Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 249: Rhaegar’s Changes

Time passed like a fleeting shadow.

The year was 121 AC.

On a bright spring morning, a golden dragon soared above the tranquil waters of the God’s Eye Lake, its scales glistening in the sunlight.

“Roar…”

The dragon’s roar echoed through the air as it gracefully maneuvered through the clouds, adjusting its wings to change direction.

In the center of God’s Eye Lake lay the lush Isle of Faces, its appearance drastically transformed over the past three years.

On the island’s northern side, a massive, dark structure dominated the landscape. Towering at 500 feet, it was neither fully a mountain nor entirely a tower, with four large openings that allowed the wind to howl through, creating a sound akin to a horn.

The golden dragon circled the formidable building before gliding towards the lake’s northern shore. Its belly skimmed the shimmering surface, and its slender tail created ripples as it brushed through the water.

Harrenhal stood proudly nearby, its thick, steep walls newly repaired. Soldiers clad in black armor patrolled with disciplined precision.

A sudden gust of wind sent the soldiers reeling.

“Alert!”

They looked up to see the golden dragon flying over the city wall and into the castle grounds.

“At ease! It’s the princess and her dragon.”

The captain of the soldiers recognized the dragon and its rider and paid his respects before resuming his patrol.

…

In front of the Kingspyre Tower, where the “bear pit” once stood, young shoots pushed through the soil, and a dusting of snow adorned the lone willow tree.

On one wall of the tower, a spacious hut had been constructed, furnished with simple tables and stools. Inside, dozens of teenagers sat attentively, listening to a tall and stout teacher’s lesson.

Clang, clang…

The sound of a zither echoed, a seemingly joyful tune tinged with melancholy. The source of the music was a stone pavilion nestled in the tower’s corner. Inside, the melody was played by a young man with silver-blonde hair cascading down his back. He sat on a red carpet, a harp in his lap, his fingers gently stroking the strings.

The young man’s pale skin and strikingly handsome features were marred only by the dark circles under his deep purple eyes, giving him a slightly gloomy appearance.

“Black thread, dragon, rose…”

Intermittent murmurs of a girl accompanied the zither’s music. Lying behind the young man was a girl with similarly silver-blonde, slightly curly hair. She propped herself up on her hands, her legs swaying gently.

Hoo…

A massive golden dragon swooped over the castle courtyard, landing outside the pavilion. On its back, Rhaenyra, dressed in a long red gown with her hair pulled back, unfastened the chain around her waist and climbed down the soft ladder with nimble grace.

Jumping to the ground, Rhaenyra patted the dragon’s golden scales and smiled, “Go play, Syrax.”

“Roar…”

Syrax roared softly, nuzzling its rider before flapping its wings and taking off.

Above Harrenhal, two dragons—one black and one blue—circled slowly, chasing each other. Syrax joined them, adding to their frolic.

“Rhaegar, you won’t even come to welcome me?”

Rhaenyra entered the pavilion, hands behind her back. She was as beautiful as ever, untouched by the passage of time.

Clang~~

The zither’s melody stopped abruptly as delicate fingers calmed the trembling strings, soothing the unfinished melody.

The young man lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he looked at Rhaenyra. “You and I have a relationship that needs no formalities, Sister,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the last word.

Rhaenyra blushed and retorted, “You don’t even know how to make a proper gesture?”

Half a year ago, Rhaegar had chosen to follow family tradition, solidifying an agreement in the presence of their father, Viserys. While they typically addressed each other by name, in private, they acknowledged their familial bond. For Rhaegar to use the term now suggested he was up to something.

“Rhaenyra, you just left the day before yesterday. Why are you back so soon?” Rhaegar asked, a puzzled smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra, now a foster mother to two girls and burdened with the affairs of King’s Landing and Dragonstone, was always busy. Even if she came to Harrenhal to see him, it was never this frequent.

“Why else? I have a mission, of course,” Rhaenyra replied, exasperation in her voice. “Rhaegar, you haven’t been back to King’s Landing in over six months. Father misses you very much.”

Rhaegar’s smile faded as he lowered his head, idly stroking the strings of his zither, his interest in conversation waning.

Three years ago, after Vaemond Velaryon’s funeral, Rhaegar had returned to the capital, where Viserys frequently sought his company. They hadn’t discussed monarchy reforms or the state of Harrenhal and the Dragon’s Nest.

Instead, they clashed over two proposals regarding the Stepstones, with Rhaegar firmly opposed to his father’s plans. Their disagreements escalated into a heated argument, resulting in a rift between them.

Rhaegar had left King’s Landing for Harrenhal, dedicating himself to restoring the castle and constructing the a new Dragon’s Nest.

“Rhaegar, you’ve been away from King’s Landing too long. The realm needs a visible savior,” Rhaenyra said, sitting beside him in the pavilion and gently trying to persuade him.

In the three years since, Rhaegar had barely returned to the capital, and rumors of a rift between the king and his heir were circulating among the court’s advisors.

“Rhaenyra, are you afraid someone will seize power in my absence?” Rhaegar asked, his expression unreadable.

Though frustrated by his father’s poor decisions, Rhaegar was not reckless. Despite his physical distance from King’s Landing, his influence grew daily. From Harrenhal, he kept a watchful eye on Old Tully at Riverrun, using Tully as an intermediary to strengthen his ties with the lords of the Riverlands.

House Blackwood was the first to pledge allegiance, followed by other Riverland nobles. In the Vale, his long association with Jeyne, House Royce and House Grafton of Gulltown secured their unwavering support.

Through the ever-expanding Mushroom Set caravan, he maintained strong personal relationships with the nobles of the Crownlands and the Riverlands.

Rhaegar might not be visible in King’s Landing, but his presence was felt throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Rhaenyra looked deeply into Rhaegar’s eyes and sighed. “In a few days it will be your naming day. Father is organizing a family feast and asked me to tell you that you must attend.”

“You know I’ve never liked naming days since I was a child,” Rhaegar muttered.

Rhaenyra moved closer, her voice softer. “Please go back. Father’s been dreaming about you lately. Even Alicent has noticed.”

Clang~~

Rhaegar strummed the strings of his zither, producing an abrupt, discordant sound. He had no desire to attend a family feast. Away from King’s Landing and its political turmoil, he relished the freedom of his own domain.

After rebuilding Harrenhal Castle and adding a dragon’s nest to the Isle of Faces, life was more than comfortable.

“Rhaegar…” Rhaenyra’s face grew solemn, her initial softness giving way to firmness.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Helaena, startled by the sound, looked up blankly, her beautiful face framed by silver-blonde hair.

Rhaenyra turned towards her. At twelve, Helaena had already experienced her first period, though she still had the appearance of an innocent, wide-eyed girl.

Her long, curly hair was tied into a bun, and she wore a goose down dress that highlighted her slender figure, inherited from Alicent. She sat on the red carpet, surrounded by carved stone toys and woolen balls, clutching a green thread and a dragon stone carving.

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head in resignation. “Nothing, Helaena. Carry on.”

“Oh, okay.” Helaena nodded obediently, then looked up again, confusion evident in her eyes. “Sister, didn’t you leave the day before yesterday?”

“I’m back,” Rhaenyra replied, doubly annoyed.

Since Rhaegar’s ascension, Helaena’s behavior had become increasingly strange. Not only was she a prophet, but she also displayed a strange sense of disorientation.

Helaena simply said “oh” and lowered her head to play with the stone carving, minimizing her presence. She had been staying in Harrenhal for a few months, escaping the damp and cold winter climate of King’s Landing. Here, she enjoyed the warmth and lack of restrictions.

Splat…

As they spoke, the dragonstone carving in Helaena’s hand slipped and struck a red rose. The rose toppled, its petals wilting and losing their luster. Helaena, visibly upset, stared at the fallen carving, frustration etched on her face.

With Helaena momentarily silent, Rhaenyra resumed her plea. “Rhaegar, this is your sixteenth name day. You must return to King’s Landing with me.”

Her tone was firm, brooking no argument. In Westeros, a boy came of age at sixteen. Rhaegar, having reached that milestone, had to participate in the ceremony his father had arranged, whether he wanted to or not.

Rhaegar looked at her, his eyes flickering with indecision. Noticing his hesitation, Rhaenyra’s eyes grew stern. She reached for the soft flesh at his waist, ready to assert her authority.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go back with you,” Rhaegar conceded, quickly intercepting her hand, a rueful smile on his lips.

Rhaenyra frowned, looking for confirmation. “Really?”

“Of course. A Targaryen keeps his word,” Rhaegar assured her, a hint of certainty returning to his voice. Indeed, he had been away from King’s Landing too long. Many responsibilities had been delayed, including his knighthood, which should have been conferred at thirteen.

“That’s more like it,” Rhaenyra murmured, her tone softening. She took the harp from his hands and set it on a nearby stand.

Rhaegar stretched, intending to stand and move. “Sit down; you’re not leaving just yet,” Rhaenyra instructed, pulling him back into her arms and leaning close. Three years had passed quickly, and Rhaegar had grown.

His once youthful face had matured, his height had increased, and his body had developed solid muscles. He had become the kind of man whose slender appearance concealed a muscular frame.

His handsome face was captivating, his deep eyes intense. Troubled by nightmares, he had taken up the harp under the guidance of a renowned teacher to calm his mind and soothe his nerves.

“What are your plans after the name day?” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft, her chin resting on his shoulder, her red lips close to his ear.

The date was set. Rhaegar was an adult now, and momentous events loomed on the horizon.

“Father will probably arrange for us to tour the continent and visit various nobles,” Rhaegar mused, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Once I’m officially knighted, everything will fall into place.”