Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 260: Harbinger of a Storm

The Great Hall of Riverrun

Two priests, clad in robes and clutching their bibles, waited in silence. Their calm faces exuded the aura of devout believers.

Footsteps echoed through the hall.

The priests looked up towards the smaller hall on the second floor. Elmo emerged, catching their attention. They tightened their grips on their bibles, aware of the previous night’s events.

Elmo approached the Lord’s high seat but did not sit. Instead, he stood by, waiting.

Under the disbelieving gazes of the priests, Old Lord Tully, supported by two young maids, hobbled into the hall.

“The Seven bless you, Lord Grover, for recovering from your illness,” one priest said, clasping his hands in surprise at Tully’s presence.

“Hmph! A minor ailment won’t be the end of me,” Lord Tully scoffed, dismissing the so-called blessing of the Seven.

If the Seven truly blessed the Tully House, they would have provided him with a worthy heir.

The priests exchanged glances, contemplating whether to mention Milov. The tempting promises made by Milov weighed heavily on their minds.

One priest decided to speak. “Lord Grover, there was an incident in Riverrun last night involving your second son, Milov…”

“Silence, you damned fools!” Old Tully roared, pointing an accusatory finger at the priests. “Look at the chaos you’ve caused, pitting my children against each other for power. You dare claim to be followers of the Seven!”

As his voice echoed through the hall, a group of soldiers stormed in.

“Seize them! Search for evidence of their crimes. I will escort these scoundrels to the Oldtown Church for judgment,” Tully commanded with disdain.

During their time in Riverrun, the priests had taken bribes and indulged in debauchery. Prostitutes could testify against them. Tully had no patience for hypocrisy and wanted to root out the corruption head on.

“Yes, my lord!” The soldiers, their faces grim, overpowered the priests, breaking their arms and legs on the spot.

“Ah! We are believers of the Seven! You cannot do this to us!”

“The Father will not forgive you!”

The priests’ screams echoed as they were dragged away, their bibles abandoned on the floor.

Old Tully turned to Elmo. “This is how you deal with scoundrels who deceive and manipulate.”

The Faith of the Seven might be revered, but it had no place in the noble succession. The priests had crossed a line, and House Tully must respond decisively.

Rhaegar and Lord Lymond emerged from the side hall, clapping in satisfaction. For the non-believing nobles, seeing the Seven Divine Churches dealt with so decisively was a rare and gratifying sight.

Old Tully turned to Lord Lymond with a sneer. “Why are you still here? Haven’t I given you enough money and provisions?”

Lymond replied with a solemn expression, “The money and supplies are appreciated. I’ll be leaving soon, but I must warn you: a powerful new house has emerged among the Ironborn, and they’re causing trouble.”

“I know,” scoffed Old Tully, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. “No matter how powerful, they’re still just pirates.”

Rhaegar stepped forward, his face cold. “Old Tully, there’s trouble brewing in King’s Landing. I must leave as well.”

The news of Boremund’s impending death demanded his immediate return to make preparations. Old Tully, though surprised, didn’t argue. “Thank you for your help, Prince. I’ll have Elmo prepare a gift for your journey to Harrenhal.”

Rhaegar waved off the offer. “As you wish, but no need to trouble yourself.” With that, he bid farewell to Lord Lymond and headed towards the stairs.

“Prince, wait!” Old Tully shouted as Rhaegar began to descend.

Rhaegar turned back, confused. Old Tully’s face was conflicted, his grip on his walking stick tightening and loosening. “Do you remember the woman I spoke of? Alys Rivers?”

Rhaegar’s brow furrowed as he remembered. “Lord Lyonel’s bastard daughter?”

He remembered the green-eyed woman with ample breasts. Old Tully had once mentioned something peculiar about her, hinting at ulterior motives toward Lord Lyonel.

The only impression he had of Alys Rivers was when she secretly invaded his bed before he moved to Harrenhal.

That day, he almost accidentally killed her, thinking she was an assassin but at the time, Rhaegar was preoccupied with repairing Harrenhal and paid little attention to it.

Old Tully leaned forward, his voice low. “She is not Lord Lyonel’s daughter. She was his nursemaid.”

“What?!” Rhaegar was stunned, thinking he had heard wrong. Alys Rivers appeared to be in her early thirties, with flawless skin and a youthful face. How could she have been Lord Lyonel’s nursemaid?

Lord Lyonel was in his forties, which meant that his nursemaid would be at least sixty. If Alys Rivers was indeed his nursemaid, she would date back to the time of Rhaegar’s great-grandfather, Jaehaerys I. Could she be some kind of old woman?

Old Tully’s expression was grave. “I learned from the old servants of the House of Strong that she nursed not only Lord Lyonel but also his two heirs.”

“Her appearance has remained unnaturally youthful, seemingly around thirty years old, which is rumored to be the result of bathing in the blood of young girls. She is most likely an evil forest witch.”

Rhaegar sucked in a breath in horror. If this was true, he had almost been seduced by a woman as old as his grandmother.

“Seven hells! Thank the gods I remained faithful,” he muttered, feeling a wave of nausea as he remembered the woman’s shameless sweet talk.

Old Tully’s face darkened, his voice heavy with concern. “This woman is dangerous, and I suspect she had ill intentions toward Lord Lyonel.”

Rhaegar’s eyes widened. “She disappeared six months ago?”

Old Tully nodded. “Her whereabouts are unknown, but according to the servants of the Strong House, Alys Rivers was close to Larys Strong.”

Rhaegar’s grip tightened on the Dragon Claw hilt at his waist. Larys Strong had long served as the Lord Confessor in the Red Keep. If Ally Haven had indeed joined forces with Larys, she might be hiding in the Red Keep itself.

“Prince, whether or not Alys Rivers is a forest witch, she should not be allowed near the royal family,” Old Tully warned.

He is a traditional and stubborn person.

In his eyes, magic is always a dangerous thing.

A witch who is rumored to use the blood of young girls to maintain her beauty is even more dangerous for in his eyes.

If he hadn’t discovered that Alys Rivers was disloyal to Lord Lyonel Strong, he wouldn’t have paid attention to investigate.

Rhaegar nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Thank you, Old Tully. Your information is invaluable.”

“You should remain vigilant, Prince,” Old Tully advised.

“I will,” Rhaegar assured him and turned to leave.

As he walked away, Rhaegar’s mind raced. “Alys Rivers… Forest Witch…”

He remembered the last time he had heard of Forest Witches, during an incident with Shadowbinders at Crackclaw Point when he was six years old.

The Forest Witch’s notebook had detailed various dark magics: sensing the minds of trees and plants, shapeshifting, and, most terrifying of all, necromancy-the power to raise the dead.

…

The sun shone brightly at noon.

“Roar…”

A black dragon shadow broke through the thin clouds and hovered over God’s Eye Lake.

Below, directly opposite the Isle of Faces, stood the towering dragon’s nest.

Over the past three years, the Isle of Faces had grown in size due to the constant movement of the earth’s crust. The Dragon’s Nest was built on the northern shore of the island, resembling a dark mountain with a cavernous opening.

On the southern shore, a pier was built for ships to dock. In the center of the island, where several weirwood trees once stood, the lush greenery had been cleared away to make way for a white stone palace.

Inside the palace, a hot spring bubbled, the heat rising in steamy wisps. A few weirwoods were rooted to the bottom of the spring; their red leaves had ceased to grow, and the maesters considered them dead. The water, full of sulfur and other minerals, was too hot for even the hardy weirwoods to survive.

Rhaegar, naked, soaked himself in the bubbling hot spring. He had rested well the night before and sought the warmth of the spring to relax.

With his eyes closed and his chest gently rising and falling, Rhaegar seemed to be asleep.

Without realizing it, he drifted into a dream.

In broad daylight, over a vast, calm sea, seabirds flew in flocks, the salty sea breeze carrying a faint scent of blood.

“Roar…”

An angry dragon’s roar echoed across half the sea.

From a unique vantage point, Rhaegar saw a huge dragon soar into the sky. On its back was a small, silver-haired child whose face was indistinct.

“ROAR!”

Another dragon roared, the clouds swelling as a green-scaled dragon’s tail flashed by.

Boom…

Golden and crimson dragonfire collided, sending thick clouds of searing, rolling sparks into the air.

“Roar…”

Suddenly, another slightly smaller dragon flew in from the distance and joined the dragon battle in the clouds.

This dragon had dark red scales, slender horns, and crowns, with dark-colored pupils gleaming fiercely.

Rhaegar clenched his fists, staring intently at the new dragon.

Its size was similar to the Red Queen Meleys and the Bloodwyrm Caraxes, but Rhaegar was certain it was neither.

This was a dragon he had never seen before.