Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 268: The Free Cities Ambition

Humiliated by his opponent, Aegon’s pride burned. If Rhaegar could defeat Daemon, then so could he.

“Aegon, you should shut up,” Rhaegar said coldly. He despised stupidity, and his brother epitomized it.

“Daemon is the guilty one!” Aegon retorted defiantly.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening, but someone else acted first.

With a sudden movement, Rhaegar grabbed Aegon by the neck and lifted him like a rag doll. “Aegon, if you want to throw tantrums, do it back at the Red Keep. Don’t cause trouble here,” he said icily. He turned his head towards Daemon, pointing sharply. “Uncle, that goes for you too. I’m done cleaning up after everyone.”

This wasn’t a place for reckless behavior. Their every action reflected on the Targaryen honor. Rhaegar would not tolerate his family tarnishing their legacy.

Daemon sensed the warning in his nephew’s eyes. He glanced at Rhaegar, his expression unreadable, before leading his wife past him. As he departed, the tension eased.

Aegon, still held by the neck, struggled to breathe, his face turning red. His hands clawed at Rhaegar’s grip in desperation. In that moment, the fear of the past overwhelmed him.

Seeing Aegon’s distress, Rhaenyra rushed forward. “Rhaegar, let go of Aegon, he can’t breathe,” she pleaded, her voice laced with anxiety.

“I’m just trying to teach him a lesson,” Rhaegar said, releasing his grip and feeling a surge of relief from his anger.

Aegon collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat and coughing violently, tears streaming from his eyes. Aemond, watching in fear, tugged at Aegon’s coat, his body trembling.

“Let’s go, the feast is starting,” Rhaegar said indifferently.

Rhaenyra took his hand, squeezing his knuckles in a gesture of helpless support.

…

Late at night, Storm’s End Castle was ablaze with light. The banquet, filled with merriment, was set to last until dawn.

Around the table, members of the Targaryen and Velaryon families Houses. Thanks to the efforts of a few of the women, the atmosphere was congenial, filled with laughter and toasts.

Rhaegar, deep in thought, suddenly asked, “Uncle, what are the recent movements of the Triarchy?”

At his question, the lively chatter at the table ceased.

Daemon, swirling his wine, responded frankly, “The Triarchy is as ambitious as ever, constantly plotting to regain their power.”

He glossed over the recent plundering of cargo ships, focusing instead on the Triarchy’s covetous designs on the Stepstones.

“The pirates of the Triarchy are like weeds—impossible to eradicate,” Rhaegar agreed, before shifting the topic. “I’ve heard that the Tiger Party of Volantis has its eyes on the Triarchy?”

Rhaegar had his own sources, probing into the affairs of the Free Cities.

Volantis, the oldest of the Free Cities, held on to many Valyrian traditions. Its political system, a remnant of the Freehold era, saw three rulers elected annually from the native Tiger and Elephant parties. The Tigers, aristocrats and warriors, believed in conquest by force, while the Elephants, merchants and moneylenders, favored trade.

During Volantis’s last invasion of the Triarchy, Aegon the Conqueror had intervened, defeating them with Balerion the Black Dread. Since then, the Tiger Party had waned, electing only one consul to the Elephants’ two. However, with the Triarchy weakened from their loss in the Stepstones, Volantis now saw an opportunity.

Daemon took a sip of wine, impressed by his nephew’s knowledge. “Volantis is stagnant. Without change, it’s bound to decline.”

“So the Tiger Party is actually considering war?” Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed.

He had no love for the Triarchy and saw potential in the turmoil. The Free Cities fighting among themselves could be beneficial.

“I’m not sure,” Daemon admitted. “Volantis has always spurned the Targaryens.”

He grinned, “If you’re really interested, you should see for yourself.”

“Go to Volantis…” Rhaegar mused. He had rarely ventured into Essos, having only visited Braavos and Pentos. His brief foray into the Triarchy had been hasty, yielding little more than some money and slaves.

Now, however, he found himself intrigued.

Rhaenyra leaned forward and whispered, “Do you want to leave?”

Rhaegar blinked and made no immediate reply.

“Volantis is near Slaver’s Bay and the ruins of Valyria – a free city full of slavery,” Rhaenyra continued, her eyes bright with excitement. She had never been to Volantis and hoped to entice Rhaegar into the adventure.

Sensing her anticipation, Rhaegar squeezed her hand and considered his next move. After a moment, he turned to Daemon and said, “Uncle, the Dornishmen are active on the border. The kingdom cannot afford to fight across the sea.”

He had considered provoking Volantis into conflict with the Triarchy, remembering Daemon’s past ambitions in the Stepstones. A thought occurred to him: perhaps Daemon could use this situation to gain military power over the islands.

Daemon, though proud and self-satisfied, had always cared for his family. In his youth, he had coveted the Iron Throne. Now, in middle age, with a wife and children, his ambitions had shifted to territorial control.

Rhaegar understood Daemon’s psychology but did not share his approach. Targaryen control of Westeros was not yet absolute. The North was largely autonomous, the West faced raids from the Iron Islands, and the Riverlands and the Reach had their own succession issues. In addition, Prince Qoren of Dorne was too ambitious.

Rhaegar believed it was premature to extend their reach across the Narrow Sea. Overreaching could destabilize the kingdom and erode public support.

Daemon’s expression darkened as he realized that his nephew had partially revealed his intentions. Without giving him a chance to respond, Rhaegar stood and pushed back his chair. “I’ve eaten enough. I’m going to rest.”

Rhaenyra, momentarily stunned, smiled apologetically at her hosts before rising to follow him. The atmosphere around the table cooled noticeably.

Aegon, gritting his teeth, angrily sliced the roasted meat on his plate, but no one paid him any attention.

Corlys, his face dark and pensive, exchanged a glance with Daemon. Daemon, unperturbed by the revelation of his plans, poured himself another glass of wine.

Laena lowered her head and rubbed her belly, her eyes filled with worry.

…

As the funeral ended, the guests began to disperse and return to their homes.

“Roar…”

Vhagar and Meleys soared into the sky, heading for Driftmark.

In the front yard of Storm’s End, Cannibal and Syrax stood a short distance apart. Rhaegar and Rhaenyra faced each other in the empty space.

Rhaenyra’s expression was cold and silent.

Rhaegar sighed, breaking the silence. “Rhaenyra, you should be overseeing Aegon and the others on their safe return to King’s Landing. That’s more important than following me.”

“Aegon is old enough to look after his brothers and sisters,” Rhaenyra retorted, her voice icy. She was furious that Rhaegar had refused her request to accompany him. She longed to explore the free cities with him, not be left behind.

Rhaegar tried to explain. “You know Alicent’s temper. Besides, my plans go beyond just visiting Volantis, and there are dangers involved.”

He had had a dream the night before – a vision of a smoky sea with an inaudible voice echoing through it. From the map, it resembled the Smoking Sea. He wanted to fly on Cannibal and see what had become of the Targaryen homeland.

“Rhaegar, do you think I’m a burden?” Rhaenyra’s frustration was obvious.

“No! You know that’s not what I mean,” Rhaegar replied, smiling bitterly as he embraced her. He remembered how fierce she could be, even as a teenager.

“Just this once, Rhaegar,” Rhaenyra pleaded, her serious demeanor betraying her desperation. She had been trying to convince him for days, feeling unappreciated by his constant refusals.

“I’ll be back soon,” Rhaegar assured her quietly.

Rhaenyra stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you on Dragonstone Island. Remember to miss me.”

“Always,” Rhaegar promised, tightening his embrace before turning to Aegon and Helaena with a few final words.

With Rhaenyra’s reluctant gaze following him, Rhaegar mounted Cannibal and flew off into the distance.

…

King’s Landing

Viserys sat on the Iron Throne and listened to the northern envoy’s report.

“Your Grace, I appreciate the invitation to the tournament, but I must inform you that Rickon Stark has passed away. Consequently, neither I nor any representative from the North can attend,” said Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton, a strong old man with a grim expression.

Viserys frowned, his face reflecting sorrow. “Lord Rickon’s passing grieves me deeply, just as Lord Bormund’s did. Losing two guardian lords in such a short time is a heavy blow.”

After a moment of reflection, Viserys asked, “Who holds power at Winterfell now?”

Roderick answered directly, “Before his death, Lord Rickon passed the title to his only son, Cregan Stark. However, young Cregan is still a minor, so his uncle, Bennard Stark, is overseeing Winterfell and mentoring the new lord.”

“A young heir,” Viserys sighed. “I hope both Bennard and Cregan will be able to attend the tournament. I regret that I cannot travel to the North in person to offer my condolences.”

Roderick nodded. “I will convey Your Grace’s sentiments to Winterfell.”

With the report concluded, Lord Dustin took his leave.

Viserys, weary and burdened by the Seven Kingdoms’ troubles, lost focus for a moment. His left hand absentmindedly touched the Iron Throne’s armrest.

He had forgotten the throne’s treacherous design, with its sharp blades and lack of proper backrest or armrest.

A sudden pain jolted him back to reality as a deep cut appeared on his left hand, blood flowing freely.

“Ah! Damn it,” he cursed, wincing. The sharp pain brought him fully awake. He quickly shook off his injured hand and stepped down from the Iron Throne, leaving a trail of blood behind him.