Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 408: Rhaegar: Why Doesn’t He Get a Break?

Chapter 408: Rhaegar: Why Doesn’t He Get a Break?

The next day dawned sunny with a gentle breeze.

In the basin of the Mander River, Bitterbridge stood alone on either bank, hardy as a solitary tree, fearless of wind and frost.

The long river, more than a few dozen yards wide and as deep as a house, flowed with crystal clear water. The sandy ground at the river's edge gave way to lush lawns where flowers swayed gently in the breeze. After the night's rain, the flowers and plants looked refreshed, though small animals remained hidden.

"Roar..."

Upstream, a massive dragon as black as charcoal crouched in the water, its huge body blocking the river like a black stone dam.

Cannibal shook its head, sending water splashing over its hard scales.

The entire dragon lay on its back in the river, the water barely covering its chest and belly, while its towering spine remained dry.

With a snap, its slender tail lashed violently, causing an explosion of water to spray upward before cascading down.

Cannibal’s green pupils narrowed slightly as it rested its head on the riverbank, allowing the river water to wash over its body. The dragon was uncomfortable after being drenched in the rain all night.

The river, blocked by the dragon, slowed its flow, creating a serene yet imposing scene.

Plop—

A silver-haired figure broke through the water, swimming to the side of the giant dragon.

"Whew! That feels amazing," Rhaegar exclaimed, dripping wet and fully enjoying the caress of the gurgling water.

"Roar..." Cannibal glanced at him, seemingly puzzled by his rider's early morning swim.

Rhaegar squinted as he wiped away the water droplets, then spoke soothingly, "An occasional outing does wonders for the mind and body."

He shook his head, sending bead-sized droplets flying, and wrung out his damp silver hair to the side.

Man and dragon relaxed in the water, comfortable in each other's presence.

Rhaegar’s form was striking, his porcelain-white skin gleaming in the sunlight, and his solid muscles sculpted like a masterpiece.

Cannibal’s green pupils half-closed, lazily shaking its massive body, disturbing the fish and shrimp in the water.

When Lord Caswell of Bitterbridge arrived, he was greeted by this extraordinary sight.

Lord Caswell was momentarily mesmerized, his gaze filled with awe and reverence.

The Heir Prince had his back to him, silver hair cascading to his waist, his naked body a marvel of craftsmanship.

The river water reached up to his waist, splashing a fine mist as it crashed against his skin.

Raising his hand, Rhaegar gently rubbed the dragon's long, thick neck, the porcelain white of his skin contrasting sharply with the dragon’s pitch-black scales.

"Lord Caswell, your gaze is rather presumptuous, even for a man," Rhaegar’s voice cut through the air, tinged with disgust.

Startled, Lord Caswell looked up to see a slight change in the scene.

Cannibal's vertical pupils showed a hint of displeasure, and the dragon's head now hung menacingly above him.

Rhaegar faced him, his handsome features carrying an air of enchantment.

As a child, Rhaegar had been cute and fragile, with a slight aura of gloom. But as he grew, he became stronger, his features developing significant masculine traits. Now, as a dragon descendant, his body had become nearly perfect, with an added androgynous beauty.

"Mother gave me a good look," Rhaegar mused inwardly, donning a white scarf as he walked toward the riverbank.

"Smart girl," Rhaegar chuckled. "She knows to stay away from fools."

While Aegon might be trapped, Helaena remained free. Alicent alone couldn't restrain a dragonrider without the intervention of her father and brother.

Opening the second note, Rhaegar's smile faded as he read the contents.

It was a message from Myr:

[The old powerful and noble forces have started a riot. Lower-class civilians are smashing and looting. The city-state is in chaos.]

The note ended with:

[The Magister's Palace has collapsed. A large hole has appeared underground, suspected to be the ruins of a Dragonlord family...]

Rhaegar's eyebrows shot up, and joy surged through him.

"Dragonlord ruins?" he murmured, excitement tinging his voice.

Such a find was a treasure trove, an ancient site of immense value.

Years ago, the Ancient Valyrian Freehold had conquered the lands where the nine free trade city-states now stood, creating a vast territory. Lys had been the summer sanctuary of the Dragonlord families.

Myr and Tyrosh were trading ports under the Freehold. The Doom of Valyria came suddenly, burying many Dragonlord legacies in time.

The Targaryens, having fled, had scant records of these legacies. Yet, Myr's proximity to Ancient Valyria made it plausible that remnants of the Dragonlord families' buildings still existed.

"I cannot guarantee that I will find the systematic inheritance of bloodmages and pyromancers, but uncovering knowledge of dragons, even fragments, would be invaluable," Rhaegar mused.

However, the riots in Myr seemed suspicious. The suppressed old nobles had suddenly risen up, and civilians, barely surviving before, now had weapons, using the chaos to kill a large number of Fearless soldiers on patrol.

"Braavos," Rhaegar thought, his eyes narrowing. The quieted city-state likely had a hand in this. Braavos was undeniably powerful, the foremost of the nine free trade city-states.

But no matter how large their ships or fierce their mercenaries, they couldn't withstand the dragonfire. Their strength lay in economic sanctions and trade restrictions, not direct confrontation.

"A cheap trick," Rhaegar snorted disdainfully.

To prevent the resurgence of the Triarchy's old party, he had prepared extensively. As long as his army remained within the city-state, a few skirmishes were insignificant.

This situation presented an opportunity to root out the disobedient and cleanse the corrupt system.

Folding the letters, Rhaegar addressed Lord Caswell, "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must depart soon."

Lord Caswell, respectful and understanding, replied, "You are the Heir Prince, and important matters await."

He didn't inquire further, offering unwavering support. Lord Allun Caswell, still young and childless, hadn't participated in the Maiden's Day Festival organized by King’s Landing. If not for Rhaegar's unexpected visit, he might never have had this opportunity to serve the Prince.

Rhaegar smiled, gesturing towards the castle forecourt, "After I leave, please ensure Lord Peake is safely escorted to Highgarden. Lord Tyrell will handle the rest."

Lord Caswell’s eyes followed Rhaegar’s gesture. In the forecourt, a figure with a rope around its neck swayed on the gallows, surrounded by a dozen charred corpses.

Noting the Three Castles House emblem on the chest of the hanged man, Lord Caswell nodded vigorously, "Rest assured, he will be safely escorted."

The man had been gagged all night, but he was still alive.

Rhaegar stood and clapped his hands, ready to take his leave. After a moment of contemplation, he made his decision.

The Red Keep was cold and quiet. Returning to Myr seemed the better option.