Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 635: Blood Dragon’s Wild Dance

“Don’t worry, there’s always a place for us to shine,” Aemon said with a grin, giving a playful shoulder bump.

Rhaena hastily looked down, trying to hide her emotions beneath her brow.

“The Small Council is not what worries me the most. After all, they are subject to the royal family.” Rhaenyra rubbed her brow, a sense of loss in her voice. “Baelon is very brave, but it tears me apart to think of him—a mere child—going off to war.”

She hadn’t been able to sleep for the past few nights. Even in sleep, the cries of her child echoed in her ears, nearly crushing her heart.

“So, what are your thoughts?” Mysaria, the White Worm, leaned forward, her gaze locking onto Rhaenyra’s.

The queen is a woman, and women are naturally soft and afraid of war, her fears growing with each passing day as her child remained on the battlefield.

After a moment of contemplation, she spoke, “I think the continent of Essos is on the right track, and Rhaegar should be brought back to take charge.”

“You can manage the overall situation, and only a little help is needed,” Mysaria replied, frowning slightly.

“That’s different,” Rhaenyra murmured quietly. I always feel something big is about to happen, and the father of my child needs to be there, she thought, unable to shake her unease. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to soothe the tension in her brow.

Mysaria, still thoughtful, said, “If you’ve made a decision, I can send a raven to deliver the message for you.”

The uncle and nephew who would dare to kill even gods were stationed on the continent of Essos, and the rebellion could not withstand the wrath of the Dragonfire. It seemed wise to withdraw in time.

“Fine, write the letter,” Rhaenyra agreed, reaching for documents from a drawer to look them over. “Baelon’s fleet is cruising in The Summer Sea, and supplies must be transported from Lys and Tyrosh.”

The two Free Cities lacked leadership, and their efficiency left much to be desired.

Mysaria finished writing and suggested, “Ravens aren’t as fast as dragons, and no one can control the order.”

Rhaenyra paused, glancing back at her two children. “You can’t leave King’s Landing. Lys needs someone in charge.”

“A member of the royal family settling in will give Prince Baelon peace of mind on the frontlines,” Mysaria replied confidently.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak but stopped, raising a hand to cover her lips. Who should I send?

Mysaria continued, analyzing the situation. “Prince Aegon is recovering from his injuries, Prince Aemond is missing, so the only person you can count on is the child you raised yourself.”

“Send me,” Aemon said without hesitation, his face uncharacteristically serious. Being able to deliver a message to his father and manage the rear for his brother was the task he had longed for.

“I can go too,” Rhaena’s voice came out as a whisper, barely audible. “I’m young, but I think I can make it across the Narrow Sea.”

Mysaria glanced at Rhaena and responded solemnly, “The Prince’s dragon can already handle itself.”

Rhaena couldn’t hide her disappointment as she passed, her heart heavy.

Rhaenyra reached out, her hands brushing the faces of her two children, her gaze gentle as a pool of still water. She examined every strand of hair, every pore with care.

“Go, both of you,” she suddenly declared, pulling the children into a warm embrace and kissing each of them softly. “One of you will go to the other side of the Narrow Sea, and the other to The Eyrie in the Vale.”

Rhaena looked up in surprise, her cheeks pressed gently against her mother’s soft shoulder.

“You will go to The Eyrie and find Lady Jeyne,” Rhaenyra instructed, her delicate fingers pressing lightly on her daughter’s arm. “Have her send troops from Gulltown to reinforce the battle at The Summer Sea.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” came the quick response.

Rhaenyra’s eyes misted over, but her resolve remained firm. “Right, let’s get ready quickly,” she added softly, releasing her two children.

While her foster daughter changed into her dragon riding clothes, Rhaenyra called her second son, Aemon, into another room—the king’s chambers.

Though it was broad daylight outside, the bedroom was dimly lit. Rhaenyra drew back the curtains, allowing sunlight to spill over the silver and gold hair of mother and son.

Aemon stood in the doorway, waiting for her words.

“Your dragon is bigger and stronger,” Rhaenyra began, a touch of nostalgia in her voice as she gently ruffled Aemon’s hair, just as she used to do with Rhaegar when he was a child.

“And the journey ahead will be long and dangerous.” Her tone turned serious. “First, go to Storm’s End and secure Lady Maris’s support. Then, you must find your third uncle, Aemond.”

“I will,” Aemon replied with a nod, his determination clear.

“After that, I need you to go to Qohor. Find your father and persuade him to return himself,” Rhaenyra continued. The matters in Tyrosh and Lys were of less importance now. Aemon understood the deeper meaning of her words—the tide of war was shifting, and soon, it would be up to his father and uncles to lead the charge.

“That’s enough for now,” Rhaenyra said, taking a deep breath. She turned away to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes. When she faced her son again, she moved toward the wall, where the clan sword Truefyre hung. Taking it down with care, she handed it to Aemon, her face tender. “Take it,” she said softly, offering it with both hands. “Take your father’s sword. From now on, you are a man.”

Aemon’s spirits soared, his hands trembling as he touched the scabbard. Truefyre, inlaid with rubies, symbolized “blood and fire”—the beginning of war. He marveled at the legacy it carried, just like the other great swords: Blackfyre, which stood for royal authority, the Dark Sister for unity, and Dragon Claw for bravery.

“I won’t let this sword down,” Aemon vowed, gripping it tightly.

Rhaenyra, filled with emotion, touched the Valyrian necklace around her neck. Her fingers lingered on the dragonhead pendant of Balerion on the left, then moved to the dragon pendant of Vhagar on the right. Finally, with a resolute gesture, she removed the Meraxes pendant from the middle. Aemon watched in surprise as she linked it to a chain and placed it around his neck.

“This is a reward for your mission,” she said, her voice warm. “It’s from your father. Now, it’s yours.”

Aemon touched the pendant, feeling the lingering warmth from his mother’s skin. Rhaenyra cupped his face in her hands, kissing his left cheek gently, her lips trembling with unspoken words. “Go now,” she whispered, “and remember to feed your dragon well.”

With Truefyre in hand and the pendant resting against his chest, Aemon left the chambers, excitement coursing through him.

…

The skies above King’s Landing trembled as two young dragons—one green and the other pale pink—took flight from the Dragonpit, soaring in opposite directions.

The green dragon, powerful and fierce, swooped down from the high clouds, its long, scorpion-like tail cutting through the waves of Blackwater Bay below. The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a tranquil glow over the sea and the city.

On the open-air corridor of the Red Keep, Rhaenyra stood at the railing, her knuckles white as she gripped the stone edge. She watched the dragons vanish into the distance, her heart heavy with unspoken fears.

Though the scene was peaceful, the tension in her body betrayed the storm within.

…

Qohor.

Qohor.

A pale green dragon, its butterfly-like grey and white markings blending seamlessly with the dense forest below, danced through the air.

“Hurry up, Moondancer,” Baela tugged on the reins, urging the young dragon to fly faster.

Moondancer responded with a soft, long whistle, leaning into the rush of wind as it dove down from the sky, heading toward the towering Free Cities built into the mountains. Its wings fanned out, sending a gust of wind swirling up leaves in its wake. The dragon was fast, its movements light as a swallow.

Before the sun had fully set, Baela and Moondancer landed smoothly. Baela bit off her leather gloves and took long strides toward the temple hall. The rebellion in the golden fields had been mostly quelled—only a few insignificant stragglers remained.

Her king and cousin had summoned her back urgently that night.

“Daeron didn’t come back?” she asked as she entered the hall, where Rhaegar was busy planting flags across the sand table.

“He’s still tidying up,” Rhaegar replied.

Baela glanced at the sand table, covered with towns and markets occupied by the House on the continent of Essos. A surge of pride filled her. Compared to Daeron, who focused on rebuilding villages, deploying war elephants, and reclaiming water channels, she preferred invasion and conquest, carrying forward the glory of ancient Valyria.

“It seems you get along well,” Rhaegar noted, in a good mood. He pulled down a flag and planted it in Pentos, muttering, “The Disputed Lands are impassable, not like the Valyrian roads in Pentos.”

Baela observed him and asked, “Do you want a road that connects everything?” She could go to war and knew she was well-suited for command.

“Of course,” Rhaegar said, smiling, “but not right now.”

Baela was puzzled. “Come and see,” Rhaegar beckoned, resting his fingers on the edge of the sand table where The Summer Sea lay. He couldn’t help but groan. “My eldest son is here, having defeated the pirates of the Triarchy. A good boy, with some skill for warfare.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Baela ventured cautiously.

Compared to their difficult father, Baela and her sisters deeply respected their cousin, who always wore a smile. A smile was not a sign of weakness, just as a cold face was not a weapon. The former warmed hearts, the latter pierced them.

“It’s a good things, but not everything is good,” Rhaegar said, pointing at the Narrow Sea and then The Summer Sea. “The kingdom needs more land to conquer. Sothoryos is too barren.”

As Rhaegar expected, after suppressing the rebellion, his eldest and second sons should have turned their focus to Essos, cultivating the fertile golden wilderness. But Baelon, not one to follow rules, had rushed into war against the Basilisk Isles. The war, which had just subsided, flared up again—this time shifting to The Summer Sea.

Baela, ever astute, asked bluntly, “Your Grace, what do you want me to do?”

Rhaegar smiled slightly, appreciating her directness. “Two things: First, go to The Eyrie in the Vale and ask Jeyne to send troops from Gulltown to defend against Braavos and Pentos. Second, drag Aemon out of his comfortable lair in King’s Landing and position him to guard Tyrosh and Lys from the rear.”

Baela listened carefully, then asked, “Am I staying?”

Tyrosh had a role for her, and it was better to be with her fiancé than continue patrolling the Forest of Qohor.

“As you wish,” Rhaegar said, unconcerned. “But be careful on the road. I have a bad feeling about this.” He paused, thinking of the bearded priests of Norvos and the nightmares by Dagger Lake. None of it boded well.

“Understood,” Baela replied, her voice high with excitement. She barely caught her breath. “I will complete the mission.”

With that, she strapped on her backpack and strode out the door.

Rhaegar watched her leave in silence, hoping in his heart that this reassignment would prove to be perfect.

…

Forest of Qohor.

“Roar!”

The young dragon soared into the air, its light green scales blending seamlessly with the dense forest below until it vanished into the vast wilderness.

“First stop, The Eyrie.”

Baela pulled out a piece of parchment, carefully jotting down the route before slipping it back into her backpack with satisfaction. She was a meticulous person, always cautious, fearing she might miss even the smallest detail.

After finishing her tasks, she wanted to pull Aemon to her side. ‘Let’s see what Daemon has to say.’

“Roar!”

Moondancer, thrilled by the journey, snorted and picked up speed, blowing away the fallen leaves swirling around her.