Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

The North.

The Wall.

A horde of wildlings moved through the Wall, migrating in great numbers.

Castle Black.

In the wide courtyard, the new recruits of the Night's Watch trained intensively.

"Roar!"

A yellow-eyed dragon lay prostrate outside the castle, shaking its head and roaring in protest.

"Quiet, Syrax," the Dragonkeeper shouted, bundled in thick clothing and gripping a bamboo staff.

A few charred goats lay scattered in the snow, still emitting black smoke from the dragon’s flames.

Syrax narrowed its displeased pupils, turning its head like a stubborn child, then curled up into a ball on the scorched earth left by its own fire.

It was November, and the climate in the North had grown increasingly harsh. Snow fell day and night, threatening to bury the courtyard walls.

During the day, the temperature was bearable, but by night, the well water would freeze, and even the bacon hanging from the rafters would crack from the cold. Anyone bold enough to urinate outside would need a stick to break the ice afterward.

"Eat, Syrax," the Dragonkeeper called again, his face grave.

But the dragon remained unresponsive. Syrax pulled its wings over its head, large, leathery membranes folding around its body, making it resemble a great mound of yellow jade.

...

Inside Castle Black, the Night's Watch was busy. The damaged buildings needed repairs, and the frozen well required heating.

Supplies were dwindling. Meat had become scarce, leaving only turnips and cabbage as the primary food source. Even that wasn’t enough.

The Night's Watch, the Army of the Winter Wolves, the Unsullied, and the combined forces of the Seven Kingdoms... Thousands of soldiers had gathered, and their numbers continued to grow. The North could no longer sustain them with its own produce.

"Your Grace, the supplies for this month have not arrived yet," Cregan reported respectfully, bowing his head in embarrassment.

Rhaenyra sat in the Hall of the Night's Watch, slowly rubbing her hands together. "Wait a little longer. I have already asked Maester Tru to send a raven to inquire," she said solemnly.

"Yes, Your Grace," Cregan bowed even lower, catching a glimpse of the Queen from the corner of his eye. Her face, pretty but reddened from the cold, was framed by long eyelashes now dusted with frost from the breath she exhaled.

Despite being wrapped in thick clothing, she kept rubbing her hands for warmth. Seeing this, Cregan sighed inwardly. The North is truly unforgiving.

Even with the royal family's support, Castle Black—a key fortress—could not guarantee warmth for everyone. Most of the wood went to the brothers of the Night's Watch stationed on the Wall, so they wouldn’t freeze in the bitter winds. If things were this harsh at Castle Black, it was hard to imagine the conditions for the common folk across the North.

As they spoke, a cold wind started to howl outside.

Boom.

The wind, carrying curved snowflakes, battered the wooden window panes of the hall. The frames rattled, revealing cracks where thin beams of sunlight slipped through. The dim hall briefly brightened, but the gusts sent chills through those inside.

Strangely, the faint smell of ash lingered in the air.

Plop!

Rhaenyra suddenly looked up and rose from her chair.

"Your Grace?" Cregan asked, puzzled.

Rhaenyra smiled broadly, paying no mind to the heavy hem of her skirt dragging along the floor as she hurried out of the hall.

She could feel it.

...

Meanwhile, beyond the Wall, heavy, dark clouds stretched endlessly, hanging over the Wall like an enormous weight. A thick, coal-black dragon’s tail descended from the sky, swirling the clouds and gathering them tightly.

The Night's Watch huddled beneath the Wall’s parapets, tending to the fire in the brazier. The flames flickered wildly in the gusts, the wind producing eerie, hollow sounds.

"Roar!"

The sound was as loud as rolling thunder, echoing for miles and shaking their eardrums. When one of the men looked up, he saw it—tragic green eyes emerging from the chaotic dark clouds above.

"Land, Cannibal," came a familiar command the next second.

The massive beast, as large as a mountain, plunged headlong through the clouds, its enormous wings casting shadows both inside and outside the Wall. The wind was so fierce that the Night's Watchmen couldn’t lift their heads.

With a rumble, the Cannibal landed, its three pairs of pale, curved horns bowed low as its wings folded back, shrouding its body.

"Get some rest, mate," Rhaegar said with a slight smile, climbing down the rope ladder from the thick neck of the dragon.

"Your Grace! Your Grace!" Several Dragonkeepers stationed just outside Castle Black hurriedly stepped back, bowing in salute.

The black dragon’s landing had triggered a massive avalanche, nearly burying them in snow.

"Prepare enough livestock for my dragon. It’s been through a lot lately," Rhaegar said as he shook his head, landing on the snow. He ran a hand through his messy silver hair before heading toward Castle Black.

The journey had lasted over a month—moving from the Fist of the First Men to Hardhome, from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and back to Castle Black, following the wildling migration. The Cannibal was exhausted, having braved snow and wind to protect him throughout.

Rhaegar shook the snow from his shoulders and noticed that his once-pristine black cloak now had several large holes. Were it not for his noble demeanor, he might have looked like a ranger of the Night's Watch returning from beyond the Wall.

He let out a breath of steam, thinking to himself, A warm bath and a hot meal sound perfect right now. Life beyond the Wall was brutal, hardly fit for humans.

He was walking with his head down when the sound of approaching footsteps made him stop.

"Rhaegar!"

The voice was filled with excitement and joy, barely contained. Rhaegar froze, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked up.

Rhaenyra stood at the entrance to the courtyard, beaming at him.

"Rhaenyra, why are you here?" Rhaegar asked, both surprised and delighted. He unconsciously quickened his pace.

Rhaenyra broke into a trot, stepping through the muddy snow, and rushed toward him with open arms.

Rhaegar smiled broadly, meeting her halfway. As they drew closer, the two silver-haired figures, both dressed in black, embraced tightly.

Rhaenyra was overwhelmed with happiness, her voice trembling slightly. "Let me see—are you hurt?"

Still clinging to each other, they began to feel the outlines of the other’s body beneath their cloaks, both afraid he might be injured.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Rhaegar chuckled softly, burying his head in the crook of her fur-lined hood, holding her tightly.

At sixteen, Rhaegar had already stood six feet tall; now, at six-foot-two (188 cm), he towered over her petite frame. In his arms, she barely reached his chest. He had to bend slightly to hold her properly, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

"It's so dangerous out there. I'm just glad you're back," Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at him tenderly. She cupped his cold, handsome face in her hands, unable to contain her emotions. On her tiptoes, she leaned up and quickly kissed him on the cheek.

After the accident with her youngest son, Aemon, the concept of family had taken deeper root in Rhaegar’s heart. Her children were growing fast, but Rhaegar’s feelings for her had never changed.

"No, we’ll face the difficulties together," Rhaegar said gently, pulling her back into his warm embrace. It was as soft and comforting as ever, and Rhaenyra couldn’t resist burying her face into it.

"Come on, I'll get you something to eat," she said, blushing slightly. Rolling her eyes playfully, she linked arms with him, and they walked back together.

...

"Roar!"

Syrax, the golden dragon, poked its head out from between its wings, watching its rider walk away. It let out a puzzled sound, then turned back to the scorched goat in front of it. With a quick motion, the goat disappeared.

Hiccup!

The Cannibal’s miserable green pupils glanced sideways at Syrax, and it stuck out its scarlet tongue to lick its maw, saliva dripping onto the snow. The snow instantly melted, leaving a scorched, withered patch.

"Roar!"

Terrified, Syrax quickly buried its head beneath its wings, like an ostrich hiding from danger.

...

The siblings returned to Castle Black and entered the hall, hand in hand.

"Your Grace."

Baela approached them, surprise evident in her expression as she glanced at the two of them.

Rhaenyra smiled warmly and said, "Baela, go to the kitchen and ask the maid to prepare a meal to properly welcome him home."

"Yes, I'll go right away," Baela replied with a smile and set off without hesitation.

Though there wasn’t much meat in the kitchen—most of it reserved for the dragons—the king was here, and that meant there would be something to eat.

Once Baela had left the room, Rhaegar wondered aloud, "Rhaena didn’t come with her?" He was used to the sisters being inseparable.

Rhaenyra guided him to sit down, her eyes never leaving his face. She spoke softly, "Rhaena has great administrative talent. She felt it was best to stay in Winterfell."

Winterfell couldn’t be left unguarded, not with the North so unpredictable. Rhaena, quiet and gentle, was best suited for overseeing things behind the scenes.

Rhaegar nodded in agreement. The North’s harsh climate made even the Wall colder than the rest of the region. An adult dragon like Syrax could manage, but the younger, weaker Morning might not fare as well in these conditions.

Knock, knock, knock!

The sound of knocking from the porch around the corner caught Rhaegar’s attention. He looked up to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, her silver hair gleaming in the dim light.

"Helaena, you're here too?" Rhaegar said, surprised, rising from his seat.

"She’s been here for a while," Rhaenyra replied with a knowing smile, raising an eyebrow as she gently released his arm.

"Brother..." Helaena’s eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, her pace slow but eager.

Upon hearing that Rhaegar had gone to the Wall, she had come at once, without pause. Along the way, she had a dream.

In it, a pale figure stood at the foot of the Wall, commanding an endless army of the dead to assault the stronghold. Dragons roared in the sky, their fiery breath raining down, and from some unseen vantage point, she saw the ground splashed with boiling Dragonblood.

Rhaegar walked toward her, not allowing thoughts of Summerhall to distract him. In his eyes, the Seven Kingdoms were insignificant compared to an embrace like this.

Helaena was even more direct, flinging herself into his arms like a swallow returning to its nest. She clung to him, unwilling to let go, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck before pressing her lips to his.

Rhaegar smiled and accepted the kiss, though he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. After a moment, he gently freed himself from her koala-like embrace.

He sat back down, now flanked by his sisters on either side. The warmth between them was undeniable.

As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the emotions they shared now were far stronger than ever before.

"Daemon is here too," Rhaenyra said suddenly, updating him on the latest developments. "Aegon and Aemond are patrolling the various strongholds along the Wall, and Daemon is training the combined forces of the kingdom."

Apart from the heavy snow in the Vale, which had blocked the mountain passes, and Dorne, which was far away in the desert, only the army from the Westerlands had not yet arrived.

The armies of the Crownlands, the Riverlands, The Reach, and Stormlands numbered 30,000 strong—far more than the combined forces of the Night's Watch, the Army of the Winter Wolves, and the Unsullied.

"Daemon will command the army. His leadership will help reduce friction between the different groups," Rhaenyra added.

Rhaegar frowned slightly but then shared his own news. "Sea Snake is leading a 3,000-strong Valyrian army and staying at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with Aunt Rhaenys."

Each of the 18 strongholds along the Wall needed to be garrisoned. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, located near the water, was especially vulnerable, with free folk often sneaking in by boat. If the White Walkers could cross the sea, Eastwatch would have to be defended by the strongest forces.

"House Velaryon is very reliable," Rhaenyra agreed.

"But there are too many fortresses along the Wall. We've been discussing abandoning some of them," she added, referring to an ongoing debate.

Helaena, her chin resting on her hands, spoke dreamily, "Castle Black is the main target of the Others' attack. The dead cannot cross the Wall." That’s what the prophecy had shown.

Rhaegar looked thoughtful. "Abandoning some of the fortresses is the right choice. We can halve them, let the others freeze completely, and concentrate our forces on the key strongholds."

The exits of unnecessary Night's Watch fortresses would be sealed with ice, and the combined forces could focus their efforts. One objective was to fight the White Walkers; the other was to keep the free folk in check.

Creak!

Just as they were deep in conversation, the hall door opened. Baela entered carrying a tray of steaming food, pushing the door wide as she barged in. Behind her, Daemon followed, a smile on his lips.

As soon as he stepped inside, he saw his nephew caught mid-conversation. More figures squeezed into the hall behind them: the rotund Maester Tru, Grey Worm in his black armor, and—unexpectedly—a Child of the Forest.

"A Child of the Forest?" Daemon glanced at the figure, frowning instinctively.

He remembered that these strange, ancient beings were not always friendly.

Sniffing the air, the Child of the Forest leaned in close to Daemon, wrinkling her nose before stepping back with wary eyes. "You also know blood magic... and you smell like a dragon."

This dragon scent was different from the other dragonborn at Castle Black. It resembled Rhaegar's, who had been searching for ways to fight the White Walkers. It was a purer, more pungent smell, carrying a greater threat.

"Stay away from me. I don't want to step in a brown-green turd," Daemon sneered, placing a hand on the hilt of Dark Sister as he arrogantly circled around her. His fingers itched to draw the blade, but he restrained himself.

Meanwhile, Rhaegar was being served by the two sisters, not even needing to lift a knife or fork to eat.

Helaena ladled soup, blowing on it before gently pushing the spoon to his lips. Rhaenyra cut slices of roast lamb, feeding him bite by bite.

The way they doted on him made the children, watching from a distance, want to weep.

The Child of the Forest observed the scene for a moment, then suddenly leaped onto the table, her excitement jangling through the air.

Rhaegar glanced at her, his expression stern.

"We have to find the Heart Tree and the Greenseer!" she exclaimed anxiously. "I can feel it—the cold of the Others is nearing. We can’t delay any longer."

Through the Weirwoods beyond the Wall and the power of Greensight, she could see the endless army of the dead spreading across the land. The White Walkers were advancing, and if they didn’t locate the Greenseer soon, it would be too late.

Rhaegar, chewing on his mutton, swallowed a mouthful of soup without haste. He didn’t want to take the Child of the Forest's warning seriously.

Valyrian steel could kill White Walkers, and Dragonfire could decimate the army of the dead. As long as the Wall held—protected by its ancient magic—there was no real reason to panic. He believed they could withstand the invasion from within.

The Heart Tree and the Greenseer? It all seemed like mystical nonsense to him, no more believable than the cryptic prophecies of the shadowy witch Quaithe. If he were to go on an adventure, he’d be more inclined to travel to Asshai to seek knowledge than venture beyond the Wall again. A place steeped in magic and shadow was more likely to hold answers for fighting the Others than some ancient tree.

"The White Walkers are growing in number," the Child of the Forest continued, her voice tinged with urgency and mystery. "This proves that the Night King may have awakened from the Land of Always Winter. The Greenseer knows secrets the world has forgotten. We need him."

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed. He had wondered the same thing for a long time. "Who is the Greenseer?" he asked warily. "Is it a person? A Child of the Forest? Or perhaps... a Weirwood?"

"The Greenseer is dead," the Child said, catching Rhaegar by surprise. Then she continued, "But whoever finds the Heart Tree will become the new Greenseer—and lead mankind in the fight against the Others."

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