August. The scorching summer sun blazed overhead.
King's Landing, Mud Gate.
At noon, the heat was at its peak. Fishermen pulled in their sails, carrying their modest catches of fish, and huddled in the shade of the city walls, feeling a deep sense of contentment.
They were grateful for the king's benevolent rule—many of the idlers and thugs in the city had been rounded up and sent to cultivate the land outside the city.
As a result, Mud Gate no longer reeked of vagrants' urine. Now, only the pungent smell of fish and rotting seafood remained.
An old fisherman, his face sallow and weathered, lay barefoot on the cracked mud ground, speaking in a thick accent, "Did you hear? The Crown Prince conquered the Three Daughters and is returning to King's Landing?"
"Of course, that news has spread all over Flea Bottom. Do you think you're breaking some big story?"
"Old Shue, you're just repeating what everyone already knows."
The words were like a stone tossed into a still lake, triggering a round of laughter and teasing from the nearby fishermen.
Old Shue clutched two fish eagerly and retorted, "You lot don't understand. The prince's return means the Three Daughters are now part of our territory!"
"Tch, that's noblemen's business. What's it got to do with a mud-stomping fisherman like you?"
A cynical young man scoffed.
"But the prince has been good to folks like us…"
Old Shue shot back, a little agitated.
Thanks to the prince, there were no more corpses littering the streets of King's Landing. The overwhelming stench of filth and urine had disappeared, and the gangs that extorted protection money had been wiped out.
Fishermen like them, who lived near the city walls, no longer had to endure the stench of human waste drifting for miles, nor did they fear being kidnapped in the streets.
Another fisherman, sitting cross-legged, mused curiously, "I heard the prince really is coming back soon. Maybe he'll be recruiting soldiers."
"You thinking about joining the army?"
"A little. They'll probably need more men now that the war's won."
"True. Maybe you'll even get promoted to squad leader."
The fishermen chuckled among themselves, each quietly considering their own plans.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed through the sweltering air, stirring excitement.
Out over Blackwater Bay, the sun's reflection shimmered on the water as a dozen grand three-masted warships sailed majestically into the harbor.
At the lead, a massive banner flew high, emblazoned with a fierce, three-headed red dragon.
"Screeeech—"
A deafening roar shattered the sky as a jet-black dragon spread its wings and soared, its vast body casting a shadow as dark as a storm cloud over the burning sun.
"The prince has returned!"
The fishermen scrambled to their feet, gazing upward in awe as the great beast's imposing form passed overhead.
The black dragon, cold and proud, glided toward the city, momentarily shielding the summer heat with its wings.
"Screeeech!!"
Another thunderous roar followed, heavy with an oppressive presence.
A massive green dragon burst forth from the sea, its enormous wings whipping up powerful winds as it soared through the air, exuding an overwhelming, mountainous aura.
The older residents of King's Landing recognized it immediately—this was Vhagar, the dragon of Prince Baelon the Brave.
With the strong tailwinds stirred up by the dragons, the ships picked up speed, swiftly docking at Mud Gate's harbor.
Flags flapped fiercely in the wind, each one representing a battle-hardened noble house that had fought in the campaign.
The seahorse, the high tower, the purple grapes…
Even banners from foreign lands, such as the ferocious tiger of the Summer Isles and the sigil of Pentos, could be seen.
Red Keep, Godswood
The two dragons circled the vast garden twice before each chose an open space and descended slowly.
Boom!
As their massive bodies landed, a gust of wind swept through the grove, sending grass and flower petals swirling into the air.
"Screeech…"
Rhaegar gracefully dismounted from the rope ladder, his silver-black hatchling perched on his shoulder, flapping its wings and chirping excitedly.
Brushing aside his windswept silver hair, Rhaegar glanced at Syrax, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
The little dragon had curled up in his arms the entire journey, finally relieved to be free from the oppressive presence of the larger dragons.
"Brother!"
A cheerful voice called from the direction of the castle.
Helena, beaming with joy, came running toward him.
She was dressed in a white gown, and as she ran, she clumsily lifted the hem to keep from tripping.
"Helena."
Rhaegar smiled, his gaze shifting to the figure following behind her.
Rhaenyra stood there in a white sleeveless dress, her hands gently cradling her round belly, watching him with a warm smile.
After embracing his overjoyed little sister, Rhaegar grinned and stepped forward, gently wrapping his arms around Rhaenyra in a happy embrace.
Rhaenyra responded cautiously, resting her head against his chest and whispering softly, "Let's go to the antechamber first. Father is getting impatient."
"Alright, but let me listen first."
Rhaegar crouched slightly, wrapping his arms around her soft waist, pressing his ear gently against her sizable belly.
The moment his cheek made contact, he suddenly felt a faint push.
At four months, there was already fetal movement.
Rhaegar's eyes widened, and he leaned in a little closer.
Out of nowhere, another weak push landed against his chin.
Rhaegar lifted his head, his eyes full of amusement. "It feels like someone just punched me. Truly unruly."
Rhaenyra's heart melted with warmth, an uncontrollable smile forming on her lips. "I'm afraid such arrogance runs in the family."
As she spoke, her delicate fingers ruffled her brother's hair, her eyes brimming with affection.
Rhaegar closed his eyes in enjoyment and argued playfully, "I'm the most approachable person you'll ever meet. That's slander."
"Keep dreaming. Now, let's go."
Despite her words, Rhaenyra tugged at his ear, though she herself didn't take a single step.
After a month apart, she had missed him dearly.
The siblings lingered in each other's company, savoring a fleeting moment of warmth.
—
Later in the evening, the Red Keep hosted a grand banquet.
The hero who had conquered the disputed lands had returned, receiving a warm welcome from nobles and courtiers alike.
The Council Chamber
Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, filling the room with a golden glow. The air carried the faint scent of wine, and the sounds of celebration could be heard from below.
Around the grand council table sat a dozen figures—
King Viserys, several members of the Small Council…
Rhaegar sat at his father's right hand, placing a black stone sphere with green markings into the designated groove.
Rhaenyra sat beside him, maintaining a composed smile, brimming with pride.
Standing quietly behind them were Laena and Helaena, their faces calm and composed.
Seated across from them was the ever-proud Corlys Velaryon, along with two envoys from Pentos and Volantis.
With the Triarchy defeated and the disputed lands initially pacified, the Iron Throne's allies were already eager to divide the spoils.
"Viserys, drink a little less," Alicent said helplessly, pressing down on her husband's hand as he poured himself yet another cup of wine.
The queen was dressed in an elegant green gown—dignified yet striking. She had joined the council under the pretense of tending to the king.
"Ahem… I'm just in a good mood today. A little more wine won't hurt," Viserys replied awkwardly, coughing twice to cover his embarrassment.
"Promise me—this will be your last cup," Alicent urged gently, pouring the wine for him herself.
Then, in a softer voice, she reminded him, "Your health hasn't been great lately. Orwyle has already warned you."
Viserys forced a smile, his enthusiasm for drinking suddenly dampened.
Rhaegar took in the exchange clearly, casting a discreet glance at his father.
At a quick glance, Viserys appeared unchanged—his crown, the symbol of power, sat atop his head, and his solemn black robes still exuded authority and kindness.
But upon closer inspection, the signs of decline were evident.
His lips were pale, dark circles heavy under his eyes, and his gaze drooped with exhaustion.
Rhaegar's nose twitched as he caught the faint, unpleasant scent of oily hair mixed with medicinal herbs.
"The war must have taken too great a toll on him…"
Lowering his head slightly, Rhaegar pondered.
Viserys's condition was terrible—he looked like a man indulging in excess, consumed by addiction.
Who knew how his wounds were faring?
He would have to find time to help heal him again.
(End of Chapter)