Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 510: A Valyrian Steel Weapon

Red Keep, the Temple.

A dimly lit, enclosed space, where the candlelight created a serene atmosphere. A small figure sat at the edge of the altar, surrounded by white candles. In front of him was the hideous skull of the Black Dread, Balerion.

“Prince, if you don’t go back to bed, you’ll be too tired to get up in the morning,” Ser Steffon said, standing to the side, patiently trying to persuade him.

“Shh~” Maekar’s face scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowing.

Steffon could do nothing but nod in understanding. He had been assigned to the little prince and had to comply with the boy’s wishes.

“Thank you,” Maekar whispered sincerely, his big, watery eyes full of gratitude. Without waiting for Steffon to respond, the little one crept up to the altar.

The altar was surrounded by a dense array of butter candles, most of which were burning brightly. Maekar crossed the flames with ease, as if they weren't there. Soon, he was at the jaw of Balerion’s skull.

Maekar looked up at the sky, his little face full of confusion, and reached out to touch the still-warm dragon skull. He had lost his dragon egg, a loss with deeper meaning, one that could never be recovered.

“Father said Balerion would protect us,” Maekar murmured, clasping his hands in prayer. “Balerion, you helped my grandfather and father. Please help me tonight.”

The huge dragon skull and the small silver-haired boy created a poignant contrast in the dim candlelight. Steffon remained silent, watching the little prince who was not even as thick as a dragon’s tooth. Maekar knelt, his body a small ball, resembling a devout believer in the gods.

“Bye, Balerion,” Maekar finally whispered, taking a deep breath and getting up to say goodbye. He turned to see Steffon staring at him and tilted his head. “Ser, help me.”

He walked to the edge of the altar and opened his arms. Steffon snapped back to reality, thinking for a moment that he was seeing His Grace as a child, and hurried forward. “Prince, are you going to rest now?”

Maekar, obediently carried down to the ground, pursed his lips. “No, Balerion told me.”

“Told you what?” Steffon asked, confused.

Maekar looked up, his eyes wide. “Balerion told me that tonight is not a good night for sleeping.”

He walked to the chapel door, holding the frame with one hand, his expression as mysterious as that of a little, superstitious wizard. “It told me that a dragon will be tamed soon!”

...

Braavos.

“Roar!”

Three dragons rose into the air, leaping over the city engulfed in flames, and flew towards the Narrow Sea. As they passed a small floating island connected by a bridge, a gray building below stood out. Rhaegar seemed to sense it. He looked down at it in the moonlight and whispered, “The House of Black and White.”

The headquarters of the Faceless Men, the most feared building in all of Braavos.

Rhaegar gave a light slap of his hand and issued an order.

“Roar!”

Cannibal swooped down, diving into the floating island area and circling the House of Black and White. Rhaegar watched the gray building with its closed doors, making no comment.

Moments earlier, he had had a friendly chat with Sealord Sparda. In the name of the Iron Throne, he had borrowed another 500,000 gold dragons, with a maximum repayment period of 60 years. The two sides had also signed a treaty. The Iron Throne would declared war, and Braavos was not allowed to intervene in any way, or the debtor would be entitled to cancel the debt. It was an alternative means of preventing Braavos from leading an attack on the Iron Throne.

The three dragons were powerful enough to burn everyone in the Sealord’s palace to death, but the group behind the Iron Bank still lived. They had enough money to buy off the world’s mercenaries. The money was scattered globally, buried in secret vaults. Even if Braavos was burned to the ground, it would not be found.

Rhaegar's display of force served as a timely warning to Braavos. They could either swallow their pride or go to war in haste. As it turned out, merchants were a bunch of rats who sought profit and avoided danger.

The Iron Throne successfully borrowed the money, and 500,000 gold dragons were delivered to the Myr Bank three days later.

“Roar!”

Cannibal roared, spraying Dragonfire over the outer moat of the gray building before carrying Rhaegar back into the sky. Rhaegar pulled himself together and said, “Let's go, partner.”

During his negotiations with the Sealord, Rhaegar had made very specific and realistic demands. From that night onward, any harm that befell his children—be it assassination, disease, or even a fall from a horse—would result in Rhaegar riding his dragon to Braavos and burning the Sealord's palace to the ground. It was an unreasonable and blunt threat, but Rhaegar didn't care.

As Saera Targaryen once said, Westeros was too cold for the hot-blooded Targaryens. Sitting on the Iron Throne, Rhaegar told the world that the Targaryens were the Dragonlords, and wherever a true dragon went, it would bring blood and fire.

Rhaegar had Syrio the Water Dancer and Sara the Faceless, clear any signs of the threat posed by the Faceless Men.

Hiring a Faceless Man to assassinate him would cost the Iron Throne a year's income. Value was a measure of power. He dared not gamble on whether someone would hire a Faceless Man to assassinate him, especially if the target was someone close to him. Even he himself was not 100% safe—a cup of poison could take him to Balerion.

To avoid such accidents, it was better to be thorough. Mutual checks and balances were the only way to ensure long-lasting peace. This House of Black and White should stay in Braavos. Westeros did not welcome it.

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...

The Night Deepens.

Three dragons flew out of Braavos, landing in a remote village.

“Quack, quack...”

A black raven flew in, landing on a crooked-neck tree far from the dragons. Rhaegar recognized the raven as a pet that Syrio had raised in the Myrish palace. Of the three Free Cities, Myr was closest to the Crownlands. Syrio, having withdrawn from Volantis, stayed in Myr as the chief swordsman and Master of Whisperers.

Rhaegar slid off the dragon’s back, and the raven flew over, carrying a letter box. He opened it and took out the letter, reading it carefully. It contained just two short sentences:

"Lady Mysaria is pregnant, and Prince Daemon is privately hosting a celebration at a brothel."

"Volantis has assembled a fleet to try to block ships from the Disputed Lands reaching the Summer Sea."

This letter provided more detailed information than the one Rhaenyra had received. After reading it, Rhaegar looked up at the sky and closed his eyes.

Pop!

A flame flickered from his fingertips, burning the small piece of paper.

Helaena and Aemond climbed down from their dragons. Helaena, with an innocent look, hugged the slender, long necked Dreamfyre. Aemond strode forward, his one eye gleaming, and asked, “What’s the latest news?”

Rhaegar sighed, a slight curl on his lips. “There are fools who don’t know when to die and are willing to sacrifice themselves to help me accomplish my great cause.”

Daemon’s marriage to multiple wives had been planned by his father. It had broken the alliance between his good uncle and the Sea Snake. Additionally, the Tiger Party in Volantis was unwilling to accept only a portion of Lys’s port taxes, repeatedly provoking trouble. It was a perfect storm.

The Velaryon fleet would crush the ambitious Volantis. In the process, they could enter the Smoking Sea to find the wandering wild young dragon. With the war, troops would be sent everywhere, including the Vale. The opposition factions in the Vale would be mobilized and sent to the battlefield.

He had watched as Daemon and Laena fought, and behind the scenes, he fanned the flames of conflict, endorsing his uncle’s marriage to Mysaria, the White Worm. With proper financing, he could not only resolve his eldest daughter’s inheritance but also tear away the last shreds of decency between his uncle and House Velaryon.

It was a win-win situation! Of course, these events required a heroic sacrifice to stir the stagnant waters of the present. Volantis was the perfect victim—strong enough, but not too strong.

Rhaegar let out a long breath and glanced sideways at Aemond, who looked eager. “Go back to Storm's End and discuss the marriage with Cassandra.”

Aemond’s face changed slightly, showing reluctance.

Rhaegar, knowing his brother well, smiled. “Then, mobilize the Stormlands troops and wait for my order.”

At this, Aemond's face brightened, and he responded confidently, “Good. Wait for my news.”

War was a wonderful word to him. As the second son, only victory in war could bring him glory and make the family proud.

Rhaegar discarded the burnt paper and called out to Helaena, who had been silent. “Come with me. We're going to Myr to prepare for the loan from Braavos."

By the way, he needs to contact The Eyrie.

Mysaria, the White Worm was a pawn but she really can be as disgusting as a maggot.

Helaena nodded, touched Aemond’s head lightly with her toes, and then climbed onto her dragon’s back. Soon, the siblings were riding away on their dragons.

Aemond was left alone, his one eye flickering uncertainly as he remembered the touch of his sister's hand.

“Roar?”

Sheepstealer lay on the ground, its tail poking the rider. Aemond waved his hand calmly. “Don't make a fuss. We still have business to attend to.”

Sheepstealer shook its head in disdain, snorted heavily, and ignored the rider’s high-running emotions.

Aemond hesitated for a moment, then bent down to pick up the only remaining piece of paper. The paper, the size of a fingernail, was blackened at the edges and faintly legible with tiny letters.

“White Worm, Celebration.”

Aemond frowned, analyzing the meaning of the two words. Combined with what he had seen on Driftmark and the events of the past few years, It wasn't difficult to guess that the White Worm must be pregnant, indicating a brewing storm within the royal family.

His older brother Rhaegar was his role model: wise, brave, and fearless. Unfortunately, Aemond saw him as a coward who was afraid of his wife.

Rhaenyra had dominated Rhaegar for so many years, and there must have been significant conflict. In Aemond's view, it was not wrong for a man to marry more than once, especially if he was the king of a country. If possible, he wanted to marry multiple times and find a lover who was his ideal match.

Rhaena's plot against Lady Jeyne of The Eyrie made him view her as a jealous woman.

This was one of the main reasons for his hostility toward Rhaenyra. Aemond believed his eldest brother should be blemish-free.

Aemond tossed away the scraps of paper and smiled happily. “My sister should get married soon. My uncle would help with this.”

He then mounted the back of Sheepstealer. As the large mud-colored dragon spread its wings, he suddenly remembered the scene when the three siblings confronted the Sealord of Braavos. Rhaegar wielded Truefyre, and Helaena drew Long Summer. Two Valyrian steel swords—a formidable display.

Aemond shook his head and muttered, “Where can I find a Valyrian steel weapon?”

He touched the one-eyed dagger at his waist, a gift from his brother, but not suitable for the battlefield. The family had many Valyrian steel weapons: Father’s Blackfyre, Rhaenyra’s The Realm’s Delight, Aunt Rhaenys’ Dark Sister. Oh, yes, his brother also had two Valyrian steel weapons: a long spear, “Dawn,” that he didn’t use often, and a lost sword, Dragon’s Claw.

As he thought about it, Aemond’s eyes lit up. “House Velaryon had a Valyrian scimitar, and Celtigar, who was also from Valyria, seemed to have one weapon as well.”

The thought grew uncontrollably.

“Roar...”

Sheepstealer soared into the sky, its brown wings covering the bright moon, disappearing into the night in an instant.freēwēbηovel.c૦m

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