Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Time flies, and summer has arrived.

King's Landing, Mud Gate.

The thick city gates stand wide open, and the bustling crowd tramples the moss-covered ground as they carry fruits, vegetables, and fish to the market stalls, their voices rising in a cacophony of shouts and haggling. The Seven Kingdoms have been unified for several years now, and the standard of living has improved significantly. However, the strong smell of fish still permeates the air, a reminder of the city's proximity to the sea.

It is noon, and the fishermen are pulling up their nets and heading home early. The vendors are more enthusiastic than ever, and the market is surrounded by three layers of eager customers.

"Roar!"

Suddenly, a deep roar reverberates like a massive bell, sending waves surging through Blackwater Bay. At the same time, a vast fleet of ships sails into the bay, stretching as far as the eye can see.

"Quiet, Cannibal!"

A black dragon leaps over the city walls, and a familiar voice echoes from the sky. The vendors and townsfolk look up, their eyes widening as they behold the dragon blocking out the sun.

"Roar!"

Two more dragons burst into view, flying around the black dragon before soaring into the city.

"Syrax," someone smiles, recognizing the golden beast of the queen.

Most of the crowd admires the cobalt blue dragon, praising its beauty as they have done many times before. The Targaryen dynasty has ruled for over a hundred years, and the people have gradually become accustomed to the presence of dragons. They are regarded as gods, but not feared.

Suddenly, a dull, orderly drumbeat begins to sound.

Boom, boom, boom...

The fleet occupies the route to Blackwater Bay, with the blue seahorse flag flying high, demonstrating its ancient and noble heritage.

"Roar!"

Cannibal seems to be deliberately circling King's Landing, its roar drowning out all other sounds. Rhaegar smiles faintly and calmly opens his arms. He glances down at the harbor and notices a large ship flying the banner of the stag with the crown.

"The ship of Storm's End?" Rhaegar raises an eyebrow, pondering the significance of its presence.

...

Red Keep

"Congratulations on your victory, Your Grace," Lyonel announced, leading the Small Council to greet Rhaegar. The crowd at the gate buzzed with excitement.

"The Seven Gods have blessed us indeed," Rhaegar replied, smiling as he returned to the palace after months away. He made his way to Maegor's Holdfast, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, searching for any sign of Daemon.

His uncle, Daemon, had returned to Westeros half a month ago. Yet, his whereabouts remained uncertain. Would he escape again, as he had before? Like when he abducted Laena and fled to the Free Cities or abandoned Lady Rhea and his title of King of the Narrow Sea? Daemon had a history of mistakes and a habit of running away.

"Your Grace," Lyonel called, his face jiggling with every step as he hurried to keep up.

Rhaegar sensed something was wrong from the look in Lyonel’s eyes. "What is it?"

"It's about Daemon and Prince Aemond," Lyonel whispered, looking troubled. "Lady Cassandra of Storm's End has passed away, and Flea Bottom is rife with rumors that Daemon is behind it."

Rhaegar's eyes flashed with concern. "Where is Daemon?"

"He returned to King's Landing two weeks ago and had a private conversation with the old king," Lyonel explained, suspicion in his voice. "It seems that a cold war has broken out between them. Daemon is living in a brothel in Flea Bottom."

"He didn’t leave?" Rhaegar asked, surprised.

Lyonel sighed. "It's just like a dozen years ago. One is furious, and the other is living it up in Flea Bottom."

Rhaegar nodded slightly, finding the relationship between his father and Daemon more complex than he had realized.

"Oh, yes, there is one more important thing," Lyonel added.

"Let's get it all out of the way," Rhaegar said.

"You'll have to forgive me," Lyonel continued, looking around to ensure no one else was listening. "Lady Maris is visiting King's Landing. Lady Jeyne of the Vale and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell both sent ravens at the same time to announce their visit."

"Under what pretext?" Rhaegar asked, trying to decipher the intentions of the three women. With Cassandra dead, Maris was the rightful heir to Storm's End. It was normal for a new heir to visit King's Landing to smooth relations with the royal family. But it was unusual for Jeyne and Margaery to come together.

Lyonel shrugged helplessly. "The news of you breaking the evil slavery in Slaver's Bay has spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and they have come to celebrate."

Rhaegar's head ached at the thought. "How long until the other two arrive?"

"Considering the roads, both parties are about half a month away," Lyonel said apologetically. "The Grand Maester received the ravens half a month ago."

"Seven levels of hell!" Rhaegar cursed, walking forward with his head down. "I'll see my father first, then Daemon. I won’t see anyone else."

"Lady Maris has already arrived at the pier," Lyonel reminded him.

"Tell Rhaenyra to take care of her. It's the Queen's duty."

"But..." Lyonel hesitated, looking at the ground as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. After a moment, he sighed helplessly.

He turned and saw Rhaenyra standing behind him, accompanied by Sea Snake and Aegon. Aegon, who had just recovered from his injuries, was slumped over, his head hanging down. Sunfyre had been too badly injured to travel and remained in Meereen to recover. Aegon had been seasick the entire journey back.

Lyonel's eyes rested on the silver-haired woman supporting Aegon. Daena's face was hidden by a veil, and she held Aegon's arm like a gentle shepherd guiding a lost lamb.

"Slow down, I'm dizzy," Aegon murmured weakly, his head resting in her arms.

Lyonel tilted his head, looking dumbfounded at the scene before him.

...

The King's Chambers

Rhaegar arrived in a hurry, immediately upset by the news. With a harem full of women and already complicated politics, the arrival of three women in King's Landing was an unwelcome complication. They weren’t here for a marriage alliance—all three of his younger brothers were already married, and he certainly couldn’t afford another marriage himself.

He stopped two Kingsguard from bowing and greeting him, and pushed open the door to his bedchamber with a creak. The familiar layout greeted him, but the smell of the medicine had changed.

“Ahem, ahem…”

Through a layer of bead curtains, a violent coughing sound emanated from the bedroom.

“Father,” Rhaegar called, his nerves tightening as he hurried into the room. The smell of herbal medicine became stronger, mixed with the pungent scent of incense.

Viserys, sitting by the bed, looked pale and was gasping for breath. “Rhaegar, you’re back,” he said, his eyes scanning his eldest son for any injuries.

Rhaegar poured a glass of warm water and handed it to his father. “I’m fine. Have you been feeling unwell lately?”

“No, just a little sleepy sometimes,” Viserys replied, his frustration showing. “Daemon and Aemond are at each other’s throats, aren’t they?”

Rhaegar remained silent, unable to meet his father’s gaze.

“I knew it! Those two bastards!” Viserys's anger flared. “One failed to assassinate his unborn cousin, and the other murdered his nephew’s fiancée. They’re both monsters.”

He paused, his frustration evident. “Why don’t you just pour a glass of horse piss down their throats and choke them to death?”

“What do you think?” Rhaegar asked, crossing his fingers and waiting patiently for an answer. He was too soft on his own flesh and blood, and he knew his father, a master of feigned ignorance, must have an idea.

“Rhaegar, you are the king now,” Viserys said with a solemn expression. “My reign has been less than a tenth as exciting as it could have been.”

Hearing this, Rhaegar fell completely silent. His father was no longer king. In other words, his thoughts no longer mattered.

“I…” Rhaegar began, as if contemplating something profound.

Viserys interrupted, exhorting him, “Don’t do any kinslaying. They’re still loyal to you.”

Rhaegar paused, his smile a little complicated. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry, my son,” Viserys said, taking his eldest son’s hand with a hint of guilt. “Don’t burden yourself with the blood of your loved ones. It will shake the peace of the Targaryens.”

Once blood is spilled, it will only get worse. Rhaegar just smiled and promised, “I understand. Even trash has value for reuse.”

...

It was Dusk.

A figure in a black robe slipped out of the King's Landing sewers and headed down the path to Flea Bottom. As the sky darkened, the man quickened his pace, blending into the shadows.

Entering Flea Bottom, he searched for the brothel that stood out with its bright lights. Soon enough, a ragged orphan poked his head out and pointed to a three-story stone building.

"Lord, the person you are looking for," the orphan said eagerly.

Seeing the boy’s eager expression, Rhaegar tossed him a gold dragon coin. "Take it, and make sure no one robs you."

Compared to years past, the environment in Flea Bottom had improved somewhat. Yet the presence of orphans remained as inevitable as the urine and feces on the streets.

Rhaegar sighed and walked into the brothel.

The lobby was chaotic, filled with naked bodies lounging like pale fish.

"Guest," an old, faded madam approached, her eyes sharp and knowing.

Rhaegar glanced at her and whispered, "No need to serve me. I'm looking for Daemon."

The madam hesitated for a moment before stepping aside. Rhaegar brushed past her and made his way up to the second floor, moving quickly as if chased by a dog.

He had no choice. The madam was an acquaintance, in a way. His two younger brothers had been under her care for a time, and Aemond, in particular, had been quite taken with her.

...

The Second Floor of the Brothel

As soon as Rhaegar stepped onto the second floor, he saw a group of half-naked prostitutes clustered around a private room.

"Oh... ha..." The sounds of coitus and heavy panting filled the air, making it impossible to ignore.

Rhaegar's face darkened slightly. He forced himself to endure the cheap perfume that permeated the air as he squeezed through the throng of prostitutes to reach the curtained doorway.

Inside the room, Daemon was in the midst of his activities, naked and panting. As soon as Rhaegar entered, the prostitute enjoying herself was startled and screamed, quickly scrambling off the bed.

Rhaegar was unprepared for the sight before him, and he suddenly felt dizzy.

After a moment, Daemon, sweating profusely, sat on the windowsill and took a sip of wine. "You never come to places like this," he said sarcastically. "What, Rhaenyra won't let you into bed?"

Rhaegar walked to the bed, almost sitting down before thinking better of it. He lifted his buttocks and, hearing Daemon's sarcasm, his eyes subtly changed. He smiled slightly. "Say it again, and I'll rip out your tongue."

Daemon was stunned, staring intently at his nephew's changing expression. With a poker face, he said, "What did my brother tell you?"

"He said I was the king," Rhaegar replied calmly. "There's no need to worry about his feelings."

Daemon's heart skipped a beat as he pondered the meaning of the words. He recalled his heated argument with his brother half a month ago, which had been so loud that it could be heard halfway across the Red Keep. The accusation of Cassandra's murder and the fight with his one-eyed nephew had brought old tensions to the surface. Despite the intensity, there was a sense of nostalgia—it had been a long time since the brothers had fought like that, a twisted form of emotional exchange.

"Daemon, I'll give you two choices," Rhaegar interrupted his thoughts coldly. "Stay in King's Landing and be the prince of the city again."

Daemon's face turned cold at the suggestion. How could he possibly agree to such a request?

"Or," Rhaegar's eyes flashed darkly, "leave Westeros. Never return to the house, and never see any of its members again."

"You want to banish me!?" Daemon's veins throbbed with anger, feeling his bottom line being crossed.

Rhaegar's expression remained emotionless, allowing no room for rebuttal. "Are you staying or leaving?"

He was not his father, and he had no intention of cleaning up Daemon's messes. Since Daemon was so ambitious, it was better to let him go. With Laena and House Velaryon in the mix, it would be difficult for him to stir up trouble.

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