Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 189: The Strange Wounds Caused by the Iron Throne

Chapter 189: The Strange Wounds Caused by the Iron Throne

Rhaenyra suddenly stopped, her smile fading as she turned away.

"What's wrong?" Rhaegar asked, concerned.

"Nothing, just... turn around first," Rhaenyra replied, her ears turning red as she awkwardly covered her chest with both hands.

"Did you bump into something?" Rhaegar asked, moving closer in curiosity.

"Rhaegar, you're too close," Rhaenyra said, her expression a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

Rhaegar blinked, clearly confused. "I don't understand."

Rhaenyra glared at him. "It's your fault, I'm flustered."

With that, she kicked him lightly and walked towards the castle alone, leaving Rhaegar puzzled and wondering what he had done wrong.

...

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of anticipation. Musicians played soft tunes on either side of the hall, and a small dwarf, dressed as a pirate with a large head, performed comically.

The sound of footsteps approaching from around the corner drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Viserys looked up and immediately became excited. "Rhaegar, Rhaenyra!"

"Father!" they both exclaimed.

Now dressed in their formal black garments, Rhaenyra and Rhaegar stepped forward hand in hand.

"My children, how was your trip to the Vale?" Viserys asked, rising to greet them with a smile.

The siblings exchanged a brief glance. Rhaenyra smiled softly and spread her hands. "Yes. The Mountain Clans were stopped and the fleet from Gulltown was sent to the Stepstones."

"Excellent. I've been worried about you both," Viserys said, visibly relieved. He stepped forward and hugged his daughter, then looked his eldest son up and down, ensuring he was unharmed.

Rhaegar smiled, placing his hands in front of his belly, although hidden beneath his clothes were two scars, one on his stomach and one on the back of his waist.

"Oh ho ho, look at this beautiful lady! The Pirate Mushroom sends his regards," a shrill child's voice suddenly interrupted. The dwarf playing the pirate, known as Mushroom, trotted up.

Halfway to them, Mushroom dropped to his knees and slid comically to a stop before the trio.

Viserys chuckled. "Mushroom is a good fiddler, always up for a good time."

Rhaenyra, amused, beckoned him over. "Mushroom, got anything new to tell us?"

"Sure, Princess," Mushroom said, nimbly climbing up and approaching Rhaenyra. Holding his large belly, he muttered with an obsessive face, "Your beauty, Princess, is the most novel and beautiful thing in the world."

"Haha, I knew you'd say that," Rhaenyra said, amused by the dwarf's flattery.

With two nobles favoring him, Mushroom felt extremely pleased with himself. He then turned his gaze to Rhaegar, pretending to be intoxicated. "Handsome prince, your trip to the Vale must have been full of passion. How many noble ladies did you capture?"

Rhaegar looked down at him, curling his mouth into a smirk.

Mushroom tried to maintain his flattery, but before he could continue, Rhaegar kicked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. "Don't talk nonsense in front of me."

Rhaenyra frowned slightly but led Rhaegar forward, stepping over Mushroom.

"Rhaegar, Mushroom meant well," Rhaenyra said, glancing back at the dwarf sprawled on the floor.

Rhaegar's frown deepened. "If he wasn't a source of amusement for you and father, he would have been thrown into the Dragonpit and fed to the dragons."

He had no patience for bootlickers, especially those like Mushroom who thrived on spreading rumors and gossip. These characters were only capable of flattering and making fools of themselves, wandering among the rich and powerful for no real purpose.

Rhaenyra couldn't argue with him and had Mushroom taken away.

As the day waned, Viserys sent word to Alicent to prepare a reception for his children.

...

Nightfall.

In the king's bedchamber, Viserys sat on the edge of the bed, painstakingly removing his shirt, revealing the wounds covering his body.

"Ha, aren't these wounds a sight?" he grimaced in pain as his clothes rubbed against the cuts, looking to his son, Rhaegar, for reassurance.

Rhaegar stood behind him, silent, a thousand words stuck in his throat.

Memories flooded back of his father's injuries, including the loss of two fingers to the Iron Throne when he was young. His father had always hidden his pain, shielding him from the severity of his wounds.

Now faced with the truth, Rhaegar struggled to maintain composure. "No, you've endured these wounds with the resilience of a true warrior," he said, reaching out to touch his father's weathered skin.

Viserys shook his head, chuckling softly. "No need for flattery, son. I know these wounds are not pretty."

He knew it from the strain in his relationship with Alicent. Despite her silence, he felt her resistance and rejection, otherwise she wouldn't be so dry, even after they had spent so much time together at night.

Rhaegar's smile faded as he sat beside his father. "I will help heal your wounds and restore your health," he vowed solemnly, extending his hand and invoking the "Bridled Serpent" rune.

A serpent emerged from the black smoke, slithering into Viserys's wounds. With each passing moment, the serpent grew slightly larger and more agile, consuming the black smoke that lingered in the wounds.

But one wound, near his vertebrae, stubbornly resisted healing, emitting a foul odor. Despite the serpent's efforts, a trace of black smoke persisted.

Confusion clouded Rhaegar's eyes as he observed the stubborn wound. It was then that he noticed something remarkable—the wound was not only healing but regenerating, leaving behind only a delicate bloodstain.

Yet, the black smoke lingered, refusing to dissipate entirely.

Viserys sighed in relief, feeling the burden of his injuries lift. "What's troubling you, Rhaegar?" he inquired, sensing his son's hesitation.

Rhaegar hesitated before responding, "It's nothing, Father."

Despite the serpent's efforts, the wounds, regardless of severity, remained coated in a thin layer of black smoke, resisting complete healing. The cuts persisted.