Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 230: Viserys’ Change of Heart

Viserys grunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You still know how to care about me as your brother. I thought your conscience had been eaten by a dog long ago.”

Although he had promised not to scold Daemon, he couldn’t help himself. Seeing that untamed, handsome face made him want to spit.

Daemon sneered, accustomed to the scolding. He knew better than to ask too many questions.

“So, what do you want?” Daemon grumbled.

“A chat about family, duty, and kingdom,” Viserys replied, his voice muffled.

Daemon shook his head and laughed. “You think you’re a Tully, reciting the family motto?”

“I don’t have the energy to teach you, Daemon,” Viserys said coldly. He muttered to himself, “I’m in a dilema. There’s chaos everywhere, and I’m at odds with Rhaegar.”

He had been bedridden for the past two days and had yet to learn of Rhaegar’s surprise attack on the Triarchy. In the bottom of his heart, he was still worried about the safety of his eldest son, the war on the Stepstones, and the rebellion in the Riverlands.

Daemon sat on the ground, listening quietly to his brother’s words. After a while, Viserys began to cough, cutting his speech short.

Daemon frowned, deep in thought about Rhaegar’s strategy. Hearing about the chaos in the Riverlands, his expression grew more serious and his eyes darkened.

The Brackens had attacked the army of Riverrun at night, killing the eldest son of Lord Tully. This act was tantamount to rebellion.

“What do you think I should do?” Viserys asked, suppressing another cough. He wanted to hear Daemon’s opinion.

Looking into his brother’s sincere eyes, Daemon wanted to refuse but couldn’t bring himself to. He murmured, “My nephew is a dangerous man. You don’t have to worry about him. If the attack succeeds, everyone will be happy. If it fails, we will continue with the Battle of the Stepstones.”

The continent of Essos is vast, with many competing forces. The strongest, the Dothraki, never cross the sea. The city-states of Slaver’s Bay are isolated, and the nine free cities are in constant conflict. If the dragon can burn the cities of the Triarchy, the War of the Stepstones will end. Even if it fails, the status quo will be maintained.

Viserys thought hard, his voice hoarse. “The Blackwoods are stationed outside Riverrun, the Brackens are besieging Harrenhal, and I have deployed knights from the Crownlands and the Vale.”

“Having defeated the two houses, what would you do with them?” Daemon, always perceptive, hit the key point.

Kindness, or cowardice. That has always been his brother flaw, slowly disintegrating his authority.

Viserys hesitated for a moment before saying, “Execute the Lords of both houses, and replace them with more loyal and intelligent members.”

Daemon lowered his head and smiled. “Oh, indeed,” he murmured, satisfied that his brother still held the resolve to punish the instigators.

“What do you think should be done?” Viserys asked rhetorically.

Without hesitation, Daemon responded coldly, “I would have Caraxes descend on Raventree Hall and Stone Hedge to purge the rebel houses.”

Raventree Hall belonged to the Blackwoods, and Stone Hedge to the Brackens. These towns, one to the north and one to the south, sandwiched Riverrun in the middle.

This time Viserys didn’t scold Daemon for his cruelty, but fell silent, aware that his own leniency had caused problems. He knew Daemon’s plan was too brutal, but he struggled to find a compromise.

Seeing his brother’s silence, Daemon continued, “Brother, if your hand were strong enough, there would be no rebellion.”

Viserys glanced at him, his eyes flat.

“As I said, it’s never been outside forces that have hurt your power; it’s always been you.”

Daemon shrugged. “You are too weak, brother.”

Viserys’ rule had been characterized by banquets and tournaments, always listening to anyone with a flattering demeanor. Such a character didn’t inspire loyalty.

“You are the only one who dares to be so arrogant with me,” Viserys said with a hint of amusement. “If I were as cruel as Maegor, you wouldn’t have the chance to talk to me in jail.”

He covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, turning to walk out of the dungeon. Daemon, like a mirror, always reflected his flaws.

This conversation had given him some inspiration.

…

The next day, the sun blazed high in the sky, casting a sweltering heat over King’s Landing. More than twenty large ships sailed through Blackwater Bay and anchored in the city’s bustling harbor.

Five hundred Dragonkeepers disembarked, carrying the treasures back to the Dragonpit. The rest of the Dragonkeepers, along with members of the Second Sons, formed a guard detail, leading the slaves who had defected southward along the Blackwater River.

They headed towards the tournament grounds outside the King’s Gate. The slaves, numbering between 5,000 and 6,000, were too numerous to enter the city, so temporary arrangements were made for them outside the walls.

In the Red Keep, Rhaegar and Rhaenyra returned together. Before they could even change their clothes, a maid hurriedly approached them with a message from the King.

“Father wants to see you. Don’t make him angry,” Rhaenyra advised, straightening Rhaegar’s collar with a patient smile.

Rhaegar’s attack on the Kingdom of the Three Daughters was not supported by their father, and Rhaenyra feared a confrontation between them.

“Don’t worry, Father is as open-minded as I am,” Rhaegar said, holding her hand with a hopeful look in his eyes. “Promise me you’ll be at peace too.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, I’m just as open-minded as you are,” she replied. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead.

Rhaegar returned the embrace, his youthful face showing a mix of embarrassment and affection, like a child admitting a mistake. “I’m sorry, sister,” he murmured.

“Don’t be mushy,” Rhaenyra teased, pushing him away playfully. She took his hand and led him towards their father’s chambers.

…

The King’s Bedchamber

Rhaegar and Rhaenyra arrived at the door, where the brothers Erryk and Arryk stood guard.

“Princess, Prince,” the Cargyll brothers greeted them respectfully, their expressions solemn.

“Open the door. I heard Father is unwell,” Rhaenyra commanded gently, her demeanor elegant and noble.

“Yes, Princess,” Erryk responded, opening the door himself.

The siblings walked through the parlor, which was as orderly as ever, and headed towards the inner bedroom. Lifting the beaded curtain, they entered a room occupied by several figures.

Viserys sat on the bed, a thin quilt draped over his knees, a faint smile on his face. Beside him, Alicent, dressed in green, gently blew on a bowl of soup before feeding it to her husband. Otto, the Master of Civil Affairs, stood at the foot of the bed, his face calm as he observed the scene. Grand Maester Mellos fiddled with his medical box, having just completed an examination of the King. Lastly, Jeyne stood in a slender dress, holding a piece of parchment and reciting the news of the burning of the Triarchy.

The sound of the beaded curtain rustling drew everyone’s attention. Viserys turned his head, his expression one of relief. “Rhaegar, I heard about your victory,” he said, a great weight seeming to lift from his heart.

“Father,” Rhaegar replied with a smile, “The Battle of Stepstones is coming to an end.” Seeing the worry and fatigue in his father’s eyes, he decided to bury his dissatisfaction.

Jeyne, still holding the letter, smiled warmly. “Rhaegar, congratulations.”

Rhaegar nodded in acknowledgment but remained silent, he admitted his infidelity directly. Perhaps it was the Targaryens bold nature, or simply Fate.

But he didn’t want to upset Rhaenyra, who was standing close by with a still-settled heart.

“Father, are you feeling better?” Rhaenyra asked, moving quickly to the bedside.

Viserys glanced at his daughter, then at Jeyne, who smiled serenely. A flicker of curiosity crossed his eyes. He shifted his gaze to his eldest son and gave him a cryptic look.

“What is it, boy?” he asked.

Rhaegar winced, surprised at his father’s perceptiveness.

Viserys tilted his head slightly, accepting another spoonful of soup from Alicent. A hint of arrogance flickered in his eyes. He had frequented every brothel in King’s Landing as a youth and had met many noble ladies before his marriage. He recognized such a situation at once.

A frown creased Rhaegar’s forehead as he lowered his head helplessly. His mistakes went beyond mere dalliances with prostitutes or noblewomen; he had committed a serious breach of principle.

Viserys’ expression darkened slightly, sensing the gravity of the situation.

“Father, let me feed you,” Rhaenyra interjected, stepping forward and taking the soup from Alicent with a forced smile. She scooped up a spoonful without blowing on it and pushed it into her father’s mouth.

Viserys winced at the hot spoon and forced a smile as he swallowed. Fortunately, the Targaryens were used to heat.

Jeyne noticed Rhaenyra’s displeasure and silently bowed her head, sensing the tension.

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

After what seemed an eternity, Viserys, having drunk his fill of hot soup, gently stopped feeding his daughter. He smiled bitterly, “You all go out first. I need to speak to Rhaegar alone.”

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows, unmoved.

“Serious business,” Viserys insisted.

Rhaenyra relented and put down her porcelain bowl. “You two have a nice chat.”

Alicent added, “Viserys, the problems will be solved one at a time. Try to stay positive.”

Otto and Mellos, eyes downcast, left the bedroom first, followed by Rhaenyra, who gave Rhaegar a meaningful look before leaving.

Alicent winked at Jeyne, who nodded and bowed to Viserys before lifting the beaded curtain to leave. With everyone gone, the room seemed to cool down.

“Father, what is it?” Rhaegar asked, relieved, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling softly.

The tension from Rhaenyra’s presence had been considerable. The others- Alicent, Otto, Mellos – were all part of the Oldtown forces. Besides Rhaenyra, only Jeyne was his true ally.

Viserys’ eyes were filled with a complex mix of emotions. “The Riverlands are in revolt. But I sense you’re dealing with your own troubles and need to make a choice.”

Emotional turmoil can be devastating. Many gifted individuals have been undone by personal setbacks. Viserys didn’t want that for his most prized heir.

Rhaegar subconsciously murmured, “I choose Rhaenyra.”

“Good,” Viserys replied, smiling again. “It’s important to know what you want.”

Then he got down to business. “The Bracken House in the Riverlands is rebelling, besieging Harrenhal…”