Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 250: Rhaegar’s Influence

Night.

Kingspyre Tower,  Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

The hall was cavernous and grand, with thirty-four hearths and a smooth stone floor. At a long table of solid wood, Rhaenyra, Helaena, and Rhaegar dined.

Nibbling on unseasonal fruits, Rhaenyra glanced around and muttered, “Every time I come here, it feels so exaggerated.”

She kept her voice low, afraid the vastness of the hall would amplify it into an echo.

Harrenhal, a massive castle, had taken Black Harren over forty years to build. The scale of its great hall alone was almost beyond comprehension. Records claimed that the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was large enough to house an army.

“Harrenhal stands out for its size and sturdiness. You’ll get used to it,” Rhaegar said, smiling proudly.

The castle’s restoration had advanced rapidly with the use of black dragonstone.

Aside from essential buildings such as courtyards, bathhouses, and stables, the five towers were of paramount importance.

After Balerion’s burning, the towers had been twisted and deformed, their roofs scorched. Yet their walls remained thick, almost indestructible. The interiors were mostly intact, requiring only minor repairs. Rhaegar had the distorted exteriors stripped away and replaced with black dragonstone, creating new outer walls.

The tops of the towers were restored to their original heights and levels, and decorated with stone dragon carvings in the style of the Sea Dragon Tower on Dragonstone Island.

The Kingspyre Tower featured carvings of Cannibal, while the Widow’s Tower, connected to it, was adorned with the likeness of Grey Ghost, a dragon that had moved from Dragonstone Island to Isle of Faces.

The Wailing Tower, with its storeroom and vast cellar, bore the symbol of Syrax, representing fertility. The Tower of Dread, linked to a rebuilt sept, had its spire carved with Dreamfyre, Helaena’s dragon.

The Tower of Ghosts still had no dragon sculpture, as Aegon’s Sunfyre was used to the last current generation of dragon masters of House Targaryen.

With the completion of these towers, Harrenhal’s style was transformed forever. Once dark and devastated, it had become the grandest castle in Westeros.

To placate the Faith, Rhaegar rebuilt the sept, cut down the burned weirwood trees, and replaced them with ornamental trees, a project that took a year and a half. Consequently, some sections of Harrenhal’s walls remained unfinished, still being repaired with black dragonstone.

Seeing Rhaegar’s pride, Rhaenyra smiled genuinely and offered heartfelt praise. One major reason Rhaegar had not returned to King’s Landing was the demanding construction schedule at Harrenhal, leaving him no time to spare.

“I’m full,” Helaena said, putting down her knife and fork. Her cheeks were bulging and she took a sip of fruit wine to help with her full stomach.

Rhaegar chuckled softly. “Go to bed now, Helaena. We’ll go back to King’s Landing tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh, good night, brother.” Helaena hopped out of her chair and walked around the table to give Rhaegar a hug. Then, glancing at Rhaenyra, who was sipping red wine, she approached briskly and reached out for another hug. “Good night, sister.”

With that, Helaena wiped her mouth and made her way up the stairs from the Great Hall. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was huge, with two corridors and countless rooms branching off the stairs.

Once Helaena was gone, Rhaenyra turned back to Rhaegar. “Rhaegar, you and Jeyne…”

“She’s fine. I saw her three months ago,” Rhaegar replied, his demeanor relaxed, the awkwardness of the previous days gone. “She understands my decision. I’ll explain everything to her when I get the chance.”

“Good. It’s important that you keep that in mind,” Rhaenyra nodded, asking no further questions. Jeyne had been remarkably understanding, staying peacefully in the Vale and communicating only through ravens. Even though Rhaenyra couldn’t fully accept what had happened, she admired Jeyne’s tolerance.

When dinner was nearly finished, Rhaegar pulled out two letters. “Tyland wrote to me a few days ago about a severe drought in Dorne. Bands of mobs have started roaming the borders.”

Rhaenyra took the papers, her expression growing serious. “It’s not just Dorne that’s having problems. The Tyrell House  in Highgarden is also in trouble.”

She continued, “Lord Tyrell is very old and has only one son, who has been weak and sickly since childhood. Recently, the heir contracted a cold and died in the Citadel. With no other sons, Lord Tyrell sent a letter to you, implicitly seeking permission to legitimize a bastard.”

Rhaenyra’s face grew stern. “Rhaegar, you must never agree to this. Your status cannot support such approval.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t written back,” Rhaegar reassured her, taking a calm sip of his fruit wine.

In Westeros, where bloodlines were paramount, bastards were greatly disfavored. As the king’s eldest son and heir to the kingdom, Rhaegar was among those least able to support the legitimacy of bastards. Supporting a bastard for the Highgarden succession could set a dangerous precedent, potentially undermining his own position and that of his family.

Relieved, Rhaenyra sighed. “The Tully and Tyrell families both face similar problems with their heirs.”

Old Tully’s eldest son had died in battle, leaving Riverrun without a clear heir. For the past three years, he had wavered between his two younger sons and his grandson. While the second son should theoretically be first in line, both were too weak and foolish. The grandson, though mediocre, was at least capable.

Old Tully wanted to make his grandson heir, but his two younger sons had banded together to cause trouble and disturb the peace of Riverrun. Rhaegar, unwilling to interfere, left the Tullys to resolve their problems independently.

Seeing Rhaenyra’s frustration, Rhaegar smiled helplessly. “But these two families are among the most loyal to the Crown. We can’t just ignore them.”

“Let’s not talk about them anymore. It’s frustrating,” Rhaenyra said in exasperation.

“It’s late. Let’s get some sleep,” Rhaegar suggested.

“Very well. Serve your queen and take me to bed,” Rhaenyra replied playfully, opening her arms.

Rhaegar laughed and rose to carry her.

…

The next morning, Harrenhal Castle buzzed with activity as craftsmen worked on repairing the walls. Most of these workers had come from King’s Landing, deployed by Maester Maynard of the Dragonpit. The rest were slaves and natives of the Riverlands.

Rhaegar estimated that about 1,000 craftsmen and their families, a total of 4,000 to 5,000 people, now lived within the castle. Fortunately, the vast expanse of Harrenhal easily accommodated them all.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the thunderous roar of dragons, accompanied by fierce winds that swept over the castle walls. The craftsmen steadied themselves and looked up in awe.

In the clear sky, a massive black dragon, as dark as charcoal, led the way, its wings casting a wide shadow over the land. Dreamfire, slightly smaller, flew alongside, carrying Helaena, whose eyes sparkled with excitement as she soared through the clouds.

The smallest of the trio, Syrax, followed, three times smaller than Cannibal and not yet an adult.

The three dragons circled the vast expanse of God’s Eye Lake before heading southeast in a less traveled direction. A few dozen miles from Harrenhal, they approached a large, unwalled village.

From the sky, the village was a sprawling beehive of human activity. The houses were strange, with round stone walls and conical roofs of wooden beams that resembled large mushrooms with brown caps and gray stalks. This was Mushroom Village, a bustling market community.

The village was a mix of free folk loyal to Rhaegar, slaves, and women and children taken in from Flea Bottom. It thrived on trading regional specialties, leather goods, and handicrafts. Rhaegar had even acquired several fruit groves, and the slaves produced a popular, refreshing sweet fruit wine that sold well at the market.

Mushroom Village had become a major trading hub, attracting merchants from the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and even as far as the Vale, the Reach, and the Stormlands. Each year, the wealth generated by the market grew exponentially.

As the dragons flew overhead, the Cannibal’s eyes gleamed with superiority. With a powerful flap of its wings, it soared over the bustling village below, indifferent to the small gathering of people that seemed like mere bugs from its vantage point.

…

The sun rose, casting its warm light over the land and melting away the winter chill. As a coastal city, King’s Landing rarely saw snow, but the cold and damp climate was still harsh. Every winter, the alleys of Flea Bottom were littered with the bodies of those who had succumbed to the cold and hunger. This winter, however, had been different.

The king had heeded Prince Rhaegar’s advice and given the homeless refugees land in the kingdom to farm. Prince Rhaegar himself had welcomed many women and children into the Riverlands, providing them with work and a means to survive. As a result, the people of King’s Landing fared better than in previous winters.

As the morning wore on, the temperature slowly rose.

“Roar…”

A muffled dragon roar echoed through King’s Landing. The black dragon, Cannibal, circled above, its mouth spewing a trail of green dragonfire. People emerged from their homes, leaning against the walls to bask in the sun. When they heard the dragon’s roar, they looked up in awe.

“The black dragon belongs to Prince Rhaegar…”

“Prince Rhaegar has returned!”

The sight of Cannibal brought the image of the young prince to their minds and filled them with hope. In recent years, Prince Rhaegar and his dragon had rarely been seen in King’s Landing, often staying in the Riverlands. Each appearance of the black dragon stirred the hearts of the people, who admired a prince who cared for the commoners.

“Roar…”

Cannibal completed two full circles over King’s Landing, heralding the return of both dragon and rider. Following closely, Dreamfire and Syrax descended towards the Dragonpit.

At the gates of the Dragonpit, the wiry Maester Maynard awaited, his face lit with excitement. As Cannibal landed, Rhaegar dismounted and greeted him.

“Prince, it’s been a long time,” Maynard said, joyfully limping forward.

“Long time no see, Maynard,” Rhaegar replied with a smile. “This time, I’ll be staying in King’s Landing for a while.”

“Excellent,” Maynard said, clapping his hands with glee.

“Roar…”

A sharp dragon roar emanated from within the Dragonpit. Rhaegar turned, peering into the dim interior where a scarlet hue flickered.

“Can it fly?” Rhaegar asked, frowning slightly.

Maynard shook his head regretfully. “It’s quite a struggle. The improperly healed wounds keep tearing and reconnecting. It’ll take at least a year and a half before it can return to the sky.”

Rhaegar nodded, handing Cannibal over to the Dragonkeepers. Even in his absence, the Dragonpit remained under his control, ensuring the safety and care of his dragons.