Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 288: Wild Dragon in the Mist

Chapter 288: Wild Dragon in the Mist

Buzz--

As if sensing his thoughts, the Flaming Red Heart emitted a reddish halo that enveloped Rhaegar.

Before he could react, the halo expanded, enveloping the entire ship in a protective sphere of red light.

"Roar..."

Cannibal roared in puzzlement as it emerged from the volcanic ash, its green pupils faintly glowing with the same red halo.

Protected by the red light, the volcanic ash was kept at bay, and the oppressive heat dissipated.

"The Lord of Light has manifested! Let's go!" Rhaegar shouted, urging the mercenaries to row with all their might.

They had to hurry; maintaining the halo drained Rhaegar's magic, and he was already borrowing magical energy from Cannibal.

"Roar..."

Cannibal swooped lower, its wings creating gale-force winds that propelled the sails forward.

The sky and sea were shrouded in volcanic ash, a chaotic darkness.

"Cannibal, guide the course ahead," Rhaegar called out.

Cannibal, a wild dragon with intelligence surpassing that of a normal human, heeded Rhaegar's command. Using its sharp senses, it led the sailboat through the treacherous sea.

With the powerful winds at their back, the sailboat sped along.

Within half an hour, they had traveled a hundred miles, far enough to escape the worst of the volcanic ash.

Wave~

Free from the scorching ash, the red halo around the sailboat dissipated like a bursting bubble.

Rhaegar, pale and exhausted, lay on the sea monster's corpse, clutching the now-glowing Flaming Red Heart.

After infusing it with their combined magic, the heart had been activated, no longer dull but vibrant and eye-catching.

Rhaegar gazed up at the sky, the unique hazy weather of the Smoking Sea dim yet serene.

"Good stuff, worthy of being the Lord of Light Temple's inheritance item," he sighed, relieved.

"Roar..."

A deep dragon roar echoed from afar, stretching out for a long time.

Rhaegar sprang up, ignoring his aching muscles, and looked towards the sound.

He knew Cannibal's roar well, deep and resonant like a bell. This roar, though loud, lacked its rough and domineering quality.

"There are still dragons in the Smoking Sea!"

Rhaegar's expression grew solemn as he stared at the thick haze behind the sailboat.

With Cannibal leading the way, this dragon roar had to belong to another dragon.

He stared intently, but the haze revealed nothing.

"Why isn't it there?" Rhaegar muttered, disappointed but unwilling to give up.

He was determined to confirm if there truly was another dragon in the Smoking Sea.

"Roar..."

A dragon's roar echoed, but it wasn't from the dragon in the mist. Cannibal, sensing the presence of another dragon, had turned, flapping its massive wings and hovering above the sailboat, its green vertical pupils focused on a distant point.

Just as Rhaegar was about to give up hope, the haze in the sky shifted and rippled. A grayish figure appeared briefly, darting into the dense mist before vanishing.

"There really is a dragon!" Rhaegar exclaimed, his face hardening with determination.

In that fleeting moment, he had seen the shadow of a dragon. It seemed larger than Syrax but smaller than Caraxes, with unusually smooth scales that appeared silvery black and blended seamlessly with the mist. Its body was well proportioned, reminiscent of Dreamfyre and Grey Ghost.

Rhaegar's mind raced with wonder. "The Smoking Sea does indeed harbor dragons, and they appear young from their size."

Given the dangerous nature of the Smoking Sea, it was unlikely that this dragon had been tamed. It had to be a wild dragon that had hatched on its own.

His thoughts drifted back to the green dragon egg stored in the captain's quarters. "The wild dragon in the haze must have hatched from an egg left behind by the Dragonlord family," he mused.

"A wild dragon..." Rhaegar murmured, feeling a mixture of relief and excitement.

A wild dragon was manageable, far less threatening than a tamed one. The origins of Cannibal were also shrouded in mystery. Some believed it was hatched on Dragonstone Island, while others speculated that it was an exotic, pure wild dragon. Either way, the details were unimportant now.

Rhaegar's gaze remained fixed on the layers of mist as his thoughts drifted off into the distance, pondering the implications of this new discovery.

...

Time flew, and ten days later...

In the bustling harbor of Volantis, a three-masted sailing ship with a strong smell of the sea docked.

"Roar..."

A loud and clear dragon roar echoed through the harbor. Sailors and slaves alike raised their heads to see a huge pitch-black dragon soaring above them. The dragon circled the sky above the city-state twice, roaring as if to announce its presence, before slowly descending near the Black Wall.

Everyone recognized it as the dragon of the Targaryen Dragonlord.

Soon after, the black dragon took to the air again, flapping its massive wings as it headed toward the Narrow Sea.

No one knew what happened during the dragon's brief landing. No one dared to ask.

One thing was clear: R'hllor's faith was growing stronger by the day.

...

Above the Narrow Sea, the sky was a clear blue with white clouds drifting lazily. The salty sea breeze carried a refreshing coolness.

A conversation was taking place on the deck of a large cargo ship.

"Uncle, I didn't expect you to be waiting for me here," Rhaegar remarked, his tone calm as he looked at the familiar figure before him.

Daemon, holding a half-finished glass of red wine, stared out at the pale sea. "I didn't expect you to actually dare to explore the Smoking Sea," he said blandly. He glanced at the rounded bundle at his nephew's waist and noted its presence without comment. "Looks like you made quite a haul."

Upon hearing of Rhaegar's venture into the Smoking Sea, Daemon had set out to intercept him. Not for personal gain, but for the sake of his family and his brother and niece.

Rhaegar patted his satchel and said without hesitation, "I didn't go for nothing."

"To be honest, you're too reckless," Daemon replied, taking a sip of his drink. "I once tried to explore the Smoking Sea with Caraxes, but the dragon got restless when we reached the area, so I had to turn back."

The Smoking Sea was rumored to hold Valyria's lost treasures, but luck favored few.

Rhaegar fell silent, acknowledging the truth in Daemon's words. The Smoking Sea was treacherous indeed. It was a place to avoid unless absolutely necessary.

Changing the subject, Daemon glanced at the two girls standing in the corner of the deck, a playful expression in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to return to King's Landing with those two bastards ladies?"

"It's not me who's bringing them, it's you," Rhaegar replied with a helpless shrug. "I'm flying back to King's Landing on the dragon. They're your responsibility."

Daemon scoffed, "I thought you had more guts."

"No way," Rhaegar shook his head, then his tone grew serious. "I’ve heard about the brothel incident."

His words were pointed, his gaze intense. He wasn’t particularly upset about Varos’s death—a puppet like that was expendable—but the circumstances were troubling.

Daemon’s eyes flashed with a dangerous glint as he sneered, "A mere bitch."

"She was a Targaryen," Rhaegar retorted, his brow furrowing. He didn’t mince words. Saera’s death by fire was essentially Kinslaying.

Daemon's expression hardened. "My grandfather always said she wasn’t a true Targaryen, just a bitch."

He had long known about her existence but hadn’t paid her much mind until recently. When Varos made his move, Daemon had seen an opportunity to erase a stain.

"Perhaps you’re right," Rhaegar conceded, shaking his head.

Their conversation fell into silence. Rhaegar didn’t press Daemon about Varos’s demise. He hadn’t intended for Varos to wield real power—he was meant to be a mere figurehead.

Similarly, Daemon’s involvement with the old noble and Tesrio had made it clear that the powerful nobles of the free trade city-states were not to be trusted. Overseas power was ultimately detached from the king’s authority. It was fine to show saintliness in public, but exercising unchecked power was dangerous.

Rhaegar’s focus needed to remain on Westeros.

Daemon found a wooden crate and sat down, sipping his wine and gazing at the sky. The brief period of tranquility was something he was reluctant to break.

...

King's Landing, Red Keep.

The Council Hall was filled with the members of the Small Council. Viserys sat at the head of the table, cradling a wine cup in his hand. Compared to more than half a month ago, his health had improved significantly, and the usual smile had returned to the corners of his mouth.

The table was surrounded by a group of royal advisers: Hand of the King Lyonel, Master of Civil Affairs Otto, Grand Maester Mellos, Master of Coin Lyman, and Master of Laws Jasper. The seat for the Master of Ships remained vacant, the position still unfilled.

"Gentlemen, we all know the situation in the Stormlands. What are your views?" Viserys asked, raising an eyebrow as he addressed the advisers.

The advisers exchanged glances, their eyes frequently darting toward the king's side.

Viserys noticed this but forced himself to ignore it, maintaining his smile. To his right, Alicent sat demurely in a long green dress, silently pouring wine for him. On his left, Rhaenyra, in a strapless black dress, toyed with a stone ball adorned with black and green dragon patterns—her brother’s stone ball.

The room fell silent, the advisers hesitant to speak.

Viserys glanced around the table, contemplating whether to dismiss his wife and daughter. Earlier, when he had been weak, Alicent had attended the council on his behalf, serving with dedication. Rhaenyra, as the Princess of Dragonstone, also had a rightful place at the table in Rhaegar’s absence. Despite his misgivings, Viserys decided to allow them to stay.

Seeing this, the advisers, though helpless, accepted the situation. There was no conflict between the Queen and the Princess, so their presence would not disrupt the meeting.

Lyonel stood up to break the silence, clearing his throat. "Your Grace, the construction of the Prince's Palace required significant resources, most of which were provided by the Riverlands and the Stormlands."

"Recently, the Stormlands were struck by a storm, and several noble houses that supplied wood and stone suffered losses. They are now seeking an advance on their compensation from the treasury."

Viserys took a sip of wine and replied with a touch of sarcasm, "But weren't the houses that provided the materials located inland?"

When the kingdom undertook major projects, local nobles were temporarily conscripted and later reimbursed from the treasury. These particular noble houses, who had barely contributed, now sought premature rewards from the treasury. It was an audacious request.

Lyonel hesitated, unsure how to respond. He too recognized the underlying issue but was reluctant to voice it openly.