Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 590: The Return of the Blacks and Greens

Time flies, and it was already mid-July. The fleet had set out early in the morning, crossing the Narrow Sea, the Volantis Sea, and finally arriving at the fog-shrouded Smoking Sea.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal let out a fierce roar, its gaze sweeping warily over the Smoking Sea, vividly recalling the last time they had ventured into these treacherous waters.

"Don't be afraid, old friend," Rhaegar said solemnly, holding a map in his hand. "This time, we're not going in blindly."

"Roar..."

Cannibal's green eyes gleamed with hostility as it stared at the smoky barrier ahead. The wild dragon's instincts warned of the dangers lurking within the land of smoke and sea.

A sudden roar cut through the air.

Daemon turned abruptly and, with a proud tone, commanded, "Follow me!"

Rhaegar, momentarily taken aback, patted the Cannibal's broad back. "Don't lose!"

Cannibal's green pupils narrowed, and it surged forward, crashing into the thick, sulfurous fog, charging ahead to catch up.

"Roar!"

Iragaxys hesitated briefly before following, not wanting to be left behind.

Below, on the sea, the Sea Snake gazed solemnly at the Smoking Sea. His lips, cracked from the harsh sea air, parted as he gave the command, "Let's go!"

Whoo-hoo-hoo!

The fleet echoed with the mournful sound of horns as the sailors sailed into the Smoking Sea, as if they were marching to their deaths.

...

For several days, they sailed on. The sky remained misty, the sea deathly quiet, and everything was eerily calm.

Hoo-hoo!

The Cannibal's green pupils narrowed slightly as it soared through the thick fog.

"Roar!"

Iragaxys whinnied in panic, following closely behind, afraid of getting lost.

"Slow down, old friend," Rhaegar urged, glancing around as he lit a glass candle in his hand.

Hum...

The wick caught fire, illuminating the scene for miles around. The sky and sea were cloaked in a dense mist, and the water lapped gently against unseen rocks.

After confirming that the route was clear of danger, Rhaegar pulled out a weathered stone disk covered in cracks, using fire magic to move the pointer.

"Roar!"

Iragaxys startled and instinctively moved away from the compass. Rhaegar gave the dragon a reassuring glance before retrieving a small, dark dragon scale from his cloak.

There were two main objectives for entering the Smoking Sea this time: to find the dragon horn buried underground and to capture the blue young dragon left behind. Iragaxys and the blue dragon were siblings, and the scale provided guidance for the dragon compass. The little one had been brought along to help lure out the young dragon.

Hum...

The dragon-finding compass glowed dimly as the pointer spun in circles. Rhaegar licked his lips, carefully tucking the compass away. The compass indicated that they were still far from the young dragon, and the power of a single scale was limited.

A sudden roar cut through the air as Caraxes broke through the fog, revealing its full form after a long glide.

"What’s ahead?" Rhaegar shouted, using his binding magic to communicate.

Daemon gripped the saddle tightly, his voice solemn. "There's nothing ahead. It's roughly the same path I took before." He had once ventured to a lost continent—likely a major landmass in the Lands of the Long Summer, which included a certain fire peak. Exploring that continent promised great rewards.

"Then let’s go." Rhaegar replaced the glass candle, casting its light forward to guide their way. With so many skills at his disposal, this journey would be far different from the last.

...

Lys, the Council Chamber.

Tap, tap, tap...

The sound of orderly footsteps echoed through the corridor as Rhaenyra, clad in black dragon-riding clothes, strode in.

“Your Grace,” Erryk and Lorent, the Kingsguard, stood guard at the door.

Rhaenyra gave a faint "hmm" in acknowledgment and pushed the door open.

Bang!

Inside, Aemond sat at the head of the table, his legs casually propped up on the desk—a posture dripping with arrogance.

Rhaenyra frowned slightly and warned, "That's not the position you should be in."

"Is that so?" Aemond leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's quite comfortable."

"Aemond, stop it," Daeron, standing across from him, interjected with a stern look. Without Rhaegar present, Aemond was getting too comfortable, neglecting the gravity of their situation.

"Tsk, fine." Aemond rolled his eyes, swinging his legs off the table and adjusting his posture.

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, anger simmering beneath the surface at his provocation. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to remain patient. "Let's get down to business."

She shook her head and sat down, her gaze sweeping across the room. Apart from the three siblings, only Mysaria, the White Worm, and Varys, the steward of the Topless Tower, were present. Varys, as always, maintained a placid smile, staying out of matters beyond the Topless Tower's walls. Rhaenyra hadn't expected him to contribute, and instead turned her attention to Mysaria, the new steward of Lys.

"Your Grace," Mysaria, her pregnancy evident, spoke with a solemn tone. "The pirates of the Stepstones have grown bolder, but thanks to Addam's efforts, peace has been restored."

"He is a true warrior," Rhaenyra nodded approvingly, satisfied with the Sea Snake's choice of fleet commander.

Aemond interrupted, "What else?"

Rhaegar had been gone for two months, and much had transpired on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

Mysaria shot him a glance, frowning slightly. "Princess Rhaenys reports that Braavos and Pentos have formed an alliance against Qohor and are sending their fleets to stir up trouble near The Gullet."

Aemond's face darkened. Qohor was his domain, and Braavos and Pentos were acting as if they could drive him out with impunity.

Rhaenyra seized the moment to sneer, "Your rashness and impulsiveness have given the enemy an excuse for revenge."

Braavos and Pentos, usually sworn enemies, now shared a common threat: House Targaryen. If the two Free Cities truly intended to help the people of Qohor regain their city, they would have recruited sellswords to attack, not sent their fleets to hover menacingly near The Gullet. They were testing the Iron Throne's defenses, aware that Rhaegar, Daemon, and the Sea Snake had gone to the Smoking Sea, and believing this to be the Iron Throne's most vulnerable moment. Their goal was clear—revenge and the suppression of Targaryen rule.

Aemond, ever sensitive to mockery, retorted coldly, "Vultures are vultures. They only crave flesh and blood." In other words, he believed that even if he hadn’t taken Qohor, the revenge would have come regardless.

Rhaenyra snorted in disgust, choosing not to argue further.

Daeron looked around, attempting to diffuse the tension. "The fleet is probing The Gullet's defenses. They probably won't attack, right?"

"They dare!" Aemond snarled, drawing his one-eyed dagger and slamming it down on the table.

Mysaria met his outburst with a cold stare, analyzing the situation with calculated calm. "My suggestion is that we send Addam's fleet back to Driftmark to keep the enemy out of the city."

The royal fleet had only one squadron stationed on Dragonstone, which couldn't be easily mobilized. The Stepstones, along with the Free Cities of Myr and Lys, had not yet developed a strong fleet. Facing the elite navies of Braavos and Pentos, the only viable option was to recall the fleet of House Velaryon.

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement and instructed the tower master, “Send a message to Addam later.”

"Yes, Your Grace,” Varys replied, his hands tucked into his pockets, his demeanor obedient.

Mysaria coughed lightly and suggested, “Addam has done an excellent job eliminating the pirates. To demonstrate the Queen’s wisdom, perhaps he should be knighted.”

Rhaenyra considered this for a moment and agreed, “Granted.”

‘If you want a horse to run, you have to feed it,’ she thought, knowing that the Sea Snake had entrusted Addam to her with the expectation of earning military honors.

“Damn it, when will this boring council meeting end?” Aemond grumbled, clearly losing patience with the proceedings.

“If you find it boring, you’re free to leave,” Rhaenyra responded, her expression unchanged, no longer willing to tolerate his rudeness.

Aemond sneered. "Are you ordering me?"

Bang! Rhaenyra slammed her hand on the table, pointing directly at him. "I am the Queen, the Queen of Lys, and you are in my territory now."

“Queen?” Aemond retorted with a mocking smile. He leaned over the table, taunting, “Rhaegar didn’t even bother to touch you.”

His words struck Rhaenyra like a dagger. She turned pale, fury surging within her as she instinctively reached for the "Realm's Delight" at her waist.

Aemond’s sharp eyes caught the movement, and he too reached for the black hilt of his sword, his expression darkening.

The tension between them grew as they inched closer, on the brink of a violent clash.

Sensing the danger, Daeron quickly intervened, pulling Aemond away from the table. “Lady Mysaria, if you have something to say, say it quickly,” he urged. "If you don’t speak now, you might not get another chance. Our brother has only been gone for two months—we can’t afford to turn on each other."

“Hmph!” Aemond snorted, shaking off Daeron’s grip and returning to his seat, though his demeanor remained tense.

Rhaenyra’s cold gaze didn’t waver, her hand still sweaty from gripping her sword’s hilt.

“We need a dragon,” Mysaria interjected, her voice sharp and urgent. “Princess Rhaenys can’t patrol The Gullet and the upper Narrow Sea alone. She needs a dragon rider.”

“Who will go?” Aemond asked, dropping his sword onto the table, showing no inclination to volunteer.

According to Rhaegar’s plan, Aemond was tasked with overseeing Dorne and the Stepstones, including the lower Narrow Sea and Volantis. He had no time for additional duties.

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, realizing she was the only adult dragon rider in the House who could be spared. But she hesitated, wondering how Aemond might behave if she left Lys.

“I’ll go,” Daeron offered unexpectedly.

Rhaenyra blinked in surprise. “Your dragon is still young,” she said, concerned.

“It’s fine,” Daeron replied, scratching his head with a smile. Compared to staying in Lys and dealing with the escalating tension, patrolling The Gullet and the upper Narrow Sea seemed a far more appealing option. Aemond’s sudden shift to arrogance and hostility was unsettling, and Daeron preferred to avoid further conflict.

Rhaenyra considered it carefully, then nodded. Tessarion was nearly fully grown, after all. “Go, but promise not to start a war. Your first priority is your own safety.”

“I promise,” Daeron said, nodding vigorously, puffing out his chest with a mix of determination and youthful eagerness.

“Be careful when you encounter the enemy, and don’t panic,” Aemond advised, idly twirling his one-eyed dagger as he offered his hard-won experience.

Daeron accepted the advice humbly and walked out of the chamber. Mysaria and Varys exchanged glances before silently following him.

In the now-emptied council hall, Aemond sat upright, defiance burning in his one eye. Rhaenyra stared at him for a long moment before stepping back and exiting the room.