Dressed in a luxurious green gown, the graceful and elegant Alicent followed closely behind.
Viserys looked in good spirits, his face beaming with a smile as he held his wife's hand. The couple walked together, hand in hand.
Behind them, led by the Hand of the King, Lyonel, several members of the Small Council stepped down from their carriages one by one.
"Oh?"
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and strode forward to greet them.
"Rhaegar, you little rascal, you finally decided to come back," Viserys said with affectionate complaint.
Rhaegar chuckled and asked, "Father, are you planning to travel by dragon?"
After all, Vhagar had been brought out—it couldn't be just for some fresh air.
Viserys straightened his royal attire, gently wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, and said proudly, "I received an invitation from Count Willas of Lady Spring Town and decided on a whim to take Alicent to soak in the hot springs of Jonquil's Pool."
"A hot spring bath?"
Rhaegar glanced at the approaching Small Council members and questioned, "Lord Borros has died. The situation at Storm's End still requires your presence to be resolved."
Taking a closer look at his father, it was clear that he wasn't just in good spirits—he was practically glowing.
The once slightly hunched posture was now straight as a board, his silver-gold hair neatly arranged to cascade over his shoulders, his beard freshly shaved, and his entire demeanor radiating vigor.
Viserys was visibly delighted to talk about the matter and explained, "I've already discussed this with your Aunt Rhaenys. Aemond will lead an escort to return the Four Storms to Storm's End, and she will assist in handling the matters of succession and marriage."
The cause of Borros' death remained a mystery, and Lady Elenya had entrusted Lord Royce Caron with its resolution.
The key issue lay in the marriage alliance between House Targaryen and House Baratheon, as well as securing support for Borros' eldest daughter, Cassandra, to inherit Storm's End and its titles.
Rhaenys, a dragonlord princess, shared the same vision, and the two formidable women quickly seized control of Storm's End, merely waiting for the newly betrothed couple to return.
Rhaegar was taken aback and could only admire their efficiency. "Aunt Rhaenys certainly moves fast."
He had expected trouble at Storm's End, but it had been resolved so quietly and seamlessly.
"Of course. Back in the day, your aunt was called the 'Queen Who Never Was'—her reputation far outshone mine," Viserys laughed self-deprecatingly before adding a reminder, "I'm leaving now, aiming to be in the hot springs by sundown. The Small Council and the affairs of King's Landing are entirely in your hands."
"Father, you know I already have a lot to handle. If you're not here…"
"Rhaegar, you are my eldest son and the Prince Regent of the realm."
Viserys waved a hand dismissively, his tone firm. "For the next two days, no matter what happens in King's Landing, you have the final say. Don't claim you can't manage it."
Rhaegar frowned slightly. "This concerns the restructuring of the city's defenses and reforms to the Small Council."
"As I said, you're in full control." Viserys remained unconcerned and only encouraged him further.
Rhaegar hesitated, glancing toward the Small Council members. Lyonel and the others remained silent.
"They will assist you. You must familiarize yourself with them ahead of time."
Viserys looked at his son with satisfaction, patted him on the shoulder, and suddenly added, "And stop wearing that black robe all the time. You are the Crown Prince—you should dress more appropriately."
Saying this, he glanced at his wife.
"Tayla, bring it out."
At Alicent's call, a tall handmaiden stepped out from the palace.
With a respectful bow, she said, "Your Highness, a set of attire has been prepared for you inside the palace."
Rhaegar was surprised but followed the handmaiden inside.
A few minutes later, he emerged, having exchanged his usual black robe for a black tunic adorned with silver embellishments. His silver-gold hair, which normally hung loosely, was now combed back and tied into a low ponytail with a silver clasp.
Viserys was greatly pleased and didn't hold back his praise. "Look at my son—far more handsome than my arrogant younger brother ever was."
Having Rhaegar as his son had made Viserys understand why the lords of Westeros valued having a handsome and intelligent heir so much.
Even without saying a word, just looking at him brought joy.
Rhaegar clasped his hands behind his back, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. "Father, you didn't have to go to such trouble."
Despite his words, his noble aura made the transformation seem entirely natural.
He looked good in anything—Rhaenyra had confirmed this herself.
It was just that he preferred practicality, and black robes were easier to maintain.
"Enough with the excuses. A prince must look like a prince. As the saying goes, clothes make the man."
Viserys smiled, his eyes crinkling, and waved him off. "Alright, go about your duties. It's time for your father to enjoy life."
With an arm wrapped around Alicent's waist, he strode toward Vhagar.
Alicent looked uneasy and whispered, "Viserys, I'm not too keen on riding a dragon."
"Don't worry, Vhagar is equipped with a saddle. There's no danger."
Viserys reassured her softly, paying no mind to her reluctance as he lifted her onto the dragon's back.
He had already learned about what had happened in Myr, and this trip was meant to be a getaway for them to confide in each other.
"Skreeee!!"
With everything ready, Vhagar let out a low roar, spread its massive brown wings, and soared into the sky.
Faintly, Viserys' joyful laughter could still be heard.
Having a dragon had certainly made him much more cheerful.
---
Rhaegar's forehead creased with faint lines as he glanced at Laenor and the others, jokingly saying, "Looks like my time to ascend the Iron Throne has been delayed by at least ten years."
Lyman smiled kindly and agreed, "That's a good thing. According to the maesters, the King's wounds are no longer inflamed or festering. A simple pain-relieving ointment is enough for daily treatment."
"That's right," Rhaegar said with a slight smile.
He had speculated that his father's dragon-taming efforts might aid his recovery, but he hadn't expected such remarkable results.
Perhaps it also had something to do with a shift in his mindset.
Laenor spoke up at the right moment. "Prince, we should set off. The men you summoned from Harrenhal are already waiting at the Dragon Gate."
"Alright, let's go," Rhaegar nodded.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Aemond and the Four Storms.
After a moment of thought, he asked, "Aemond, the four Baratheon ladies aren't feeling well. Should they take the wheelhouse back to the Red Keep first?"
Hearing his name, Aemond replied casually, "No need. Ser Steffon of the Kingsguard will be here to escort us soon."
Rhaegar glanced at Cassandra, whose face was deathly pale and who was barely staying upright with the support of her sisters. He asked softly, "Are you sure?"
The Four Storms were guests of House Targaryen and potential marriage candidates. With Alicent absent from King's Landing, it was Aemond's responsibility to see to their hospitality.
Ignoring Cassandra's discomfort, Aemond responded as if it were only natural, "It's fine. I'll take care of them."
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes slightly, locking gazes with his younger brother.
The two brothers stared at each other, but Aemond remained completely composed, revealing no flaws.
After a long moment, Rhaegar withdrew his gaze and said flatly, "Mind your manners. If anything happens, seek out Maester Menas at the Dragonpit."
With that, he boarded the wheelhouse first, departing with the royal councilors.
As the wheelhouse disappeared into the distance, Aemond turned calmly and looked at the Four Storms, who huddled together.
Maris held her eldest sister, Cassandra, and whispered, "We should have gone with Prince Rhaegar."
"I already told you, Ser Steffon will be here soon."
Aemond's tone remained indifferent.
Maris clenched her teeth in frustration and patted Cassandra's back, hoping to offer some comfort.
They had already lost Prince Aegon as a potential match. They couldn't afford to offend the even more promising Prince Aemond.
Daughters of great houses had long accepted their fate in arranged marriages.
Aemond crouched down, resting his chin on his hands. "Get some rest while you can. There's a big announcement waiting for you."
"What announcement?" Maris asked in confusion.
She suspected Aemond had chosen one of her sisters as his betrothed.
Aemond shook his head and said nonchalantly, "Trust me, you don't want to know. Just enjoy the peace while it lasts."
---
The wheelhouse rolled past Rhaenys Hill, traveling in a straight line down the street. Soon, the towering Dragon Gate loomed ahead.
The city gate was adorned with carvings of dragons in flight, and the iron-plated wooden doors were wide open, allowing two carriages to pass side by side.
Shhh… Shhh…
Beyond the gate, a regiment of soldiers in black helmets and armor marched in formation, holding spears and round shields.
At first glance, they were indistinguishable from the Unsullied of Astapor.
The black-armored soldiers were arranged in rectangular formations, stepping in perfect unison as they entered the city. A quick estimate suggested their numbers exceeded a thousand.
Leading them were three riders on tall warhorses, each clad in distinct attire.
The wheelhouse pulled over to the side of the street. Rhaegar lifted the curtain and silently observed.
"Prince, are these the Fearless you trained in the style of the Unsullied?" Otto Hightower straightened his posture.
Rhaegar gave a slight nod. "This is the first batch. Another two thousand remain stationed at Harrenhal."
He hadn't spent three years in Harrenhal just refurbishing the castle.
Harrenhal controlled vast, fertile lands in the Riverlands. From among the peasant families in his domain, he had selected over a thousand boys, aged 13 to 16, to join the ranks of the Fearless.
These boys all came from poor families where at least one parent was still alive and where there was more than one child.
Under these conditions, the recruits were reliable in loyalty and fearless in battle.
Once he had recruited a thousand, Harrenhal's local population could no longer supply suitable candidates.
So Rhaegar turned his attention to Flea Bottom in King's Landing.
Flea Bottom teemed with vagrants and starving children—at least eight hundred to a thousand.
He selected the right-aged boys for military training, while the girls were taken in on a case-by-case basis—some sent to Harrenhal as handmaidens, others to the Mushroom Market to learn trades.
As long as they worked hard, they were guaranteed a roof over their heads and two meals a day.
When Flea Bottom could no longer provide enough recruits, he started taking in freed slaves and war orphans from the Crownlands and the Vale.
These soldiers were fiercely loyal, dedicated in training, and skilled in combat.
After listening to Rhaegar's explanation, Otto's expression darkened as he fell into deep thought.
Three thousand armored soldiers, fully armed—an undeniable force of power anywhere.
Rhaegar turned his head and instructed, "Lord Laenor, I purchased a section of land on Steel Street large enough to house three thousand men. You'll be responsible for building a barracks there. A thousand Fearless will serve as King's Landing's garrison force."
King's Landing had a permanent population of hundreds of thousands, and the city's lawlessness was beyond words.
The two thousand Gold Cloaks were vastly insufficient.
Even with the eight hundred Dragonkeepers of the Dragonpit and the four hundred Royal Guard in the Red Keep, it was still not enough.
The Gold Cloaks were stationed in the eastern Silk Street district. The thousand Fearless would be placed in the western Steel Street district, flanking the Red Keep from both sides.
Laenor calculated and said, "Prince, I know the place you mean—it's west of the Alchemists' Guild."
"Exactly," Rhaegar said thoughtfully. "Ever since wildfire was used in the Battle of Harrenhal, the city has been overrun with frauds claiming to be alchemists. The Fearless can keep an eye on them."
With the barracks settled, Rhaegar turned his gaze back to the Fearless soldiers marching down the street.
At the front, three mounted figures led the way. Two wore armor, marching with unwavering focus.
The last one wore coarse linen, his curly brown hair tousled, his face fair and clean.
Perched on his shoulders were a white falcon and a black raven.
Rhaegar's lips curved slightly as he called out, "Tormund, if you can't ride, come up to the wheelhouse."
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