Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 543: Rhaenyra: I’m Applying to War!

Chapter 543: Rhaenyra: I’m Applying to War!

The children swarmed around him, their eyes shining with curiosity and eagerness. Rhaegar rubbed his eldest son's head and sighed, “This time, I'm only taking Maekar. You need to stay in Lys.”

“Why can't I go?” Baelon asked, disappointment clear in his voice. “I can take care of Maekar.”

Rhaegar shook his head gently, “Not yet. Maekar is only going for a brief visit.”

Baelon's face fell, and he muttered, “Is it because I don't have a dragon?” He pointed to Tyraxes, who was yawning in the corner, and his eyes were full of stubbornness. “All my younger siblings have dragons. They flew here with Mother when we came to Lys. You must be ashamed of me for not having one.”

Rhaegar was taken aback by his son's words. He squatted down in front of Baelon and asked, “Do you want a dragon?”

Baelon turned his head, whispering, “If I'm a disappointment, maybe you should choose a better dragon yourself.”

“No, you're not a disappointment,” Rhaegar said firmly, lifting Baelon's chin. “Dragons aren't tools; they're creatures we should respect and bond with.”

Baelon remained silent, still yearning for a dragon to join his father on adventures to the battlefield and the new lands they were conquering.

Rhaegar took Maekar in one arm and his eldest son in the other, pressing their foreheads together. “Think about it. If you truly want a dragon, I'll do everything I can to help you bond with one.”

Rhaegar favored Maekar, but he had never neglected Baelon. The eldest son was the heir and needed to be a strong leader.

“Take care of your younger siblings and keep your mind focused,” Rhaegar advised, gently rubbing Baelon's shoulder before standing up and walked away.

“Roar~~”

Tyraxes followed its young master, leaving the field together. Baelon lowered his head, staring at his father's retreating figure.

“Brother, don't be upset.” Lyanna approached, holding the small Vermax in her arms, and offered, “I'll lend you Vermax.”

Baelon glanced at her, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed her frizzy head. “No need, Anna.”

He had given away the dragon egg that eventually hatched into Vermax. It seemed ironic that the egg hadn't hatched for him in six years but quickly did so in his sister's care.

“Move over, little girl.” Aemon pushed Anna aside, draping an arm around Baelon's shoulders. “Come on! I'll take you back to Dragonstone. We’ll find Silverwing together.”

If anyone understood Baelon's heart, it was Aemon. Baelon glanced at him, then pushed him away with a hint of irritation, “Forget it. You’d probably wet your pants.”

“Go ahead and play. I need to go for a walk.”
Baelon didn’t want any comforting words and left the Dragonpit in silence.

Comfort is something only the weak need, he thought. His father had always told him he was born to be strong. And a strong man needs an adult dragon with overwhelming superiority.

...

“Roar...”

“Quiet, Syrax,” Rhaegar called as he returned to the Dragonpit. His attention was immediately drawn to the golden beast.

Syrax lay sprawled on the floor, playfully shaking its head. Nearby, Rhaenyra, dressed in her black dragon harness for the first time in a long while, gently rubbed the dragon’s chin.

Rhaegar was taken aback. “Rhaenyra, are you going on patrol?”

“No!” Rhaenyra smiled, then announced, “Wherever you go, I will go.”

“But I’m going back to Volantis. Lys can't be left unguarded,” Rhaegar protested, sensing trouble.

Rhaenyra walked forward and took Maekar from his arms, her demeanor calm. “I don’t want to stay behind. Laena will be my Warden in Lys.”

Laena had been removed from the battlefield, Helaena was home pregnant, and Aemond was exiled. The war lacked frontline dragon riders, and Rhaenyra was ready to fill that void.

“The battlefield is dangerous,” Rhaegar said bluntly.

“You’re in danger. How is that different from me being in danger?” Rhaenyra's eyes shone with determination. She took Rhaegar’s hand and placed it on her chest, pleading, “I’m your sister. Let me be Visenya for once.”

Since the Battle of the Second Stepstones, it had been her dream to fight alongside her brother. Unfortunately, she had been pregnant and giving birth repeatedly over the years. As her mother had predicted, the birthing bed had become her battlefield. Now, the great battle over family honor had begun again. She didn’t want to back down and hoped to make a contribution.

Rhaegar turned his head, but he couldn’t avoid Rhaenyra’s burning gaze. He warned, “When you get to the battlefield, you and Syrax will have to follow orders.”

He couldn't refuse Rhaenyra’s request, just as he had refused Baelon's. Rhaenyra had the ability to ride a dragon into battle. Hiding her and burying her abilities would only ruin her.

“Puff!” Rhaenyra was overjoyed. She kissed his cheek, affirming, “Don’t worry, I’ll never be a hindrance.”

“You’d better be right.” Rhaegar wiped the wet saliva from his cheek and pressed his lips together. “Let’s go!”

...

Over Lys.

"Roar..." The dark wings of the dragon cast an ink-like shadow over the Free Cities, its thunderous roar echoing across the sky.

Cannibal led the way, diving into the clouds.

"After them, Syrax!" Rhaenyra's crisp High Valyrian command sent the topaz-colored dragon soaring, neighing in delight.

Following behind, a young dragon with silver-gray scales and misty wings flew slowly, trailing the larger dragons.

In an attic of the Tower, Laena, clad in a light nightgown with her shoulders and legs exposed, stood before the windows, gazing into the distance. She noticed a small boy tied to the back of the silver-gray dragon.

"What kind of parents are these?" she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. Tying a child to the back of a dragon—who would think of such a thing? Do they really have so many children just to play with?

Gurgle~

The sound of her stomach rumbling surprised her, and she covered it with her hand. "I'm hungry again," she sighed, shaking her head. The shoulder strap of her nightgown slipped off her smooth shoulder as she turned to find something to eat.

She walked lightly, her round, swaying figure below her waist half-covered in the white hem of her clothes. The nourishment of love had made her already plump figure even more mature and charming.

...

In the same attic, Mysaria leaned against the windowsill, holding a curly-haired puppy in her arms.

"Woof, woof~~" The little dog, clean and white, licked its tongue eagerly.

Mysaria quietly looked out, her eyes filled with a hidden tangle of emotions. "Daemon, you always give me a hard time," she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. She stroked the puppy's head gently, finding some solace in its warmth and loyalty.

If only that man were as docile and faithful as this dog, she wouldn't be in this situation.

He had left without a word, leaving her in Lys with an order to be carried out, treating her like a disposable tool—important only when needed.

...

Summer had come to Slaver's Bay. A fleet of ships bearing various flags blocked the entrance to the bay, severing sea communication with the outside world. On the banks of the Worm River, the massive Free City of Astapor, built of red brick, stood under the scorching sun, its towering walls bespeaking the city's grandeur and impending trouble.

On the majestic city walls, several Good Masters looked anxious, occasionally whipping slaves to vent their anger.

Crack!

“Damn it, what did Meereen and New Ghis say!?” A bald Wise Master brandished his whip, his frustration palpable.

A whipped slave knelt on the ground, trembling, and replied, “The sea of New Ghis is blocked, and a wooden box was sent by the envoy from Meereen.”

New Ghis, an island city-state at the mouth of Slaver's Bay, was built on the ashes of the Old Empire of Ghis. After the fleet from Westeros attacked, it immediately raised the flag of neutrality.

“Damn it, they don't care about our lives!” The bald Wise Master, enraged, whipped the slave across the face, shouting, “If they don't support us, the slaves in the city will open the gates and surrender.”

“No! No!” The slave, his face covered in open wounds from the whip, waved his hands in fear. “We rely on the Good Masters for our lives and would never dare to betray them.”

“You worthless bones, get out of here!” The bald Wise Master's mood slightly improved, allowing the messenger slave to leave. He then turned to see the other Good Masters wandering around, each one distracted and lost in thought.

A young Wise Master fell to his knees, his hands touching the blackened parapet. In a trance, he muttered, “Dragon, such a beautiful golden dragon.”

The Iron Throne's fleet was stationed at the Worm River, effectively cutting off Astapor's access to the outside world. For several days, a golden dragon had been sent to burn the Free City, inciting panic and fear among its inhabitants.

Ignoring the other Good Masters, the bald one opened the wooden box sent by the messenger. Suddenly, a hoarse cry rang out.

“Dragons! Run for your lives!”

The bald Good Masters were shocked. Before they could react, they were already knocked down by a black-armored soldier.

“Roar!” A magnificent golden dragon burst through the clouds, and dragonfire, as intense as the sun's surface, surged forward.

“More fire!” Aegon, clad in black battle armor, commanded in a mix of High Valyrian and the common tongue.

Boom!

Sunfyre’s pupils widened with excitement as it soared from one end of the city wall to the other, unleashing torrents of dragonfire.

“Roar!” Sunfyre spit a round of fire into the air, its pale pink wing membranes shimmering like a rainbow.

Thousands of Unsullied stood on the city walls, but some were too slow to dodge and were consumed by the dragonfire.

“Go, hurry!” The Good Masters, with their shaved heads and smoky makeup, scrambled down the ramparts, escorted by the Unsullied.

The Unsullied, well-trained and disciplined, did not back down in the face of the dragon. Under the command of their leader, identifiable by the three spikes on his helmet, they aimed their scorpion crossbows to fight back.

“Roar!” Sunfyre spit out several more mouthfuls of dragonfire and quickly escaped before the scorpion crossbows could be fired.

Aegon’s face turned red with exhilaration. He raised his arms in celebration: “Well done! Today’s mission is complete.”

...

The man and the dragon departed in style, leaving the Good Masters of Astapor with their hearts racing. As the golden dragon flew away, the Unsullied breathed a collective sigh of relief and, as they were accustomed to doing, began carrying away the charred corpses of their comrades.

Beneath the city walls, two Unsullied flanked the bald Wise Master on either side. He trembled, his face pale. “No, we can't go on like this,” he muttered.

The enemy had blocked the riverbank and sent dragons to attack every day. Astapor was now an isolated city, its thousands of Unsullied troops unable to exert their full power.

As he spoke, several Unsullied with heavy faces descended from the city walls. One of them carried a body adorned with luxurious jewelry, the stench of burning flesh still lingering.

"This, this..." The bald Wise Master's eyes widened in disbelief, his voice catching in his throat. The sight of the fallen, once-proud master, now a charred husk, left him speechless.

...

On the other side, Aegon returned to his camp after the successful attack. He dismounted from Sunfyre and looked around, searching for someone.

Frustrated by the disarray, he stormed through the camp, overturning supplies and barking orders. Finally, he called for the Maester who accompanied the army.

The Maester hurried over, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. Aegon, not known for his patience, snatched a parchment and quill from the Maester’s satchel. He bit down on the quill in frustration, then hastily scrawled a few lines of barely legible scratch.