Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

The Next Morning, Dragonstone.

A dragon as black as coal soared down The Gullet, landing at the end of the stone steps and the Long Bridge with a resounding thud.

Bang!

Rhaegar slid off the dragon's back, feeling a bit unsteady on his feet. It wasn't just the lingering effects of recklessly using the Dragon's Horn; Rhaenyra was partly to blame as well.

"Yawn..." Rhaegar muttered, dark circles under his eyes. With a sigh, he added, "Dragons are getting more and more difficult to deal with." He hadn't slept all night and had to rise early to return to Dragonstone. 'If this keeps up, I won't live to be a hundred years old,' he thought.

“Roar!”

A dragon's roar echoed through the air as a scarlet dragon shot out of the clouds like lightning. Meleys, wary of the Dragoneater, gathered its wings and landed at a distance.

“Rhaegar, it really is you!” Rhaenys exclaimed in surprise as she dismounted from the dragon's back.

“Roar...” Meleys growled, lowering itself into a combat stance.

Rhaenys froze for a moment before noticing the dark dragon gazing at them from afar. The Cannibal was already special, but this one was larger than Vhagar,  the oldest and biggest she had ever seen.

On closer inspection, it seemed even bigger. It stood at the end of the Long Bridge of Stone Steps, almost as tall as the Stone Drum Tower, Meleys, on the opposite side, wasn't even half as tall as its opponent.

While Rhaenys was lost in thought, Rhaegar approached her and greeted her. "I'm back, Aunt."

“Good to have you back,” Rhaenys replied, her eyes still fixed on the dragon. “Your dragon has grown so much.”

'Could there still be wild dragons in the Smoking Sea that encountered the Cannibal's poisonous maw?' she wondered.

Rhaegar chuckled lightly. “Just some opportunities.”

The fire essence ore mined at the base of the Fourteen Flames had been entrusted to the Sea Snake for transport back to Dragonstone. It would be buried deep within Dragonmont and carefully rationed to the dragons.

“You haven't had breakfast, have you? Come with me,” Rhaenys said, taking her nephew's hand and leading him toward the Stone Drum Tower.

The climate in Westeros was quite different from that across the Narrow Sea, and by October, the chill had already set in. A morning meal of mutton would warm them up for the rest of the day.

...

Stone Drum Tower

A few small dishes were set on the table, and a servant poured a cup of hot milk. Rhaegar ate heartily, savoring the aroma of the roast lamb. 'Aunt Rhaenys really knows how to eat; no wonder she’s the matriarch of the wealthiest family in the Seven Kingdoms,' he thought.

“How did it go? Was the Smoking Sea dangerous?” Rhaenys asked, taking a sip of her fruit wine.

“Everything went well, and Lord Corlys had a fruitful trip,” Rhaegar replied, understanding her concern and answering with certainty.

Rhaenys let out a huge sigh of relief.

Rhaegar gulped down the milk in one go, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and asked, “On the way here, I noticed a lot of sunken ships just outside The Gullet. They all showed signs of burning.”

Rhaenys didn't hesitate to explain, “Those were the ships of Pentos, burned by Daeron on Tessarion. Some also sank in the Bay of Crabs, but those were Braavosi ships. The brothers acted decisively and achieved a great victory.”

“I see,” Rhaegar nodded and stood up. "Aunt, I have to go," he said.

“But you’ve just finished eating,” Rhaenys protested, frowning.

“It’s fine. I have something important to do, and I need to get back to King’s Landing,” Rhaegar said as he walked out.

With a loud noise, the castle gate opened, and a figure hurried in. Rhaegar noticed and asked, "Ser Alfred, is something the matter?"

“Yes, Your Grace,” Alfred responded. He was a tall, middle-aged man who had served on Dragonstone in his youth and commanded a high level of seniority. His once-black hair was now streaked with white at the temples, and wrinkles gathered around his eyes, giving him a serious demeanor.

Alfred quickly approached the throne, adjusting his uneven breathing as he reported, “Your Grace, Addam of Hull led the army back to Driftmark. The Gullet cannot do without a fleet to patrol it, so I request the appointment of the Royal Fleet.”

Rhaegar turned his head, puzzled. “Addam went back to Driftmark?” He had the impression that Addam was a reliable man.

Rhaenys glanced at Alfred and bluntly explained, “Aemond wanted to press the advantage, but the two Free Cities had already surrendered, and Addam refused Aemond’s order.”

War is complicated, and a single decision can shift the entire situation. The enemy hadn't initiated the attack but had provoked conflict within the Narrow Sea. Aemond took the initiative, making the situation morally ambiguous. Crossing the Narrow Sea for revenge was already considered a full-scale war. Addam was more reasonable, heeding the warnings of Rhaenyra and Rhaenys, and firmly opposing the escalation. Aemond tried to persuade him with both threats and promises, but Addam stood his ground.

“A tough nut to crack, isn’t he?” Rhaegar laughed, his opinion of Addam rising even further. It was hard not to appreciate an advisor loyal to the crown.

“Your Grace, what are your thoughts?” Alfred asked earnestly, hoping to make a significant impact.

Rhaegar’s smile faded as he asked, "Ser, why didn’t you lead the Royal Fleet when the Velaryon fleet went into battle?"

Alfred was taken aback and stammered, "Your Grace wasn't there, so I couldn’t request the position."

“And taking the Free Cities' fleet by surprise with force would have been disastrous,” he continued.

That was evident during the battle led by Addam against the Velaryon fleet. There were too many enemies, and the dragons couldn’t burn them all quickly enough. To win, the fleet needed to open up the situation.

“Alright, there’s no need to say more,” Rhaegar interrupted, raising his hand with a sigh. “I understand your feelings, but the Royal Fleet is not to be moved lightly. Focus on increasing patrols.”

“But, Your Grace...” Alfred began to argue but was cut off by Rhaegar’s cold dismissal.

Rhaegar walked away in large strides, not wanting to engage further. 'He had no desire to get involved in a situation that could escalate, yet he planned to take credit for the victory once the battle was won. Ser Alfred was, after all, a seasoned veteran.'

...

Rhaegar stepped out of the Stone Drum Tower, the warm sunshine spilling over his face. He raised a hand to shade his eyes, muttering to himself. He hadn't spent much time with Ser Alfred, who had mostly served Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone. Yet, lately, Alfred had been lingering around him at every opportunity, clearly eager to make a name for himself.

Rhaegar frowned, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at him. 'Where have I seen that face before?' he wondered. Perhaps it was in a dream from long ago. Unable to place it, Rhaegar eventually gave up trying to figure it out.

...

At the base of the mountain, Dragonmont.

The Cannibal crouched on the ground, idly flicking its tail.

Tap, tap...

The familiar sound of footsteps caught its attention, and it slowly opened its green, vertical pupils. Rhaegar stepped into the sunlight, cradling a black dragon egg in his arms.

"Roar... Roar..."

A dozen poorly dressed Dragonkeepers followed closely behind, struggling to control three ugly baby Wyverns with green-and-white mottled stripes, their movements restricted by heavy chains.

The elder Dragonkeeper, his face smeared with blood, spoke solemnly, "Your Grace, Wyverns cannot be kept on Dragonmont. They will disturb the dragons."

"Roar..."

One of the ugly hatchlings let out a shrill cry, attempting to lunge and bite at anything within reach.

Rhaegar waved his hand dismissively, understanding the concern. "Lock them up and feed them the cheapest fish."

Wyverns were fierce but lacked intelligence. The clutch of dragon eggs had originally been brought back from Sothoryos as a potential food reserve. If they hatched, they would try to raise them, but the daily expenses couldn't be too great—the dragons already consumed a staggering amount. Feeding them fish would suffice.

The elder Dragonkeeper nodded emphatically, relieved. "I will not let you down, Your Grace."

He then signaled the other Dragonkeepers to drag the Wyverns away, striking their heads with bamboo sticks to keep them in line. Without this deterrent, they risked being bitten.

Rhaegar watched for a moment before climbing onto the back of the Cannibal. The unexpected hatching of the Wyvern eggs was a welcome surprise. If they developed well, the adult dragon's food supply would be secure. And if the Wyverns could be tamed, they might even become formidable assets in battle.

...

Midday.

The Cannibal soared back to King's Landing, circling the city twice as the people below erupted in cheers. The blockade of The Gullet had kept many informed about the ongoing war, and the King's return from across the Narrow Sea was a much-needed boost to their spirits.

"Roar..."

The Cannibal let out a powerful roar before descending and landing in front of the Dragonpit.

Moments later, a white chariot rolled into view.

...

Red Keep, the King’s chambers.

“Ha-ha-ha...” Viserys lay pale and panting in his bed, his laughter tinged with weariness. “There’s medicine. How long will it take to cure me?”

Rhaegar sat by the bedside, gently wiping the sweat from his father’s forehead. Grand Maester Orwyle and Maester Munkun stood nearby, one grinding the juice of the Soul Restoring Orchid, the other poring over medical texts.

Maester Munkun frowned as he read, then hesitated before speaking. “The herb will certainly help, but the strain on King Viserys' spirit is taking a toll on his body. It will take time for him to recover fully.”

The truth was, Viserys was over fifty, and in the relatively underdeveloped continent of Westeros, his health was fragile. Rhaegar understood the implication and replied pragmatically, “Don’t rush it, but ensure my father can return to a normal life. He can’t linger like this.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Maester Munkun assured him confidently.

Orwyle finished grinding the juice, mixed it with the medicinal powder, and brought it to the bedside. “I’ll feed Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Rhaegar said, helping his father sit up and parting his trembling lips.

Orwyle, though less knowledgeable than Munkun, was diligent in his duties. He gently fed the medicine to Viserys, whose frown deepened as he tasted the bitterness. “I’m not drinking anymore, it’s too bitter,” Viserys muttered.

“Just drink it, Father. The kingdom needs you,” Rhaegar urged, offering a sweetened broth that Orwyle had prepared. The sweetness seemed to cut through the bitterness, or perhaps it was the comfort of his eldest son's voice. Viserys’s brow relaxed slightly as he lay back in Rhaegar’s solid embrace, breathing a bit more easily.

“Let’s step outside for now,” Rhaegar said, carefully laying his father back down before motioning for the Maesters to follow him. Five fresh, ripe Soul Restoring Orchids would more than suffice to heal the damage to his spirit. After that, it was just a matter of time.

...

With a long-standing worry finally resolved, the pent-up emotions of years began to ease. Rhaegar made his way to the Princess's bedroom.

Knock, knock, knock!

He knocked on the door, and a response came almost immediately.

"Come in, brother."

Rhaegar smiled faintly and reached out to push open the door.

“You’re finally back,” Helaena said, kneeling on the carpet with a radiant smile. Her fair face, free of any powder, glowed with natural beauty, her silver hair cascading around her cheeks, making her all the more striking.

“I brought you a present,” Rhaegar said, tilting his head as he playfully bounced a black dragon egg in his hands.

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