Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 468: Riding a Dragon With a Child

Chapter 468: Riding a Dragon With a Child

Rhaegar's eyes flashed with determination as he brushed aside the cobwebs and approached the door.

Knock, knock!

The dilapidated wooden door, emanating a foul, rotten smell, creaked under his touch. The wailing from behind the door abruptly ceased, replaced by frantic rustling. Rhaegar pushed the wooden partition aside, allowing a beam of light to pierce the dark, damp room.

"Who is it?" Alicent, huddled in a corner with bloody gauze wrapped around her arms, shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness.

Rhaegar remained silent, observing her quietly. Sensing she was being watched, Alicent forced herself to calm down and quickly wiped her tears with the gauze. Despite her dire circumstances, her pride as a queen refused to let her appear weak.

"It's me," Rhaegar said calmly, his voice like still water. "Didn't you want me to come back?"

Alicent froze, recognizing his voice. Her tear-streaked face turned towards the door, struggling to adjust to the blinding light, revealing Rhaegar’s face illuminated in the sunlight.

"Rhaegar!" Alicent screamed, throwing herself at the door, trying to block the gap with her body. Rhaegar stepped back, allowing her the illusion of control. It was a harsh reality to accept—her transition from queen to prisoner.

Alicent's screams turned to hoarse cries, punctuated by violent coughs as she attempted to regain her composure.

"Move aside. I'll handle this," Rhaenyra said, pushing past Rhaegar. She glared at Alicent, who now sat on the floor in a disheveled, dirty green dress, looking like a noblewoman fallen from grace.

Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Alicent, stop acting like a shrew. Look at me."

Alicent, driven by her pride, raised her head and glared back with bloodshot eyes. As she shifted slightly, her entire face came into view. Rhaenyra was momentarily taken aback by the drastic change. In just one night, Alicent's face had become pale and bloodless, her lips white, deep eye bags forming under her eyes, and her face severely swollen.

Rhaenyra, her expressionless face pressed against little Baelon’s cheek, made sure he could see everything. "Thanks to you, my children have been born. Two boys of pure blood," she sneered, beckoning Rhaegar to hand over the sleeping Aemon.

Holding both twins in her arms, she boasted, "These are my children. Can you see them clearly enough?"

Memories of the past surged through her—how Alicent’s birth of Aegon had caused her, the heir, countless grievances. Now, she wanted Alicent to know she wasn’t the only one who could bear children.

Rhaenyra reveled in this moment, showing off her children, a privilege that Alicent’s execution would have deprived her of. Alicent’s face contorted with jealousy, and Rhaegar, standing aside, watched the bitter exchange between the two women.

In the dark room, Alicent stared at Rhaenyra and the twins, a hint of struggle flickering in her red eyes.

Alicent sat stubbornly on the damp, moldy floor. "So what? Giving birth is just a woman's destiny. It's the same for everyone."

Rhaenyra retorted, "Does your fate include this rat-infested attic?"

"You—!" Alicent's chest heaved with anger, her throat too sore to respond.

Rhaenyra continued mercilessly, "My children have a father who loves them. How much of that love will your children get?"

Alicent glared at her, her anger boiling over. She wanted to lash out, but the truth stung too deeply.

Rhaegar's scalp tingled at the escalating tension. He gently pulled Rhaenyra away and whispered, "I'll talk to her. You take care of the children."

Rhaenyra looked down at the twins in her arms, their wide, curious purple eyes looking up at her, startled by the confrontation. She blushed, feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt. "I'll wait for you downstairs," she said softly, needing to calm down.

Rhaegar watched her descend the stairs, shaking his head with a small smile. Her need for revenge was understandable, given all she had endured. But the situation called for a cooler head.

Turning back to Alicent, his smile faded. Her face was stern and unyielding. "Where is Viserys? How is he?"

"You still have time to worry about my father," Rhaegar retorted, his tone icy.

Alicent snorted in disgust, unwilling to engage further.

"Do you want to stop me from suppressing the Faith of the Seven?" Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

He was curious why Alicent, who had endured so much over the years—even when Aemond lost an eye—was suddenly causing trouble now. It was ill-timed and disruptive.

Alicent replied coldly, "The peace treaty is the work of His Grace, Jaehaerys. You are playing with fire by going against the Faith of the Seven."

Rhaegar's gaze was piercing. "Do you know the circumstances under which my great-grandfather signed the treaty with the Faith of the Seven?"

Alicent hesitated, speechless for a moment. She knew the history but it wasn't a pleasant one. Maegor I had died a tragic death on the Iron Throne, and Jaehaerys had been hastily enthroned amidst a crusade by the Faith of the Seven against the Targaryen dynasty. Jaehaerys had consolidated his rule by aligning with the Faith of the Seven.

Seeing her uncertainty, Rhaegar lost interest in the conversation. "Think whatever you want. It doesn't matter."

He patted the dust off his robe and turned to leave. "You've made a mistake. Prepare to atone for the rest of your life."

Alicent, narrow-minded and ignorant, was not worth his time. Stabilizing the court and addressing the issues in Oldtown were far more important.

As Rhaenyra and Rhaegar left, Alicent's fear of the darkness returned. She wanted to stop them but couldn't bring herself to speak. She knew there would be no escape.

As Rhaegar hurried down the corridor, Alicent, tears streaming down her face, croaked, "His Grace, the Old King, often praised my beautiful voice and liked me to read to him."

Rhaegar paused briefly, then continued walking away without a word.

In the dim attic, Alicent was left alone with her suppressed grief and weeping, the sound of her sobs echoing in the darkness.

...

Rhaegar stepped out of the sanctuary and saw Rhaenyra sitting on the edge of the flowerbed, struggling to coax the two children to eat. The little ones were quite a handful, and their weight was clearly straining their mother.

Rhaegar hurried forward to take the two squirming children, joking, "Next time, remember to bring your maid, or you might drop them."

Rhaenyra rubbed her sore arm and rolled her eyes at his remark. "I'm surprised Alicent hasn't gone completely hysterical. I thought she wouldn’t be able to bear the shock."

"Who cares?" Rhaegar replied casually.

Rhaenyra lowered her eyes, speaking softly, "I almost wish she had. At least then it would feel a bit like our childhood."

Rhaegar's eyes widened in surprise, slowly shifting to understanding. "She had no choice, but she still made her decisions."

Rhaenyra smiled and opened her arms again, clapping her hands to indicate that he should return one of the swaddled babies.

...

Half a Month Later at the Red Keep, Throne Hall.

Half a month has passed since Rhaegar took up his duties.

In the Throne Hall, paved with black stone, advisers led by the Hand of the King gathered together, their attention focused on a single figure.

Rhaegar, flanked by two Kingsguard, slowly walked in, clad in a black dragon rider's outfit. His eyes swept over the assembled advisers as he approached the Iron Throne, encircled by swords and spears.

With a calm expression, Rhaegar ascended the stairs, ignoring the flashing blades around him, and took his place on the top step. He turned to face the advisers and, with measured composure, sat down on the cold, hard Iron Throne.

The Iron Throne, with no back or armrests, was surrounded by sharp blades, a testament to the will of the conqueror and a reminder to future kings that the throne is never comfortable.

Sitting upright, Rhaegar held Truefyre in one hand, looking down at the ministers from his elevated position. At the foot of the Iron Throne, Erryk and Arryk stood guard with their swords unsheathed, their eyes never straying from their duty.

The advisers were silent, accustomed to seeing the heir to in command. With the king resting on his bed, Rhaegar had been handling all state affairs for the past six months.

Rhaegar pondered for a moment before speaking. "Lord Lyonel, has the caravan transporting the food for the Prince's palace in The Reach left yet?"

Understanding the advisers' tendency to remain passive unless prompted, Rhaegar knew he had to direct the conversation.

Lyonel stepped forward and replied solemnly, "It has already left. Princess Helaena has sent a letter and will personally escort the grain convoy."

With the Hand of the King breaking the silence, other advisers began to report their updates.

Linman, the Master of Coin, stepped forward with a list in hand. "According to the Prince's instructions, a site was selected in King's Landing for the Seven-Star Grand Temple. The site has been cleaned and is ready for construction."

After detailing the progress, he added a note of caution, "The kingdom is at war with the Triarchy and Dorne, and the treasury is overtaxed. The cost of the temple is a significant expense."

As a prudent Master of Coin, he always advised against unnecessary spending.

Rhaegar responded calmly, "Lord Linman, the royal family supports the establishment of the new religion. The current expenses are justified."

According to the Master of Whisperers, hundreds of holy brothers and sisters had moved from Oldtown to help build the new church, preferring tangible leadership over the distant prayers of the Starry Sept.

The meeting continued, with Lyonel addressing another matter. "There are two vacancies in the Kingsguard. I have announced this across the realm and will select qualified candidates soon."

"As you wish," Rhaegar nodded.

With the meeting concluded, Rhaegar stretched and smiled, "I'm going to Oldtown. Please take care of the palace, Lords."

The advisers exchanged helpless glances but agreed. After being treated with special incense powder, the king could remain awake for a few hours each day, ensuring the court functioned normally.

Rhaegar descended from the Iron Throne, eager to leave. The advisers, after a moment's hesitation, followed him out to see the heir prince off.

...

Godswood, Back Garden

"Roar!" Cannibal crouched restlessly, its tail flailing. Nearby, Syrax waited patiently.

Rhaenyra, who hadn't worn her dragon rider armor in a long time, held two children in her arms. The tiny babies stared wide-eyed at the enormous, jet-black dragon, utterly mesmerized.

Rhaegar emerged from the Godswood, smiling as he took one of the swaddled babies from Rhaenyra. "I'm here," he said, revealing little Baelon, who never cried.

"Let's go," Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with excitement. She secured Aemon's swaddling clothes around her chest and climbed decisively onto Syrax's back.

Rhaegar hesitated briefly, then fastened little Baelon securely before mounting Cannibal.

Once everything was in order, Rhaenyra commanded, "Syrax, fly!"

"Roar!" Syrax obediently sprinted a few steps and then soared high above the Red Keep.

Cannibal roared, its dark wings casting a shadow over the entire Red Keep as it took flight.

In the back garden, people looked up, awestruck, watching the Prince and Princess take to the skies.

Syrax, playful and energetic, circled the Red Keep twice before flying over the city of King's Landing.

"Giggling..." Aemon, nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, looked up at the clouds, his small, happy laugh echoing in the air.

Rhaegar, riding the Cannibal, followed closely behind, weaving through the skies like a showman, drawing the attention of countless commoners.

Little Baelon's clear eyes widened in wonder as he reached out, trying to grasp the clouds. Rhaegar looked down at his son, kissed his forehead gently, and smiled, "Good boy, worthy of being my son."

"Giggling~" Little Baelon shook his head, thinking his father was playing with him, and laughed joyously.

King's Landing

From Silk Street to Flea Market, people filled every corner, looking up in anticipation. News of Princess Rhaenyra's safe delivery had spread throughout King's Landing, and the heir prince had held a seven-day soup kitchen to feed the hungry.

The commoners stretched their necks to see the two dragons circling above, eager for a glimpse of the two little princes.

"Long live the little Prince!" someone shouted, and the cry spread like wildfire.

"Long live the little Prince!"

"Long live the Targaryens!"

"Let's see the little Prince..."

The crowd cheered and chased after the soaring dragons, waving their arms and shouting with all their might. King's Landing was in a frenzy, celebrating as if it were a world-famous event.

"Roar!" Cannibal roared again, carefully avoiding the buildings below. Rhaegar's silver hair fluttered in the wind as he cradled little Baelon, both of them laughing heartily.

Rhaenyra had been right: the children should be seen by the people of King's Landing. Emulating her grandmother Alyssa, she soared through the sky with her newborns, showcasing the strength and legacy of House Targaryen.

Targaryens were born to ride dragons, and today, the people of King's Landing witnessed that legacy in all its glory.