116-120
Added 2025-02-19 02:38:10 +0000 UTC*Chapter 116: Underlying Currents*
The night deepened, and soon, midnight arrived.
The ball continued, with the nobles reveling in their social engagements.
Rhaegar rested his head on one hand, feeling somewhat drowsy.
Tap, tap...
Footsteps approached. At some point, Daemon had arrived.
Rhaegar looked at him in confusion.
Daemon stood with his hands behind his back and smiled. “Dear nephew, your uncle has yet to congratulate you on becoming the crown prince.”
Rhaegar asked, puzzled, “Why do you dare to come here?”
“I come and go as I please. Do I need a reason?” Daemon said casually.
“As you wish. If you and your dark sister can attend, I suppose I should be pleased,” Rhaegar said, glancing at the sword in his hand.
Daemon smirked mischievously. “Look at your size. Can you even wield that properly?”
Rhaegar gazed at him calmly, momentarily unsure of what to say.
Could a person really be this arrogant?
After a brief thought, Rhaegar raised his cup and said, “Uncle, I admire your courage and the help you once gave my father. I toast to you.”
In his eyes, Daemon was already like a fish on the chopping block.
There was no need for harsh words.
Daemon glanced at the juice in the cup and shook his head. “A child is still a child. I only drink fine wine.”
Rhaegar smiled. “I am the crown prince. If I offer you a toast, you must drink.”
“And what if I refuse?” Daemon sneered.
“Then we shall see.”
With that, Rhaegar overturned his cup, letting the juice spill onto the floor.
Under Daemon’s confused gaze, he slammed the cup down onto the table.
Bang!
The sound echoed as a flash of silver streaked through the air. Ser Erryk had drawn his sword and placed it against Daemon’s neck.
Daemon glanced at Erryk with disdain. “Do you intend to kill me?”
“If necessary, I will,” Erryk replied.
Rhaegar poured another cup of juice and handed it to Daemon. “Drink it, uncle.”
Daemon lifted the cup, then overturned it once more, letting the juice spill again. He scoffed, “Ignorant little boy. Do you really think I would submit to you?”
Bang!
The cup slammed onto the table once more. Rhaegar’s expression turned cold.
Swish! Swish!
Two more blades were drawn—one pressed against Daemon’s throat, the other against his lower back.
Daemon turned his head. At some point, Ser Criston and Ser Harrold had arrived, their expressions emotionless as they stared at him.
Both knights knew the extent of Daemon’s crimes. There was no way they would allow a criminal to approach the prince freely.
“Uncle, I toast to you only because of the support you once gave my father.”
Rhaegar raised his cup once more and tilted his head slightly. “I know what you're thinking. My father is a soft-hearted man—no matter how much he claims to hate you, when the moment comes, he won’t have the resolve to strike you down.”
“But I am not him. I will personally judge you, ensuring you don’t even have the chance to don the black and head for the Wall.”
He knew his father too well. No matter how much hatred he voiced, when the time came to swing the blade, he would hesitate.
Daemon’s expression shifted slightly. “You intend to send me to the Wall? To become a Night’s Watchman?”
Rhaegar replied, “Drink this. If you survive the night, you may keep your life.”
He was offering his uncle one last chance.
To carry the burden of kin-slaying was no small thing. He did not wish for his father to lose a blood relative.
The Night’s Watch was a fitting punishment.
“I thought you would hate me to the core.”
“Go to the Wall. Atone for your sins.”
“……”
A brief silence followed before Daemon suddenly grinned.
He admired his nephew’s magnanimity—he was still willing to grant him a path to survival.
Daemon accepted the cup, bringing it close to his lips and inhaling the fruity aroma.
Meanwhile, Viserys silently picked at his food, his gaze flickering between the two men.
Splash…
Daemon merely took a small sip before pouring the juice onto the floor. He sighed. “What a pity—I just can’t get used to this stuff.”
Bang!
A cup suddenly struck Daemon’s forehead, causing him to stagger backward.
Viserys trembled with fury, gritting his teeth. “Get lost! Enjoy what remains of your miserable life, you heartless beast!”
“Heh. Think what you will.”
Daemon clutched his bleeding forehead, shoved past Criston, and disappeared into the crowd of dancing nobles.
He had already seen his nephew's temperament; tonight was not wasted.
Daemon was a man who attracted attention, and this scene caught the eyes of many keen observers.
At the table of the Vale faction, Rhea gripped her knife and fork tightly, exclaiming with resentment, "He brought this upon himself. No one else is to blame."
"Daemon has always been known for doing whatever he pleases," Jeyne said softly, trying to calm her. Her gaze fell on Rhaegar, and with interest, she remarked, "The new heir to the throne seems to be a bit smarter than Rhaenyra."
"As the son of Queen Aemma Arryn, he is naturally your ally and the ally of the Vale," Yobert analyzed.
"You are correct, but I find the person himself more intriguing," Jeyne said, gently touching her cheek as a smile curved her lips.
Yobert was taken aback by her words, hesitating before saying, "The prince is only six years old, and according to Targaryen tradition, he has two sisters to choose from."
"Who knows?"
Jeyne smiled faintly.
At the head table, Viserys's breathing was heavy, his face flushed with anger.
He couldn't understand it—his eldest son was willing to give Daemon a chance to live, so why reject it?
Did Daemon truly want his own brother to personally sever his head?
"You scoundrel! I'll grant you your wish," Viserys muttered, struggling to suppress his fury.
Rhaegar gestured for Cole and Harrold to step back and guard the doors.
Upon closer inspection, his hands were trembling slightly, and his chest beneath his regal robes rose and fell unevenly.
Looking at his shaking hand, Rhaegar unconsciously smiled.
This wasn't caused by fear or anger.
He felt it—a deep, bone-chilling excitement and exhilaration.
"Uncle, an eye for an eye."
---
*Elsewhere, in the Dragonpit.*
The roars of dragons echoed in waves throughout the circular structure.
Several massive dragons coexisted in the Dragonpit at this moment.
Vhagar, Meleys, Seasmoke, Syrax...
The three dragons of House Velaryon and Daemon's Bloodwyrm were all present.
A heavy iron chain was fastened around Bloodwyrm's neck, and it stretched its neck to roar, its furious eyes scanning the dark lairs.
A sharp screech came from nearby—a pitch-black dragon climbed along the walls of the Dragonpit, wandering around excitedly.
It had sensed the emotions of its rider.
Those chained fellow dragons were all its enemies.
---
*In the banquet hall.*
Rhaegar picked up the heavy, dark Dark Sister sword, smiling as he bid farewell to his father. "I'm heading down to rest now, Father."
"Go ahead. The banquet will continue for a while longer," Viserys replied gently, not giving it much thought.
Rhaegar nodded. Before leaving, he stopped Erryk from following him and gestured for him to crouch down. Leaning in, he whispered something in Erryk's ear.
Erryk frowned, his brows tightly knitted, but he nodded reluctantly.
"Bye~," Rhaegar said as he waved and left the hall.
The banquet continued.
Some nobles, including the Tullys and Tyrells, expressed regret upon noticing the prince’s departure.
They had wanted to show their loyalty to the prince and offer their blessings.
Daemon, meanwhile, drifted through the crowd, facing repeated rejections when seeking dance partners, wandering aimlessly.
"Out of dance partners?"
A soft voice came from behind, lighthearted and amused. Lenore walked toward him with a gentle smile.
(End of chapter)
*Chapter 117: A Stormy Night and a Dragon’s Raid*
Daemon looked her up and down.
Her voluptuous figure, exotic complexion, and sensual red lips were perfectly aligned with his tastes.
Daemon extended his hands with a faint smile. “Isn’t my dance partner already here?”
“Hmph, someone abandoned me just a moment ago.”
Rhaenys’ daughter, Laena, carried a proud expression, placing her hands in his.
“I had more important things to attend to. Regrettably, I had to let a beauty down,” Daemon said as he stepped into the dance rhythm, his gaze unguarded and filled with desire.
Laena was even bolder, her ample curves brushing against him as she whispered, “Have you figured out how to make your escape yet?”
She had inherited her mother Rhaenys’ sharp intuition and tendency to think everything through.
In her eyes, Daemon was arrogant and self-absorbed, but he was unlikely to leave himself without an escape route.
“That, my little beauty, is a secret I can’t tell you,” Daemon chuckled, his hand sliding along her waist with growing audacity.
“I’ll give you some advice: the dragonpit is now under the control of the new heir. If you plan to flee, do it quickly,” Laena murmured with a slight frown, her tone cautious.
When she sent Vhagar to the dragonpit, she noticed some changes there.
It was easy to send dragons into the pit, but getting them out would be another matter entirely.
Daemon’s expression remained unchanged as his hand roved, his demeanor suggestive. “Then I suppose I must hurry.”
He discreetly glanced toward the hall’s main entrance.
Two Kingsguard soldiers stood guard there. Without a weapon, he had no chance of forcing his way out.
Other hallways were also patrolled by guards, leaving him no opportunity to escape.
In truth, the moment he had stepped into King’s Landing, he’d been under constant surveillance.
Inside the Red Keep, there was no way anyone would leave him an opening to flee.
The ball grew livelier as the night went on.
Daemon held Laena close, dancing patiently, showing no sign of urgency.
From a distance, Corlys noticed his daughter dancing with Daemon and wore a displeased expression.
Such interactions between them were not favorable for House Velaryon.
“Shall we call Laena back?” Rhaenys asked.
Corlys shook his head. “We’ve traveled alongside Daemon this far; our connection to him can’t be erased now.”
“Daemon won’t escape easily,” Rhaenys remarked, already envisioning the moment he would be captured.
“No rush. I want to see if our king has the heart to dispose of Daemon,” Corlys said with interest.
“Hmph, they’re all my kin. I have no desire to watch this,” Rhaenys huffed coldly and rose from her seat.
The Targaryens were already a dwindling family. Years ago, for the sake of peace, she had willingly retreated to Driftmark, abandoning her claim to the Iron Throne.
But her two younger cousins had proven to be such disappointments, quarreling amongst themselves instead of standing united.
“Idiots, the both of them!” Rhaenys cursed silently as she walked away.
---
The night deepened, and the early hours of morning approached.
The ball reached its climax, the music becoming more intense, stirring deep-seated emotions within the guests.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air.
“Fire! There’s a fire outside!”
The stained glass windows of the banquet hall glowed with flickering flames from outside.
A fire had broken out within the Red Keep.
The blaze began in an unremarkable corner of the castle, sending thick black smoke curling into the air.
And it wasn’t just the Red Keep—several gambling dens and brothels in King’s Landing were also ablaze, with the flames spreading rapidly.
The fire’s spread would inevitably demand manpower to extinguish it.
King Viserys, who had endured the ball through sheer willpower, was visibly exhausted but forced himself to remain composed, reassuring the nobles in the hall to prevent panic.
Laenor quickly organized efforts to put out the fire, dispatching men to the burning tower.
Even his eldest son, Harwin, was temporarily pulled away to assist.
“Your Grace, would you like to retreat to safety?” Laenor asked, concerned about the king’s health.
Viserys shook his head. “No need. The fire is far from the banquet hall. I must stay here to keep our guests at ease.”
Just then—poof—a candelabra in the hall suddenly went out, dimming the light.
Before anyone could react, more lamps extinguished one after another, as if someone were deliberately snuffing them out.
In a matter of moments, only a few fire pits remained to provide faint illumination in the hall.
“Guards! Protect the king!”
The change happened so quickly that Ser Harrold, Commander of the Kingsguard, immediately rushed toward the king, guarding him against potential assassins.
Ser Criston Cole followed close behind, placing himself in front of the king.
Chaos erupted in the hall.
Noblewomen and young ladies screamed in fear, their cries sharp and piercing.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
In the dim light, Laena grabbed Daemon’s belt with a serious expression, her grip firm.
Daemon grabbed her chin and said coldly, "Didn't you suggest I run? What a great opportunity."
"You really think you can escape?"
Lannal felt the pain and spoke with deep meaning.
"I have to try. I don't want to lose my head or end up on the Wall, never touching a woman again."
Daemon pushed her aside and took advantage of the chaos, heading toward a corner of the hall.
Watching his back, Lannal sighed in disappointment. "Arrogant fool."
...
Flames raged as Red Keep soldiers were mobilized, and the gold cloaks of King's Landing rushed to put out the fire.
Avoiding patrols, Daemon made his way to a secret passage within the Red Keep.
At the entrance, a hooded figure in a black robe had been waiting for some time.
"After this, our deal is complete."
The black-robed figure tossed him a cloak and said in a low voice.
Daemon replied coldly, "I suggest you come with me."
"No, I have other matters to attend to."
The figure refused outright and walked away, shaking his head.
Daemon didn’t press the matter. He donned the black cloak and slipped into the passage.
Before long...
Dressed in black, Daemon emerged from the Red Keep.
Drizzle...
Perhaps the fire had disturbed the weather—rain began to fall from the night sky.
With rain soaking him, Daemon moved quickly through the city's narrow alleys.
The Dragonpit.
Crack!
A dragon guard had his neck snapped from behind, his limp body collapsing to the ground.
Another guard, startled, reached for his sword—only to be kicked in the stomach and slammed to the ground.
Daemon stepped forward and crushed his throat underfoot.
After dealing with the guards, Daemon slipped through a side door into the Dragonpit.
"Hisss—Gaaah…"
Caraxes let out a cry, sensing his rider’s presence.
Daemon found his dragon with ease.
Using an iron wire, he picked the lock on Caraxes' chains and quickly climbed onto his back.
Caraxes moved even faster, scrambling out of the Dragonpit on all fours before spreading its wings and soaring into the rainy sky.
Just as Daemon and Caraxes disappeared, a shadow limped out from the corner.
...
Caraxes flew swiftly, leaving King’s Landing behind and heading toward Blackwater Bay.
Drizzle…
The rain grew heavier, turning into a downpour.
Having escaped King’s Landing, Daemon exhaled in relief, proud of his foresight.
If he hadn’t arranged an escape route in advance, he wouldn’t have dared face his brother.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
Suddenly, Caraxes let out a sharp cry, twisting its body in unease.
Daemon frowned. "What's wrong, Caraxes?"
Their bond was strong—he immediately sensed something was off.
Caraxes' slitted eyes darted around warily, and it increased its speed.
Boom!
A thunderclap split the sky, lightning illuminating the storm clouds.
Daemon happened to look up.
In that instant, he saw an enormous shadow looming above, following close behind Caraxes through the clouds.
"Uncle, I've come for you!"
A sudden voice rang out—Rhaegar’s. The massive shadow descended.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
A roar, not from Caraxes, echoed through the storm, making Daemon's eyes widen in shock. His hair stood on end.
Vhagar dove down, its massive jaws spewing a torrent of green dragonfire straight at Caraxes' neck.
"No!"
Daemon tightened his grip on the reins.
Before he could issue a command, the green flames engulfed Caraxes, making the dragon reel in pain.
Vhagar’s flames were always fierce—despite the rain, their power was undiminished.
"Vhagar, tear them apart!"
Rhaegar’s violet eyes locked onto Daemon, flashing with unrestrained madness.
This uncle had dared to betray him, had even returned to King’s Landing to provoke him.
Daemon had brought this upon himself.
He had expected Daemon to flee—so he had been waiting.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
As the flames died down, Vhagar lunged, its massive, charcoal-black claws digging into Caraxes' spine, its jaws clamping onto one of the smaller dragon’s wings.
Caraxes howled in agony, twisting desperately in an attempt to break free.
But it had already lost the advantage—its slender body was completely trapped by Vhagar’s grip.
Rip!
It had been a long time since the glutton had tasted the flesh of its own kind. With a ferocious bite, it crushed Kolakshu’s shoulder blade.
The poor Kolakshu didn’t even have a chance to fight back before it was torn apart, its body covered in bloody gashes.
“Dragon Flame!”
Rhaegar’s voice rang out again.
The glutton greedily tore off a chunk of Kolakshu’s flesh and swallowed it. Another torrent of green dragon flames surged forth.
“Shriek—”
The searing flames touched Kolakshu’s bloodied wounds, and it let out a heart-wrenching scream, its body spiraling uncontrollably as it fell.
“Kolakshu, hold on!”
Seeing Kolakshu so swiftly overwhelmed, Damon felt a chill run through his body as he urged it to steady itself.
But Rhaegar wasn’t about to give them any opportunity.
The glutton unleashed a continuous stream of dragon flames, driving Kolakshu into a steep dive, determined to send it crashing into the ocean.
Heavy rain poured down, while thunder and lightning roared amidst the storm clouds.
In the relentless chase, the young Kolakshu couldn’t withstand the glutton’s pursuit.
With a loud splash, it plunged into the sea.
Damon didn’t have time to untie the chain around his waist. Together with Kolakshu, he was pulled into the ocean.
The surface of the water erupted into towering waves. Dragon blood dyed the sea red, boiling the icy water.
Witnessing this scene, Rhaegar trembled all over, halting the glutton in midair.
He was still dressed in his regal attire, though it had long been drenched by the rain.
Raindrops trickled down his face. He lifted his head to gaze at the stormy night sky, his expression intense, his chest heaving violently.
Wiping the water from his face, Rhaegar’s half-lit visage shone in a flash of lightning. His lips curled into a grim smile, his eyes radiating icy malice.
“Uncle, you forced me to do this!”
Rhaegar shouted in a voice that was both panicked and manic, “You owe me a dragon flame, and today I’m giving it back to you!”
“Father couldn’t bring himself to kill you, so I’ll take your life myself!”
With that, he guided the glutton into a few wide spirals before soaring higher into the sky.
The wind and rain grew fiercer, mirroring the storm within his heart.
Whoosh—
On the way back, a powerful gust of wind swept overhead, blowing Rhaegar’s hair into wild disarray.
The glutton let out a cautious growl, slowing its pace.
Rhaegar raised his head to look at the storm-laden sky, hesitation written across his face, as if recalling something.
After a moment of contemplation, he gritted his teeth and issued a command: “Glutton, let’s go!”
“Hiss—”
Obeying his order, the glutton flapped its wings urgently.
Glancing back one last time, Rhaegar found that the surface of the sea had already blurred into obscurity.
A bolt of lightning split the clouds, illuminating the other half of Rhaegar’s face—haunted, conflicted, and full of struggle.
He murmured to himself, “You didn’t chase me down at Dragonstone Island, so I’ll leave you a chance at survival, too.”
“Out in this vast ocean, I can only pray that Kolakshu truly lives up to its name as a dragon...”
---
---
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 118: Exceptional Swordsmanship
118 AC.
Early summer, morning.
A massive black dragon soared over King's Landing, its enormous shadow covering vast sections of the city.
"Screech..."
The dragon's roar echoed like thunder, startling countless citizens who stopped to look up.
Upon recognizing the dragon, they showed expressions of reverence before continuing on their way.
After seven years, the people of King's Landing had all come to know this black dragon.
It belonged to the king’s eldest son, heir to the Iron Throne, the Kind Prince—Rhaegar Targaryen.
The first two titles were due to his royal status, while "the Kind Prince" was a name spread by singers and bards.
This prince was known for his benevolence, often supporting orphanages within the city, earning the deep affection of the people.
...
The black dragon circled once over King's Landing before slowly descending onto the hill where the Dragonpit stood.
"Prince, welcome back safely..."
Dragonkeepers and guards had been waiting for some time. When they saw the dragon land, they quickly gathered around.
On the dragon’s back sat a silver-haired, violet-eyed, pale-skinned young man with striking features, his expression calm and composed.
"Where is Ser Elyque? Have him prepare the guards to receive the caravan from Mushroom Market."
Rhaegar frowned slightly as he gave his first order upon landing.
Maester Menas, dressed in scholar's robes, approached respectfully. "Prince, the White Knight was summoned back to the Red Keep."
Rhaegar nodded at the news. "Then send someone to prepare. The caravan should arrive before the afternoon."
"Yes, my prince."
Menas responded promptly.
With the tasks assigned, Rhaegar dismounted, climbing down the soft ladder. He reached out and stroked the menacing snout of his dragon, Glutton.
Snort...
Glutton huffed through its nostrils, its green slit pupils filled with reluctance.
Rhaegar reassured him, "Stay in the Dragonpit for now. I’ll let you roam tonight."
"Screech..."
Glutton shook its head before striding into the Dragonpit. The dragonkeepers hurriedly stepped back, wary of the sweeping tail.
Seeing this, Rhaegar smiled slightly. "Let’s go. I've been away for a few days—it’s time to return to the Red Keep."
"Yes, my prince."
A dozen dragon guards responded, forming two columns as they escorted the prince to his carriage.
After years of effort, the Dragonpit had been cleansed of corruption and was now under Rhaegar’s complete control.
In King's Landing, the Dragonpit was his personal domain.
...
Red Keep, Training Yard
Rhaegar had changed out of his dragon-riding attire. Now, he stood bare-chested, wearing a long pleated garment tied at the waist, a finely crafted sword in hand.
The garment, called a "horse-face skirt," was inspired by fragmented visions he had seen in dreams.
His dreams were chaotic and unordered, but occasionally, some images proved useful, and he would try them out in his spare time.
The sword he wielded was one of House Targaryen’s ancestral weapons—
Dark Sister.
He owed it to his dear uncle Daemon, who gifted him the Valyrian steel sword on the night of the Great Council.
To be honest, Rhaegar often missed his royal uncle.
Whenever they met, Daemon would always bring him something valuable.
Clang!
The sharp ring of clashing steel echoed as Rhaegar swung Dark Sister against his opponent’s blade.
"Prince, your swordplay is fast, but it lacks grace."
His opponent, a short man with curly brown hair, was none other than Syrio Forel, the Water Dancer.
Syrio smiled confidently, his steps light, his sword poised like a waiting serpent.
Rhaegar’s first strike failed to land. He quickly stepped back, twirling his sword in a flourish, eyes narrowing.
Syrio had been his swordmaster since he was eight years old, and they often sparred.
Today, Rhaegar wanted to test whether his swordsmanship had reached its peak.
He lunged forward, Dark Sister flashing with a dark gleam as he unleashed a series of swift, brutal strikes at Syrio.
Syrio deftly defended himself, parrying each blow while retreating, always maintaining his signature stance—one hand gripping his sword, the other held behind his back.
"Syrio, a single-handed sword won’t block a heavy strike!"
Rhaegar’s voice was crisp as he kicked Syrio in the stomach before raising his sword for a powerful overhead slash.
At only thirteen, Rhaegar was already tall and lean, standing at 5 feet 9 inches (175 cm).
Using his size advantage, he was able to momentarily suppress Syrio’s agile movements.
Syrio quickly steadied himself and raised his blade to parry.
Clang!
A sharp crack rang out as Syrio’s sword snapped in two under the force of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade stopping just above his head.
"You win, my prince."
Syrio swallowed, glancing up at the glinting steel, and cautiously stepped back.
"Your swordsmanship is unmatched in this land. I only lost because your weapon is superior."
Rhaegar sheathed Dark Sister, brushed past the observing Ser Erryk, and beckoned with his hand.
"Prince, catch!"
Ser Erryk flipped a finely crafted steel spear through the air. Rhaegar caught it firmly in both hands.
"Again, Ser Syrio."
With both hands gripping the spear, Rhaegar spun it with nimble precision, creating an impenetrable whirlwind.
He was not only skilled with the sword—his spear technique was exceptional as well.
Of course, his swordsmanship came from relentless training, while his spear skills were acquired through an ancient relic.
He summoned his system panel, and his personal information appeared:
[Rhaegar Targaryen]
Talents: Dreamer (Gold), Longevity (Green)
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (39%)
Skills: Mastery in Swordsmanship, Mastery in Spearmanship, Mastery in Stone Carving...
Relics: Blood and Fire as One, True Dragon’s Blood, Knight’s Oath
Evaluation: "A remarkable heir of an ancient bloodline. May your coin land on the side of greatness."
Gazing at the panel, Rhaegar smirked.
His mastery of the spear came from an ancient broken spear he had once discovered, granting him an impressive level of proficiency at a young age.
Facing the prince’s spear, Syrio let out a helpless chuckle and retrieved a single-handed sword from the weapon rack.
This time, their duel became even fiercer.
Rhaegar’s spear struck like a raging storm, a relentless flurry of thrusts and sweeps.
Syrio’s footwork was fluid, his one-handed sword parrying and deflecting as he danced nimbly between attacks.
As the relentless assault continued, Rhaegar's breath grew heavier, his face alight with exhilaration.
He loved this feeling—the thrill of battle, the rush of blood—it was more invigorating than soaking in a hot spring.
With a final strike, the spear’s tip twisted under his control, spiraling straight toward Syrio’s forehead.
Clang—
The spear’s tip grazed between Syrio’s eyes, heading straight for his brow—only to be intercepted by the flat of his sword.
Syrio’s expression turned grave as he gripped his sword tightly, struggling to hold back the spear.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
“Well done, Rhaegar…”
A crisp, melodic voice accompanied the sound of applause, drifting down from the balcony above.
Rhaegar turned toward the sound and saw Rhaenyra, dressed in a flowing black gown, smiling brightly as she clapped enthusiastically.
“Rhaenyra, you’re back from Dragonstone?”
Retracting his spear, Rhaegar looked at her in surprise and delight.
Rhaenyra stepped toward the staircase, then hurried down, her heels clicking against the stone steps. She pouted, “I came back yesterday. You just didn’t notice.”
It had been a while since he had seen his sister, and Rhaegar was genuinely pleased. He quickly strode toward the stairwell.
As he brushed past Syrio, he suddenly swung his spear low in a sweeping arc—striking hard behind the swordmaster’s knees.
With a thud, Syrio collapsed.
Before he could even groan in pain, Ser Erryk approached, shackles in hand, swiftly restraining Syrio’s wrists and ankles.
"Training time is over, swordsman."
Ser Erryk’s expression was solemn as he hoisted Syrio up with one hand and caught the spear Rhaegar tossed to him with the other.
After all, Syrio was not just Rhaegar’s swordsmanship instructor.
He was also a frequent guest of the Red Keep’s dungeons.
Rhaegar has now reached the age of 13.
New arc begins!
(End of Chapter)
*Chapter 119: The Council Meeting*
Rhaegar didn’t even glance at the scene; he was long used to it.
Syrio had made a mistake, but instead of fleeing, he chose to atone for it.
Rhaegar respected his swordsmanship teacher’s decision.
He quickly reached the stairway corner, where Rhaenyra also dashed downstairs, and the siblings embraced tightly.
At 21 years old, Rhaenyra was now a grown woman. She wore a fitted black dress, her silver hair cascading down her back, her face strikingly beautiful.
Rhaegar wrapped his arm around her waist, examining her closely before asking, “Did everything go smoothly on your trip?”
Rhaegar was no longer the boy he used to be, now standing tall and confident.
Rhaenyra, half a head shorter than Rhaegar, leaned naturally into his arms and tilted her chin upward. “Syrax laid three dragon eggs—three whole eggs!”
As she spoke, she raised three fingers and wiggled them proudly.
“Syrax certainly lives up to its name. The family’s future rests on such prolific dragons.”
Rhaegar played along with the praise.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s smile faded slightly, and she asked, “Are the dreams still happening?”
She gazed at her brother’s pale complexion and dark circles under his eyes, gently caressing his face with a touch of concern.
“It’s fine—one dream every few days. I’ve gotten used to it.”
Rhaegar shook his head, signaling it wasn’t a big deal.
Over the years, his gift as a dreamwalker had grown stronger.
His dreams were filled with countless scenes—dragons battling, flames, wars…
There were even fragmented images of another world. While some depicted historical events and the rise and fall of dynasties, most were random and meaningless.
Rhaenyra’s eyes were full of sympathy as she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “It’s been a month. Did you miss me?”
“Of course, every moment,” Rhaegar replied with a faint smile on his pale face.
“Good boy. Here’s a reward.”
Rhaenyra cupped his cheeks and placed a gentle kiss on his face.
Rhaegar coughed lightly, freed himself from her embrace, and changed the subject. “I’ll go take a bath first. Have the kitchen prepare a welcome feast for you.”
“No problem,” Rhaenyra replied with a cheerful smile.
---
*Rhaenyra’s Bedroom*
A lavish spread of dishes covered the round table—fried foods, stir-fries, desserts, and more.
Rhaenyra ate heartily, showing no concern for appearances.
Rhaegar, having eaten only a little, sat nearby, watching her.
The dishes were inspired by common folk recipes, not only delicious but also easy to prepare.
Rhaegar had specifically assembled a private kitchen staffed with trusted individuals to prepare his meals.
Officially, it was for developing novel culinary creations, but in truth, it was a precaution against poisoning—a practical twofold benefit.
*Knock, knock.*
Midway through the meal, a knock came at the door, followed by the voice of Erich.
“Prince Rhaegar, the king has convened a council meeting and requests your presence.”
Rhaegar’s eyes flickered. “Understood, I’ll be there shortly.”
“Father summoned you; you’d better hurry,” Rhaenyra said, her cheeks puffed out as she swallowed a bite of cake.
“No rush. I’ll wait until you finish, and we’ll go together.”
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, unfazed.
“Why should I go? I’m not a member of the council,” Rhaenyra hesitated.
As the Princess of Dragonstone, she was technically qualified to attend council meetings.
But as the former heir, her presence was somewhat awkward.
“It’s fine—there’s something interesting happening today.”
Remembering the topics discussed in the last council meeting, Rhaegar smiled knowingly.
---
*Half an Hour Later*
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra arrived at the council hall together.
Standing before the imposing doors, Rhaegar said nostalgically, “Rhaenyra, do you remember the first time I came here?”
“You were just a little boy back then, clinging to me and calling me ‘Sister,’” Rhaenyra said, folding her hands in front of her abdomen. The memory brought a smile to her face.
“Exactly. Last time, you brought me in. This time, it’s my turn.”
Rhaegar placed his hands on the grand doors and pushed them open.
*Creak—*
The doors swung wide, revealing the scene inside.
At the round council table sat Viserys in the center, with the other members of the council seated on either side.
Rhaegar strode through the doorway, scanning the room before spreading his arms. “My lords, forgive me for being late.”
Seeing his eldest son arrive, Viserys rose slowly, feigning annoyance. “Rhaegar, tardiness is not a good habit.”
*"Of course, but I have my reasons."*
Rhaegar stepped aside, revealing Rhaenyra behind him.
"Rhaenyra, are you joining the Small Council meeting as well?"
Seeing his daughter's figure, Viserys smiled with curiosity.
He was aware that his daughter had returned to King’s Landing from Dragonstone the day before but hadn’t come to see him.
He wasn’t upset about it.
Ever since the matter of the succession change, Rhaenyra had deliberately distanced herself from him.
But he believed it was worth it.
Rhaegar had grown into a better heir, bringing him light and hope every day, making his recent years much more comforting.
"Mm-hmm, I wasn’t planning on coming."
Rhaenyra shrugged and walked in calmly.
She had thoroughly explored this place when she was young, so it didn’t feel unfamiliar.
"Father, what grand matters are you discussing today?"
Rhaegar appeared even more at ease, walking in with large, confident strides as his gaze swept over the Small Council members.
The Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong; Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister; Grand Maester Mellos; Master of Coin, Lyman Beesbury; Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde...
And beside Viserys stood the newly appointed Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Criston Cole.
In 112 AC, the second year after Rhaegar was named heir, the previous Lord Commander, Ser Harrold Westerling, had passed away. Criston Cole, the most skilled swordsman in the Kingsguard, succeeded him as Lord Commander.
With his new responsibilities, Cole had been reassigned from Rhaenyra's side to protect the King.
"Your Grace..."
As Rhaegar approached the council table, the assembled lords rose in respect.
"Sit, no need for formalities," Rhaegar said with a slight nod.
Lowering his gaze, Rhaegar noticed only one empty chair at the table. Turning to Cole, he said, "Ser, could you please bring another chair?"
Cole glanced at the King, hesitating slightly.
"Your Grace, the Princess is not a member of the Small Council and should not be present," said Jasper Wylde, frowning in hesitation.
"Well, I’m not a member of the Small Council either. Should I leave as well?"
Rhaegar pulled out the chair before him and tilted his head toward Wylde.
Wylde's face froze. "Your Grace, you are the heir to the throne. Your participation in state affairs is proper and lawful."
"Good. Rhaenyra was once the heir and is still the Princess of Dragonstone. She has every right to attend the Small Council."
Rhaegar had no regard for the rules.
He was the Crown Prince, and his words were as good as law.
"Sit down."
Grasping Rhaenyra’s hand, he guided her into the empty chair before him. Then, turning back to Cole, he said in a calm but firm tone, "Ser, do I need to repeat myself?"
Cole remained silent, looking to the King for guidance.
Viserys sighed helplessly. "Go ahead, bring a chair for this troublesome boy."
As Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra held the most significant ancestral stronghold of House Targaryen.
Her attendance at the Small Council could be seen as an effort to mend her strained relationship with her father.
It was both a personal and political gain.
Once the chair was brought over, Rhaegar sat next to Rhaenyra and reached toward the round tray in the center of the council table.
On the tray was a single, jet-black stone orb, streaked with green dragon-like patterns.
---
*Author’s Notes:*
Rhaegar is growing into a fine young man, and Rhaenyra has become more mature.
And in the show, adult Rhaenyra is absolutely stunning!
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 120: Reforming the Dragonpit
*Ding-dong—*
A stone sphere dropped into the slot before him, signifying that the Crown Prince was ready and the Privy Council meeting had officially begun.
Tylan was the first to speak, his expression serious. “Your Majesty, after many years, there are signs that the Kingdom of the Three Daughters is making a comeback.”
“According to the latest reports, passing ships near the Stepstones have been intercepted by an unidentified band of pirates.”
Viserys’s expression darkened as he asked, “Are we certain it’s the Three Daughters?”
“Not confirmed yet, but it’s highly likely,” Tylan shook his head.
“The pirates from the Three Daughters are a major threat to the kingdom. We must assign more personnel to gather intelligence and not take this lightly.”
Viserys sighed.
He wished to avoid war in the kingdom, even if the conflict was far away in the Stepstones.
Tylan nodded in agreement, concluding his report.
Next to speak was Lyonel.
The portly Hand of the King rested one hand on the table and said slowly, “Your Majesty, construction has begun on the prince’s palace, but the costs are considerable.”
“No problem, take it from the royal treasury.”
Viserys smiled and turned to Rhaegar. “This is good news for you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips.
Traditionally, the Crown Prince’s seat was Dragonstone.
However, as compensation to Rhaenyra, Dragonstone had been granted as her domain until her passing.
This left Rhaegar without a fief of his own.
After years of discussions, it was decided that the royal family would inevitably expand, and both the Crown Prince and princes needed lands to support them.
Viserys had generously allowed Rhaegar to choose a territory for his palace.
At the beginning of this year, construction had commenced.
Due to the palace’s remote location from King’s Landing and the time needed to source materials and labor, only now had work officially begun.
Lyonel finished his report.
Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, rose slowly, holding a report in his hands, and said hesitantly, “Your Majesty, the prince has submitted a proposal for the reconstruction of the Dragonpit. The costs are exorbitant, and I cannot approve it on my own.”
“Oh? Let me see.”
Viserys frowned as Cole passed the report to him.
Flipping through the pages, his expression grew darker with each line.
By the final sentence, his face was as black as the bottom of a cauldron. He gritted his teeth and said, “Rhaegar, the Dragonpit is one of the most significant structures of the royal family. It cost a fortune to build, and now you want to tear it down and rebuild it?”
Rhaegar remained composed, already prepared with his response. “Father, as you said, the Dragonpit is crucial.”
“But the current Dragonpit serves only as a holding facility, not a proper nesting ground for dragons.”
“Tearing it down and constructing a more suitable habitat for the dragons would benefit the family’s ability to rear them.”
Rhaenyra raised her hand in support. “I agree!”
“I do not!”
Viserys cut her off sharply, his expression dark and irritated. “Look at your proposal! Just the tower-like structure for the new Dragonpit alone would consume all the stone in the Crownlands. Do you have any idea how much manpower and resources that would require?!”
He understood the importance of the Dragonpit to their family.
But he had no dragons of his own and believed that power, not dragons, was the key to ruling the kingdom.
Even on paper, the cost of rebuilding the Dragonpit was astronomical—emptying the treasury might not even be enough to complete it.
Lord Beesbury spoke up at the right moment. “Your Majesty, the construction of the prince’s palace is already a significant expense. If we also rebuild the Dragonpit, I fear the kingdom’s finances will collapse.”
As Master of Coin, every single gold coin in the treasury was his lifeblood.
The thought of pouring vast sums into this project made the old man’s heart ache.
Tylan raised his hand as well. “The situation in the Stepstones is uncertain. Keeping the treasury full is essential.”
“Indeed, I oppose the prince’s proposal,” Jasper added.
One by one, the members of the council rejected the plan.
Viserys took a deep breath and made his decision. “This proposal is denied. The kingdom does not have money to waste.”
“Fine, the kingdom is always short on money.”
Despite the rejection, Rhaegar remained undeterred. “The Dragonpit reconstruction can wait, but the reform plan must be approved.”
The reform plan included increasing the number of Dragonkeepers, training dragons for battle, and reorganizing the scholars studying dragons…
Rhaenyra turned her head, startled.
When she was Crown Princess, she had never even had a seat at the table, let alone the right to present proposals before the council.
At that moment, she realized the gap between them.
She glanced at her younger brother’s profile and was momentarily dazed.
Rhaegar was no longer the six-year-old child she once knew. He had grown.
His silver-gold shoulder-length hair framed his face, and his brooding eyes, shadowed by dark circles, contrasted with his high-bridged nose and smooth, pale lips.
Paired with his tall, straight posture and composed demeanor, he exuded an air of nobility.
Countless noblewomen in King’s Landing had been utterly bewitched by him after a single chance encounter.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra felt her ears grow warm and hurriedly turned her head away.
“Rhaegar is an adult now.”
Rhaenyra’s heart raced slightly as she murmured to herself.
No one noticed the princess’s subtle thoughts.
A fierce debate unfolded regarding the proposed reforms to the Dragonpit.
Half an hour later, the discussion concluded.
Viserys slammed his hand on the table, making a decision. “The Dragonpit can undergo reforms, but it must be done within our means. If anything goes awry, stop immediately.”
“Yes, Father.”
With the proposal approved, Rhaegar hugged his father gratefully.
He never expected his initial idea of rebuilding the Dragonpit to pass.
Reforms were always his true objective.
The current Dragonpit was still too fragile and needed improvements in all aspects.
Viserys, though slightly reluctant, gave Rhaegar’s muscular arm a reassuring squeeze.
It gave him some comfort.
A healthy and intelligent heir, standing right in front of him, was enough to lift his spirits.
After a moment of thought, Viserys added a word of caution. “You can do as you please with the Dragonpit, but after that, you need to assist the ministers and begin learning how to govern the realm.”
His eldest son was no longer young.
Focusing solely on the Dragonpit would be a waste of his potential.
It was time for him to take on state affairs and develop his administrative skills early.
“No problem, Father.”
Rhaegar understood his father’s good intentions and gladly accepted.
With the Dragonpit matter settled, the council meeting moved on to other issues.
Rhaenyra, having been away from state affairs for some time, wasn’t particularly interested.
Quietly, she rose from her chair, walked around the council table, and picked up a wine jug placed on the mantelpiece.
She approached her father and poured him a glass of wine.
Then, she went around the room, pouring wine for each of the council members.
The ministers nodded in gratitude, and for a moment, it felt like stepping back in time.
In her younger years, Rhaenyra had served wine during council meetings, listening in on matters of state while performing her duties.
When she finally reached Rhaegar, a wave of nostalgia washed over her as she skillfully raised the jug.
Rhaegar, however, quickly covered his cup and moved it aside.
He looked up at the slightly crestfallen Rhaenyra and said gently, “You’re no longer a cupbearer.”
There was no denying it—since coming of age, Rhaenyra’s beauty had blossomed further, earning her the title “Light of the Realm.”
Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “I just needed something to do.”
“Sit down. The meeting will be over soon.”
Rhaegar pulled her back to her seat and pushed the wine jug toward their father, who drained his cup in one gulp.
(End of Chapter)
