snake and accompanies him on every voyage,” Lyman replied, satisfied with his answer. “As for Driftmark, I heard there was some trouble, apparently over the succession.”

“Really? I think it’s more than that.” Aemond, with a cold face, took a document from the file and deliberately slapped it on Aegon’s ear.

Bang!

Aegon woke up instantly, panicking and wiping his mouth for saliva. “What’s wrong? Is Rhaegar here?”

The child was terrified.

Aemond gave him a disdainful glance and moved the document in front of Lyman, revealing the side with the writing. Lyman bent down to read it, squinting his eyes.

The document was from House Velaryon on Driftmark. The sender was not Corlys, the Sea Snake, but one of his nephews. There were five handprints on the letter, one for each Velaryon.

The content read:

“The House Velaryon has a direct male line of succession, and the female heir is not in line with tradition. We hope that Rhaegar Targaryen I will make a decision.”

At the end of the letter, it specifically mentioned Rhaegar's succession as being superior to that of his predecessor, Rhaenyra.

Such words were both bold and presumptuous.

Helaena’s eyes were vacant as she muttered, “Is the Sea Snake in trouble?”

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