Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 599: Filthy Bloodline

The Smoking Sea, a place where lost things linger.

The sky was dim, and the atmosphere hung heavy with an eerie stillness. Torrential rain stirred up a thick mist, while strange fish leaped from the ruins only to plummet back into the murky waters below.

“Roar!”

The Cannibal loomed in the ruins, its massive, dark body like a mountain blocking out half the sky, shielding Rhaegar from the cold rain. Rhaegar stood before the dragon, his eyes cold and focused on the scene ahead.

“Dragon!!”

“It’s a dragon—and a ship...”

A group of ragged, silver-haired figures huddled in the ruins, their eyes wide with fear as they whispered amongst themselves, staring at the black dragon in awe and terror.

In the dim light cast by the dark green dragonfire, Rhaegar could see them clearly. A dozen young men of Valyrian descent, clad in tattered armor and clutching rusty swords. Yet there was something deeply unsettling about them—these men were strange, even deformed. Their faces were mottled with tiny scales, their large purple eyes distorted or split, and their spines twisted unnaturally. Some had protruding teeth, others had upturned noses, and their hands and feet were misshapen.

‘This is a group of... freaks,’ Rhaegar thought, his eyes dark and inscrutable as his expression hardened.

The Cannibal, soaked by the relentless rain, was in a foul mood, its massive jaws emitting wisps of green fire that crackled in the damp air.

“Dragonlord! The foreign Dragonlord...”

The crowd cried out in panic, their voices trembling as they looked up at the towering figure of Rhaegar, their fear palpable.

Rhaegar stood with a commanding presence, his wet silver hair clinging to his face, embodying the inhuman beauty of House Targaryen. Compared to him, the deformed figures before him were nothing more than a pitiful rabble.

“Which Dragonlord is it?” someone whispered, their gaze fixed on the black dragon towering over its rider, its mouth curled in a cruel smirk, eyes glowing with a sinister green light. The dragon’s cunning gaze seemed to fix on the crowd as if it had found a delectable feast.

Pat!

Rhaegar stepped forward, kicking an ugly, monstrous fish out of his path. His voice rang out, sharp and demanding: “Who will tell me the origin of these Free Cities and your people?”

Silence!

A dead silence fell over the crowd. They lowered their heads, hiding behind one another, wishing they could disappear into the cracks in the ground.

Rhaegar scanned the group, but saw no threat—only fear and faces turned away in shame. They concealed their deformed bodies, desperate to hide the fragility that lay beneath their twisted exteriors.

The Sea Snake led the sailors ashore, surrounding the ruined Free Cities with a practiced precision.

“Your Grace,” the Sea Snake muttered, his expression dark as if he were gazing upon something monstrous.

When he first set foot in the Lands of the Long Summer, he had hoped to find descendants of Valyria. But after three months of fruitless searching, he had neither discovered any bloodlines that survived the Doom nor encountered a single noteworthy creature. And now, in this desolate Free City, he was confronted by a grotesque array of... freaks.

“Calm down, Lord Corlys,” Rhaegar said, narrowing his eyes as he pulled out his dragon-finding compass and began his calculations.

The stone pointer spun wildly before settling, pointing to the western edge of the ruined Free Cities, toward a crumbling building near the cliffs by the sea. This indicated that the young blue dragon hadn’t fled but was still hiding somewhere on this land. Consequently, what he sought must also be here.

Tap, tap, tap...

The rain gradually subsided, and a figure emerged from the ruins behind the crowd. He was cloaked in a gray robe riddled with holes, leaning heavily on a cane made of twisted rattan as he limped forward.

“Welcome, distant guests,” the man greeted them, lifting his hood to reveal a rugged, yet handsome face.

“Who are you?” Rhaegar asked, his voice sharp.

The man had long gray hair, dull eyes, and a black robe that barely concealed his bare, crippled foot. He looked less like a Valyrian descendant and more like a warlock from Qarth.

“My name is Xar, Your Magnificence, Dragonlord.” Xar bowed slightly, clutching his cane as if it were a lifeline.

“Xar?” Rhaegar’s eyes flashed with interest. “What is your family name?”

He had seen the banner of House Aurion earlier and was keen to know more.

Xar lowered his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “Dragonlord, there is no need to test us. We are all descendants of the Dragonlord Aurion.” A flush of excitement crossed his stiff face as he added, “May I ask, which house do you hail from?”

His cloudy eyes flicked toward the black dragon, revealing a genuine awe. A true adult dragon—a rarity even before the Doom. To this group, descended from a lineage long thought extinct, the sight was beyond belief.

Rhaegar stood in silence for a moment, his hand tightening around the hilt of Truefyre at his waist. Yet, he didn’t strike. Instead, he gave the Sea Snake a subtle nod.

Understanding the cue, the Sea Snake’s eyes lit up. He stepped forward and proclaimed, “Before you stands Rhaegar of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Conqueror of the Narrow Sea, Emperor of Volantis, Breaker of Shackles, Ruin Maker, and Dragon Herder!”

His voice was powerful, echoing through the damp night air.

Xar was stunned. He whispered, “House Targaryen...”

Wasn’t that the family of exiled Dragonlords? The very house that had once been the laughingstock of Valyria?

“Roar...”

The Cannibal roared, lowering its massive head as its green eyes glowed with a murderous intent.

Rhaegar stood firm before the black dragon and spoke in a deep, commanding voice, “I have come seeking an ancient Valyrian treasure, one that can heal my father’s damaged spirit. Do you know of such a thing?”

...

Late at night, the rain had finally stopped, leaving a heavy stillness in the air. Two tall figures wandered through an abandoned, crumbling palace, their footsteps echoing softly off the decaying walls.

Rhaegar stepped over the rotting bricks and stones, his eyes filled with doubt. “You said this was Tyria, the place where the Soul Restoring Orchid grows?”

Tyria, an ancient Free City, was well-documented in various Dragonlord texts. It had once been one of the central Free Cities of Valyria before its fall.

Grey Hair Shire, ever humble, answered Rhaegar's questions with unwavering deference. “Yes, as you said, Tyria was destroyed long ago after the Doom, leaving no trace of its former glory.”

It was late at night, and the rain had stopped. Two tall figures walked through an abandoned, crumbling palace.

Rhaegar stepped over the decaying bricks and stones, his eyes full of doubt. "You said this was Tyria, where the Soul Restoring Orchid grows?"

Tyria was clearly recorded in various Dragonlord books as an ancient Free City, one of the more central Free Cities of ancient Valyria.

Grey-haired Xar, always humble, answered all questions. "As you said, Tyria was destroyed long ago after the Doom, and there is no trace of its former glory."

Then, he volunteered, "You mentioned you came from the Lands of the Long Summer. There should be another Oros ruin on the other side of the Smoking Sea. My ancestors have been there before. If the fleet does not choose to cross the Smoking Sea, but instead searches for land masses in parallel, it may just happen to come across that ruin."

Rhaegar's eyes flicked as he asked, "Is your ancestor really the Dragonlord Aurion, the survivor who proclaimed himself the Emperor of Old Valyria in Qohor?"

"He did not proclaim himself. At that time, my ancestor was a great man who restored the glory of Old Valyria," Xar immediately retorted, not noticing his footing and almost tripping over a rock.

Rhaegar glanced at him but said nothing. Realizing he had become too emotional, Xar quickly changed his tone. "Of course, no one could have imagined that a fellow Targaryen could take root in the West. Not only did he unify the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, but he also brought both sides of the Narrow Sea and Volantis back into the realm of Old Valyria."

As he spoke, his eyes filled with envy, and his unsteady footsteps became lighter. Such achievements were exactly what the Dragonlord Aurion had pursued. Upholding the will of their ancestors, ancient Valyria was the hope that sustained them in this prison.

Rhaegar thought to himself, testing, 'The Dragonlord of Aurion disappeared into the Smoking Sea, so why did he leave a bloodline in Tyria?' This was what concerned him. The Emperor of ancient Valyria, a survivor of the Doom, was one of the few noble Dragonlords who could ride a dragon. The stories he left behind were far more valuable than a ruined Free City.

"Your Grace, that's a long story," said Xar, lowering his eyes and speaking in a low voice. "Our ancestors wanted to return to the Free Cities, but they were attacked by extreme weather and monsters, and ended up in Tyria. Tyria was in ruins at the time, and the fleet led by my ancestor was almost destroyed, so they could only settle here temporarily. But then disaster struck."

At this point, Xar walked slowly to a blackened wall and said, "The dragon died."

"The dragon of the Dragonlord Aurion?" Rhaegar asked.

"Yes, a fierce red dragon," Xar replied, looking pitiable. "It was like the scarlet dragon that the Dragonlord riding with you was riding, but it was even more massive."

Upon hearing this, Rhaegar nodded slightly. The entire fleet was destroyed, and the only dragon was injured and fell. The Dragonlord of Aurion completely lost the means to restore ancient Valyria, and even more so, the ability to leave the Smoking Sea. Without a doubt, he must have been trapped to death in Tyria.

"But... your bodies..." Rhaegar paused, his voice barely audible.

"You mean our deformities." Xar, whose hair had turned gray, was already numb to the question. He replied flatly, "The Smoking Sea is a cursed land. Whether we marry outsiders or follow tradition to maintain our bloodline, the newborns will have problems—more or less."

The entire population of Tyria was less than a hundred. Most were born with deformities, either idiots or cripples. Even the newborns in recent years were monsters with scales and tails, dying soon after birth. It wouldn't be long before Tyria became a dead city.

Rhaegar's brows knitted together, deepening his understanding of the Smoking Sea. 'No wonder there were no natives in the fertile Lands of the Long Summer. If there were, they must have been cut off from their bloodline.'

"Therefore, Your Grace," Grey-haired Xar fell to his knees and pleaded, "for the sake of our shared dragon's blood, please bring my people out of the Smoking Sea and save them from further degradation."

Rhaegar's expression did not change as he refused. "My ship cannot carry so many people."

"Your Grace, I beg you to show mercy." Grey-haired Xar raised his cane and struck the charred Black Wall, earnestly saying, "You will receive the gift of friendship for ensuring the continuation of another ancient Valyrian bloodline."

"Such as?" Rhaegar asked, tilting his head.

"The Soul Restoring Orchid you need is cultivated in a secret chamber." Grey-haired Xar's eyes were full of sincerity, his speech quickening. "There are also some relics left by our ancestors, which will definitely not disappoint you."

"Oh, there's a secret chamber?" Rhaegar's eyes narrowed as he looked at the nondescript, broken walls in the ruins.

Boom! Xar made a simple gesture, and a gap cracked open under the charred black wall, revealing an underground entrance.

"Your Grace, all you have to do is enter, and you will get what you want."