Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 157: Valyrian Steel Sword – Dragon’s Claw

The dragon flew past, followed by an army of thousands, each soldier’s armor and weapons gleaming in the sunlight.

Rhaegar watched from afar, transfixed.

The young man riding the dragon had silver-blonde hair and a familiar, though indistinct, face. He carried a longsword at his waist and a spear on his back.

The massive dragon and its accompanying army circled the great lake and landed on its northern shore.

“Roar…”

Another dragon’s roar, deep and thunderous, echoed across the sky and earth.

A fierce wind swept through, and a pair of immense dragon wings blotted out the sun, casting the entire lake into shadow.

Rhaegar’s eyes widened in astonishment as he saw a colossal black dragon hovering above. This dragon, covered in black scales with scarlet-red horns and wing membranes, had cold, merciless eyes that resembled the god of death.

A name surfaced in Rhaegar’s mind: The Black Dread—Balerion.

“Uncle, you have usurped power and seized the throne. Surrender!” the young man on the silver dragon shouted, drawing his longsword.

Rhaegar looked at Balerion’s back. Seated in a black iron saddle was a tall, powerful middle-aged man with short silver-gold hair.

Rhaegar’s mind cleared, and he realized, “This is the Battle at the God’s Eye Lake!”

He remembered the brief history of House Targaryen. The cruel Maegor I had killed his nephew, Aegon Targaryen, north of the God’s Eye Lake.

“My nephew, the throne is mine, and you will not escape today!” the middle-aged man on Balerion’s back laughed, his voice thick and powerful.

“Roar…”

Balerion’s wings beat mightily, and he lunged at the silver dragon.

Balerion was the largest dragon ever seen in Westeros. Compared to him, the silver dragon looked like a sparrow, tiny and vulnerable.

Roar…

Balerion’s speed was incredible. He closed the distance quickly, ignoring the silver dragon’s dragonfire, and tore off one of its wings with his powerful jaws, swallowing it whole.

The silver dragon had no power to resist. With a final scream, it and its rider plummeted to the ground, perishing together.

Boom…

When they hit the ground, a burst of blood from both dragon and rider sprayed tens of meters, staining the grass by the lake.

Rhaegar was horrified by Balerion’s power. The world around him began to shake, and the dream started to shatter.

Click…

A crunching sound came from beneath him. The ground was covered in frost.

When Rhaegar looked up, snow began to fall, quickly covering the bloodied dragon’s corpse.

“Roar…”

In the sky, Balerion roared again, spewing hot dragonfire, dark with smoke.

Rhaegar stood there, dumbfounded, his body chilled by the cold wind as he gazed up at the fiery contrast in the sky.

Waking up, Rhaegar frowned slightly, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as his arms and legs twitched involuntarily.

“Rhaegar!”

Startled, Rhaenyra quickly called his name, realizing his distress.

Rhaegar often had nightmares, and whenever this happened, she would wake him.

“Ah!”

With a sharp cry, Rhaegar’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up straight.

“Rhaegar, are you okay?” Rhaenyra asked anxiously, gently pressing his shoulders and shaking them.

Rhaegar, wide-eyed, murmured, “Ice and fire…”

The scene from his dream was still vivid in his mind, but he didn’t mention Maegor’s Kinslaying or the tragic death of the silver dragon. Instead, the snow and dragonfire seemed to be imprinted in his memory, replaying over and over.

“What ice and fire? Did you dream about the song of ice and fire?” Rhaenyra, recognizing the phrase, grew even more concerned.

“No, not ice and fire.” Rhaegar gasped heavily, holding his forehead. “I dreamt of Maegor’s Kinslaying.”

“What were you dreaming about, anyway? All that nonsense,” Rhaenyra sighed, cuddling into his neck and leaning against his chest.

In the past, Rhaegar hadn’t reacted so violently to his nightmares. Feeling her warmth, Rhaegar’s racing heart began to calm, and he closed his eyes in silence, though he still had a headache. The snow and dragonfire were what had woken him, and this was not a good sign.

Rhaenyra, sensing his turmoil, gently rubbed his scalp and whispered, “It’s like you haven’t grown up.”

Rhaegar wanted to retort but instead hugged her waist. He had only had a nightmare and was under a bit of pressure. The sound of hammering continued in the background as the blacksmiths worked.

After a while, Rhaegar sniffed the familiar light fragrance and suddenly remembered his identity as a man. “Ahem, I’m better,” he said, breaking away from the warm embrace and coughing lightly to cover his embarrassment.

Rhaenyra smirked at him, withdrawing her hands and folding them behind her back.

“Prince, the sword is cast!” The blacksmith spoke in High Valyrian, giving Rhaegar a much-needed distraction.

“Good! Let me see!” Rhaegar said eagerly, walking quickly to the fireplace.

The blacksmith, an old man with curly chestnut-colored hair and a worn face, held a long narrow box lined with red cloth.

Rhaegar looked at him expectantly. The blacksmith looked solemn and motioned for him to lift the red cloth. Rhaegar did so, revealing a long, gleaming sword inside the box.

The longsword was a standard hand-and-a-half sword, its blade covered in the distinctive watery pattern of Valyrian steel, with razor-sharp edges. The hilt and pommel were made of grayish bone, shaped like a dragon’s claw.

One side featured a sharply curved dragon’s back toe, while the other side displayed the first three toes of the dragon, carved as a single piece. The hilt was carved with fine dragon scale patterns, curving slightly at the end, making it look as if the claws of a giant dragon extended from the sword.

Surveying the recast Valyrian steel sword, Rhaegar felt a surge of satisfaction and gripped the hilt, lifting it from the box.

Buzz…

Swinging the sword, the blade cut through the air with a soft, reverberating hum, reminiscent of a dragon’s roar.

“Good sword! Excellent craftsmanship!” Rhaegar exclaimed, holding the sword with one hand and rubbing the blade with the other. “The hilt looks like a dragon’s claw. This sword shall be named Dragon Claw!”

“Qohor blacksmiths are world-famous; it’s true,” Rhaenyra said, joining him. “Dragon Claw is a fitting name.”

“Of course, I’ve been thinking about this name for days,” Rhaegar replied proudly, handing the sword to her. “Look at the hilt and the jaw. I used a piece of Balerion’s dragon horn, which is as strong as meteorite iron.”

“Only you would think of such a thing,” Rhaenyra admired the freshly forged Valyrian steel sword. “With this, our family will have three ancestral swords.”

“It’s more than that,” Rhaegar said, pointing to the furnace with a mysterious smile. “The melted Valyrian steel from the heavy sword left enough material. Even after forging Dragon Claw, there’s still quite a bit of Valyrian steel left.”