Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 610: Roar of a Dragon

Chapter 610: Roar of a Dragon

Time flies.

It is the early spring of 131 AC. King’s Landing, now entering its tenth year of a long summer, is alive with the sounds of birdsong and bustling activity.

Mud Gate, the docks.

“Hurry up, don’t waste any time!”

“...”

Merchant ships from all corners of the world dock one after another, their sails bearing the crests of distant lands. Merchants disembark eagerly, urging their sailors to unload the goods swiftly. Today marks the first day of spring, and word has spread that the king is hosting a grand banquet for all visiting guests. The merchants, keen to open new trade routes, reveal their impatience with every command. “Move faster, or you’ll all be fined!” they bark, their faces twisted with urgency.

Grumbling ensues.

...

Dum dum dum!

The bells of the Sept ring out, and the people in the city pause to cross their fingers in reverence. Meanwhile, attendants at the Red Keep rush back and forth, ensuring every guest is welcomed and entertained.

Boom—

Two massive golden beasts soar overhead, their passage stirring the wind and setting the bronze bells to chime, elevating the festive atmosphere to its peak.

“Roar!”

A golden dragon streaks across Flea Bottom, its scales gleaming under the bright sun as it flaps its pale pink wings. The majestic creature circles the city twice, a proud display of power, before reluctantly landing.

“By the new gods!” The elderly Lyonel stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep, a deep sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Finally, someone has come to help me,” he muttered, watching as richly dressed merchants streamed past him.

Led by the royal bodyguards, the guests made their way into the Throne Hall and Banquet Hall, eager for the day’s grand events.

...

At this time, in the Council Chamber:

A group of senior advisers sat upright, their faces familiar and seasoned by years of service. Viserys, seated at the head of the table, took a sip of wine to break the silence. “Rhaegar, the Small Council is about to begin.”

Despite his advancing years, Viserys had recovered well after a long period of rest. Dressed impeccably, he concealed his receding hairline and unkempt stubble—a choice Alicent insisted upon, unwilling to let him neglect his appearance even as age took its toll.

Across the table, the Sea Snake sat diagonally, his gaze fixed on the young king standing by the window. He toyed with a pale stone ball in his hand, its rhythmic clinking a sharp contrast to the tension in the room. His furrowed brow betrayed his impatience.

“I’m coming, Father,” Rhaegar replied, turning away from the window with a smile. “Look outside—the city is ablaze with flowers and flames.”

He had aged a few years, his demeanor now more composed and reflective. The way he leaned against the window frame, tall and unyielding, suggested a calm that would not be shaken, even if the sky were to fall.

Viserys raised an eyebrow, displeased by the choice of words. “That’s not a comforting thought.”

“But it’s true,” Rhaegar countered, walking over to the council table. He pulled out the chair that symbolized royal authority and settled into it, a faint smile playing on his lips. “As we both can see, a golden age is upon us.”

The advisers exchanged glances, trying to discern the king’s deeper meaning. The Targaryens had conquered the three Free Cities of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys, as well as the Stepstones, effectively controlling the shipping lanes in the lower Narrow Sea. Over the years, these territories had generated wealth comparable to decades of trade. Controlling the lower Narrow Sea was like holding a never-ending source of riches.

Rhaegar leaned back in his chair and smiled. “As is tradition, let’s discuss any challenges we’ve faced this year.”

The harvests had been bountiful, and the treasury was overflowing with gold. The Sea Snake set down the stone ball, ready to speak when Tyland interrupted.

“Your Grace, I have something to report,” Tyland said, seizing the moment.

The Sea Snake rolled his eyes but remained silent, waiting for Tyland to finish.

Tyland adjusted his garments, his expression serious. “The economy of Volantis has always been stable, but recently, we’ve noticed some unsettling fluctuations.”

“Oh? Go on,” Rhaegar said, intrigued.

Tyland, the Minister of Civil Affairs and Regent of Volantis, was an experienced adviser with significant influence. His third son, Maekar, was studying under him, further solidifying his status as a loyal pillar of the royal family.

“Your Grace, it appears this issue is tied to the resurgence of Slaver’s Bay,” Tyland explained, his face darkening. “Slaver’s Bay has long profited from the slave trade. Now, with its revival, they’ve begun aggressively dispatching slave ships to raid passing merchant vessels, aiming to rebuild their economy swiftly.”

He continued, “Once captured by a slave ship, merchants at sea face grim fates. At best, their goods and women are seized; at worst, the men are shackled and forced into hard labor in Slaver’s Bay.”

Rhaegar nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin. Slaver’s Bay had never been a simple threat. Its capture had once crushed the morale of the slave owners, but now it seemed they had been biding their time, preparing for a significant resurgence.

“Your Grace, I also have something to address,” the Sea Snake interrupted, rising to his feet with a majestic posture.

Rhaegar blinked, and with the recent rumors in mind, he could already guess what Lord Corlys was about to say. Tormund, the Master of Whisperers, nodded subtly in approval, glancing sideways at Rhaegar.

Understanding the unspoken signal, Rhaegar smiled warmly. “Please, Lord Corlys.”

The old man had endured the loss of both a son and a daughter, and now his legacy rested on the shoulders of his grandchildren. Yet, despite his personal grief, he remained ambitious, intent on forging a new future. As the Master of Ships, Corlys Velaryon had played a crucial role in the kingdom’s maritime success, with trade flourishing to the point that even ships from distant Asshai sailed thousands of miles to reach Westeros.

“Your Grace, my concern is closely tied to what Lord Tyland has just mentioned,” Sea Snake began, his tone grave. “You’re likely aware that not long ago, a brutal war erupted in the Basilisk Isles off the coast of Sothoryos. The bloodshed was immense.”

“Of course,” Rhaegar replied, his expression darkening.

The Basilisk Isles were notorious for being a haven for pirates, slave traders, and other unsavory characters—a chaotic and filthy place. Two years ago, remnants of the Triarchy set their sights on these lawless lands, aiming to claim them. The scattered islands along the coast of Sothoryos were their prime target.

However, the pirates and slave traders didn’t surrender easily. Although they eventually lost the Basilisk Isles, they continued to cause trouble in secret—fires, poisoned wells, and relentless sabotage. A formidable admiral, known as the “Governor of The Summer Sea,” emerged, leading raids on supplies meant for the Basilisk Isles. The conflict became a prolonged and bloody stalemate.

“The Governor of The Summer Sea is dead,” Sea Snake announced, his voice low and somber. “The remnants of the Triarchy have fully occupied the Basilisk Isles. The Iron Bank lent them a vast sum of money, allowing them to purchase materials for fifty large ships from Pentos.”

The Triarchy’s ultimate goal was to rebuild a free trade city on the continent of Sothoryos.

Rhaegar’s expression remained unchanged as he asked seriously, “What specific news do you have?”

“The Triarchy has enlisted powerful allies,” Sea Snake replied, his face grim as he clenched his fists. “The Ironborn from the Iron Islands have rallied under their king, Dalton Greyjoy, and joined the fight.”

“It’s said the waters of The Summer Sea have turned red with blood, and thousands of sharks have lingered in the aftermath,” he added, his voice heavy with the weight of the news.

Rhaegar frowned slightly and glanced at Tyland and then at Otto Hightower, who sat second on his right.

Tyland, looking puzzled, responded innocently, “My brother hasn’t sent me any news. He’s too preoccupied with his own pleasures.”

Otto Hightower, his temples graying, stood up and spoke quietly, “The Ironborn are a treacherous people. The young Lord of Oldtown was too intimidated to stop them.”

“The Ironborn have crossed The Summer Sea, and Oldtown is focused on defending itself,” Rhaegar’s eyes grew darker, though he chose not to press the matter further..

He had known about the Ironborn uprising for six months, but since they hadn’t attacked Lannisport or plundered ships in the Narrow Sea, few had taken the threat seriously. Rhaegar had anticipated trouble, but he never imagined the Ironborn would involve themselves in such complex diplomacy.

“Thank you for your counsel, Your Grace,” Otto said seriously, his tone casual but firm. “Dalton Greyjoy is a naturally wicked man. After the Great War, he passed through the Summer Isles, slaughtering most of the population to resupply his fleet. Such behavior is beyond reprehensible.”

Rhaegar could no longer remain seated, his concern finally pushing him to act. Beyond the three continents of Westeros, Essos, and Sothoryos, many islands dotted the world’s oceans. Among them, the Stepstones and the Summer Isles were the most prominent. The Summer Isles, located in The Summer Sea, were north of the Arbor, which belonged to House Redwyne, and were surrounded by vast oceans on all other sides.

Rich in tropical resources and minerals, the islands were inhabited by tall, dark-skinned people. Though their civilization was relatively primitive and isolated, they had now suffered a terrible and undeserved fate.

The Sea Snake continued, his voice seething with fury. “Dalton Greyjoy is a natural-born brute. He earned the name ‘Red Kraken’ in his teens, and now he’s been raiding merchant ships near the Stepstones under the banner of the Alliance.”

He’s taken refuge with the Kingdom’s enemies and dared to plunder ships belonging to House Velaryon. Both offenses are equally serious and a direct challenge to the Sea Snake.

Corlys Velaryon, though advanced in age, was far from ready to be disrespected by a young upstart like Dalton Greyjoy.

“He is indeed a troublesome and ruthless character,” Rhaegar mused, his mind already turning over possibilities. “Aunt is on Driftmark Island. In a few days, she’ll accompany me to Sunspear, and on the way, we’ll pay a visit to this Red Kraken.”

Dorne remained mired in civil unrest, split between its eastern and western factions. Prince Qyle, a loyalist to the crown, had been seeking support. Rhaegar had also been concerned about the wild dragon Uragax, currently on the continent of Sothoryos, and he intended to check if its injuries had healed. Wild dragons like Uragax were particularly cunning and even more ruthless with their own kind. Uragax’s stunted growth meant it would take longer to recover, and once healed, it might migrate to Dragonstone to nest.

Moreover, the Master of Whisperers had heard rumors from fishermen who claimed to have seen a large white dragon near the Sea of Dorne. Though the morning fog had obscured their view, they were adamant about its size. The only dragon likely to roam near the Sea of Dorne was the light silver Seasmoke, but Seasmoke was a fourth generation dragon, not nearly large enough to be described as “very.”

Rhaegar feared that a wild dragon might be causing trouble and was determined to investigate. Dealing with Dorne, the remnants of the Triarchy, and the Red Kraken could all be managed along the way.

“Your Grace is wise,” the Sea Snake said, satisfied with the plan as he took his seat.

Rhaegar smiled slightly, his mind still pondering the many challenges ahead.

“Your Grace, there is also the matter of Volantis,” Tyland interjected, standing quickly. “If we allow Slaver’s Bay to continue its unchecked plundering, trade will collapse.”

Volantis was already lagging behind the three Free Cities across the Narrow Sea in terms of trade. If this continued, Tyland’s position as Regent of Volantis would be in jeopardy.

Rhaegar sighed, clearly frustrated. “Lord Tyland, the resurgence of Slaver’s Bay is inevitable. At most, I’ll order Aegon to patrol the area on dragonback for a while, as a warning to the slavers.”

While many of the plundered merchant ships weren’t from Westeros, Slaver’s Bay remained a lucrative hub with a virtual monopoly on the slave trade. Rhaegar had no intention of launching an attack, preferring instead to infiltrate external forces. The truth was, his House was both too strong and too weak.

They were strong enough to occupy the three Free Cities and Qohor across the Narrow Sea, effectively doubling the kingdom’s territory. But they were weak in that there were too few dragonriders to hold even more land. They could only watch as other ambitious powers rose.

Rhaegar shrugged. Expanding the kingdom’s power from its current territory would take at least another decade. But when his many children grew up, they would bring the world “a little” shock.