Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 603: I’m Going to Complain!

Chapter 603: I’m Going to Complain!

Two months later.

It is October, and the climate on both sides of the Narrow Sea remains warm.

In Lys, at the harbor...

A large fleet sails in, its dozen warships all bearing signs of damage, as if they had weathered a fierce storm at sea.

"Roar..."

The pitch-black wings of a dragon swept over the Free Cities, sending countless residents into a panic.

...

Topless Dragonpit.

The Cannibal folded its wings and landed with a loud crash, kicking up a cloud of dust. Several Dragonkeepers hurried over, holding bamboo sticks, trying to drive the dragon back to its lair.

Cannibal paid no heed, shaking off the meddling, foolish humans and finding a corner to lie down in the pit.

"Don't worry about it, and don't bother entering the Dragonpit in the future," Rhaegar said, his expression indifferent, dispelling the Dragonkeepers' doubts. After a long sleep in the Lands of the Long Summer, the Cannibal's appetite had grown insatiable, and it had quickly reached nearly 170 meters in length. The bond between the man and the dragon was strong, and they both sensed the trend of continued growth.

Bang! Bang!

Cannibal snorted heavily, swung its tail, and patted the ground contentedly. The dark and cramped Dragonpit could no longer contain it.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," one of the Dragonkeepers said, his eyes sharp as he sensed the giant beast's resistance. He respectfully stepped aside.

Rhaegar waved his hand, looking at the people who had come to greet him.

"Father!"

Aemon's face lit up with excitement as he cheered and rushed toward him. Rhaegar's eyes twinkled as he bent down to pick up his spirited second son. He asked seriously, "Have you been listening to your mother and finishing your lessons on time?"

"Of course," Aemon replied, tilting his head and patting his chest confidently. He was the cleverest of the siblings.

"Your Grace, welcome back," Baela said, more mature now, offering a graceful bow.

Rhaena followed her sister's lead, adding with a wry smile, "Your Grace."

"All is well. Go see your father and grandfather," Rhaegar said with a smile, his eyes now fixed on the approaching figure.

Rhaenyra's eyes were red with emotion as she walked up to him, restraining the urge to embrace him. Her hands twitched helplessly. They had been apart for half a year, and every night she had struggled to sleep on her lonely pillow. Her thoughts had often spiraled out of control, but she had been uncertain of his feelings. A thorn had lodged itself in her heart.

"I'm home," Rhaegar said, his voice soft yet powerful, as if he could read her very thoughts.

At these simple words, Rhaenyra could no longer hold back. Tears streamed down her face. "Rhaegar, I've missed you so much," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms like a young bird returning to its nest.

Rhaegar gently released Aemon, who had been clinging to him, and opened his arms wide to embrace her. They held each other tightly, savoring the warmth of their reunion.

"I've missed you too," Rhaegar whispered, a smile playing on his lips as he relished the moment.

Plop!

Aemon fell to the ground with a thud, his face scrunched up in pain. Watching his parents reunite, he pouted in frustration.

Baela grabbed his ear, pulling him along without ceremony. "Ugliest sight in the world. Let's go," she muttered.

Aemon, too aggrieved to protest, followed silently as the younger children began to wander off, eager to find the Blood Wyrm heading toward the beach.

...

Midday.

The sun shone brightly in a clear sky.

At the Topless Tower, in the warm greenhouse...

"Here's your whip back." Rhaenyra's gaze never left his as she traced her fingertips along his neck, pulling out the dragon-taming whip.

"You can keep it," Rhaegar replied, shaking his head with a hint of pride. 'I have something better,' he thought. He had managed to retrieve a dragon's horn from the Smoking Sea, enduring countless hardships along the way. Though the return journey had been relatively calm, they had faced numerous storms and attacks.

"You keep it. I can't use it." Rhaenyra refused to accept his decision, pressing the whip back into his arms. "You can't wield a dragon's horn lightly. This is more practical."

As she spoke, she gazed at his gaunt face, pale as paper, and wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. Rhaegar's lips tightened slightly as he lay on his side on the flower bed, resting his head on her soft, bouncy thighs.

The journey had lasted half a year, with three of those months spent alone in the Smoking Sea. The oppressive atmosphere had driven nearly everyone mad. Rhaenyra's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she gently touched Rhaegar's cheek, afraid that he might slip away if she wasn’t careful. Even in her worry, her beauty was undeniable.

Rhaegar had dressed to welcome her back, and after their return to the Topless Tower, she had changed into her usual attire—a black strapless dress, a Valyrian steel necklace adorning her neck, and her silver hair braided into an intricate plait. As she sat in the conservatory, bathed in the morning sun, her white toes rested on the glass floor. The intimacy of the moment gradually calmed her heart.

"You've worked hard," Rhaegar murmured, his face buried against her flat stomach, his voice muffled. The vast Seven Kingdoms and both sides of the Narrow Sea were not easy to govern. Many plotted in secret against the royal family, hoping to weaken its power.

As these words left his lips, Rhaenyra's toes curled, and she lowered her head in shame. Rhaegar sensed something amiss and asked without looking up, "What's wrong?"

Rhaenyra bit her lower lip nervously. "Braavos... and Dorne..." she began, explaining the major events that had unfolded over the past six months. Her beautiful eyes held a steely determination.

Rhaegar listened intently, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and taking a deep breath. The situation was better than expected—the sky hadn't fallen.

There had been two wars.

Braavos had allied with Pentos, clashing with the fleets of Velaryon and Gulltown in the Narrow Sea. Sheepstealer and Tessarion had gone into battle and achieved significant victories. A month ago, when word came that Rhaegar had safely emerged from the Smoking Sea, Braavos had been the first to withdraw its troops, and Pentos quickly followed, raising the white flag.

The situation in Dorne, however, was more challenging. The Steward of Dorne had been assassinated, and the young Prince Qyle nearly taken hostage. Fortunately, the situation had been stabilized. Yet, a resistance group, calling themselves the "Orphans of the Greenblood River," had risen in rebellion. After failing to capture Sunspear, they retreated into the desert, disappearing from sight. From time to time, they would raid minor noble families, causing chaos throughout Dorne.

Rhaegar rubbed his cheek and whispered, "Don't worry about it. Let them play their games." Braavos and Pentos were too established to risk another war. Dorne had always been a rebellious region, and divided opinions about the Iron Throne were nothing new. A few years of internal unrest would likely shift Dorne's focus inward, weakening its hostility towards the outside world. The Targaryens would only grow stronger.

And as for Dorne, how long could its barren lands sustain such defiance?

"I'm afraid I haven't done enough," Rhaenyra sniffed, her voice muffled with emotion. "They bully me when you're not here," she added.

Rhaegar was taken aback by her words, his head snapping up in surprise. The tone of her grievance struck him hard—who dared to trouble her?

"Who?" Rhaegar asked bluntly, his voice tinged with anger.

Rhaenyra hesitated, her gaze dropping in shame as she shook her head vigorously.

"You have to tell me," Rhaegar insisted, his brow furrowing deeply. He made a convincing show of his rising annoyance. "I need to know so I can stand up for you."

Knock, knock, knock!

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Laena's voice: "There is a letter from King's Landing that requires Your Grace's attention."

Rhaenyra, on the verge of voicing her grievances, held back at the sound of Laena's voice. "Come in," she said, her tone subdued.

Creak, creak—

Laena pushed the door open, her boots clattering against the glass floor. She glanced at Rhaenyra, then at Rhaegar, before calmly handing over the letter. "The Regent's letter, please take a look."

Rhaenyra blinked and took the envelope, opening it with a frown.

"Regent?" Rhaegar's voice bristled with anger. He wasn't deaf or blind—he knew something was wrong. "Which Regent?"

Laena's mouth curled into a slight smile as she replied, "Of course, it's the Prince Regent, Aemond."

Rhaegar's vision darkened, and he nearly lost his breath in fury. No wonder Rhaenyra seemed so troubled. It seemed some people had a death wish after all.

Laena continued, "After Aemond burned the Braavosi and Pentoshi fleets, he volunteered to take on the role of Regent and negotiate on behalf of the Iron Throne with the two Free Cities."

"Who gave him that authority?" Rhaegar asked, incredulous. He turned sharply to Rhaenyra, his eyes questioning.

Rhaenyra met his gaze squarely and replied, "No one. He appointed himself."

"That bastard," Rhaegar muttered, his back molars grinding in frustration. "I'll deal with him when I get back." Then he added, "What does the letter say?"

He braced himself for anything—a wayward brother who couldn't be bothered to follow orders was the least of his concerns.

Rhaenyra, feeling lighter after venting, handed the letter to Laena. "Read it for me," she said, her voice calmer.

Laena rolled her eyes but complied, reading the letter aloud. Her actions didn’t go unnoticed by Rhaegar, who watched with slight surprise. He glanced up and down at Laena, noting how much better she looked since they had set out. Even in her loose-fitting white dress, with her pregnancy showing, she couldn't hide her capable and commanding presence.

Ignoring his scrutiny, Laena continued reading the letter.

Daemon had returned and captured a strong, beautiful young blue dragon. The couple had decided that the dragon would belong to the unborn child Laena was carrying.

"Civil unrest in Qohor... Bartimos was seriously injured in an assassination attempt... rescued..." Laena's voice grew more somber as she read on.

Rhaegar's expression darkened by the time she finished. "That fool Bartimos had to push through policies that wasted manpower and harmed the people!" he spat. Otto and Bartimos had ruled Qohor together, but Bartimos had forced the people to repair the city walls, raised taxes, and imposed a city gate tax, sparking riots. The Dothraki cavalry, ill-suited for street fighting, had withdrawn from the Free Cities, camping in the forests outside the city. Qohor had fallen in a single night, and Bartimos, the instigator, had barely escaped with his life.

Aemond had already returned to Qohor, sending word for Rhaenyra to return to King's Landing and allocate supplies for support.

"What nerve," Rhaenyra muttered, seething with anger. 'Does he really think he's Regent and can order me around?' Aemond was utterly disrespectful, disregarding her authority.

"The focus should be on Qohor," Laena interjected quietly.

Rhaenyra’s almond-shaped eyes widened in fury, and she let out a bitter laugh. "Do you really think those rabble can stop Sheepstealer?"

Given Aemond's vindictive nature, she feared the riots would become more of a massacre than a rebellion.

Laena nodded in agreement, realizing she had no argument.

Rhaenyra turned to Rhaegar, gently squeezing his face. "What do you think?"

"You don’t sound like you’re looking for a solution," Rhaegar said with a sigh, taking her small, jade-like hand in his. "I’ll return to King's Landing tomorrow, visit my father first, and then deal with Qohor."

"You promise?" Rhaenyra asked, pressing her finger against his cheek.

"I promise," Rhaegar replied, raising his hands in surrender. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into his previous position. After half a year of constant turmoil, he deserved a moment to relax.