Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 357: There Can Only be One Dragonlord House in the World!

Chapter 357: There Can Only be One Dragonlord House in the World!

At noon, the sun blazed high in the sky, casting bright light through the tall, narrow windows of the Chamber of the Painted Table. Despite the sunlight, the air inside remained cold and tense.

The circular chamber was filled with figures standing around the sandstone table. Rhaegar stood off to one side, his hands resting on the stone tabletop, his eyes scanning the room.

Corlys the Sea Snake, Rhaenys, Laena, Aegon...
Lyonel, Otto, Laenor...

It was an impromptu council that included every significant member bearing the Targaryen and Velaryon surnames. From King Viserys down to young Daeron huddled by Alicent's leg, everyone was involved.

Rhaegar's mission was clear: to inform those present of the looming war.

Slamming his palm on the table, Rhaegar's face remained stern as he began, "My lords, silence won't solve our problem. We must discuss how to reclaim that wild dragon!"

A wild dragon must not fall into the hands of outsiders, especially since the Smoking Sea wild dragon was still heavily injured from its encounter with Cannibal. Rhaegar felt partially responsible for its capture.

"Prince, with all due respect, you know they will not hand over any dragon, nor will they return one to us," Corlys spoke sharply, his head held high. "Lys hunting wild dragons is a direct provocation to House Targaryen. War is inevitable."

"I agree," Daemon chimed in, firmly supporting the sentiment.

The two were eager for war, a desire that had been simmering for a long time. Rhaegar glanced at them, his cold eyes unreadable. Though he did not want to fuel their ambitions, the prelude to war had already begun.

The rest of the Small Council members were silent, deep in thought. They were all weighing the sacrifices that war would bring. Even King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, looked grim as he repeatedly examined the letter in his hand.

The letter was clear: the Smoking Sea wild dragon had been seriously injured and strayed to a deserted island in the Summer Sea. A group of mercenaries found it and used livestock to lower its guard. While the dragon was resting, they used chains and human lives to capture it alive, selling it to the Magister of Lys, Bambarro Bazanne.

Seeing his father's silence, Rhaegar frowned and spoke directly, "Father, you are the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the head of House Targaryen. The decision must come from you."

As the Heir Prince, Rhaegar knew that his authority was limited until Viserys made the final decision.

Viserys, restraining his anger, let reason prevail. "Once war starts, many will suffer. We should try to find a way to reconcile first."

"Your Grace, the only ones who will be devastated are the Triarchy. Seeking peace is nothing but a child's trick," Corlys retorted with disdain.

Lys had already captured a wild dragon, and regardless of whether anyone in the Triarchy could tame it, the threat was real. Viserys clenched the letter, his anger barely contained, crumpling the paper in his fist.

Otto watched the scene unfold and spoke in defense, "Lord Sea Snake, His Grace is considering the peace of the kingdom. We should at least intercede with the Triarchy and demand the return of the wild dragon."

"Whimsical," Daemon sneered.

Lyonel stepped forward, playing his role as the Hand of the King, and said solemnly, "Your Grace, the Triarchy is ambitious. They likely captured the wild dragon with the intention of keeping it for themselves."

"What do you mean?" Viserys hesitated.

Lyonel glanced over the bickering parties and said rationally, "We should prepare for war, but also send envoys to negotiate with the Triarchy to test their intentions."

In short, one sentence: first diplomacy, then war.

Daemon was reluctant, retorting, "This is a waste of time. We should immediately send warships and dragons to attack Lys and settle this quickly."

Tormund interjected, "As far as I know, the Triarchy has constructed no fewer than a hundred watchtowers equipped with scorpion crossbows in every city-state, specifically to guard against dragon raids."

No one was foolish; having suffered losses before, they had fortified their defenses.

Rhaegar added, "Braavos and Dorne are both heavily connected to the Triarchy. If we venture into war, we could face resistance from the entire Free Cities and Dorne."

Three years ago, Rhaegar and his dragon Cannibal burned the city-states of the Triarchy. The remaining Free Cities had resisted strongly, unwilling to face another dragon invasion like the days of the Freehold.

Daemon looked him up and down and said sarcastically, "Have you ever seen a city-state retaliate against us? We have our own allies."

Tormund laughed and turned to the king, saying sincerely, "Your Grace, dealing with the Triarchy is optional, but reaching out to the other Free Cities with a warning is necessary."

Viserys clenched his teeth, his face tense. "Rhaegar, what do you think should be done?"

The opinions of his advisers were united, and as king, he could not afford to appear weak.

Rhaegar had been waiting for this moment and spoke solemnly, "Father, sending envoys to negotiate with the Triarchy is fine, but we must prepare for war and be ready to strike at any moment."

The Smoking Sea wild dragon had fallen into the hands of Lys. The Free Cities were not without the remnants of Dragonlord families, and accidents could happen.

Rhaegar looked around the room, his eyes sweeping over Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond. Every dragon rider present was in his sights.

His gaze was icy as he declared, "No matter what, there can only be one Dragonlord House in the world!"

...

Two days later...

The Summer Sea stretched wide and boundless under a blazing sun.

"Roar--"

A behemoth as black as coal crashed through a mass of white clouds, its hideous, hideous dragon's head emitting a fierce roar.

Rhaegar, clad in black robes, sat in the saddle on the dragon's back, his silver hair fluttering in the wind. It was nearly noon, and the climate was sultry.

He looked down at the sea below and spotted an island in the distance, its greenery vivid against the horizon.

After flying in that direction for a while, the jungle-covered continent came into view below him.

"Sothoryos, finally here," Rhaegar's eyes brightened slightly.

With his father in charge on Dragonstone Island, aided by a group of royal advisers, there was no need for him to stay on the island at all times. War was imminent, and he couldn't let Cannibal suffer hunger on the battlefield. He had come to this uninhabited continent to hunt wyverns.

During his flight, he had ridden his dragon to scout the garrison of Lys from high above. There were numerous patrol ships at sea and hundreds of watchtowers within the city-state, each equipped with multiple scorpion crossbows.

The density of the scorpion crossbows made a low-altitude dragonfire attack risky; a giant dragon could be shot in the eye. Young dragons like Sunfyre or Sea Smoke, who had not long reached adulthood, were particularly vulnerable. An air attack was not feasible; a simultaneous assault by dragon and fleet was the best strategy.

"Roar..."

Cannibal gave a low roar, its figure lowering sharply, swooping and gliding over the dense jungle, its vertical pupils locked on a lofty mountain in the distance.

Rhaegar laughed and asked, "Cannibal, you've been here before, haven't you?"

"Roar..."

Cannibal's green vertical pupil flashed with a touch of loneliness as its speed increased, answering with its actions.

Moments later, dragon and rider passed through the jungle, bypassing the high mountains that obstructed their view.

Rhaegar observed the surroundings, sensing the emotions conveyed by Cannibal. There was no suitable prey in this part of the world; the wyverns they sought were deeper within the continent.

Time passed, and soon, the sun set. Neither Rhaegar nor Cannibal chose to travel by night. After soaring for an entire day, they needed to recover their strength.

Below them lay a primitive jungle, with small streams irregularly distributed and miasma-surrounded swamps. Cannibal, with night vision, picked a dry patch of woodland and jetted a mouthful of ethereal green dragonfire.

Boom--

A large swath of woods incinerated, turning to ash under the Dragonfire.

Cannibal landed slowly, its black wings beating out the remaining flames. The dragon prostrated itself on the ground as if it were second nature.

Cannibal had traveled across several continents and seen far more than most dragons, or even humans.

Rhaegar slid off the dragon's back, pulled dry food from his space bracelet to satisfy his hunger, and set up an improvised tent.

He was used to Cannibal's wisdom and knew how to make the best of it.

Late into the night...

Dangling! Dangling!

Rhaegar, sound asleep in his tent, was jolted awake by a cacophony of sounds.

"Squeak..."

A shrill, familiar yet unfamiliar roar pierced the air.

Rhaegar jerked to his feet in surprise, "A wyvern!"

Stepping out of his cramped tent, he saw a flicker of firelight in the jungle a mile away.

"Roar..."

Cannibal was also startled, lifting its head high. Its green vertical pupils, like two ghostly flames, gazed at the disturbance.

Whoosh--

A grayish dragon shadow flashed over the jungle, chasing its prey.

"Cannibal, let's go check it out."

Rhaegar nimbly climbed onto the dragon's back, eyes burning with anticipation to see the wyvern.

Under the moonlight, the wyvern appeared sizable, at least forty feet long, larger than the usual brindled wyverns.

"Roar..."

The voracious Cannibal roared manically, its muzzle grinning in a ferocious arc. It flapped its wide wings and rose into the air.

It was starving, and the prey was practically feeding itself.

The wyvern, unaware it was being targeted by the formidable Cannibal, roared madly, swooping low to the ground, attacking with fangs and sharp claws.

"Dracarys!"

Rhaegar's gaze was cold as he commanded in High Valyrian.

Boom--

Green Dragonfire shot out, striking the erratically fluttering wyvern below.

"Squeak..."

The wyvern screamed, its spine instantly burned through with a large hole. It died after two feeble flaps of its wings.

Cannibal swooped down, landing on the ground, its feet crushing a swath of forest. It impatiently tore into the flesh and blood of its prey.

Rhaegar examined the wyvern. Its body was covered in gray scales, with green moss growing in the crevices, emanating an earthy smell.

It was likely a swamp wyvern, a species that thrived in swamps.

Beneath the wyvern's carcass lay several large savages with pigmented skin.

Rhaegar looked up and saw other wildlings fleeing through the jungle, holding torches and screaming in terror.

He remembered a bit of history about the continent of Sothoryos. The natives were strong like wild beasts, with skin patterns of white and brown. Women could not reproduce with males outside their race; all births were stillborn or inhuman deformities.

During the Freehold era, powerful Dragonlord families established colonies on the Basilisk Point. They abandoned the land after repeated destruction by the natives.

Cannibal, having devoured most of the wyvern, crunched through its neck and tail, swallowing it whole.

Sniffing around, Cannibal's green vertical pupils locked onto a piece of swampy land.

"Roar..."

With a low growl, Cannibal flapped its wings, soaring into the sky, heading straight for the swamp.

Through the scent of the wyvern it had eaten, Cannibal had detected a similar smell of dragon eggs.