Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 362: Valyrian Steel Sword – Long Summer

Chapter 362: Valyrian Steel Sword – Long Summer

Seven days later.

Dragonstone Island, Chamber of the Painted Table.

"Gentlemen, since we are all here, it's time to formulate our strategy," Rhaegar announced solemnly, looking around the room.

Present were members of the Targaryen and Velaryon Houses, Small Council members, Bartimos Celtigar of Claw Isle, and Royce Caron representing the Stormlands, among others.

Corlys Velaryon unrolled a two-meter wide, five-meter long map of the Narrow Sea, pointing to the Stepstones Islands. "The Iron Throne has officially declared war on the Triarchy. They've been preparing for this and will likely aim to capture the Stepstones first to control the shipping lanes and trade."

Daemon’s eyes sparkled as he pointed to Lys on the map. "Lys has captured Morghul and is the strongest of the Triarchy, also the closest city-state to the Stepstones. We should send out the dragons to burn them en masse, coordinate with our fleet to seize the route, and attack the harbor."

Both men, with their battlefield experience, had been preparing and planning diligently.

"Not a bad proposal," Rhaegar nodded, considering the sea charts. "But there's an issue: we don't have as many battle-ready dragons as we need."

He glanced around the room.

Rhaenyra, hands caressing her growing belly, sat nearby. Laena, assisted by Celine, was surrounded by her twin daughters. Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron were too young to fight. And his father, sitting across the table, was too ill to ride a dragon into battle.

Bartimos of Claw Isle leaned forward, eyes gleaming with shrewdness. "Prince, the dragons we can field aren't as few as you think."

Daemon took over, listing the dragons. "We have Cannibal, Caraxes, Meleys, Seasmoke, and Sunfyre ready for battle. Five dragons can devastate any free city."

"If I command the battlefield, Lys will fall within half a month," he asserted confidently.

Viserys, glum, interjected, "But we face more than one enemy city-state."

He had hoped negotiations would prevent war, but the young Targaryens had brutally ended that hope by slaughtering the Triarchy's representatives.

Lyonel Strong agreed, "The Triarchy’s fleet is strong, and they've borrowed money from the Iron Bank to hire many mercenaries. Plus, Braavos and Dorne will likely interfere, threatening our rear."

"War has already begun; we can't afford to hesitate," Daemon said firmly. "Gather the fleets of Velaryon, Celtigar, Gulltown, and Storm’s End. With the Five Dragons leading the charge, Lys will fall."

Otto Hightower frowned, worried. "Prince, you know the Triarchy has amassed a large force. A direct assault risks heavy losses for our army."

The conversation highlighted a critical issue: battlefield command.

The fleet from Oldtown was still en route, but their arrival was imminent. If the reckless Daemon led the strategy, Hightower’s soldiers might not survive to return home.

Daemon’s face grew cold as he stared at Otto, the two old enemies locking eyes in mutual disdain.

Knock Knock...

As the tension rose, Rhaegar knocked on the table, steering the conversation back on track. "A frontal assault with too many casualties isn't what the kingdom needs. And we must remember, Lys still holds an untouchable weapon."

He glanced at Tormund, who promptly pulled out a letter. "The wild dragon Morghul is in the hands of Lys. The Triarchy has summoned all Valyrian descendants of Essos to tame the dragon in what they call the ‘Red Sowing’.”

Half a month had passed, and every day saw dozens or hundreds attempting to tame the dragon, only to end up as its victims.

The hall fell silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Viserys grimaced, teeth clenched. "A bunch of despicable thieves, trying to steal House Targaryen's dragons!"

The implications were clear. If someone succeeded in taming Morghul, it would not only shift the battlefield but also inspire others to covet their dragons. The possibility of someone stealing dragon eggs or taming a wild dragon on Dragonstone increased, a potential disaster for the Targaryens.

Daemon’s face hardened. He pounded the table. "That’s why we need to strike quickly, break through Lys, and recapture the wild dragon."

Rhaegar nodded in agreement. "The sooner the war is decided, the better. But, Uncle, your strategy is a huge drain on the nation's resources."

He looked directly at his father, stating, "I propose that I serve as commander-in-chief, with Lord Corlys commanding the sea and Daemon as vanguard officer."

Daemon retorted immediately, "You've hardly ever commanded a large legion in battle, and you were soft a few years ago."

Rhaegar shot back, "I commanded the Second Battle of the Stepstones, leading us to victory."

He left unsaid that Daemon had been imprisoned in the Red Keep at the time.

Uncle and nephew glared at each other, the room thick with tension.

Viserys, plagued by a headache, glanced at the calm Corlys and made a decision. "I agree with Rhaegar's proposal. It makes sense for the Heir Prince to be the commander."

He couldn't risk giving Daemon and the Sea Snake too much power.

Rhaegar smiled. "Then I'll outline a plan, and you can all suggest improvements."

"No objections, Prince," came the chorus of agreement from the advisors.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, leaning towards Rhaegar. He returned her smile, gripping the back of his chair.

The siblings were firmly in command.

There were only two people seated in the Painted Table: Viserys and Rhaegar.

There were only two people sitting in the great chamber of the Painted Table: Viserys and Rhaegar.

Rhaenyra, late in her pregnancy, had given up her chair to Rhaegar. Meanwhile, Laena, even further along in her pregnancy, had to rely on Celine for support as she stood.

Rhaegar, adopting a serious tone, began, "The Triarchy covets the Stepstones. With war imminent, they will likely make it their main battleground to block our armies."

He continued, taking the discussion in a new direction. "To achieve a quick victory, the strategic importance of the Stepstones themselves is secondary. Capturing the city-states of the Triarchy is critical."

"I propose that we abandon the defensive forces on the Stepstones and assign Daemon to lead the Stormlands fleet in an attack on one of their city-states."

"Lord Corlys will command the fleets of Velaryon, Celtigar, and Gulltown, splitting our forces to take another city-state with the support of our remaining dragons."

Rhaegar laid out a strategy to divide and conquer, aiming to minimize casualties. "Braavos and Dorne will cause trouble. Sunfyre will guard Gulltown, Dreamfyre will protect Claw Isle, and these two dragons will assist in securing the Narrow Sea."

Turning to Aemond, who was listening intently, he said, "Sheepstealer will be stationed at Storm’s End to monitor movements at Cape Wrath and Boneway. You're authorized to take temporary measures, but avoid direct engagement."

Viserys, looking perplexed, hesitated. "Do we really need to involve Helaena and Aemond in these missions?"

Rhaegar glanced at his younger siblings and nodded. "This negotiation has shown me their growth. Besides, they ride two formidable dragons and are capable of defending themselves."

Dreamfyre and Sheepstealer were substantial enough to significantly impact a flanking battle, second in size only to true adult dragons.

"Father, leave the Stormlands to me!" Aemond spoke up eagerly, his eyes shining with the desire for recognition.

Helaena added, "Dreamfyre and I can hold Claw Isle and fend off any harassment from Braavos."

Bartimos, nodding in agreement, remarked, "The middle of the Narrow Sea is lightly defended. Two dragons can alleviate a great deal of pressure."

Viserys, still uncertain, glanced at his youngest son Daeron, who was playing at his feet, and sighed. He felt confident in Aegon, who had already seen battle. Helaena and Aemond, however, were a different matter.

Yet, with Claw Isle's proximity to Dragonstone and Driftmark, and Aegon guarding Gulltown, the risks seemed manageable for Helaena. But Aemond, potentially facing the Triarchy's pirates or a Dornish invasion, caused him more concern.

Finally, Rhaegar reassured him. "Father, they are ready. They can shoulder significant responsibilities on the flanking battlefield, easing the burden on us."

...

Near Dragonmont.

"Roar..."

Sunfyre roared proudly, his golden scales gleaming brightly. His broad wings spread wide against the ground, the light pink membranes translucent and splendid.

More than ten meters away, Dreamfyre lay prostrate, its light blue scales mimicking the clear sky, and its silver back scales dotted like white clouds.

Nearby, beneath Dreamfyre’s neck, Helaena stroked the dragon’s scales and glanced sideways toward the back.

Rhaegar smiled, gripping a one-handed sword with a dark green scabbard. Its hilt was silver and white, adorned with a delicately carved budding stamen, and a spiral blade that complemented its elegance.

Aemond was already impatiently riding Sheepstealer to Storm's End Castle to compete with Aegon and Helaena.

Rhaegar reached out, gently rubbing Helaena’s head, and asked with a smile, "Where's your sword?"

Helaena’s large, bright eyes flickered as she gazed at the one-handed sword and replied candidly, "It's stuck in that Lysene’s head."

"Uh..."

Rhaegar's eyelids twitched, taken aback by the young girl’s blunt admission.

He handed her the sword, saying earnestly, "Remember? This is the gift I promised you when you learned swordsmanship."

"Thank you, brother."

Helaena, excited, reached out her small, plump hand to grasp the sword and drew it smoothly.

Swish—

A cold light flashed as the silver blade, two fingers wide and engraved with petals that resembled dragon scales, was revealed. The straight, slender blade shimmered with water ripple patterns, unmistakably made of Valyrian steel.

Rhaegar chuckled. "This sword was forged in the same furnace as Truefyre and Realm's Delight. You may name it as you wish."

These three swords were his pride, forged from the rare steel of Brightroar and Truth.

Sniffing the blade affectionately, Helaena’s round eyes sparkled as she carefully declared, "This sword will be called Long Summer."

Rhaegar, known as the Summer Prince and recently knighted, smiled at the fitting name. "The ancient lands of Valyria were known as Long Summer—a good choice."

Helaena treated Long Summer as her prized possession, waving it several times before sheathing it and strapping it to her waist. Standing about 160 centimeters tall at 13 years old, she was well-suited to wield a one-handed sword.

"Brother, I'm leaving."

Helaena hugged Rhaegar reluctantly and then descended the soft ladder, grasping Dreamfyre’s scales.

"Be cautious in all matters, and let Aegon take the lead if needed."

Rhaegar adjusted her green cloak and watched her mount the dragon.

"Roar..."

Dreamfyre and Sunfyre roared as they competed in spirit, soaring away from Dragonstone Island with their riders.

With hands clasped behind his back, Rhaegar watched the dragons depart.

"Prince, the people you asked have arrived," announced Tormund, clad in black and white robes. He was followed by a dozen young men and women with silver hair and purple eyes.