Leonor Hightower, still a young boy, had just lost his father. Cradled in a knight's arms, he wailed uncontrollably, on the verge of fainting.
Rhaegar surveyed the surroundings, assessing the damage caused by the great fire.
Mund perished in the inferno, along with several unfortunate Hightower relatives who failed to escape in time.
Last night, a fire broke out at the gates of the Skyreach Tower, blocking the guards from putting it out.
Many retainers lost their lives—either in an attempt to fight the fire or because they were trapped.
As Rhaegar gazed at the charred remains of Skyreach Tower and the weeping Leonor Hightower, he knew the Hightower family wouldn't recover for at least a decade.
"Rhaegar."
Rhaenyra stepped forward, pushing a pair of infants into Rhaegar's arms before making her way toward Leonor Hightower, who was surrounded by servants attempting to console him.
As she brushed past Rhaegar, she shot him a fierce glare.
It was as if her eyes were saying: Look at what you've done.
Rhaegar's lips curled slightly. He held the children close, softly humming a nursery rhyme, watching as Rhaenyra dismissed the servants and comforted Leonor until his cries subsided.
This was the unspoken understanding between the Wise King and Queen Alicent.
Rhaenyra, lowering herself to handle the aftermath of Rhaegar's actions.
By midday, the Hightower vassals from nearby territories arrived in Oldtown to attend Mund's memorial.
Rhaegar welcomed the guests and publicly declared that Leonor Hightower would inherit his father's lands and titles, becoming the new Lord of Oldtown.
As for the cause of the fire, it was officially ruled an accident.
Many privately suspected Rhaegar's involvement.
After all, he had come to Oldtown with the clear intention of suppressing House Hightower.
However, the fire had originated inside Skyreach Tower, with traces of wildfire oil found at the scene.
Skyreach Tower had always been heavily guarded. Unless someone knew of a secret passage and had arranged for the arson in advance, setting the fire would have been nearly impossible.
Rhaegar, evidently, lacked the means to do this himself.
Thus, instead of being labeled the direct culprit, he was demoted to a mere conspirator behind the scenes.
Yet, no one dared to speak these suspicions openly—they only whispered about them within their own castles.
Skyreach Tower still stood. The Hightower family remained in Oldtown. The new lord was Mund's only son.
The Hightower vassals were satisfied.
If they had been truly loyal, they wouldn't have ignored Mund's summons.
Now that Mund was dead, the conflict between Oldtown and the Crown was wiped away. Everything reset to zero.
The vassals no longer feared being caught in the crossfire and could continue pledging allegiance to their liege lord.
It was a perfect resolution.
Truth didn't matter. Neither did the fate of their liege.
What mattered was their own peace and stability.
The funeral was held soon after.
Since the new lord was still too young, House Hightower elected a regent from within their ranks to oversee Mund's burial arrangements.
Rhaegar, holding his two sons, stood at the front of the procession with Aegon and Aemond.
He glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, who bent down to gently console the still-sniffling Leonor Hightower.
Her gaze was warm, her entire being radiating an overwhelming maternal glow.
Rhaegar smiled faintly, momentarily lost in thought.
Rhaenyra truly had the potential to be a great queen, exuding a natural sense of warmth and inclusivity.
As a young girl, this trait had not been as pronounced, but it grew stronger with age.
And after becoming a mother, it had become almost suffocating.
Aegon, slumping his head, muttered in boredom, "When will this be over?"
"Shh!" Aemond quickly hushed him. "Keep your voice down. Don't speak recklessly."
"Tch, what's there to be afraid of? No one's even paying attention to us."
Aegon sneered, his gaze drifting to a beautiful young woman in the crowd. His expression darkened with distaste. "Why wasn't she burned in the fire? Then I wouldn't have to go through with this damn engagement."
Aemond warned him, "That is your betrothed."
"You can have her if you want."
"I already have my own fiancée."
"Maybe we could each take two."
Aegon elbowed Rhaegar, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "You're going to marry Jeyne and extend the Exception Clause, right?"
—The Exception Clause.
A compromise made between the Wise King and the Faith of the Seven, allowing House Targaryen to maintain its traditions.
In essence:
The Targaryens were not descended from the First Men, the Andals, or the Rhoynar. They were Valyrian dragonlords who had migrated from the Freehold.
Their marriage customs differed from those of Westeros and were necessary to preserve the purity of their bloodline.
The Maesters of the Citadel had played a role in drafting this agreement.
Once finalized, the Faith's preachers had spread the decree throughout the realm, explaining it to every castle and village.
This was how Westerosi society came to accept House Targaryen's unique customs.
Rhaegar shot Aegon a sidelong glance, shifting the children on his back to shield their eyes from their uncle's vulgar words. "Don't waste your energy. The new Exception Clause only applies to the King and his heir."
This was something he and his father had agreed upon in private.
A king taking multiple wives was fine—it was for the sake of bloodline preservation.
But if the exception were granted to all Targaryens, Daemon and Aegon would likely take full advantage of it, marrying numerous wives and establishing their own harems.
That would be chaos.
For once, Aegon mustered some courage and argued, "You're being selfish."
Rhaegar smirked coldly. "And what do you plan to do about it?"
"Nothing!"
Aegon widened his eyes, huffed indignantly, and stormed off.
Aemond sighed, rubbing his forehead and covering his lone eye.
How had he ended up with such a weak-willed brother?
The most defiant tone—used to say the most cowardly words.
After a long day, the funeral finally concluded.
…
The next morning, at the break of dawn—
Four massive dragons soared out of the old town, making their way back to King's Landing together.
Rhaegar, riding Devourer, silently calculated the time difference.
The Faith of the Seven had submitted, signing a revised version of the Exception Rule and taking responsibility for promoting it across Westeros before the spread of the new faith.
The Citadel had fared even worse, nearly being emptied out.
Tru led dozens of maesters and over a hundred maester assistants, carefully inventorying the spoils gained from the divided Citadel.
House Hightower had a new lord, and the vassals swore fealty of their own accord.
The Clermonts and House Dayne, who had been raiding farmsteads, had vanished. Because of this, Aegon and Aemond were returning to King's Landing as well.
"There's still one Otto left to deal with."
Rhaegar pondered in silence.
At this moment, Otto was probably somewhere along the sea route back to King's Landing.
Rhaegar hadn't killed him outright, leaving him to cling to life instead.
From Otto's act of setting the High Tower aflame, it was clear he harbored resentment toward Mound, perhaps even hoping to replace him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have resorted to such extreme measures.
Rhaegar had covertly fanned the flames, helping Otto make the ruthless decision he had hesitated to commit to.
However, the heir was still Mound's son, and Otto, as the second son, would never inherit.
Rhaegar mused wryly: "Keeping Otto alive can serve as leverage over Alicent, and he might still be useful in managing practical affairs."
The Three Daughters, the Disputed Lands, and Dorne all needed someone like Otto to govern them.
No easy escape in death—there was still work to be done.
Four giant dragons flew over the city, slowly descending toward the Dragonpit.
"Screeeeeech…"
Syrax let out a playful cry, refusing to be driven away by the dragonkeepers and carrying its rider straight toward the Red Keep.
This was no ordinary dragon.
The Dragonpit was filthy and foul-smelling—the back gardens of the Red Keep were its real favorite.
Rhaenyra had no choice but to dismount, cradling the soundly sleeping Baelon in her arms.
Seeing this, Rhaegar led his two younger brothers into the Dragonpit.
Inside the grand hall of the Dragonpit, a sharp cry pierced the air.
A pale blue dragon lay crouched on the ground, its head resting on its tail, its slit-pupil eyes watching with ill intent.
Helaena held a chain in her hand, at the end of which a cat-sized, dark green dragon hatchling was tethered. It flapped its wings in frustration, struggling against the restraint.
"Big Sister!"
Aemond called out in surprise, rushing forward excitedly.
Rhaegar was mildly surprised but didn't dwell on it.
"Prince."
An elderly dragonkeeper approached, bringing along apprentices to guide the dragons back into their pits.
Devourer's cold eyes remained indifferent as it slithered into its designated lair.
Sunfyre let out a cry toward Dreamfyre, receiving a resounding reply before obediently returning to rest.
Sheepstealer, the most rebellious of them all, bounced around for a while, pestering the dragonkeepers into offering two goats as tribute before finally lying down in satisfaction.
Among all the dragons, it was the most unruly.
"Big Brother!"
Upon seeing Rhaegar, Helaena beamed and ran over, still holding the little dragon in her hands.
Aemond, now ignored, awkwardly withdrew his outstretched arms and turned to hug Aegon instead.
Helaena stopped before Rhaegar and pointed to the tiny dragon in her hands, exclaiming in delight, "A new dragon hatched in the Dragonpit?"
She had originally come to see Blizzard and Syrax but had instead stumbled upon this little hatchling, whose colors strangely resembled a toxic mushroom.
Rhaegar avoided Aegon and Aemond's inquisitive gazes and lowered his voice. "This dragon hatched from a Belarys family egg—it's little Aemond's bonded dragon."
"Little Aemond?"
Helaena blinked in confusion.
Rhaegar immediately realized she had yet to hear the news of Rhaenyra giving birth and told her straightforwardly.
Helaena's mouth dropped open. "I-I have a nephew now?"
Her voice was light, showing no trace of regret—if anything, it held a tinge of excitement.
Only then did she notice, nestled in Rhaegar's arms, a tiny baby no bigger than a doll.
Her eyes sparkled with joy. She reached out, gently poking little Aemond's chubby cheeks, making playful smooch sounds as if she were teasing a puppy.
Little Aemond: …
His big, watery eyes blinked, a tiny dribble of saliva slipping from the corner of his mouth as he stared at his aunt in confusion.
He didn't seem very bright.
Rhaegar chuckled at the sight and called his brothers over. "Come on, let's head back to the Red Keep."
Aegon and Aemond exchanged glances, their eyes flickering toward Helaena, but they both chose to remain silent.
Helaena's expression subtly shifted, and she stopped playing with her little nephew.
She hadn't heard about Rhaenyra's childbirth, but she had received other news.
"Screeeech…"
The little dragon suddenly cried out, shattering the momentary silence.
Little Aemond's big eyes locked onto it, and he began drooling again, smacking his lips.
The hatchling spread its faintly red wings, tilting its head as it met the baby's gaze. A flash of memory flickered through its slitted pupils.
And then—
"Screeeech!"
The tiny dragon flapped its wings wildly, screeching in panic and desperately trying to escape.
It still remembered how, right after hatching, this very human baby had taken a bite out of it.
"Waaah!"
Hearing the dragon cry, little Aemond mimicked the sound, revealing his soft, pink gums.
"Haha, you're quite the little troublemaker already."
Rhaegar wiped the drool from his son's mouth and left the dragonpit with Helena and the others.
Before leaving, he instructed the dragonkeepers to occasionally bring the young dragons to the Red Keep so they could spend more time with little Aemond.
---
Red Keep, Banquet Hall
Upon learning that his children were returning, Viserys forced himself to endure his discomfort and ordered the servants to prepare a lavish luncheon.
Rhaegar changed into a fresh set of clothes, washing away the stench of dragons.
The others also freshened up.
After spending a long time soaring on dragonback, they weren't just covered in dragon musk but also drenched in sweat.
At the banquet—
Viserys sat at one end of the long table, his face pale, but he looked at the group of children with a relieved smile.
In his arms, baby Baelor contentedly sucked on his fingers.
Rhaenyra sat beside him, placing little Aemond on the table, letting the boy bare his teeth in a mock challenge toward his older brother.
Baelor glanced at him but remained unfazed, continuing to suck on his fingers.
Viserys beamed with joy. "Look at these two little ones. One day, they'll both grow into great warriors."
Rhaegar smiled in agreement, though his gaze occasionally drifted toward Helaena and Aemond.
Unlike the carefree Aegon, this pair of siblings was far more sensitive, both troubled by the absence of Alicent at the banquet.
The children had returned home, yet they couldn't see their mother.
Rhaegar understood.
He had grown up without a mother—he was used to it.
By the time the banquet was halfway through, the siblings had eaten their fill.
Rhaegar noticed his father hesitating several times, seemingly wanting to speak but holding back. Taking the initiative, he asked, "Father, has there been any news from outside?"
Since this was a private family gathering, and a midday one at that, none of the court officials—like Lyonel—were present, meaning they had not received any intelligence updates in real-time.
Viserys hesitated for a moment before saying, "Braavos has sent an envoy, offering terms for a peace agreement."
"Since when was Ferrego so generous?" Rhaegar frowned.
Viserys shook his head. "It wasn't Ferrego. That man died in a wildfire explosion. Braavos has elected a new Sealord, one who apparently favors peace."
"Well, that's not necessarily a bad thing."
Thinking of Braavos across the Narrow Sea, Rhaegar asked, "Are the new Sealord's peace terms harsh?"
Otherwise, why would his father be so hesitant?
Viserys scanned the faces of his children, his eyes filled with exhaustion. With a sigh, he said, "The new Sealord's terms are quite generous, but he wants the Iron Throne to halt its invasion of Dorne and to sign a ceasefire agreement alongside Prince Qyle of Sunspear."
"He's reaching that far?"
Rhaegar immediately grew wary.
Viserys continued, "Dorne has already submitted. The Sealord's stance is that if we end the 'Dragon's Wrath,' he will help persuade the remaining Dornish rebels to lay down their grudges and embrace peace."
"The envoy also mentioned that the Sealord wishes to reopen trade routes in the Disputed Lands and restore commercial relations between our two realms."
Hearing this, Rhaegar fell into thought.
He understood now.
He had been too ruthless in Dorne. The new Sealord had decided to back down.
As always, the Free Cities prioritized trade. If both sides signed a peace treaty, everyone could profit together.
But why did his father look so troubled?
One by one, figures flashed through Rhaegar's mind.
Viserys let out a long sigh and said bluntly, "Braavos didn't just send an envoy to King's Landing. They also went to Driftmark, the Stepstones, and Sunspear."
"Daemon and the Sea Snake joined forces… and castrated the envoy as their response."
To put it plainly—
Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, had been so furious that he had nearly beheaded the envoy and sent his head back to Braavos in a box.
He had lost his heir. Until his vengeance was complete, he would never stop.
(End of Chapter)