Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 282: Digging Up Dragon Eggs

Chapter 282: Digging Up Dragon Eggs

King's Landing

Red Keep, King's Bedchamber

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Viserys lay on his bed, his face gaunt and pale, each cough wracking his frail body.

Grand Maester Mellos stood nearby, speaking in a measured tone. "Your Grace, you have contracted a cold. Rest is imperative."

"I can't afford to rest; there's too much to be done." Viserys struggled to suppress another coughing fit, his breath coming in labored gasps. "How are the preparations for the tournament? The nobles in the North must be notified. I want an event that will be remembered throughout the seven kingdoms!"

The tournament was approaching quickly, and Viserys was determined to make it an unprecedented spectacle for his eldest son's rite of passage.

"With all due respect, Your Grace, you should leave these matters to the Queen and the Princess," Mellos suggested gently.

"No! They are women; they cannot grasp the significance of a tournament," Viserys retorted, dismissing the idea without hesitation.

Mellos sighed and shook his head. "Even so, Your Grace, you must take care of your health. I doubt the prince would want you burdened by mundane concerns."

Viserys forced a smile through his discomfort, his thoughts drifting. "Rhaenyra and the girls are back. But Rhaegar... he went to Volantis. What is taking him so long?"

Rhaenyra had mentioned that Rhaegar's trip to Volantis was for diplomatic purposes. It had been over two weeks with no word from him, and Viserys couldn't help but worry.

"The people of Volantis are known for their hospitality," Mellos said, his tone noncommittal. "The prince is likely being treated with great warmth."

Viserys chuckled weakly. "With the Cannibal at his command, no one would dare treat him otherwise."

He had heard the tales of his eldest son's exploits in the Riverlands and wanted to discuss more, but another bout of coughing seized him, leaving him breathless and red-faced.

"Ahem, I'll take the medicine later. You may leave now," Viserys managed, waving a hand to dismiss the Grand Maester.

Satisfied that the king's condition was stable, Mellos gathered his belongings and quietly left the chambers.

The door closed with a thud, and the sound of coughing echoed from within the chambers. Mellos didn't return to his attic for rest. Instead, he walked to the open-air promenade of the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra, dressed in a red gown, sat on a bench, gazing into the distance. At the sound of footsteps, she returned to her senses, clutching a piece of letter paper in her hand.

"Princess," Mellos greeted with a respectful bow.

"Thank you, Grand Maester," Rhaenyra responded with a smile.

"The king's health is stable, but he mustn't overexert himself. You need to advise him and share his burdens appropriately," Mellos urged.

"I will," Rhaenyra promised, then hesitated. "Regarding Rhaegar's news, do not inform my father yet."

Rhaegar's personal letter had arrived from Volantis the previous day. With Viserys preoccupied with tournament preparations, Mellos had delivered it to Rhaenyra instead. The letter had left her both anxious and annoyed; the Smoking Sea was no place for a Targaryen to venture. Given her father's fragile health, she wanted to keep this matter secret to avoid additional stress.

Mellos understood her concern and didn't object outright. "The prince wrote that he would return within a month, but the situation is unpredictable," he murmured.

As a Grand Maester, he knew well the perils of the Smoking Sea. History recorded that even a powerful Dragonlord of the Freehold, with a vast army and a giant dragon, had vanished without a trace after entering those cursed waters. Rhaegar's journey carried immense risks.

Rhaenyra's eyes dropped as she said solemnly, "Rhaegar is not impulsive. He mentioned in his letter that he has maps and the location of the ruins. He will return in time."

"I hope so. Legendary people often have legendary experiences," Mellos remarked, his expression stoic.

Since the Conquest, few had achieved true legendary status. Rhaegar's exploits - taming the King of the Wild Dragons, burning the Three Daughters, reigning briefly as Emperor - were already the stuff of legend for one so young.

Rhaenyra sighed, rubbing her forehead, and signaled for Mellos to leave. "I'll keep it a secret," he promised and departed quietly.

"Rhaegar, you must return soon," Rhaenyra murmured, feeling a deep sense of foreboding. King's Landing was rife with intrigue, and secrets couldn't be kept for long. After her recent trip to Storm’s End, she sensed a brewing storm in the court. She needed Rhaegar to quell it.

Meanwhile, Mellos reached the door of the queen's chambers. He knocked softly.

...

Smoking Sea, Underground Ruins

Rhaegar and his party advanced through the dark tunnels, their path lit by dozens of torches. Soon the sound of rushing water reached their ears.

"Is there a water source?" Rhaegar cocked his head, listening intently.

Robert whispered, "My lord, there are green plants on the bank. There may be an underground stream."

"Makes sense. Let's investigate."

Leading the way, Rhaegar led the group through the dimly lit tunnel. Eventually, a winding, dark river appeared before them.

Rhaegar's gaze bypassed the slightly turbulent river, focusing instead on the jagged black rocks along its banks. He knelt and touched one of the rocks, feeling its brittle texture. Crushing some of the fragments between his fingers, he sniffed them and detected a sulfurous odor.

Looking around, Rhaegar noticed that the area around the dark river, including the nearby cave walls, was covered with similar rocks. "This is gray rock from dried magma. There must have been underground lava flows here once."

"What about the dark river?" Robert asked, perplexed.

Rhaegar stood and dusted his hands. "The Doom probably altered the crust, creating this dark river. The cataclysm probably changed the flow of water underground."

Otherwise, there wouldn't be tuff in the crypts and the tunnels wouldn't be so dry.

With renewed purpose, the group continued downstream along the dark river. According to the information from the smuggler's ship, the broken monolith was at the end of the tunnel. The smugglers had been attacked by the stone men and had fled, leaving the relics unexplored.

As they walked, the crypt gradually widened. The dark stream widened, flowing through channels littered with gray rock. The space opened up, a stark contrast to the claustrophobic tunnels of the past.

Rhaegar observed his surroundings closely, feeling a sense of familiarity. The crypt reminded him of the Dragonmont on Dragonstone and the underground beneath the Dragonpit.

Suddenly, a massive claw mark appeared on the cave wall. Rhaegar's eyes narrowed as he compared it to the Cannibal's claw marks in his memory.

"That's a dragon's claw mark."

Silently contemplating, Rhaegar suspected the relic might have originally been a dragon cave of the Belaerys family. The claw marks on the cave wall were unmistakably made by a dragon, though they were not as large as the Cannibal's. They seemed to be from an adult dragon of a size similar to the Red Queen Meleys.

Caraxes, known for its unique breed with small hind feet and membranous wings, couldn’t have left such deep marks.

Moments later, the group rounded a corner, moving cautiously and quietly. The sound of clattering stones reached their ears, lifting Rhaegar's spirits. He signaled the mercenaries with a subtle nod.

Understanding his intent, the mercenaries slowed their movements and quietly dispersed to either side of the corner, cutlasses at the ready.

Rhaegar crept closer to the corner, hiding his torch behind him, and peered inside. His heightened senses allowed him to see in the dim light, a result of his extensive training and powerful mental energy.

Beyond the corner was an empty crypt. The chert was gone, replaced by piles of dark, lumpy matter. Rhaegar recognized it immediately as dried dragon droppings. His experience repairing Harrenhal and handling dragon waste from Dragonstone and King's Landing made him certain of its nature. Clearly, the dung here was very old.

His attention was drawn to a corner where the tapping was coming from. A flicker of firelight illuminated a dim area, revealing several slender figures clad in black robes with shaved heads. They wore masks with indecipherable designs.

One of the black-robed figures raised an arm and muttered incantations. A long, writhing shadow serpent was wrapped around the arm, its grotesque head repeatedly striking the aged dragon dung, tearing it apart as if searching for something.

"My lord, they seem to be Shadowbinders from Asshai, using sorcery to manipulate shadows," Robert whispered, his voice trembling.

"Quiet, I recognize them," Rhaegar replied, his face set in a steely expression. He motioned to the mercenaries on either side.

The Shadowbinders, though formidable, were not invincible. Rhaegar had faced them before, most notably during the bloody clashes on the Crab Claw Peninsula.

The mercenaries drew their bows and aimed at the flickering firelight.

"Release!" Rhaegar commanded.

Arrows flew through the air, eliciting a few muffled screams from within the crypt. Rhaegar paid no heed to the cries and continued, "Release again!"

Human or not, anyone caught in the hail of arrows would find no mercy. The arrows rained down until the mercenaries' quivers were empty. The torches within the crypt had been extinguished in the assault, plunging the area into darkness.

"Follow me!"

At Rhaegar's command, he drew his Dragon Claw, flames instantly spreading across the blade and illuminating the cavern. As a Pyromancer, he had a natural advantage over the Shadowbinders.

The mercenaries surged forward, torches held high. Several of the black-robed figures lay motionless, their bodies riddled with arrows, their limbs twitching involuntarily.

Rhaegar approached the fallen, noting the painted masks each wore. They were indeed Shadowbinders.

One of the fallen Shadowbinders, still alive, gasped and glared at Rhaegar with burning eyes.

"I... curse..."

Before he could finish, Rhaegar's sword descended and severed his head. The severed head rolled to the ground and Rhaegar, not satisfied, stabbed both the head and the body repeatedly, reducing them to ashes with his flaming sword.

"Curse me? You think you're the God of Death?" Rhaegar sneered, his Dragon Claw blazing and lighting up half the cave.

"My lord, it appears to be a dragon egg," Robert exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. He crouched in the pile of dragon droppings disturbed by the shadow serpent and held up a grayish dragon egg.

Rhaegar turned his attention to the egg, his interest piqued.

Suddenly, a wounded Shadowbinder, pierced by several arrows, lunged at Rhaegar with a low roar. He brandished a conical dagger in his hand, aiming for Rhaegar's back.

Rhaegar's eyes stayed cold and focused. Without turning, he drew his sword and thrust it backward, the blade finding its mark with a sickening squeal.

The Shadowbinder's advance halted abruptly as the Dragon Claw pierced his heart. Disbelief filled his eyes as he crumpled to the ground, collapsing into the dragon dung.