Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 518: The New Dragonlord of Slaver’s Bay?

Chapter 518: The New Dragonlord of Slaver’s Bay?

Three days later, the Dragonpit was in chaos.

“Roar!”

Tyraxes rampaged, the chains around its neck clanging loudly.

Several Dragonkeepers, holding bamboo staves, shouted in tense voices, “Stop! Tyraxes!”

Boom!

Tyraxes' anger flared, and it opened its mouth wide, unleashing a blast of gray Dragonfire that resembled smoke or mist. The attack was aimed at the Trickster, who was flying in the air.

“Roar...”

The Trickster let out a shrill cry, flapping its wings to evade the attack before retaliating with its own Dragonfire. Its tail, resembling a scorpion's, straightened and quivered gently, as if sensing the impending danger.

Trickster dodged left and right, narrowly avoiding Tyraxes' relentless onslaught. Tyraxes steadily advanced, the gray Dragonfire spreading and continuously reducing the Trickster's range of evasion.

For a time, the two young dragons were locked in a fierce struggle, each maneuvering with precision and intensity.

...

“Fly, Tyraxes!” Maekar called out, his hand on his hip and the other cupped around his mouth like a trumpet.

Bang!

Rhaegar gave him a firm kick on the rump, saying sternly, “Don't interrupt. Let the dragons fight it out.”

Maekar's little face fell, and he twisted and turned, backing away dejectedly.

Rhaenyra stood next to him, along with his brothers and sisters, including Baela. The family stood on the edge of the Dragonpit, watching the fierce battle between the young dragons.

“Roar!”

Tyraxes roared and lunged at the Trickster mid-air, revealing a mouthful of thick fangs. The gray Dragonfire spread over ten meters, forming a misty fog.

The Trickster barely escaped the Dragonfire, screaming in pain. It dove, trying to escape the encircling mist.

Plop!

Tyraxes arrived in a flash, knocking the Trickster out of the air and pinning it to the floor.

“Stop!”

Suddenly, the binding spell appeared just in time.

Rhaegar had approached unnoticed, drawing out the dragon whip and wrapping it around Tyraxes' neck.

“Roar!”

Tyraxes was about to attack but was forced to interrupt, growling in anger.

Rhaegar ignored him and signaled to the Dragonkeepers, “Drag him back to the dragon pit!”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

The Dragonkeepers, not daring to neglect their task, pulled on the chains around Tyraxes' neck. The bamboo sticks they used to calm him made a rhythmic sound as they hit the floor.

After a long struggle, Tyraxes calmed down and left unwillingly.

“Roar?”

Trickster, lying on the ground pretending to be dead, opened its eyes. After confirming that Tyraxes was gone, it flew away.

Rhaegar smiled faintly and commented, “It’s a peculiar dragon.”

Dragons have all sorts of personalities. A young dragon being timid and trouble-prone is not unusual. It’s fortunate that it hatched in a cradle, or it might have been eaten by Cannibal on Dragonstone.

Looking back, Rhaegar saw his two sons arguing.

Maekar looked up at them, nostrils flared. “Tyraxes won!”

Aemon, looking unhappy, retorted, “Trickster can't fly high in the Dragonpit. Try it in the wild.”

The root of the dragon fight lay in the fact that the two young dragons were roaming freely. Trickster had insisted on biting Tyraxes' tail, provoking Tyraxes to chase after him despite the Dragonkeepers’ attempts to stop him.

Rhaegar picked up his younger son, Maekar, and said with a smile, “Stop arguing. I’m the best one here.”

“Shame on you,” Aemon grumbled, slumping his shoulders and kicking away a pebble at his feet.

In contrast, Maekar, who was grinning mischievously, hugged Rhaegar’s neck and said, “Father, take me out to play with the dragon.”

The two brothers had very different personalities. Maybe Maekar had won!

Rhaegar, feeling the warmth of his youngest son, said, “Okay, but at a different time.”

“Pinky swear,” Maekar insisted, sticking out his little white finger.

“No problem.”

Rhaegar didn’t think it was childish and treated it as a game to entertain his child.

He looked down and froze.

Baelon and Aemon:...

The brothers pouted, feeling a sense of betrayal as they watched their father and younger brother with envy.

This was not the way their father treated them.

“Hmmm...” Rhaegar felt a bit embarrassed and held his younger son away from him.

Each son is taught differently according to their own abilities.

Baelon is the eldest son, so he is more strictly disciplined.

Aemon is a troublemaker who gets a big beating every seven days and a small beating every three days.

Maekar is very well-behaved.

He can sit in the corner and watch ants crawl for a whole day without crying or making a fuss.

It seems he has inherited some of Helaena’s gift for precognition, making him a bit of an eccentric child, just like Helaena was when she was little.

Rhaegar can’t help but favor him a little.

“Father, put me down.”

Maekar twisted his waist and broke free from his embrace like a wiggly worm.

Rhaegar patted his head and then poured another bowl of water to wash the heads of his first and second sons.

The brothers had the same face, and it was quite fulfilling to touch it.

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tenderness as she basked in the warmth of the family moment.

Beautiful things are always short-lived.

Johanna arrived in a hurry, clutching a piece of paper.

“What’s wrong?”

Rhaenyra hurried to meet Johanna, sensing something significant had occurred.

Johanna glanced at Rhaegar and urgently relayed the news. “Urgent message from Slaver's Bay. The remnants of the Triarchy have allied with the Good Masters, blockaded the Smoking Sea, and announced that there are dragons within it.”

Rhaegar listened quietly, not appearing anxious. The presence of dragons in the Smoking Sea was a widely accepted theory since Morghul's appearance. Fishermen had reported sightings of young dragons there, spreading the rumor further.

Rhaenyra shared a similar thought and asked Johanna for more details.

Johanna handed over a piece of paper, her expression solemn. “According to whispers from some small slave owners, many slaves with Valyrian blood have volunteered to join an expedition into the Smoking Sea to find dragons.”

Concerned that the news might not be taken seriously, she added, “There are even claims that some are descendants of certain Dragonlord families.”

“They want to tame dragons?” Rhaegar snorted in derision. “Slaver's Bay is courting disaster, reminiscent of the Three Whores.”

But who could resist the allure of becoming a dragon rider?

Rhaenyra's eyebrows rose, and she asked, “Is it true that there are descendants of the Dragonlords?”

“It's hard to discern truth from fiction,” Johanna admitted. “The Doom was over 200 years ago, enough time for six or seven generations to pass. Even if there are descendants, the bloodline would be significantly diluted by now. Besides, anyone with Valyrian features and a last name from a Dragonlord family could claim such heritage.”

“A bunch of impostors!” Rhaegar declared, turning to walk into the dragon pit where the Cannibal slept. Whether the claims were true or not, anyone daring to use the Dragonlord family’s name would not be forgiven. Slaver's Bay dared to provoke them; they would face blood and fire.

As he left, the others stood in stunned silence.

Johanna sighed, reporting, “The Lys merchant ship sent to trade with Slaver's Bay was seized, and the goods taken were quite valuable.”

Rhaenyra felt a headache coming on. “First, suspend all maritime trade with the east and gather as much food and fodder as possible.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Johanna left as swiftly as she had arrived.

Rhaenyra was deep in thought. The family dispute between Daemon and Laena paled in comparison to the looming war.

“Mother.”

Maekar's soft voice shook Rhaenyra from her reverie. He took her hand and shook it gently.

Rhaenyra looked down at her children. Baelon and the others were gazing at her, their eyes bright with anticipation.

“Roar…”

A deep rumble came from the dragon pit behind her. Syrax raised its head, topaz-colored wings supporting its body as it slowly crawled out. The dragon’s pupils were filled with restlessness, mirroring the rider’s distraction.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips and gently touched Syrax’s chin.

...

A moment later, a pitch-black dragon burst out of the Dragonpit, its powerful wings propelling it swiftly towards Tyrosh.

“Roar!”

The dragon’s mighty roar echoed through the sky, signaling the impending storm. Soon after, a dark flock of ravens took flight from the tower, their cawing loud and chaotic as they dispersed across the Narrow Sea.

The horn of war had sounded.

Half of Westeros's nobles were destined for a sleepless night as the fragile peace of recent years was shattered by this ominous wave.

All the Lords who received the summons immediately began preparations, rallying their troops and readying their defenses.

By the king's command!

...

Two days passed in the blink of an eye.

The Summer Sea.

In the vast waters between Volantis and the Smoking Sea, the hot sun hung high in the sky, and the blue sea shimmered under its intense heat. The tropical climate was scorching, with a dry sea breeze blowing like waves of heat against the shoreline. Fish swam in the depths, occasionally breaking the surface to breathe.

The steady beat of drums echoed across the sea.

Ten warships, equipped with scorpion crossbows and flying the fierce tiger flag, sailed forward, carrying 1,500 elite mercenaries hired at a high price. Their destination was the Smoking Sea, where they would join the blockade fleet from Slaver's Bay. If the opportunity arose, they would intercept the small patrol ships of House Velaryon.

On the deck, the mercenaries watched as the drums beat steadily.

A young, rough-skinned mercenary approached the captain and muttered, “Captain, is there really a dragon in the Smoking Sea?”

“I don't know,” the captain replied curtly.

The young mercenary persisted, “Is the dragon in Slaver's Bay real?”

“Don't ask me,” the captain snapped.

The young mercenary scratched his head, looking uncertain. “Captain, when we go to the Smoking Sea, will we meet a dragon? The brothers are not sure what to do. Please give us a clear answer. How should we fight?”

Being a mercenary was about making money, not risking one's life for gold.

“No...”

The mercenary captain began to dismiss the question, but his words suddenly caught in his throat. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he stared into the distance.

The next second, he shouted, “Dragon! There's a dragon! Find cover!”

Panic erupted as the mercenaries, gripped by fear, quickly and fiercely lay down on the deck.

However, it was too late.

"Dreamfyre, Dracarys!"

A pale blue dragon descended from the sky, releasing Dragonfire like a torrent pouring into the sea.

Boom!

The Dragonfire struck the ship, engulfing the mercenaries on deck in an instant, their wails echoing as they burned.

“Counterattack! Scorpion crossbow ready!” someone shouted, turning the winch of the scorpion crossbow.

In the sky, four dragon shadows flashed.

Rhaegar, dressed in black with a frosty expression, commanded, “Leave no one alive!”

"Roar!"

Cannibal swooped down, its massive wings enveloping half of the warship. Dark green Dragonfire filled the entire area.

The mercenaries caught in the Dragonfire didn't even have time to scream. Their eyes, ears, mouths, and noses withered and died, their scalps burned inch by inch until they were reduced to dried-up corpses. Eventually, they disintegrated into a pile of ash.

On the other side, Daemon, wearing a black steel helmet and a crimson cloak, directed Caraxes. The dragon let out a piercing cry, like a war horn, and unleashed a continuous stream of scarlet Dragonfire.

“Vhagar, Dracarys!”

The old dragon flew in from the side, spewing out black smoke and Dragonfire, setting off an endless storm. Laena half-reclined in the saddle, casting a cold glance at Daemon, who deliberately avoided her.

Four dragons at once were enough to destroy any force.

“Ahhh...”

“It hurts. Jumping into the sea is useless...”

“...”

Ten brand-new warships and a mercenary army of nearly 2,000 men were obliterated. In just a quarter of an hour, they sank to the bottom of the sea to feed the fish.

Rhaegar sat on the back of his dragon, not looking down but studying a crude map. The lines on the map were simple, depicting the Narrow Sea, Volantis, and the Smoking Sea along with the area of Slaver's Bay.

At the bottom of the map, in some ugly, illegible script in a dialect of Valyria, were a few lines:

“Good Masters... Aethyrys...Family Revival...

“Alliance... Qohor...”