Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 237: The Dragon Has Three Heads

“Yes, Prince,” Grey Worm replied, looking straight ahead.

“Why don’t you all change your names so you’re no longer tied to slavery?” Rhaegar asked, intrigued.

The Unsullied had been trafficked as children, and by the age of four or five they should remember their original names.

Grey Worm replied solemnly, “The name that once brought me pain and enslaved me is no longer a burden.”

“The day Astapor fell, I sought your protection,” he continued, his chest swelling with pride. “Since that day, I have kept the name Grey Worm. It now symbolizes my sanity and my courage to fight for freedom.”

Swoosh…

As he spoke, the Unsullied struck their round shields with their spears in unison, their eyes filled with admiration as they gazed upon Rhaegar and the dragon.

Rhaegar’s expression softened as he surveyed the more than 400 Unsullied, his gaze calm and collected.

From this diverse group of warriors, he sensed a pure essence.

It was called “Faith.”

They longed for freedom and peace, and they saw Rhaegar as their beacon.

The old and new gods would not save these castrated slave soldiers.

But Rhaegar, who had burned the city with his dragon, would.

Rhaegar Targaryen, Breaker of Shackles, Ruin-Maker; that was what they believed.

Rhaegar withdrew his scrutinizing gaze and smiled, “A perfectly trustworthy army.”

“Grey Worm,” he called.

“Yes, Prince!” Grey Worm stepped forward, his voice firm.

Rhaegar resumed his authoritative tone, “We don’t need too many troops to put down the rebellion. Harrenhal has suffered greatly from the fire. Lead the army to station here and prevent any counterattacks.”

“Yes, Prince!” Grey Worm accepted the mission and immediately led the troops to join the patrol.

Rhaegar raised his head to the sky and murmured, “Riverrun City, Blackwood…”

…

Dusk.

Three dragons rose from Harrenhal and soared toward Riverrun. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a reddish haze over the flat, fertile land. Rivers flowed endlessly, and farmlands stretched as far as the eye could see-this was the Riverlands, the Land of Fish and Grain.”

In the heart of the noble path, the farmland had been pillaged and burned, mostly by marauding bands of outlaws.

“Roar…”,

As they neared Riverrun, Cannibal slowed and roared a warning. Rhaegar looked down and saw a large, well-fortified camp on a high hill not far from Riverrun. Watchtowers, archery posts, horses, and other defenses were in place. At the foot of the hill, a meandering stream provided a natural barrier.

Rhaegar took one look and knew the general in charge was strategically astute. The hilltop camp was easy to defend and difficult to attack. With sufficient supplies, it could withstand a prolonged siege. It would be a tough nut to crack.

Above the camp’s gatehouse flew a noble banner depicting crows surrounding a weirwood tree. Rhaegar recognized it: “House Blackwood.”

His respect for the Blackwoods grew. The camp’s location was strategically brilliant.

House Blackwood’s Raventree Hall lay west of the Red Fork River, south of Harrenhal. Running Stream was at the confluence of the Red Fork and Tumblestone Rivers. House Bracken’s Stone Hedge was north of the Red Fork and northeast of Riverrun. The Blackwood-Bracken conflict raged on the north bank of the Red Fork, in fertile pastureland.

Recently, Harwin’s army from Riverrun had clashed with the vanguards of both houses. House Bracken, recovering from defeat, had launched a night attack on Harwin’s camp. Harwin and the Tullys had retreated to Harrenhal.

Now the Blackwoods had set up camp south of Riverrun and west of Stone Hedge, effectively blocking the route between Riverrun, Stone Hedge, and Harrenhal. They didn’t attack, but they were a thorn in the side, destabilizing the Riverlands.

Their tactics were notorious, but undeniably effective.

As the campfires began to cook dinner, Cannibal swooped down and wreaked havoc.

“Dragon! The dragon is coming!”

“Hide in the burrows!”

The presence of the black dragon caused instant panic. Soldiers abandoned their posts and dove into the holes they had dug for cover.

“Roar!”

Before the soldiers could fully retreat, Dreamfyre and Syrax swooped down, their wings whipping up fierce winds.

Crash!

At Helaena’s command, Dreamfyre flicked his tail and snapped the camp’s flagpole.

In an instant, the three dragons rose again.

Syrax flew close to Cannibal, and Rhaenyra, clad in her black dragon armor, shouted, “Rhaegar, is this all we’re doing?”

She had been expecting an attack as the dragons swooped down.

Rhaegar looked at the chaos below and chuckled, “No need for violence today.”

The three dragons flew over the barracks, confident that the Blackwoods would make the right choice.

“Roar…”

Cannibal roared, lifting his wings in the turbulent river toward the city of Riverrun. Dreamfyre and Syrax circled around, close behind.

…

Riverrun.

A sturdy, triangular castle built where the Tumblestone River meets the Red Fork. The castle is relatively small, bordered on two sides by the river, with a large man-made moat on the west side. When the water gate is opened, the trench fills with river water, transforming the castle into a small island surrounded by water on three sides and nearly impregnable.

At that moment, Riverrun’s Watergate was open. Water flowed around the castle and the drawbridge was raised.

“Roar…”

The dragon’s roar echoed as Cannibal flapped its wings and slowly descended in front of the water-filled trench. Rhaegar, seated on his saddle, looked down at the garrison on Riverrun’s battlements and shouted, “The Prince and Princess of Targaryen have arrived! Summon the sons of Lord Tully to welcome us!”

“Roar…”

Syrax and Dreamfyre followed, landing one on either side of Cannibal. The three dragons raised their heads, staring at the triangular castle.

The garrison, having never witnessed such a sight, nearly lost their composure. In a panic, they hurried down the battlements to notify the two gentlemen in charge.

Rhaegar watched calmly, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The Tully family, as the Lords of the Riverlands, held a crucial position. To pacify the rebellion, Riverrun had to be visited first.

…

Nightfall.

On Bloodstone Island, patrol ships continued their nightly rounds, diligently scanning the waters. They intercepted a small sailboat attempting to smuggle goods.

There were three men aboard, all from the Stormlands of Westeros. Upon capture, the soldiers discovered the boat’s cargo: leather, barley, and dozens of bottles of red wine from Lys.

One of the smugglers, trembling with fear, knelt and begged, “My lord, please, we are only trying to make a living.”

“Save your breath, smuggler!” A soldier kicked him to the ground, spitting in contempt. Smugglers were despised, even lower than poachers in Westeros.

“Let’s see what we have here,” a middle-aged voice commanded. Two silver-haired, dark-skinned figures emerged from the patrol ship: Commander Vaemond and his nephew, Laenor.

Vaemond examined the cargo with a practiced eye. When his eyes fell on the red wine, his expression changed. The prolonged war had left ample supplies, but good wine was in short supply. The quality red wine was a rare treat.

“Take the wine and throw these men into the sea,” Vaemond ordered, his voice cold and dismissive. The Valyrians, with their maritime heritage, knew well the ruthless law of the sea.

The smuggler pleaded desperately, “My lord, I have a pregnant wife to care for. Please, show mercy. The Old and New Gods will bless you.”

Vaemond remained unmoved. “Do as I said. Feed them to the fish.”

“Yes, my lord,” the soldiers replied, dragging the men to the edge of the ship. Panicked, the smuggler shouted, “Wait! I have two bottles of Dornish Summer Red – ten years old, the finest wine you’ll ever taste!”

“Wait,” Vaemond commanded, intrigued. “Aged Summer Red?”

The smuggler nodded frantically. “Yes, my lord. It’s on the ship. A gift for you.”

“Fetch it,” Vaemond ordered, his interest piqued. The smuggler rushed to the ship and returned with a wooden case containing two bottles of wine, the liquid inside as crimson as blood.

With shaking hands, he offered the bottles. Vaemond opened one and took a deep breath, savoring the fruity aroma. “True summer red,” he confirmed with satisfaction. He passed the other bottle to Laenor. “Enjoy, nephew. It’s been a while since we’ve had good wine.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Laenor said, pleased. It had been a long time since he had tasted good wine.

Vaemond smiled, pleased. “Take the wine. Dispose of the rest.”

The soldiers quickly executed the smugglers and plundered the remaining goods. Before they left, they set fire to the sailboat.

With the precious bottle of wine, Laenor returned to Bloodstone Island, eager to share his find with Aegon. He found his cousin secluded in his tent.

“Cousin, look what I’ve got,” Laenor announced, lifting the tent flap.

“No, no! Don’t come in yet,” Aegon cried, his voice strained. He lay naked, his hands hidden under the blanket.

“Oh, by the Seven Gods!” Laenor exclaimed, turning away in embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”

“Just a moment,” Aegon grunted, his movements quickening. His body tensed and he let out a low moan.

“Are you finished?” Laenor asked, half amused, half annoyed.