26-30

*Chapter 26: The Dreamwalker*

Viserys gently patted his daughter’s shoulder and said softly:

“No rush. You still have a long way to go. Sooner or later, you’ll learn how to become a ruler.”

“I’m really sorry, Father.”

Feeling her father’s deep love and care, Rhaenyra’s eyes turned red, and she took the initiative to embrace him.

“It’s okay. A father’s role is to clear away obstacles and pave a smooth path for his children,” Viserys comforted her, gently stroking her hair.

Hearing her father’s words, Rhaenyra felt even more emotional and nuzzled against him.

“Heh, all right, all right. Don’t let Rhaegar make fun of you,” Viserys teased.

“Hmph, he wouldn’t dare,” Rhaenyra huffed in dissatisfaction and obediently stepped out of her father’s embrace.

“Isn’t that right?”

She shot a threatening glance at Rhaegar as she finished speaking.

Feeling completely left out, Rhaegar thought to himself: …

He was at a loss. The family conversation was going fine, and then you two suddenly got all sentimental. Now I’m just sitting here awkwardly by myself! What do you want me to do?

Viserys picked up Rhaegar and reminded Rhaenyra, “Don’t bully your brother. In some ways, he’s far more talented than you.”

Rhaenyra looked unconvinced and turned her head aside defiantly.

Viserys smiled and asked Rhaegar, “Tell your sister—what have you learned from this experience?”

“Do I really have to say it?”

Rhaegar hesitated, glancing at his sister.

“Of course. Exceptional qualities shouldn’t be hidden,” Viserys affirmed.

Rhaegar nodded slowly and said, “In my dream, I came across a concise phrase: ‘Using a borrowed knife to kill.’”

“Using a borrowed knife to kill?”

Viserys was stunned, pondering this unfamiliar phrase.

After a long silence, he finally chuckled. “That’s right—using a borrowed knife to kill.”

“It’s such a profound phrase, encapsulating a great deal of wisdom.”

Turning to Rhaenyra, Viserys asked, “So, do you see your brother’s cleverness now?”

“Everyone dreams. Rhaegar’s dreams are just a bit more peculiar, that’s all,” Rhaenyra replied, her pride preventing her from admitting her brother’s superiority.

“No, Rhaegar’s dreams aren’t ordinary. Do you remember the Dreamwalker, Daenys?”

Viserys’s tone turned serious.

“Daenys Targaryen, known to the world as the Dreamwalker, was a girl who saved the Targaryen family through her prophetic dreams,” Rhaenyra recited with ease.

Viserys gently touched Rhaegar’s forehead and said softly, “I rarely paid attention to you before, but in the past six months, Erryk has reported that you frequently have nightmares.”

“I believe this could be the mark of a Dreamwalker.”

Rhaegar didn’t deny it and said quietly, “Maybe, but I don’t like this gift. The nightmares torment me.”

“Rhaegar, listen to me.”

Viserys spoke with great seriousness.

“Our family has produced many dragonriders but very few Dreamwalkers. Compared to the ability to foresee through dreams, what is the power of a dragon’s intimidation?”

“All your dreams—whether they are pleasant or nightmarish—might carry warnings. You should embrace them and approach each dream rationally.”

Leaning against his father’s chest, Rhaegar could feel the slight tremor in his father’s body—a reaction he couldn’t hide, born of excitement.

Looking up, he saw his father’s eyes brimming with tears.

“When your sister was young, I had a dream that has been etched in my mind, one I’ve never forgotten.”

“I’ve pursued that dream relentlessly, enduring great suffering and paying a steep price, yet I’ve found nothing.”

Taking a deep breath, Viserys continued, “But now, it’s different. You have a healthy body and the talent I’ve always longed for. I should be satisfied.”

“Rhaegar, remember my words. Don’t waste your gift or treat it as a burden.”

Looking at his father, who was overcome with emotion, Rhaegar remained silent but raised his hand to wipe away his father’s tears.

“I will, Father,” Rhaegar silently vowed in his heart.

After addressing his eldest son’s situation, Viserys realized his emotions had gotten the better of him and decided to end the conversation.

He instructed the siblings to return to their rooms to rest, as he needed some time alone.

...

As they left the study, the siblings wandered aimlessly through the long corridor.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra asked, “Do your dreams really foretell the future?”

"Most of the time, they’re just bizarre and surreal fragments that I can hardly make sense of."

Rhaegar spoke earnestly.

"Really? So, what have you dreamed about?"

Rhaenyra stopped in her tracks, crouching down to meet Rhaegar’s gaze.

Uncomfortable, Rhaegar instinctively pulled back, a flash of inspiration lighting up his mind as he remembered the events of last night.

Feigning mystery, he said, "I had a dream last night—so terrifying it woke me up."

"Tell me!"

Rhaenyra couldn’t wait.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes and pondered for a moment before continuing, "I dreamed of a dragon—one I couldn’t see or touch. It said it wanted me to be its dragonrider."

"If you couldn’t see or touch it, how did you know it was a dragon?"

Rhaenyra interrupted with doubt.

"I heard its roar. It was loud—very loud," Rhaegar replied indignantly, puffing up his cheeks. "Also, don’t interrupt me when I’m talking!"

"Alright, alright, keep going," Rhaenyra said dismissively, unwilling to argue further.

Rhaegar went on, "But the dragon said it couldn’t meet me yet because there’s something in King’s Landing that disgusts it."

"What is it?"

Rhaenyra couldn’t hold back her curiosity.

Rhaegar’s expression grew serious. "The Dragonpit!"

"Why? The Dragonpit has existed for many years. Many dragons have made their nests there—even my Syrax!"

Hearing that the Dragonpit was the issue, Rhaenyra was baffled.

Rhaegar continued weaving his tale: "The dragon said it belongs to the skies and the open wilderness. The Dragonpit is narrow and confining, stifling its growth."

"It also said it refuses to wear shackles and chains, like some kind of slave."

"Did the dragon really tell you that? Or are you just making it up?"

Rhaenyra cast a skeptical glance at Rhaegar, clearly unconvinced.

"Believe it or not, that’s exactly how it was in the dream," Rhaegar retorted, shaking off Rhaenyra’s grip with a huff. "I’ll tell Father about this. I’m sure he won’t doubt my dream."

"Sure, go ahead. But ever since the Dragonpit was built, the maesters have carefully maintained it without any issues," Rhaenyra said, presenting the facts.

"How do you know there aren’t bad maesters among them?"

Rhaegar said maliciously, casting suspicion on the maesters of Oldtown.

From beginning to end, he had never liked that group of collar-wearing scholars.

"Maybe you’re right. Father did say you should trust your dreams," Rhaenyra conceded, choosing not to argue further and instead encouraging her brother to value his dreams.

Dreamwalking was an ancient gift. Every Targaryen who possessed it was unpredictable and defied conventional reasoning.

She didn’t want to discourage her brother’s enthusiasm.

The two siblings chatted for a while longer before parting ways and heading back to their respective rooms.

---

Rhaegar walked forward with his head down, his bedroom door just ahead.

He was still thinking about being a dreamwalker.

The system panel displayed the following:

*[Rhaegar Targaryen]*

*Talent:* Dreamer (Gold), Longevity (Green)

*Bloodline:* Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (12%)

*Skills:* High Valyrian Language (Mastered)

*Relics:* Blood and Fire (Fire Resistance +50%)

*Evaluation:* "A pure and potent dragonlord bloodline. Even in the days of Ancient Valyria, it would have been extraordinary."

Viserys’ greatest dream was to become a dreamwalker and possess the gift of prophecy.

He had once dreamed of a son of his own, crowned with the Conqueror’s crown amidst the flames.

*(End of Chapter)*

*Chapter 27: Helena*

Rhaegar pulled up the system panel, his eyes fixed on the talents section.

There wasn’t much explanation—only a gold quality label for the "Dreamer" talent.

The highest-quality artifact he had encountered so far was Balerion’s skull, classified as legendary in red.

The quality hierarchy seemed to be:

Legendary (Red), Epic (Purple), Superior (Blue), Good (Green)...

It was yet to be determined if there was a lower tier beneath "Good."

Above the legendary level, it was safe to assume gold quality was supreme.

This gave him a sense of just how valuable the "Dreamer" talent truly was.

He had indeed dreamed many dreams—

Dreams of dragons, fire, war, and the future...

Dreams of bizarre and mysterious creations from unknown worlds...

And even prophetic dreams with incredibly precise foresight.

He had once dreamed of a white stag.

That very stag had appeared in the royal forest, befriended him, and even helped restore his health.

After hearing his father’s recounting of events, Rhaegar began to rethink the significance of his nightmares.

He started to take the abilities of the "Dreamer" talent seriously.

*Gurgle...*

Suddenly, the sound of something rolling behind him snapped Rhaegar out of his thoughts.

Turning around cautiously, Rhaegar scanned his surroundings.

Elyrik, his guard, was off duty tonight, called away by his father for a discussion.

The sudden noise left him feeling a bit on edge.

The corridor behind him was empty, except for an ornate leather ball rolling across the floor.

It was already nighttime. The dimly lit corridor was silent and deserted, save for the out-of-place ball rolling along.

Rhaegar’s face turned pale, and a chill ran down his spine.

“Whose ball is this? Who’s playing pranks in the middle of the night?”

Despite his fear, Rhaegar mustered his courage and shouted down the hallway.

Whether it was something supernatural or not, shouting was the first line of defense.

At the very least, his voice might draw the attention of the night watch staff.

His voice echoed through the empty corridor, but no one answered.

He glanced back over his shoulder; the door to his room was just a few steps away.

Swallowing nervously, Rhaegar began to inch backward.

*Tap-tap-tap...*

Just then, a series of light footsteps echoed, as if leather-soled shoes were walking across wooden planks.

Rhaegar turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of a white figure darting past.

“Big brother, do you want to play ball?”

A little girl suddenly appeared in the corridor, clutching the ball and looking at him expectantly.

She was petite, with a delicate face, wearing a white dress. Her silver hair and pale skin gave her an ethereal appearance.

Upon seeing her clearly, Rhaegar’s face darkened like a thundercloud. He suppressed his anger and said sternly, “Helena, why are you sneaking out in the middle of the night to play ball?”

The little girl was none other than Rhaegar’s half-sister, Princess Helena.

Helena hugged the ball and leaned against the corridor wall, murmuring, “Aegon plays with the ball during the day, so I play at night...”

Looking at her small and lonely figure, Rhaegar strode forward. “It’s nighttime. Children should be in bed, not wandering around.”

Startled by her rarely seen brother approaching, Helena lowered her head. “Aegon won’t let me play with the ball, so I can only sneak out while he’s asleep.”

Rhaegar froze at her words. “He won’t play with you? Doesn’t your mother intervene?”

Helena shook her head lightly. “When Mother was here, Aegon would play with me. But since she left, he doesn’t anymore.”

“That Aegon... what kind of brother is he?”

Rhaegar was indignant. He took Helena’s small hand in his own. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your room. Tomorrow, I’ll have the craftsmen make a ball just for you. You don’t have to fight over his.”

Helena didn’t budge, remaining silent against the wall.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy?”

Unable to pull the little girl along, Rhaegar asked again.

Helena just shook her head without a word, clutching the ball tightly.

Recalling Aegon’s usual behavior, Rhaegar carefully guessed, “Are you afraid Aegon will take your ball away?”

Helena looked up at him, biting her plump little lip without speaking.

After a moment of hesitation, Rhaegar suggested, “How about this: leave the ball with me. When you want to play, I’ll take it out for you, and Aegon won’t know.”

Helena’s violet eyes lit up with a spark of hope. She nodded her small head repeatedly and whispered, “Okay. I’ll give the ball to you. Aegon won’t dare to take it then.”

She handed the ball, previously guarded in her arms, over to Rhaegar.

For a little girl who usually seemed naïve and quiet like a gourd with a sealed mouth, she was actually quite sharp. She knew Aegon wouldn’t dare to cross Rhaegar.

Rhaegar couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not this one. Tomorrow, I’ll get you a brand-new ball. This old one can stay with Aegon.”

Helena’s rosy cheeks lit up with a smile, and she no longer resisted as Rhaegar led her along.

Helena’s room was on the same floor as Rhaegar’s.

Originally, she and Aegon lived with their biological mother, Alicent.

But with the arrival of baby Aemond, Alicent could no longer tolerate the baby’s constant crying.

Thus, she arranged for three separate rooms, one for each child.

According to Helena, the servants assigned to care for her had often been called away for other duties recently, leaving her and Aegon together during the day.

As a result, Aegon frequently bullied her, forcing her to sneak out at night to play whenever she could.

Rhaegar didn’t think too much of it; Red Keep had been bustling lately with preparations for Rhaenyra’s return and the upcoming tourney.

A lack of manpower seemed perfectly reasonable.

After escorting Helena back to her room, Rhaegar leaned against the doorframe and warned her, “Don’t wander off again. There are dangerous dragons prowling Red Keep at night—be careful not to get eaten!”

He playfully made clawing motions, trying to scare his little sister.

Helena, however, wasn’t frightened in the slightest; she covered her mouth and giggled.

“Heh, brave little girl, aren’t you?”

Seeing her adorable expression, Rhaegar raised his hand, intending to pinch her cheek.

Before he could do so, Helena suddenly shivered, her smile vanishing in an instant.

“What’s wrong, Helena?”

Noticing the change in her demeanor, Rhaegar felt a twinge of concern.

Helena stared at him intently, her voice tense as she said, “A wolf has set its sights on the lamb!”

“What do you mean? Helena, did you see or hear something?”

Rhaegar immediately thought of the rumors about Helena and, recalling his dreamer’s gift, speculated that Helena might possess a similar prophetic ability and had sensed something.

However, Helena’s demeanor shifted. She shut the door without another word, leaving Rhaegar outside.

Rhaegar hesitated, raising his hand to knock but stopping mid-air.

Helena’s current state was clearly abnormal—possibly a self-protective response to whatever vision she’d had.

Forcing her out of it might not be the best idea.

“Helena, rest well. I’ll remember to get you a ball,” he said softly through the door. Without lingering further, Rhaegar returned to his own room.

---

He still had a trove of ancient texts stored in his spatial bracelet waiting to be read.

If he wanted to understand the dreamer’s gift, perhaps that was the place to start.

He paid particular attention to the lineage section on his system panel.

*[Rhaegar Targaryen]*

Lineage: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (12%)  

Ever since his awakening as an explorer, the lineage section had been changing frequently.

Initially, the percentage in parentheses was only 5%. After gaining the Bloodfire Resonance, it surged to +8%.

It had continued to increase gradually since then.

Rhaegar guessed the percentage represented the purity of his bloodline.

As noted in the evaluation section:

"A rich Dragonlord bloodline, remarkable even during the heights of Ancient Valyria."  

Over the past six months, his bloodline purity had reached 12%, more than double its original level.

The "+" before the percentage had vanished, likely indicating that the effects of Bloodfire Resonance had reached their limit, with no further increase possible.

“I’ll have to check the books—what purpose does bloodline purity serve among Valyrian Dragonlord families?”

Vysarys’ earlier reminder about the dreamer’s gift made Rhaegar increasingly mindful of all his advantages. He was determined not to waste even the smallest bit of potential.

---

(Chapter End)  

*Chapter 28: Rumors*

The sky was shrouded in dark, heavy clouds.

The sea churned with roaring waves.

The wind howled incessantly.

Rega's frail figure climbed up a coconut tree, staring in panic at the rising waters below.

The icy seawater lapped at his ankles and gradually swallowed his calves.

He wanted to call for help, but his throat seemed blocked, unable to produce even the faintest sound.

*Boom!*

A flash of lightning split the darkened sky, like a silver bottle bursting apart, its deafening roar reverberating.

Amidst the rolling storm clouds and surging waves, a sudden downpour began, soaking the helpless and isolated Rega.

“So cold… Where is this place?”

The freezing rain drenched Rega’s skin, his muddled thoughts swirling in confusion.

*“Hiss… Grr…”*

With a clap of thunder, the roar of a colossal beast echoed endlessly from the horizon.

Rega raised his head in bewilderment. In the flicker of lightning, he caught sight of an enormous creature breaking through the dense clouds, its wings spread wide as it soared into the distance.

Rega strained to see the beast clearly, but the sound of the pouring rain drowned out everything else.

Rain streamed down his cheeks, and he wiped his face with his hand.

When he opened his eyes again, the giant beast had circled back, spreading its wings and diving toward the island where he stood.

“No! Stay away!”

The massive, indistinct shadow loomed over him, and Rega couldn’t help but cry out in fear before his vision went black.

The next moment, Rega opened his eyes and bolted upright in bed.

“What was that?!”

His chest heaved violently as he scanned the room, nerves on edge.

Familiar surroundings greeted him—the layout of his room.

After a long pause, Rega wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and collapsed back onto the bed, his voice tinged with lingering fear:

“Damn it, another nightmare… and it’s connected to the one from last time!”

Usually, his nightmares changed every few nights.

But this dream had haunted him for two consecutive nights, leaving him utterly drained.

Rega sighed. “Maybe it’s true what they say—‘Daytime thoughts lead to nighttime dreams.’”

He had been poring over ancient texts until the early hours, his mind fixated on dream lore.

And now, this. A seamless string of nightmares.

“Anything out of the ordinary is worth investigating. Recurring dreams are rare and must carry some prophetic meaning.”

Rega tugged at his hair in frustration, muttering to himself.

---

After freshening up, the servant brought in the usual breakfast: bread, milk, and a fried egg.

“Are you planning to attend the tournament today, Prince?”

Finishing the last sip of milk, Elric entered just as Rega set his cup down, perfectly on time.

Rega gently wiped the milk from his lips and replied calmly, “There’s nothing worth watching. I’ll visit the Dragon Pit instead—I haven’t been there yet.”

“Understood,” Elric replied in a deep voice.

Before leaving, Rega picked up a sheet of drawing paper from the table and carefully rolled it up.

The Dragon Pit was a considerable distance from the Red Keep, so the attendants had prepared a carriage for the journey.

Once outside the Red Keep, they entered the streets of King’s Landing.

Elric occasionally stole glances at Rega, looking as though he had something to say but hesitated.

Growing annoyed, Rega asked, “Sir, is there something wrong with my attire? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“No, Your Highness. I just feel you seem a bit down today.”

Elric voiced his concern.

They had already been traveling for some time, yet the normally lively prince had remained silent—a stark contrast that worried him.

Rega’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He sighed wistfully, “I had another nightmare.”

Hearing this, Elric noticed the deepening dark circles under the prince’s fair complexion.

He was starting to resemble a panda.

“Your Highness, perhaps you should consult a maester. Insomnia and frequent nightmares are not good signs,” Elric suggested.

Rega gave a mysterious smile. “No need. My father told me to learn to embrace my dreams, whether sweet or bitter.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, you do have a preference for sweet things,” Elric said with a slight frown.

“Don’t worry about me. Life is a mix of bitter, spicy, sour, and sweet. Experiencing them all early isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Rega replied with quiet resolve.

Rhaegar interrupted Elric’s advice and asked, “Where can we find a good blacksmith shop?”

Elric replied, “There’s a decent blacksmith shop on Silk Street. Old Auron’s craftsmanship is well-known.”

“Then let’s head there and pick up a few other things while we’re at it.”

Having made his decision, Elric instructed the coachman to drive toward their destination.

---

The royal carriage wasn’t just luxurious; it was also impressively fast.

It made its ostentatious way through the streets, eventually entering the famed Silk Street.

Finally, it stopped in front of an unassuming blacksmith shop.

Rhaegar lifted the curtain to look outside and saw a robust young man hammering away at the forge, sparks flying.

“That’s Old Auron’s grandson, an apprentice blacksmith,” Elric remarked, shielding Rhaegar as he stepped out of the carriage.

“Go fetch your grandfather. Tell him a distinguished guest wishes to see him.”

Without hesitation, Elric tossed the apprentice a gold coin, his tone commanding.

“Yes, honored White Knight,” the apprentice replied, quickly putting down his tools and running inside.

Moments later, an older man with a short, stout build and a full beard came striding out.

This was the owner of the shop, Old Auron himself.

Taking a bold step forward, Auron greeted them in a booming voice, “Respected guests, blacksmith Auron welcomes you!”

He then struggled to bow deeply to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar studied the rotund old man, finding him secretly amusing.

Standing face to face, Old Auron barely reached Rhaegar’s height, but his width could easily double, if not triple, Rhaegar’s.

Rhaegar pulled out a rolled-up parchment and instructed, “This is a design for a bracelet. I need you to craft an exact replica as quickly as possible.”

“No problem. Is it sized to your wrist?”

“Yes, it’s to replace a gift that doesn’t fit.”

After clarifying the customer’s needs, Old Auron confidently pounded his chest and said, “Rest assured, you can pick it up by sunset. I guarantee it will be flawless.”

“I trust Elric’s recommendation. Pay him, Ser.”

Rhaegar decisively ended the transaction.

However, Old Auron waved off the pouch of coins Elric offered, firmly stating, “I won’t accept payment. Having a prince wear my work is reward enough.”

“Oh? How did you know I’m a prince? Care to guess which one I am?”

Rhaegar looked at the stout man with amusement.

With a serious expression, Old Auron said, “I once saw the king’s second son, Aegon, at an event. You’re about his age, which means you must be the eldest son of the late queen—‘The Sleeping Hatchling,’ Rhaegar.”

“‘The Sleeping Hatchling’? Is that supposed to be a nickname for me?”

Rhaegar admired Old Auron’s wit but clearly didn’t appreciate the title.

Realizing his mistake, Old Auron immediately shut his mouth, inwardly cursing his loose tongue.

When Auron failed to respond, Rhaegar turned to Elric with a displeased look. “Ser, when did I acquire such a nickname?”

Elric shot Auron a warning glare before quietly explaining, “Ever since the last royal hunt, rumors about your frail health and the White Stag’s blessing have been spreading among the common folk.”

“Even though the king issued an order to suppress any gossip about you, it hasn’t stopped people from talking.”

“It wasn’t until you greeted Princess Rhaenyra upon her return voyage and appeared before the public for the first time that this nickname began to circulate.”

Rhaegar frowned and pressed further, “So my father’s decision to keep me confined to the Red Keep is connected to this?”

“It’s partly related, though the king has other considerations as well…”

“Partly is enough.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 29: The Bastard

Rhaegar interrupted his explanation, frustrated:

“All because of some rumors, my father put me under house arrest. Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Rumors can hurt people deeply. The things being said at the time were far from pleasant. His Majesty just didn’t want you to get caught up in trouble,” Elric explained earnestly.

Rhaegar sneered, “He’s just afraid someone will feed me dangerous ideas.”

Consider the current nickname he’d been given:

“The Sleeping Hatchling.”

“Sleeping” referred to his frail and sickly condition in the past, while “hatchling” carried connotations of youth and potential fragility.

So, what’s the first thing a sleeping hatchling does upon waking up?

Naturally, it devours everything in sight, growing into a true dragon.

And by then, what kind of nickname would suit it?

“The Awakened True Dragon” or “The Roaring Wrathful Dragon”?

This nickname had been deliberately spread by certain schemers who wanted to stir up unrest by drawing attention to Rhaegar’s status as the king’s eldest son.

“Well, ‘Sleeping Hatchling’ is still better than ‘Dead Hatchling,’” Rhaegar consoled himself. Then, looking directly at Elric, he gave an order: “Make sure his wages are paid in full, and from now on, let me know immediately about any rumors concerning me.”

“Understood!”

Elric’s expression turned serious as he accepted the command.

“Let’s go. Take me to buy some children’s toys, and then we’ll head to the Dragonpit.”

Rhaegar turned and got into the carriage, his already sour mood worsening.

…

The carriage paused briefly on Silk Street, where Elric darted from shop to shop, purchasing a pile of toys.

He loaded them all into the carriage before they headed toward the Dragonpit.

The Dragonpit was built into a mountainside and was far quieter than the bustling city streets.

Since this visit was unplanned, no one came out to greet them at the gate—only two armored guards stood watch.

When they saw the royal carriage approach, one guard jogged forward to ask, “Which noble is visiting today?”

“Rhaegar Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys I!”

Elric announced Rhaegar’s identity as he stepped down from the carriage alone.

Though the guards didn’t see the prince himself, the sight of a White Knight’s cloak was enough for them to bow respectfully and open the gates.

The Dragonpit was vast, with numerous entrances.

In addition to the main gate, there were mountainside caves, cliffside platforms, and other areas designed to accommodate dragons.

The carriage remained outside under the guards’ watch.

Rhaegar chose to enter on foot, walking through an enormous open field reminiscent of a military training ground.

At the far end of the field stood a tall, grand, domed building.

Before he got far, a group of scholars and dragonkeepers managing the Dragonpit hurried over.

Dragonkeepers, or dragon trainers, were mostly descendants of Valyria, sworn for generations to serve House Targaryen.

They were fluent in High Valyrian, capable of soothing dragons’ tempers to some extent, and took care of their feeding and maintenance.

“Greetings, Your Highness!”

The group bowed in unison.

“Rise. I didn’t mean to intrude—I just wanted to see what the Dragonpit looks like.”

Rhaegar waved off formalities, getting straight to the point.

“As you wish. Scholar Bath is not here today, so I’ll be your guide.”

A young scholar with black hair, dark eyes, and a sallow complexion stepped forward to volunteer.

“What’s your name?”

Out of basic courtesy, Rhaegar asked politely.

“Meinas Waters, Your Highness.”

The young scholar gave a shy smile and spoke softly.

“Waters?”

Rhaegar was momentarily taken aback, recalling that it was the surname used by bastards in the Crownlands.

On the continent of Westeros, bastards in each region were given distinct surnames:

In the North, they were called Snow.

In the Crownlands, they were called Waters.

Rhaegar looked Meinas over, noting his plain clothing, some of which was even patched.

It seemed he wasn’t doing particularly well.

Not surprising—bastards were rarely favored.

Even an educated bastard like Meinas would struggle to find acceptance among scholars.

Feeling Rhaegar’s gaze, Meinas’s expression shifted slightly, and a wave of insecurity washed over him. He clenched his teeth, the familiar sting of being judged as a bastard rising once more.

"Just endure it, and it will pass."

“Lift your head. Your parents gave you a face that’s not too bad—don’t be afraid to use it,” Rhaegar suddenly said.

Menace obediently lifted his head, managing his facial expression perfectly to display a humble smile.

“I won’t tell you to ignore your origins because the world will make sure you never forget them,” Rhaegar continued.

“But you have your own talents. Not everyone can become a scholar. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

Seeing through Menace’s self-doubt regarding his background, Rhaegar offered a few encouraging words and said no more.

The circumstances of one’s birth can shape an entire life.

This was a wound Rhaegar couldn’t heal for him.

Thankfully, his mother had fought to bring him into this world and left him with plenty of honor.

“Thank you, Mother!”

Silently praying for his late mother, Rhaegar gestured for Menace to lead the way.

If sadness was to be expressed, it should be done alone at night, under the covers. For now, he had to act as a guide. There was no room for personal emotions during work hours.

As they walked, Rhaegar asked, “How many dragons are currently in the dragon pit?”

“Three in total: Dreamfyre, Caraxes, and Syrax,” Menace answered promptly, his earlier melancholy now completely concealed.

“Take me to see them. I’ve never been up close to a dragon before,” Rhaegar said with interest.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar frowned in confusion. “Why not? Do dragons reject strangers?”

“That’s not the reason. Just before you arrived, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon got here ahead of you. They’re preparing to go dragon riding.”

Menace spoke honestly.

“Rhaenyra is here? Take me to her quickly—I have to see the dragons!”

Hearing that his sister was there, Rhaegar’s eyes lit up with excitement, hoping he could convince her to take him for a ride on a dragon.

“Very well. The princess hasn’t been here long. If we go now, we should make it in time,” Menace calculated and agreed.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Rhaegar urged Menace to lead the way, and the group entered the dragon pit, heading for the open platform midway up the cave.

---

After hurrying along, Rhaegar finally reached the high platform, panting heavily.

He arrived just in time to see several dragonkeepers calming Syrax as they unlocked the shackles around her feet.

Nearby, the crimson Caraxes was already prepared.

Daemon and Rhaenyra stood between the two dragons, chatting in their riding gear.

“Sister!”

Rhaegar called out loudly, ignoring Menace’s attempt to stop him, and excitedly ran toward Rhaenyra.

Hearing his voice, Rhaenyra turned around in surprise. “Rhaegar? What are you doing in the dragon pit?”

Rhaegar approached and confidently took his sister’s hand. “Didn’t I tell you last night? I dreamed that something was wrong in the dragon pit, so I came to check it out.”

“I didn’t expect to hear you were here as soon as I arrived. I thought you’d be watching the tourney.”

Rhaenyra chuckled at him and teased, “So, did you come to find me, or did you come to see the dragons?”

“Of course, I came for you. The dragons come after you,” Rhaegar said earnestly, though his eyes couldn’t help but dart excitedly between the two dragons.

“This golden one must be Syrax. She’s as beautiful as you are.”

Compared to the long and fierce-looking Caraxes, Rhaegar seemed to prefer the balanced and elegant Syrax, eagerly offering praise.

“Syrax is named after the goddess of harvest, so of course she’s beautiful,” Rhaenyra said knowingly, crossing her arms as she eyed him playfully.

“So, my dear brother, now that you’ve seen them, is there something else you want?”

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 30: A Request Denied

"I want to ride a dragon! Take me for a flight."

Rhaegar eagerly blurted out his wish.

Rhaenyra couldn't hold back her laughter as she ruffled his hair. "I knew you had something in mind; you wouldn’t come to me otherwise."

"My dearest sister, won’t you grant your little brother’s request?"

Rhaegar let her mess with his hair, gazing at her expectantly.

"You’re going to be disappointed. I’ve already made plans with Uncle Daemon to fly to Dragonstone and back. It’ll be quite late by the time we return," Rhaenyra replied, gently refusing.

"I can go to Dragonstone with you! I haven’t visited our ancestral home yet, and I don’t mind staying out late," Rhaegar said, his desire to ride a dragon overriding his better judgment. He grabbed her hand and shook it pleadingly.

Seeing the longing in her brother’s eyes, Rhaenyra hesitated. She glanced at Daemon, her gaze asking for his opinion.

Noticing her expression, Rhaegar also looked toward Daemon, hoping for support from his generous uncle.

But Daemon, indifferent as ever, simply shrugged and said, "If he wants to go, let him. But if your father finds out I took his heir and eldest son out for a joyride, he might not be thrilled."

The meaning was clear.

Sure, I can take him, but if anything happens, who’s going to take the blame?

A classic way of politely declining.

Hearing this, Rhaenyra had no choice. She tightened her grip on Rhaegar’s hand and apologized, "I’m sorry, Rhaegar."

"The trip today is too far. How about this? Next time, I’ll take you on a special flight around King’s Landing."

Faced with rejection, Rhaegar couldn’t hide his disappointment. But as a prince, he couldn’t throw a tantrum like Aegon would—it wouldn’t befit his dignified image.

Withdrawing his hand from Rhaenyra’s grasp, he took a step back and forced a smile. "Alright, I’ll hold you to that promise."

His words were mature, but the sadness in his eyes was undeniable.

"Such a good boy. Finish your visit to the Dragonpit and head back to the Red Keep early, alright? Don’t wander off," Rhaenyra said, fully aware of his disappointment. But remembering her agreement with Daemon, she steeled herself and turned a blind eye.

"I’ll make it up to you later, Rhaegar," she silently vowed.

Just then, a dragonkeeper unshackled Syrax and reported to Rhaenyra in High Valyrian. "Princess, Syrax is ready for flight."

Rhaenyra replied in the same tongue, "Understood."

She once again took Rhaegar’s hand and led him to a safer spot away from the dragon, entrusting him to Erryk.

"Keep an eye on my brother. Don’t let him wander around the Dragonpit," she instructed.

Erryk nodded. "Yes, Princess."

Finally, Rhaenyra ruffled Rhaegar’s hair one last time and offered a few words of comfort before walking toward Syrax.

Daemon remained silent throughout the sibling exchange, merely observing.

"Uncle, let’s go," Rhaenyra called after mounting Syrax and securing the safety chains around her waist.

"I thought you’d bring him along," Daemon remarked as he mounted Caraxes, his tone casual.

"Rhaegar is still young. Riding a dragon all day in the wind would wear him out," Rhaenyra explained with a smile.

"You tamed a dragon at seven. He’s a boy, and early exposure to dragons would do him good," Daemon replied, his reasoning sound.

After all, in House Targaryen, wasn’t everyone a dragonrider?

"There will be opportunities in the future," Rhaenyra said dismissively, not a fan of the double standards between genders. Changing the subject, she added with a grin, "Let’s stop talking about Rhaegar. How about a race to Dragonstone?"

Daemon shrugged, indifferent, and said no more.

Behind them, Rhaegar stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the two dragons spread their wings and ascend into the clouds until they were out of sight.

Erryk kept a close eye on Rhaegar, relaxing only when he saw no signs of an emotional outburst from the boy.

But Erryk wasn’t the only one observing him.

In the crowd, Meleys’ gaze lingered on Rhaegar, who stood with clenched fists behind his back.

"A golden opportunity!"

Meleys remained outwardly composed, but inwardly, he was practically shouting. His hands and feet trembled slightly with anticipation.

He was tired of being looked down upon.

The noble maesters despised him, despite his knowledge surpassing most of those he had encountered. Their prejudice remained unchanged.

Assigned to the Dragonpit, Meleys had hoped his diligent work would earn him some respect.

Even members of the royal family had taken notice.

The Targaryen family could all tame dragons, and who’s to say he wouldn’t meet someone influential one day who could elevate him to great heights?

Unfortunately, that only happened in dreams.

Dragon tamers only needed dragonkeepers to guide the great beasts; they had no need for a scholar to report on the dragons’ eating, drinking, and other habits.

He had no chance of ever interacting with a member of the royal family.

But now, an excellent opportunity lay right before him.

The young prince had been neglected by his sister—wasn’t this the perfect time for someone to comfort and accompany him?

The key was to make his actions interesting enough.

He had to understand the young prince's psychological needs with precision.

After running countless scenarios through his mind, Maenars gathered his courage and spoke, his voice trembling:

"Prince, didn’t you want to see the dragons? There’s another great dragon in the dragonpit called Dreamfyre. She’s even larger and older than the other two.”

Rhaegar turned to look at him and saw the young scholar’s pale face, his voice quivering, and his nervous gulping.

Rhaegar paid no attention to such minor details.

For a bastard-born youth to take the initiative to speak with an unapproachable prince was already a huge risk.

Still, his suggestion was indeed intriguing.

"Take me to see her!"

Rhaegar's voice was calm but carried an undeniable authority.

Elyrik tried to dissuade him, but Rhaegar turned to him with a cold glance.

Elyrik immediately lowered his head, unwilling to anger the already upset prince.

He knew the prince had been in a foul mood since morning.

"Let’s go. Today’s journey is far from over."

Rhaegar took the lead, pushing past the dragonkeeper who didn’t understand the Common Tongue. Under Maenars’ guidance, they descended the stairs.

The dragonpit housed numerous dragon lairs.

Most were underground to prevent dragons from damaging the ceiling and causing cave-ins.

Upon receiving Rhaegar’s instructions, Maenars was inwardly overjoyed.

As he led the way, he used every word in his vocabulary to describe the beauty and power of Dreamfyre to Rhaegar.

Dreamfyre was a fiery-tempered female dragon who had laid several eggs.

The dragon egg in Rhaegar’s possession was one of Dreamfyre’s.

"Dragons reproduce by laying eggs, but strangely, dragons don’t have distinct sexes. People’s attempts to classify them as male or female are misguided.”

Maenars eagerly shared his knowledge about dragons, hoping to showcase his expertise.

“So dragons reproduce asexually?”

Rhaegar replied with a bored tone.

Maenars chuckled. “We don’t know. Vermithor and Silverwing, the mounts of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, were widely regarded as mates, unlike other solitary dragons.”

"Enough, scholar. I’ve heard enough about dragons. When will we reach Dreamfyre’s lair?”

Growing impatient with the repetitive, inconclusive topics, Rhaegar interrupted.

“My apologies, Prince,” Maenars said repeatedly, his humility deeply ingrained. Nervously, he added, “But we’ve already reached the entrance to Dreamfyre’s lair. I won’t waste any more of your time.”

Hearing this, Rhaegar realized they had traveled a long way through the underground tunnels.

Before him was a massive cave entrance, its pitch-black shadows obscuring everything from view.

---

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