Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 181: What Happens to Traitors

Chapter 181: What Happens to Traitors

Rhaenyra entered the bedroom with a large tray filled with bread, sausages, and melons.

"Careful, no need to rush," Rhaegar gently reminded her. "How is Runestone?"

"You're already injured like this; focus on recuperating," Rhaenyra said, her eyes reflecting a touch of sadness, reluctant to elaborate further.

Arnold, the traitor, had colluded with the Mountain Clans, infiltrating Runestone through a hidden passage he discovered years ago. He had killed a wine waiter and poisoned the wine.

All the nobles of the Vale who drank at the banquet were killed, and the hall reeked of poisoned blood. The wedding ceremony had turned into a funeral. There was no greater tragedy than this.

Rhaegar, noting her demeanor, realized the situation in Runestone was dire. After a moment of silence, he began eating.

Even the Heir and the Lady of the Eyrie had barely survived an ambush. The defenseless nobles stood no chance.

After finishing his meal, Rhaegar wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and asked, "I heard someone screaming in agony this morning. Was it a captured member of the Mountain Clan?"

"It's Arnold," Rhaenyra said, lowering her head. She had seen him being tortured when she went to fetch food.

The Mountain Clan members who infiltrated Runestone had been killed on the spot. Arnold had been captured alive by Gerold and was now being tortured.

Rhaegar's expression grew somber as he grasped the full extent of the betrayal.

"Rhaenyra, find a wheelchair and push me out," he requested. He wanted to see Arnold himself and witness his suffering.

"You're seriously injured. The Maester said you need to rest for at least half a month," Rhaenyra insisted, her tone firm.

Rhaegar had been stabbed in the back, leaving a gaping wound. Even though it had been bandaged, there was still a risk of infection and inflammation. In the underdeveloped Westeros, an inflamed wound could mean death.

Ignoring her, Rhaegar supported himself with his right hand and slowly sat up. The serpent rune had healed part of his wound, making it manageable.

"Rhaegar! You're so stubborn," Rhaenyra exclaimed, rushing to support him, letting him lean into her arms.

"I'm fine; the flames give me strength," Rhaegar reassured her, feeling the soft touch of her back. He smiled confidently.

Rhaenyra, watching him closely, hesitated and then asked, "Did you... have fire burning on you yesterday?"

Rhaegar nuzzled her neck and laughed. "The Targaryen blood contains magic, and I tapped into it."

Among the forty Dragonlord families, the Targaryens were id to lower tier. They had few dragons and limited knowledge, offering little help to their descendants. Rhaegar's generation knew only dragon riding and had never seen magic.

Aegon the Conqueror may have known something, but he left behind only the Song of Ice and Fire. He didn’t leave any valuable knowledge.

Rhaenyra, intrigued, gently ran her hand over Rhaegar's skin. "Can I learn?"

"Hardly," Rhaegar replied honestly.

His bloodline purity was only 5% initially. Even if it increased as he grew, it would be around 10% at most. Rhaenyra was 7 when she tamed a dragon, which is good, but her talent should be less than 40%. Becoming a Pyromancer is almost impossible.

Rhaenyra looked down, disappointed. She had hoped she could learn magic too.

"But," Rhaegar continued, changing his tone, "I found a new kind of magic. Once I'm familiar with it, I can teach you."

He was referring to runes. Learning and utilizing runes required two things: mental power and magic. The Targaryens had magic in their blood, and mental power depended on personal talent.

"Really?" Rhaenyra's eyes lit up with excitement.

Rhaegar smiled, rubbing his cheek against her neck. "Yes."

During the old Valyrian period, the Targaryens' magical inheritance included blood sorcery and pyromancy. This knowledge had been lost or never possessed by the Targaryens. Rune power would become the Targaryens' greatest reliance after dragons.

...

At noon, Rhaenyra slowly pushed Rhaegar out of the castle, leaning on a wheelchair. The sunlight was bright and blinding, so Rhaegar raised his hand to shield his eyes and looked around.

In the front yard of the castle, a newly erected three-meter tall cross stood, with a bloodied figure tied to it.

"Prince!" The yard was crowded, and the bloodstained Gerold was the first to spot Rhaegar.

Gerold approached quickly, his face showing concern. "Prince, you're badly injured. This is not helping your recovery."

Rhaegar dismissed the worry with a wave. "Lord Gerold, is that Arnold?"

The figure on the cross was a chestnut-haired teenager, covered in whip marks and barely conscious.

"Yes, Prince," Gerold confirmed, his eyes filled with resentment.

"Find a healer to keep him alive," Rhaegar said calmly.

"Why!?" Gerold reacted sharply.

Rhaegar met his gaze steadily. "Have you heard of the Bolton House?"

"A large family in the North, often at war with the Starks," Gerold replied, puzzled.

"The Boltons have a cruel tradition," Rhaegar continued, his tone dark.

Gerold pondered this, understanding dawning slowly.

"Arnold's crimes are unforgivable. Don't let him die too quickly," Rhaegar commanded, tapping his fingers on the solid wood armrests of the wheelchair. "Flay him alive."

Gerold's face tightened, momentarily speechless.

"I'll give you three days," Rhaegar instructed coldly. "The first day, below the calf. The second day, below the thigh. The third day, below the neck."

He looked at Arnold's figure thoughtfully. "Remember to give him milk of the poppy."

Rhaegar didn't fully understand his own emotions as he spoke, but the stabbing pain in his belly and shoulder told him Arnold deserved this fate.

Gerold, visibly gulping, stepped back. He had planned to torture Arnold before hanging him, but he approved of the prince's more severe proposal. Gerold hurried off to relay the orders to the executioner.

"Rhaegar, flaying is forbidden," Rhaenyra whispered, holding onto the wheelchair. Even the Bolton House had banned flaying, and she didn’t want Rhaegar to be known for cruelty.

"It doesn't matter." Rhaegar waved her off, indifferent. The rebellion of the Mountain Clans and certain Vale clans was irrelevant; he simply wanted Arnold to suffer. Perhaps it would serve as an example, but that was secondary.

When he faced the Mountain Clans alone, Rhaegar did not expect to survive. He only wanted to fight until the Cannibals returned, to at least ensure Rhaenyra's survival. But as arrows and spears pierced his body, Rhaegar's will to live grew. He wanted to live and kill those who had wronged him.

Arnold was the first, but not the last.

Suddenly, a horn sounded from the city walls, echoing across Runestone. A messenger shouted, "The Knights of the Vale have returned. Shall we open the gates?"