Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 330: Young Dragon Morning Deficiency

Chapter 330: Young Dragon Morning Deficiency

Rhaegar glanced over, noting the typical Northern Stark features of the man approaching.

All the bannermen came to greet him, and soon it was the turn of the Stark House.

Knights of the North, wrapped in thick clothing, flanked the entourage. The dark-haired middle-aged man stepped forward, his voice low and respectful. "The North salutes you, Prince Rhaegar."

"The people of the North are welcome to participate in this tournament, Lord Bennard," Rhaegar responded with a gentle nod, though his tone remained distant.

Bennard Stark, the sibling brother of the former Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Rickon Stark, was now the Regent of Winterfell. Feeling the prince's cool demeanor, Bennard maintained his composure, reflecting the typical Stark stoicism, and respectfully withdrew.

Next, the Stark teenager approached. He had gleaming black eyes, shoulder-length dark curly hair, and wore a slightly worn black frock coat lined with ferret skin. Two meters away from Rhaegar, the teenager knelt and respectfully lowered his head. "Cregan Stark sends his reverent greetings to you and hopes that you will not be disturbed by the cold."

Rhaegar looked down at him and solemnly replied, "Accept your greetings, Lord Cregan."

Cregan Stark, only thirteen years old, was the current Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. When Cregan rose after the salute, Rhaegar noted the heroic spirit in his eyes and took the initiative to speak. "I heard the sad news about Lord Rickon. Forgive me for not being able to attend the funeral in person."

Cregan, despite his youth, stood tall and composed, his dark eyes deep and his curly hair draped over his shoulders. His physique was already formidable for his age, with callused hands indicative of rigorous training. Responding to Rhaegar's condolences, Cregan said calmly, "As long as you keep his loyalty in mind, my father would never blame you for your absence."

His response was dignified and measured, reflecting the meticulous nature of the Stark House.

Rhaegar admired the unassuming young Lord and couldn't help but compare him to ElmoTully, who was accompanying the elder Tully. The contrast between the two heirs was stark—one exuding maturity and resilience, the other lacking substance.

Patting Cregan's solid shoulder, Rhaegar turned to Bennard, who stood nearby. "Next time, tell the Lord of Winterfell to salute me first. I remember that the Starks are a House that follows tradition."

Bennard was momentarily taken aback, a flash of dismay crossing his eyes before he replied, "Yes, Prince."

Rhaegar signaled for Cregan to retire and continued to receive the other bannermen. He understood Cregan's precarious situation, with his power being undermined by his regent uncle. Unlike Jeyne, who had managed to assert her authority, Cregan was still struggling to find his footing.

Sensing Rhaegar's goodwill, Cregan tactfully pretended not to notice, silently stepping back to make way for others.

The city gates bustled with a steady stream of carriages. Among them, two teams of knights bearing banners with a stag and a blue seahorse respectively, approached, heralding the arrival of more distinguished guests.

Another dragon roar echoed through the sky as an ungainly brown clay-colored dragon soared over Harrenhal, circling above the massive fortress.

"Rhaegar, I'm back!"

Aemond called out jubilantly as he jumped from his carriage, leaving the curtains fluttering behind him. Dressed in silky silver robes adorned with gold and silver ornaments, Aemond's pride was evident.

Ignoring the four Cassandra sisters who were still disembarking, Aemond strode forward with an air of grandeur. Cassandra frowned slightly, wanting to call out to him, but hesitated and remained silent.

The sisters stepped out, assisting their mother, Lady Elenda, who stood regally beside them.

Under the banner of the silver seahorse, the Sea Snake Corlys and Rhaenys arrived hand in hand, followed by their eldest son, Laenor, and Celine Celtigar. Over the past few months, Rhaenys had been at Storm's End, meticulously organizing Aemond and Cassandra's engagement, thus resolving a major issue for the royal family.

Seeing the flamboyant Aemond, Rhaegar grabbed him by the neck and teased, "Good boy, dressed so fancy. You don't seem to care about that bag of gold dragons."

"My fiancée helped me dress up," Aemond shrugged, his eyes gleaming with mockery.

Rhaegar, sensing that the mockery was not directed at him, glanced at Lady Elenda and her daughters. Strangely, Royce Caron was absent, replaced by two burly men.

One was a tall, obese man with rough features and short black hair, bearing a resemblance to Borros Baratheon, but older, probably about Borros' age. The other was in his twenties, tall and stocky, with thick eyebrows, large eyes, and an air of arrogance reminiscent of Borros.

Rhaegar guessed that these two were probably Borros' bastard brothers or sons.

Lady Elenda approached, her voice magnetic, "House Baratheon greets you, honorable Prince Rhaegar."

"I look forward to your participation, ma'am," Rhaegar replied politely.

The Four Storms also saluted, followed by the Baratheon bannermen. This was a highlight.

Except for Cassandra, who joined Aemond, the other three sisters stood by Lady Elenda. The two presumed bastards stood alone, ignored by Lady Elenda and her daughters.

Two great nobles, wearing the insignia of House Swann and House Dondarrion, stood beside the bastards, ignoring Lady Elenda and her daughters.

Rhaegar noticed the nobles of the Swann House of Stonehelm and the Dondarrion House of Blackhaven. "Interesting, they are both famous surnames in the Stormlands as well," he thought, his expression unchanged, already drawing conclusions.

The reception continued until a large carriage arrived bearing the three-headed red dragon banner.

King Viserys stepped out, hand in hand with Queen Alicent. Viserys, looking well, walked slowly, smiling and greeting courtiers. Alicent, her face rosy and free of worry, warmly entertained the ladies.

Seeing everything well in hand, Rhaegar's purple eyes flashed with relief as he prepared to slip away.

As he took a step back, Alicent called out, "Rhaegar, there are too many guests. Can you call Rhaenyra to help me?"

Rhaegar pursed his lips, hesitant. "She... I'll try," he replied.

Alicent, sensing his discomfort, sighed and waved him off, no longer pressing the matter.

Relieved, Rhaegar smiled, chatted briefly with a group of advisors, and quietly slipped away from the crowd.

...

Kingspyre Tower

Rhaegar slipped away from the noisy crowd and made his way back through the gravel garden to his residence.

Clang... clang...

The sound of clashing swords echoed from the sandy clearing outside Kingspyre Tower.

Aegon, bare-chested and wielding a hand-and-a-half sword, was locked in a fierce duel with Arryk Cargyll, who wore silver armor and a white robe, his expression solemn and focused.

"Ha!..." Aegon gritted his teeth, swinging his sword relentlessly, thrusting forward with determination.

Arryk remained calm, parrying each blow with ease.

As Rhaegar passed, he called out without breaking stride, "Keep your steps steady. Don't fight like a cripple."

Aegon's face darkened at the comment. He widened his stance, bent his knees, and swung his sword with renewed speed and precision.

After being chastised by Aemond half a month ago, Aegon had suddenly rekindled his interest in swordplay.

Viserys and Alicent were both pleased to see that their son had regained his motivation and was no longer aimless.

...

Entering Kingspyre Tower, Rhaegar ascended in a manually operated winch cage. Given that Harrenhal's five main towers were exceptionally tall, it took at least half an hour to travel up or down. The winch cage was an invaluable tool for such a task.

On the top floor of the tower, in a room reserved for lords, Lorent, a member of the Kingsguard, stood watch in front of the solid wood door.

"How is Rhaenyra?" Rhaegar inquired softly, as if afraid of disturbing those inside.

Lorent lowered his eyes and whispered, "The princess is awake, but it's the same old story."

Rhaegar nodded, giving Lorent a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Creak—

As he pushed open the door, the sweet aroma of desserts filled his nostrils. Rhaenyra sat on her knees on the red carpet, her silky silver hair cascading casually down her back. She wore only a light white silk nightgown.

In front of her was a small table crowded with an array of desserts, including cream cakes and seven-gill eel pies. When Rhaegar entered, she was holding a piece of pie in one hand and a bottle of summer red in the other, stuffing her mouth with little regard for decorum.

Her movements were so exaggerated that one strap of her nightgown had slipped off, revealing a hint of her pale skin. Her legs were folded beneath her, and the hem of her gown barely covered the tops of her thighs.

At the sight, Rhaegar felt a headache coming on. He didn't know where to begin persuading her.

"Roar..."

A shrill dragon roar emanated from the side.

By the wall at the entrance of the room, twin little girls wearing small white dresses crouched side by side, each with a young dragon lying in their arms.

Both girls had long silver-gold hair and inherited their mother Laena’s beauty, with delicate and lovely features. Baela had a darker complexion, leaning towards the light black of their grandfather, the Sea Snake Corlys, with round violet eyes.

Rhaena had a lighter complexion, similar to their mother Laena’s general olive coloring, with a hint of fangs.

Rhaegar closed the door and smiled. "How are you both doing?"

"Uh, fine," the twins nodded in unison, their pigtails bobbing.

"Roar..."

A young green dragon lay in Baela's arms, its vertical pupils glaring at the newcomer. This was Moondancer, hatched from a dragon egg a few months ago. The newly hatched dragon had grown quickly, already the size of a large dog, and the crown of horns on its head was beginning to show promise.

Like her sister, Rhaena had a baby dragon in her arms, but this one was in a very different condition. Rhaegar leaned down to examine it. The young dragon had pale pink scales, black horn crowns, and wing membranes of a monotonous moon white color. It was as beautiful as a butterfly, earning the name Morning.

Unfortunately, Morning had an ill fate. Hatched the night after Moondancer, the two young dragons were like twins. However, while Moondancer thrived and grew rapidly, Morning seemed born with a deficiency and remained sickly, barely growing to the size of a house cat.

At this moment, Morning lay weakly in Rhaena’s arms, its tiny dragon head gently arching. Rhaegar stroked Rhaena’s head and asked softly, "Is Morning okay?"

"She's okay. She ate a little bit of roasted lamb today," Rhaena replied naively, rubbing her small hands against Morning’s spine, her eyes reflecting a deep melancholy.

While her sister's hatchling was healthy and strong, hers seemed fragile, as if it might die at any moment. She was filled with both pity and worry for the young dragon she had hatched herself.