Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

The next day, the sun rose, casting the first rays of light onto the snow-covered mountains, making the snow at their base sparkle. Rhaegar lay among the ruins, sheltered from the wind and rain by a large dragon skull. Nearby, several other dragon skulls had already been severed and tied with ropes, ready for transport.

The sailors, rising early, gathered firewood to start a fire.

Suddenly, the dragon skull glowed briefly, then quietly melded into a solid mass. A voice rang out, waking Rhaegar from his slumber.

[This exploration is complete. Please pick up the lost treasure.]

Rhaegar opened his eyes as the system panel appeared before him:

[Dragon's Remains]

Exploration progress: 100%

"One night has passed. How fast!" Rhaegar rubbed his cheeks and looked around. A red halo, the size of a watermelon, floated above the closed jaw of the giant dragon skull. His lips curled into a smile as he reached out to touch it.

Pop!

The bubble-like halo burst, transforming into a small cluster of bright light that shot into his palm.

[Relic successfully picked up, testing in progress...]

[Testing successful. Determined to be a legendary relic: Dragon Soul's Wish.]

The prompts appeared one after another, and a dragon tooth called "Dragon Soul's Wish" materialized in his mind.

"Legendary level? What a pleasant surprise," Rhaegar muttered, feeling a surge of excitement. With a thought, the dragon tooth appeared in his hand. It was entirely black, with a sheen that glimmered in the sunlight.

"A dragon tooth... let's see the trigger conditions." Rhaegar, filled with anticipation, examined the small print on the system panel.

[Wandering souls, dragon visions, fulfilling wishes, and repaying them.]

"'Wishes and repaying them?'" Rhaegar pondered for a moment. No one had ever collected the dragon bones in these ruins. Yesterday, he had severed the dragon’s skull, intending to bury it underground. This action must have triggered the explorer's quest.

"So, the activation condition for the relic is the funeral of the dragon's bones." Rhaegar felt a sense of responsibility as he held the small dragon skull tied to his waist. It was a fair trade; after all, he was willing to help these dragons who had died in vain.

As he stepped out of the dragon skull, Sea Snake approached, chewing on a piece of roasted meat. "Your Grace, the ruins have yielded very little. Shall we move on?"

"Of course." Rhaegar gazed determinedly at the mist-covered Fourteen Flames. "The grasslands are too vast. Let's go to the Fourteen Flames first." And return the dragon skeletons to their former lair.

Unaware of Rhaegar’s true intentions, Sea Snake believed the prince simply wanted to explore the Fourteen Flamess. He nodded seriously, "I will send the sailors to search everywhere and find more ruins."

...

At noon, a convoy of carriages made its way across the grasslands at the foot of the snow-capped mountains. The wheels occasionally sank into the soft soil, causing the carts to groan under the strain.

Creak, creak...

The sailors pushed with all their might, urging the makeshift carts forward. Several large and small dragon skulls were carefully placed on one of the carts.

"I'll help," Rhaegar said, rolling up his sleeves. He joined in, pushing the cart with all his strength.

"Roar!"...

A black dragon's shadow suddenly swept across the sky, its red wing membranes flaring like giant fans. Rhaegar looked up at the sound. Iragaxys wasn’t flying high, and it let out a piercing cry as it passed overhead, disappearing into the vast sea of grass.

"Iragaxys, what happened?" Rhaegar muttered, frowning slightly. As the young dragon flew by, he noticed a bloodstain on its scaly belly. Iragaxys had grown significantly since it first entered the sub-adult stage, far more than when it had been raised in the Lands of the Long Summer.

Plop!

Distracted by the sight of Iragaxys, Rhaegar didn't notice as the cart suddenly lurched out of a pothole. The Sea Snake, panting and wiping the sweat from his face, remarked, "Your Grace, we're almost at the Fourteen Flames."

Rhaegar responded with a thoughtful "mm," his eyes narrowing as he realized Iragaxys had just come from the direction of a Fire Peak. In the distance, the grassy fields gave way to a barren land shrouded in fog.

In Daenys' dream, Rhaegar had seen this place once before—the foot of the Fourteen Flames.

...

Across the Narrow Sea, in Dorne's Vaith River Valley...

"Dragon!!"

"Run..."

"…"

Panic swept through the black-haired, brown-skinned Dornishmen as they fled their castles and villages in terror. The sky darkened under the shadow of a dragon, its brown-mud Dragonfire raining down mercilessly. Poorly equipped armies perished by the hundreds, their bodies reduced to charred, foul-smelling remains.

In a single night, the rebuilt cities of Vaith and Godsgrace, along with the coastal city of Tor, were once again consumed by a sea of flames. The hot summer air was thick with the sounds of wailing and despair.

...

King's Landing.

"Roar!"

The mud dragon soared above the city, its wings flapping with an unsettling excitement. It seemed intent on disturbing the revelers in Silk Street and Flea Bottom, swooping low to startle them before circling twice and finally landing in the courtyard of the grand Red Keep.

Inside the council hall, tensions boiled over into a heated argument.

Alicent's eyes blazed with anger. "What did you say? You burned the lands of Dorne?"

"That's right," Aemond replied coolly, leaning back against the table. "Someone sent word to Braavos and Pentos, recruiting soldiers without permission. That’s a violation of the law."

Alicent's fury intensified. "You're insane! The scars of the Dragon's Wroth are still fresh, and the Dornish have barely recovered. You're provoking them into rebellion!"

Under Rhaegar's strict policies, Dorne had been blockaded at the Prince's Pass, Boneway, and the Greenblood River, leading to economic collapse and a sharp decline in population. Burning down three noble castles in one fell swoop would only fan the flames of unrest.

Aemond's voice was cold and unyielding. "If they dare to rise, I'll burn them all to the ground." 'If they dared to conspire with the enemy today, they'd rebel tomorrow. Better to crush them now.'

"Seven hells!" Alicent was near collapse, her voice rising in desperation. 'Are you possessed?' she thought. The fleets of Braavos and Pentos had not yet attacked, and the war was still in its early stages. Aemond's reckless assault on Dorne was causing turmoil within their own ranks. What would the nobles of the kingdom and the loyal houses of Dorne think?

"It's too late to regret it now that the flames have already consumed them," Aemond said, taking a sip of his wine, his demeanor defiant. He was merely following his brother's orders to secure the safety of Dorne, the Stepstones, and the Narrow Sea. The Dornish needed to be punished for their treachery.

"What are you doing? This kingdom is not yours!" Alicent placed a hand on her forehead, her voice a mix of frustration and pleading. "You're only going to spark greater backlash by doing this."

Aemond shrugged, indifferent to her concerns. Who would be the first to feel his wrath if he lost an eye in Dorne?

Realizing her words were falling on deaf ears, Alicent turned to her daughter, who was diligently working through petitions. "Helaena, write a conciliatory letter to Prince Qyle of Dorne in the king's name." She hoped the young prince could quell the unrest in Dorne.

"Relying on a child who hasn't even outgrown his milk," Aemond scoffed, shaking his head. Since Dorne's surrender, power had been in the hands of Mors Manwoody of Kingsgrave. The young Prince of Dorne, not yet ten years old, was little more than a puppet.

"What else can we do?" Alicent's voice was laced with exasperation. "Wait until the people of Dorne rebel, and Rhaegar returns to cut off your head in a fit of rage?"

Aemond's expression darkened, and he replied bluntly, "He'd sooner cut off yours."

"Aemond!" Alicent gasped, shocked and furious, about to launch into another tirade.

"Wait a moment," Helaena interrupted softly, raising her hand timidly to stop the argument.

Both Alicent and Aemond turned to her, expecting some wise counsel from the acting queen.

"That..." Helaena hesitated, pointing at the goblet in Aemond's hand. "That’s my wine. You have to pay for it."

...

At the same time, an emergency meeting was taking place in Lys Topless Tower.

Bang!

Rhaenyra slammed her goblet down on the table, her voice seething with anger. "Aemond set fire to Dorne. I've received letters from the Dornish nobles, filled with nothing but reprimands!"

The letters were crammed with every kind of obscenity imaginable. She felt the urge to tear them to pieces and swallow them whole.

"We're powerless to stop him. We can't control his dragon," Mysaria said resignedly, her tone reflecting the weight of her swollen belly. If a dragon rider decided to do something reckless, who could stand in his way?

"We have to offer an explanation, understand?" Rhaenyra's eyes blazed with intensity. "Dorne will rebel and ally with the Free Cities, rekindling old enmities."

Rhaegar had once said that since Dorne had already submitted, it was time to win them over. If possible, marrying the realm's nobles into Dornish families was a prudent move. But burning down the Vaith River Valley would only deepen the Dornish people's hatred of the Dragon's Wroth.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Mysaria murmured, her eyes heavy with fatigue. "Instead of arguing, we should send a letter to Sunspear, ordering Lord Qyle and Lord Mors to calm the situation."

Rhaenyra's expression softened, and she nodded emphatically. "Yes, that's what we'll do!"

"Your Grace, may I speak?" Varys interjected, his hands tucked into his pockets, his face betraying a hint of hesitation.

Rhaenyra looked at him curiously. "What is it, my Topless Tower Master?"

"It's a grave matter that requires your immediate attention," Varys sighed, pulling a piece of parchment from his sleeve. "Yesterday morning, Lord Mors was murdered in a brothel in Planky Town by a group of children who call themselves the Orphans of the Greenblood River."

"What?" Rhaenyra gasped, snatching the parchment from his hand.

The letter detailed the shocking assassination. Dragonfire had barely scorched the land for a day and a night before Mors was brutally slain. The news of the return of the Dragon's Wroth had already spread throughout Sunspear.

Mors had been killed by a group of orphans, children who had lost their families in the war. He had been stabbed dozens of times, his head smashed beyond recognition.

“Who is in charge of Sunspear now?” Rhaenyra's heart pounded with anxiety. Mors had been the royal family's representative in Dorne, and his death could signal a complete loss of control over the region.

Varys, touching the tattoos on his shaved head, ventured a guess, “It seems that young Prince Qyle has taken command. He’s organized his guards and ordered the army to blockade Sunspear.”

“Phew, that’s a relief.” Rhaenyra exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. As long as Sunspear remained secure, the garrison in Planky Town could maintain control over eastern Dorne. If the Prince’s Pass and the Boneway held in the north, the rebellion could be contained.

“Your Grace, the matter is far from resolved,” Mysaria cautioned, her brow furrowed. “We need to appoint someone to assist Prince Qyle, to ensure the young prince isn’t easily swayed.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement, her tone cautious. “Who would be suitable?”

“Someone loyal to the crown and from Dorne, of course,” Mysaria hinted, her eyes flicking toward the Kingsguard standing vigil at the door.

Rhaenyra considered this and recalled a newer member of the Kingsguard, who had recently assisted Commander Erryk in guarding the Red Keep. Ser Beris Dayne of Starfall, the modern-day Sword of the Morning.

“Let him go. Ser Beris has always been a loyal adviser to the royal family.” Rhaenyra made her decision, taking a deep breath. The loyalty of a Kingsguard was unquestionable, and Beris came from one of Dorne’s noble houses. There was no one more suitable.

Mysaria nodded approvingly at the queen’s choice.

Rhaenyra then turned her attention to another pressing issue, her voice growing cold. “The raven that brought the news to King's Landing should carry another letter—one condemning Aemond's reckless actions. He must be held accountable.”

Burning Dorne without permission, especially at such a critical time, could easily spark a full-blown war.

Mysaria hesitated. “Your Grace, you know Aemond’s temperament. He won’t listen; he’ll only respond with mockery.”

“Do it!” Rhaenyra's voice rose sharply, her anger barely contained.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Mysaria quickly rose and left the room.

Varys followed, leaving Rhaenyra alone in the now-empty hall. The silence pressed in on her as she slowly closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair with a weary groan. “What a tormenting disaster.”

Without Rhaegar, everything felt like an uphill battle. Constraints and challenges were everywhere, forcing her to retreat when she longed to advance.

...

The scene shifts to the Lands of the Long Summer, at the foot of the Fourteen Flames.

"Roar..."

Thick fog swirled around Rhaegar and his men as they ventured into the desolate landscape. From somewhere in the distance, a piercing roar echoed through the mist.

"It's Daemon's dragon," Sea Snake warned, his voice tinged with concern.

Rhaegar waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine. I don't sense any danger."

Behind him, the sailors struggled as they pushed a heavy cart uphill, the fog making the ascent even more arduous. The thick haze obscured their surroundings, leaving Rhaegar to peer into the mist, searching for any landmarks.

After some time, his persistence paid off; he found the entrances to two underground mines. A large pit caught his eye, and he smiled. "This is it."

With a great deal of effort, the sailors pushed the cart into the mine.

“I'll check the other side. Let's split up,” Rhaegar said, patting Sea Snake on the shoulder before heading into the second mine alone.

“Your Grace,” Sea Snake called out, momentarily stunned. He didn’t have time to stop Rhaegar before he disappeared into the fog.

Resigned, the Sea Snake ordered the sailors to bury the dragon bones and abandon the cart.

...

On the other side of the mountain, Rhaegar found himself tumbling into the mine tunnel as the ground gave way in a sudden landslide.

Crack!

A bone snapped as he hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

"Cough, cough..." Rhaegar covered his mouth and nose, his eyes scanning the dark, damp tunnel. The space stretched deep and far, shrouded in pitch-black darkness. Stumbling slightly, he drew his blade, Truefyre, from his waist. The black sword ignited, flames bursting along the edge, casting flickering light against the shadowy walls.

Using the fire’s glow, Rhaegar kicked aside a heap of bones and pressed forward. After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dimly lit tunnel, he finally reached a wide corner. Here, the ground was clear of bones, and faint glimmers of crystal ore shone through the dust.

"This is the place," Rhaegar muttered, surveying the area carefully. With Truefyre still ablaze, he dug a deep pit into the earth, the black blade cutting easily through the soil. He gently placed the small dragon skull, which had been tied to his waist, into the pit.

When the task was done, Rhaegar drove Truefyre into the ground and closed his eyes, waiting in the silence. This was the last of the dragon bones, the one that should finally activate the relic.

"Roar..."

The sound of a dragon's roar echoed in his ears, deep and powerful.

[Congratulations, the wish of the dragon soul has been activated, and you have obtained...]

[Dragon Soul Guidance]

Level: Legendary (Red)

Function: Grants directional guidance (based on the dragon's memories before death).

Comment: "The dragon soul carries the wisdom of ages, revealing an extraordinary tale."

A dragon tooth appeared out of nowhere, its dark surface etched with pale, glowing lines. In an instant, five dragon-shaped figures, each of a different size and form, emerged from the markings. Before Rhaegar could react, the tooth flew back into his palm, trembling gently, almost as if it longed to show the way.

"Guide the way... to the Smoking Sea?" Rhaegar whispered, as new thoughts began to flood his mind. The dragon whose bones he'd buried had been a giant, its skeleton larger than that of the slender Caraxes. The beast had likely lived for more than sixty years—a wealth of knowledge and memory for him to draw upon.

And now, with the guidance of five dragons, that knowledge was his to unlock.

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