Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 586: Aemond’s Cruelty

Across the Narrow Sea, Lys.

The sky stretched in a deep, endless blue, mirroring the vast expanse of the sea below. Suddenly, a roar pierced the tranquil air as a black dragon, its wings spanning the sky, streaked across the horizon. The beast's long tail whipped through the calm waters, sending ripples toward the majestic Free Cities perched on the cliffs.

On the streets below, hundreds of civilians paused, their gazes drawn upward in surprise. The black dragon roared again, circling the Free Cities like a predator sizing up its prey before diving toward the Dragonpit with the speed of a shooting star. As it disappeared from sight, the people below watched in a mixture of fear and admiration, their eyes following the deadly creature with a mix of dread and awe.

...

Topless Tower.

Rhaegar emerged from the Dragonpit and ascended the winch rope ladder toward the meeting hall. His purpose was clear: to mobilize the fleet and prepare for their entry into the Smoking Sea. Lys, ever the political heart of both sides of the Narrow Sea, was abuzz with the latest news.

"Daemon returned in a mess, and Slaver's Bay has fallen."

Rhaegar's face remained impassive, though a flicker of joy sparked within him. His uncle's business venture had crumbled, and he wondered if this failure might force the man to reconsider his ambitions in middle age. As for Slaver's Bay... it was a colony no longer worth its name.

Creak!

The winch chain jolted, signaling the ladder's arrival at the top of the Topless Tower. "We're here," a voice announced. Without hesitation, Rhaegar stepped off the ladder and moved steadily toward the council chamber.

...

A council meeting was in progress.

Johanna, the Red Priestess, Varys, and other prominent figures were seated around an oval table carved from Weirwood. Rhaenyra, standing at the head, raised a goblet of wine with a serious expression. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make today.”

Varys, his strange tattoos wriggling beneath his skin, smiled faintly. “Listen carefully,” he murmured. As the steward of the Topless Tower and High Septon, he naturally obeyed the Queen's orders.

Johanna and the Red Priestess exchanged a knowing glance. Something about today's meeting felt off. The Queen was dressed in a magnificent black robe, her golden crown gleaming, and an enigmatic smile constantly played on her lips. The formal attire and confident air hinted at an unusual agenda. This was no ordinary meeting.

“Then, the meeting is officially open.” Rhaenyra smiled, bringing the goblet to her lips. After a brief sip, she whispered, “Ser, please.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ser Lorent, a member of the Kingsguard, solemnly drew his sword and placed it against Johanna's neck.

"Your Grace?" Johanna's face turned pale, panic overtaking her.

“Don't move, Black Swan,” Lorent's voice was cold as his blade nicked a thin line of white flesh on her neck. The sudden turn of events shattered the fragile calm in the hall.

Varys, hands in his pockets, had anticipated this. The Red Priestess stood up abruptly, her tattooed, tear-streaked face full of shock.

“Everyone, remain calm.” Rhaenyra retrieved a list from beside her and tossed it onto the table. “These are Johanna's crimes. She has broken the law.”

“Your Grace!” Johanna's eyes widened as she read the accusations. But Rhaenyra showed no mercy. “You secretly sold female slaves and boys to preserve the vested interests of the old nobility. You betrayed your conscience and committed countless crimes.”

“But I maintained order in Lys,” Johanna pleaded desperately. “As a member of the Topless Tower Council, I have always done my best to help you govern the Free Cities.”

She had sensed something was amiss with the Queen's recent coldness, but now it was all too clear.

Rhaenyra shook her head, cutting her off. “You are dismissed. Your position on the council will be filled.” She tapped her chin, signaling for Johanna to be taken away.

Ser Lorent's face darkened as he grabbed Johanna by the collar, dragging her from the hall like a disobedient child.

Bang!

The door slammed open as the Black Swan was led out by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar, who had just arrived, saw the scene and furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Your Grace,” Mysaria, the White Worm, greeted softly, her pregnant belly prominent as she walked into the meeting hall.

“What’s going on?” Rhaegar stood frozen in place, stunned.

Inside the hall, Rhaenyra, still smiling, took Mysaria’s hand and announced, “From now on, Lady Mysaria will assume Johanna’s duties.”

As she spoke, she glanced at the other council members. Laena, another councilor, was absent due to her pregnancy. The Red Priestess had replaced the Volantis councilor, and Varys remained the steward of the tower.

“Not a bad idea,” Varys said, clapping his hands in agreement.

The Red Priestess, after her initial shock, slowly regained her composure and declared in an official tone, "Slavery is abolished, and Johanna’s crimes are unforgivable."

As a priestess of the Red Temple, she still found it challenging to navigate the power struggles at court. “That’s good. I believe Lys will have a better future.”

Rhaenyra smiled and raised her cup once more. Just yesterday, she had quietly dismantled the old noble faction that had been smuggling female slaves and young boys, winning over the second sons of the Crownlands nobility to colonize new lands. Lys, within the Triarchy, was due for a complete overhaul.

Outside the door, Rhaegar, who had watched the proceedings from start to finish, shook his head. He lost interest in the meeting and turned to follow the Kingsguard, who had already departed.

...

After a long time...

The dungeon in the Topless Tower was damp and dark, with only the dim candlelight from the wall sconces faintly illuminating the floor. Rhaegar, clad in his usual black robe, approached the cell door.

“Who goes there? Stop!” A silver-haired young man called out, halting the black-robed figure's approach.

“It’s me,” Rhaegar replied, slowly raising his head to reveal a cold, expressionless face beneath the hood.

"Your Grace!” Addam gasped in surprise and quickly moved way to not block the man's path.

Rhaegar glanced at him and casually asked, “Are you the bastard son of the Sea Snake?” He recognized the young man who had once saved his child.

“No... no...” Addam's handsome face tensed, and he stammered out a denial.

“Don’t be nervous. What does your identity have to do with me?” Rhaegar patted the young man’s shoulder kindly. “You’re a good lad. You’ll always find a way to make yourself useful.”

Addam’s body stiffened, and he whispered, “It’s all thanks to Lord Corlys.”

Rhaegar smiled faintly, understanding the Sea Snake’s intentions. With Laenor dead and Laena married, the family’s main bloodline had nearly been severed, thanks to the betrayal of nephews and nieces. Raising bastards to high positions was a common strategy among the nobles of Westeros.

“Shouldn’t you be at the port?” Rhaegar asked, glancing at the prison door, trying to coax more information from Addam.

Addam answered promptly, his tone solemn. “The Queen ordered the arrest of the old nobles involved in slave smuggling. I’m overseeing the transport of the prisoners.”

“Oh, I see,” Rhaegar replied, the situation suddenly clear to him. As independent Free Cities under the Crownlands' control, Lys and Myr had garrisons of 1,000 Fearless and 200 Unsullied each. This was the most the royal family could muster after subduing the 5,000-strong Unsullied army. King’s Landing, after all, still required a standing force. The Sea Snake had stationed Addam’s fleet in Lys to supplement Rhaenyra’s lack of armed forces.

“I need to go in and find someone,” Rhaegar said quietly.

Addam hesitated for a moment, then nodded seriously. “Please, go ahead.”

“Very well,” Rhaegar replied, smiling as he walked past. He recognized Addam as a smart man who knew exactly where his loyalties should lie.

...

Deep in the dungeon, the damp walls were slick with mold, and the stench of urine and decay hung thick in the air. Johanna huddled in a corner of her cell, her body trembling with fear. She couldn’t believe it—the Black Swan of Lys, reduced to a prisoner.

Tap, tap, tap...

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, sending a fresh wave of dread through Johanna. She looked up, her eyes widening as Rhaegar approached the cell and removed his hood.

“It’s me,” he said.

The familiar voice startled Johanna, and a flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. “Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she grasped at this final lifeline. Desperately, she crawled toward the cell door.

Rhaegar, however, remained indifferent. “What happened to you?” he asked coolly.

“I don’t know,” Johanna replied, her voice choked with tears. “I served the queen faithfully, but she trusts the White Worm more.” She couldn't comprehend how she, who had done so much for Lys and upheld the queen’s dignity, had ended up here.

Rhaegar sighed, his tone carrying a hint of resignation. “I told you to be more ruthless,” he said. “You never change.”

When Lys was first conquered, he had warned her to purge the old aristocracy swiftly. Now, not only had she brought disaster upon herself, but she had also been caught selling slaves—a severe breach of trust.

“I know I made a mistake,” Johanna pleaded, clutching the bars and the fabric of Rhaegar’s black robe. “Save me, Your Grace.” The thought of spending the rest of her life in this dungeon was unbearable. She knew Rhaenyra's merciless nature would not allow for forgiveness.

Rhaegar looked down at the once-proud Black Swan, now reduced to begging for mercy. His voice remained cold. “Fix your bad habits, and there won’t be a next time.”

“Yes!” Johanna’s face lit up with relief, nodding fervently, like a drowning woman grasping at a lifeline.

“The ship leaves tonight to take my eldest son to Myr,” Rhaegar said, his tone darkening as he turned away. He had no patience for her feigned pitifulness. With that, he left the cell, his departure as cold and final as his words.

Johanna, overwhelmed with gratitude, thanked him repeatedly, tears of relief streaming down her face.

...

Back at the entrance to the dungeon, Addam approached quietly. “Your Grace,” he said, his voice low.

“Let her go,” Rhaegar ordered without turning back. He knew Johanna’s current predicament was due in part to his own leniency and Rhaenyra’s oversight. But one thing was certain—under Johanna’s management, Lys had indeed thrived. She had the means, but lacked the discipline.

With this harsh lesson, perhaps her temperament would change when she moved to Myr, where the rules would be different.

...

It was dusk in King's Landing.

After washing, Helaena followed her mother down the corridor to visit her father, who lay bedridden as usual. They walked side by side, each lost in their own thoughts, their faces reflecting different emotions.

“Roar!”

A sudden dragon's cry echoed from the Red Keep, startling the servants bustling up and down the stairs. Helaena quickly turned, leaning out of a nearby window to catch sight of the commotion.

“Roar!”

A brownish dragon soared leisurely overhead, descending to land in the Godswood behind the Red Keep.

“Aemond is back,” Helaena murmured, her expression unreadable.

...

After some time, Aemond arrived, weary and dust-covered, with his sword at his waist. Alicent’s face lit up with joy at the sight of her lean, handsome second son.

“Aemond, my boy!” she exclaimed, her eyes sweeping over him with a mother’s concern.

“Mother?” Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of doubt in his single eye. She wasn’t supposed to be here in the Red Keep.

Alicent stepped forward, arms outstretched in welcome. But Aemond abruptly sidestepped the embrace.

“No!” he said, avoiding her touch.

Alicent froze, her arms falling awkwardly to her sides. “Aemond?”

His face flushed with embarrassment, Aemond awkwardly deflected, “Since you're back, make sure to take good care of Father.” He then glanced at Helaena, who stood silently by the bed, and gently pulled her away.

He couldn't understand why his mother still treated him like a child, yearning for maternal affection he had long outgrown. 'Targaryen men...', he thought, 'didn’t need such burdens.'