Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Half a month later...

King's Landing, Dragon Gate

A white chariot rolled out of the city gates, led by royal knights bearing three red dragon banners. At the rear of the procession, Lyonel rode a tall horse, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Close behind, Halwin, his face full of stubble, followed like a hunched-over black bear.

The horses' hooves trampled the roadside grass as they headed toward the Riverlands.

...

Red Keep

Rhaegar stood by the window, watching the procession fade into the distance. His eldest son had set off, challenging the nobles of the Riverlands on behalf of the royal family—a display of both personal honor and duty.

"He's a good boy, with a bit of nerve," Rhaegar murmured as he pulled the curtains closed, trying to hide the reluctance in his gaze. Baelon had the courage and sense of duty befitting a heir prince. His fair face, which bore a striking resemblance to Rhaegar's own youth, often earned him extra paternal affection.

'I wonder if Maekar still has nightmares,' Rhaegar thought, his heart stirring with longing for his third son, far away in Volantis. Maekar was a quirky little fellow—mischievous, yet endearing, and sharp-witted when it mattered. Of his nine children, Maekar resembled Rhaegar the most. Even Baelon, the eldest, and Aemon, the second eldest, who shared Rhaegar's looks, could not match their younger brother's character and approach to life. That was why Maekar had to stay in Volantis.

'I should visit him sometime,' Rhaegar reflected, sighing softly as he turned to face the wall adorned with a sculpted coitus fresco. The fireplace crackled, newly replenished with firewood, casting a warm light over the wall of collectibles. A row of Valyrian steel weapons gleamed—each one a priceless heirloom if taken beyond these walls.

Rhaegar approached and lifted the dragonbinder horn hanging high with one hand. He, too, was preparing to set off—heading to Sothoryos in search of Uragax and the elusive wild dragon.

"A wild dragon that exists only in fishermen's tales is a headache," he mused, stowing the dragon horn. His hand lingered over Truefyre, a sword he had not used in a long time. After a moment of hesitation, he took down his ancestral blade, Blackfyre.

With the Dragon Taming Whip and the Dragon Horn, Truefyre seemed redundant. This journey would take him through Sunspear, and it felt fitting to bring Blackfyre, the symbol of royal power. Unsheathing the sword, Rhaegar smiled wryly. "Consider it a consolation to Aegon the Conqueror."

...

One day and night later...

By afternoon, the rain had passed, and the sky cleared.

Boom!

A massive black creature soared over Shipbreaker Bay, its broad wings stretching like a curtain across the sky, breaking up the rainbow that had formed in the sunlight. On its back, Rhaegar closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He hadn’t slept well the night before—Storm’s End, plagued by thunderstorms year-round, had left the bed damp and uncomfortable.

It was unfortunate that Maris Baratheon had left just as they arrived, leaving Lady Elenda to host them.

There was no alternative—the King always traveled in style, and Rhaegar, leading the Kingsguard atop his dragon, visited every noble family along the way. It was an exhausting endeavor.

Clatter...

Suddenly, a surge of waves sent a dazzling flash of pale silver leaping into the air.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal, Rhaegar’s dragon, growled, sensing something unusual. Rhaegar, attuned to his dragon's instincts, rolled over to investigate the situation below.

“Roar! Roar!”

They were at the edge of the Sea of Dorne, where a pale silver dragon shadow skimmed the waves, chasing after two indistinct black shapes. Rhaegar blinked in surprise and rubbed his eyes.

Boom!

A jet of orange and silver-gray dragonfire erupted, engulfing the two black spots in an instant.

“Roar!”

A shrill scream echoed for miles as the two wyverns, their wings aflame, plummeted into the sea. These wyverns were not large, only about five meters long, but once they fell into the water, they struggled desperately.

“Roar!”

The pale silver dragon shadow soared above, its hooked hind legs piercing the spine of its prey as it flew toward the shore, as if it were catching fish.

'It really is Seasmoke,' Rhaegar thought, frowning as he patted the Cannibal’s back, signaling to give chase. Dragons were territorial creatures, their intelligence rivaling that of humans.

Seasmoke had hatched on Dragonstone and was tamed by the young Laenor before being brought to Driftmark. After Laenor’s death, the dragon had roamed, seemingly searching for its lost master. While the inhabitants of Dragonstone and Driftmark occasionally spotted Seasmoke, the dragon had vanished from sight in recent years. Now, it appeared he was wandering near the Sea of Dorne once more.

The two dragons landed one after the other on the edge of the Rainwood in the early morning.

Sizzling!

Seasmoke lowered his head, tearing into the half-dead wyverns and gnawing on the succulent meat. A wisp of ash drifted by, causing his nostrils to flare slightly.

“Roar!”

Seasmoke suddenly raised its head, folding its wings protectively, and roared into the distance. 

The Cannibal's cruel green eyes filled with indifference as it raised its head high, exuding a condescending air like that of a king.

The two dragons faced each other, Seasmoke’s slight figure dwarfed by the Cannibal’s imposing presence.

“Roar...”

The Cannibal let out a low, thunderous growl that shook the leaves above, a grim "smile" forming on its maw. Seasmoke's vertical pupils flashed with panic as it glanced toward the smaller dragon, recognizing the threat.

“Quiet, Cannibal!” Rhaegar commanded as he dismounted the dragon, stretching his stiff muscles. The discomfort in his back from a poor night’s sleep was compounded by the strain of climbing up and down the dragon’s massive body.

The Cannibal was a testament to its ancient and noble lineage, growing rapidly and steadily. Since the last winter, it had reached an astonishing 180 meters in length. According to his father, Viserys, the Cannibal was already on par with the decrepit Balerion, capable of crushing any other dragon in the House with ease.

"Climbing a dragon is exhausting. I envy Aegon not having to worry about this," Rhaegar said with a hearty laugh as he strode toward the dragon on the other side.

Seasmoke, sensing Rhaegar's approach, slowly backed up, a ball of fire building in its throat. But instead of aiming at the human, the dragon’s gaze remained fixed on the Cannibal with predatory intent.

“Lower your guard, Seasmoke,” Rhaegar instructed in High Valyrian, his boots crunching on the thick layer of fallen leaves.

“Roar!”

Seasmoke let out a low growl, wisely suppressing its dragonfire. Despite the putrid stench around him, the dragon recognized the human before him as a good person, someone it was still genetically bonded to.

Rhaegar approached, extending his palm toward the dragon. His voice was calm yet firm. “Seasmoke, I know what you’re searching for, but he’s gone.”

Poor cousin Laenor—he was never found. Even the Sea Snake and Aunt Rhaenys had given up hope, but Seasmoke remained loyal, still seeking its lost rider.

“Roar!” Seasmoke's roar echoed with sadness and anger.

“I know you can understand,” Rhaegar said gently. “Go back to Dragonstone or Driftmark and wait for your next rider.”

Seasmoke shook its head in refusal, its massive body turning slowly. Rhaegar sighed. "If you stay, you’ll have to learn to avoid humans."

Seasmoke tilted its head slightly, its thick tail swaying back and forth.

Rhaegar met the dragon’s gaze, speaking sternly. “Stay, and wait.”

Seasmoke, a dragon with exceptional intelligence who had seen many battles, understood the words. No other dragon in the House had been tamed by any of Rhaegar's younger children. Vhagar was too old, and the other dragons—Silverwing, Seasmoke, and Iragaxys—were not evenly divided among the heirs.

“Roar!”

Seasmoke lowered its head meekly, its intent to nuzzle the human in front of it clear.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rhaegar said with a smile, raising his palm to stroke the dragon's chin, feeling the fine, sharp barbs. Seasmoke responded by lowering its neck further, like a child seeking comfort.

Rhaegar, a father early in life, recognized the emotion immediately. “Good boy, you must have had a hard time over the years,” he said softly, his voice warm and gentle—a rare display of emotion. One hand ran along Seasmoke's lower jaw, scratching an itch, while the other wrapped around the dragon’s muzzle, letting the scorching dragon breath wash over him.

“Roar...”

Seasmoke slumped to the ground, its body tilting to the side as its amber eyes softened. The dragon’s beauty was undeniable, its well-proportioned form and light silver scales reminiscent of its mother, Dreamfyre. Seasmoke had an air of nobility and sanctity, a majestic presence from the last remnants of ancient Valyrian magic. It stood in stark contrast to the hideous Cannibal and the unusually evil looking Caraxes.

“Go ahead, eat your fill,” Rhaegar said, dodging Seasmoke’s affectionate nudge as it tried to rub its muzzle against his cheek. He held the dragon's head, looking at the two charred wyvern carcasses. The dragon’s scales were rough, irritating his skin. Unlike the Cannibal, which would have snorted arrogantly and tried to knock him over, Seasmoke’s touch was gentle.

“Roar!”

One of the dragons, sensing its rider’s discomfort, let out a loud roar.

“Roar!” Seasmoke responded, picking up one of the wyvern corpses and tossing it toward the other. It was as if the dragon was saying, "Take this and leave!"

Rhaegar couldn’t help but smile, unable to suppress the amusement on his face. This was the difference between the older and newer generations of dragons—their emotions toward humans were more nuanced, more delicate. Just like Syrax and Sunfyre, their bond with their riders was something truly touching.

...

It was growing late, the sky awash with the dusky hues of sunset.

In the depths of the Rainwood, the black dragon had already departed, leaving behind a slimy pile of dragon dung.

“Roar!” Seasmoke, its wings brushing against the trees, took to the skies, heading toward the sea as it often did. Aside from Caraxes, known as the “God of the Sea,” Seasmoke—aptly named—seemed to love soaring above the waves more than any other.

The scene shifts...

The Boneway lies behind, with Summerhall visible in the distance—a magnificent palace complex, its white marble exterior crafted in a garden-like style.

“Roar...”

The fiery clouds of dusk stirred violently as a dragon’s roar, deep and thunderous, pierced through the heavens.

Boom!

In the garden below, amidst intricately carved beams and painted rafters, a pale blue dragon lifted its head, its sharp pupils gazing intently into the distance.

“Keep your voice down, Dreamfyre,” Helaena admonished, her voice serious. She sat in a nearby pavilion, her blue skirt flowing around her as she spoke. Her beautiful face was marked with concentration, and her pale hands bore the embroidered patterns of a large ship crossing the sea.

“Mother,” a young girl approached, placing her small, white hand on Helaena’s calf. The girl was lovely, with honey-colored wavy hair and striking purple eyes. Her skin was a bit pale, and she was slender, her hair tied into two neat pigtails. She gazed up with large, watery eyes, a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Inside the pack was a pale purple dragon egg, its surface covered in fine scales. A faint crack had begun to form on the shell, hinting at the life stirring within.

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