Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 311: Layers of Calculations

Chapter 311: Layers of Calculations

After a moment of embrace, Aemond reluctantly pulled away, trying to maintain a composed demeanor despite the unfamiliar warmth.

Rhaegar, noticing but not commenting on Aemond’s hesitation, smiled warmly. "Just call me Rhaegar or brother from now on. No need for formalities."

The casualness in Rhaegar's words and the repeated assurance touched Aemond, who blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the sudden informality.

"Well, I have some matters to attend to. Enjoy your day," Rhaegar said, patting Aemond on the shoulder. He then pulled up his hood and walked away briskly.

The Dragonkeepers stayed behind to escort Aemond, who turned to call after Rhaegar, wanting to prolong their time together. But Rhaegar was already disappearing around a corner.

Disappointed, Aemond brushed off his green tunic and rejoined Helaena and the others. Led by the Dragonkeepers, they made their way toward the northern exit of the town, heading for Dragonmont.

As they passed the town's only low-class brothel, an unexpected observer took note. Aegon, shirtless and with a curtain wrapped around his waist, stepped out onto the brothel's third-floor balcony to catch some air.

Peering down, he spotted Aemond and Helaena, escorted by the Dragonkeepers, and scratched his disheveled silver hair in confusion.

"Heading to Dragonmont? Taming a dragon?" he mused aloud, trying to piece together their plans.

A cold breeze hit him, making Aegon shiver. He retreated into the room filled with lewd voices, muttering under his breath, "An idiot and a fool."

...

Stone Drum Tower

Rhaegar returned to the castle and sought out Ser Robert, the Steward of Dragonstone.

Ser Robert handed him a piece of letter paper with an eager expression. "As you predicted, a raven was sent from King's Landing and intercepted by me beforehand."

Rhaegar tore open the envelope and skimmed through the contents. "What has the Queen been up to?" he asked casually.

Dragonstone is Rhaenyra's territory, so of course he had a certain amount of power in it.

Ser Robert replied frankly, "The Queen remains in her chambers most of the time. The maids report she frequently picks at her nails. Conversely, Grand Mellos, confined to the attic, has been asking vaguely if any letters have arrived from King's Landing."

"Mellos?" Rhaegar echoed.

"Yes, Prince," Ser Robert confirmed.

Rhaegar pondered this, a sneer curling his lips. Mellos seemed to be playing both sides, openly loyal to his father and close to Rhaenyra, while secretly spying for Alicent. Truly, he was the Citadel’s man through and through.

Reading the contents of the letter, Rhaegar exhaled deeply. As expected, it detailed Borros' death and Lady Elenda's pleas for help in investigating the cause. Rhaenys had added her own note, suspecting Borros was poisoned, much like her grandfather, Baelon Targaryen. She also emphasized the need for a Baratheon heir to oversee Storm’s End, subtly hinting at the importance of the proposed marriage alliance.

Rhaenys' insight was clear; she recognized the issue of Storm’s End’s succession and supported uniting the families through marriage.

Rhaegar smiled, appreciating his aunt’s loyalty and keen understanding. "Aunt Rhaenys remains devoted to the family and her duties as the Master of Dragons."

Chaos was not frightening; it could be a ladder to progress. By leveraging Borros' death, the family's control over Westeros could be further solidified.

Tearing the letter into shreds, Rhaegar instructed, "I'm going to meet my father. Ensure Dragonstone remains well-guarded."

The news needed to be contained for now, allowing the raven to fly a little longer. Those who had orchestrated foul deeds would be eagerly awaiting their fruits. By delaying the news, he could provoke restlessness and expose their hidden motives.

"Understood, Prince," Ser Robert assured with a confident pat on the back.

Rhaegar smiled and hurried towards his father's chambers. He deeply trusted Ser Robert, who was not only loyal but also highly capable, a steadfast ally to both him and Rhaenyra.

...

The King's Residence

"Get out! I don't need any treatment. I'm perfectly healthy!"

Viserys' weak but angry cry was accompanied by the crash of a wine jug thrown through the open wooden door.

Alicent stood in the doorway, covering her nose against the stench of wine that filled the room. Since the Small Council's objection to dragon taming the previous day, her husband's pride had been wounded, and he had turned to wine to drown his sorrows.

Ser Orwyle, in his Maester's robes, kicked aside the bottles that littered the floor as he slowly left the room.

"How is he?" Alicent asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Despite their years of marriage, she still worried about her husband's well-being - it was her only anchor.

Orwyle hesitated before answering, "The king is in poor health, both emotionally and physically. His wounds are inflamed and beginning to fester from neglect and excessive drinking."

"He still refuses to take his medicine?" Alicent pressed.

Orwyle nodded helplessly. "The Grand Maester's comments have agitated him greatly. He doesn't want to see anyone and even threatened to cut off my fingers."

It was Orwyle's first day as Grand Maester, and it was not going well.

"He won't harm you, I promise," Alicent said, her eyes red-rimmed. "He's unstable right now. Perhaps some milk of the poppy would calm him?"

Orwyle frowned and shook his head. "The prince has strictly forbidden giving the king milk of the poppy without his orders. It's too addictive and clouds his judgment."

Alicent's suggestion was swiftly dismissed, and she waved a hand, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I understand. You can go for now."

"I'll return later, hopefully after he's fallen asleep," Orwyle said before leaving silently.

Alicent sighed, her gaze drifting to her husband lying in a drunken stupor on the bed. Mellos, the previous Grand Maester, had been a close ally, and without him, easing Viserys' pain seemed impossible.

Viserys groaned and rolled over, his shirtless back exposing inflamed wounds. Even in his sleep, he muttered for more wine. Alicent closed her eyes in anguish and whispered a prayer. "Blessed be the Seven, don't let me suffer any longer."

She left the room, contemplating whether she should seek a little poppy milk from Mellos.

Moments later, Rhaegar entered the room, immediately struck by the sight of his father. "Father!" he called out.

Viserys was barely recognizable, his face flushed with drink, and a fresh puddle of vomit lay beside the bed. Rhaegar shook his head and gently lifted his father’s upper body back onto the bed, wiping away the sweat.

He had come to discuss urgent news from Storm's End and to strategize against their enemies. However, seeing his father in such a state, he knew it was futile.

"Oh... Rhaegar..." Viserys mumbled, sprawled on the bed, wounds visible on his back.

Rhaegar, feeling helpless, cleaned up the vomit and sat on the edge of the bed. He sighed and gently combed his father's disheveled hair, which had gotten tangled under the pillow. "Father, you are the king. You must act decisively and not let your personal feelings be swayed by your council's opinions."

Viserys grunted in response, but it was unclear if he understood.

Having said his piece, Rhaegar stood up and left, closing the door quietly behind him. His father had become too compliant, too bound by the decisions of the Small Council.

...

Dusk

A deep, resonant dragon roar echoed across Dragonstone Island as an immense, pitch-black dragon glided past the Stone Drum Tower, heading toward the Gullet. The attendants and guards within the tower looked up, their eyes filled with reverence and envy.

Half an hour earlier, Prince Rhaegar had received a message from a raven and decided to return to King's Landing with his dragon. Rumor had it that the prince's sword had been damaged, and he had invited the top blacksmiths of Qohor to recast it. This trip was to retrieve the newly forged blade.

Outside the castle, on the sea-facing cliffs, the light blue Dreamfyre and the golden Sunfyre stood apart, their eyes reflecting mutual hostility.

Sunfyre roared first, flapping his wings provocatively. Dreamfyre snorted, its vertical pupils locked onto the other dragon, moving slowly but deliberately. The two dragons did not clash directly, but the animosity between them was obvious.

Meanwhile, in the small garden behind the Stone Drum Tower, Aemond and his group, having spent the day wandering around Dragonmont, had returned to the castle and were now relaxing.

Helaena and Maris played in the gazebo, while Aemond and Cassandra walked hand in hand. Heeding Rhaegar's advice, Aemond tried to embrace the marriage and create some alone time with Cassandra.

Cassandra, older and more proactive, played the role of the big sister next door. Their quiet time was soon disrupted by an unwelcome visitor.

Aegon, reeking of wine, stumbled back from his visit to the brothel and found Aemond and the others in the garden. His first words annoyed everyone.

"Hi! A trip to Dragonmont and you didn't even see a dragon?"

"Aegon, we were just familiarizing ourselves with the area," Aemond retorted, letting go of Cassandra's hand. He didn't want to be taunted for not having dragons, nor did he want Aegon to see him and Cassandra together. Aegon had dismissed the Four Storms as if they were beneath him.

Aegon shrugged indifferently. "Then you should hurry before Vermithor and Silverwing sleep too much, or you'll be left to tame some sheep-stealing wild dragon."

The verbal jab stung, as usual. This time, Aemond couldn't hold back. "Aegon, I will tame Vermithor. You underestimate me."

Seeing her brother being bullied, Helaena ran out of the gazebo and stood protectively in front of Aemond. With her brother Rhaegar behind her and a Dreamfyre bigger than Sunfyre, she wasn't afraid of Aegon and his bullying.

The tension quickly escalated, and a small conflict was born.

...

From a balcony of the Stone Drum Tower, Rhaegar watched the scene below with calm eyes, observing the clamor of the disorganized group.