Chapter 239: The Most Vicious Insult

Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Riverrun

The rhythmic beat of drums echoed through the hall of Riverrun as Lord Blackwood entered with a solemn stride.

Above the hall, in a large chamber, Rhaegar lounged in a high seat, one leg crossed and his hand resting on his face.

"Ah~," he sighed contentedly as Rhaenyra peeled a grape and offered it to him. He accepted the grape with a look of mild surprise and chewed thoughtfully.

Rhaenyra, unusually attentive today, rolled her eyes before returning to her seat.

"Click, clack..." came the sound of stones hitting each other. Helaena sat on her knees in front of a table, engrossed in a game with two stones.

Below, Lord Blackwood watched the scene - the three Targaryen heirs in their various states of distraction. Feeling the weight of the moment, he bowed deeply. "The Blackwood House  greets you, Your Grace!"

Rhaegar smiled slightly and peeled a grape for himself, the hall otherwise silent except for the occasional murmur of Helaena.

Lord Blackwood sensed a rising tension and surveyed Robb and Elmo, noting that the atmosphere was far from ideal. The intimidation was palpable.

After a moment's contemplation, he adjusted his approach, "Princess, it has been a long time. May the old gods praise your beauty."

He bowed respectfully and looked up at the table.

Rhaenyra looked at him, a small smile playing on her lips. She shifted slightly, her embarrassment evident as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

The Blackwoods had been her staunchest supporters, though their relationship had grown distant since 111 AC. Still, the Blackwood House continued to send annual greetings and gifts, a gesture to maintain their ties.

Noticing Rhaegar still watching her, Rhaenyra sighed and replied formally, "May the old gods forgive your sins, Lord Kellan Blackwood."

Lord Blackwood, whose full name was Kellan Blackwood, felt a slight relief at her response. He then said, "Princess, the emissary from Riverrun has invited me here for negotiations. How may I be of service?"

Eager to put the conversation on a more stable footing, he tried to discern the intentions behind the summons.

Rhaenyra remained silent, deferring to Rhaegar, who began tapping his fingers on the tabletop. Finally, Rhaegar spoke, "Lord Blackwood, your house has fought a private war with the Bracken House, refused royal mediation, defied the orders of your liege, Grover Tully, and even clashed with the forces of Riverrun."

Each point was punctuated by a tap of his fingers, the sound echoing like a drumbeat in the hall.

Rhaegar's hand stilled, his voice turning icy. "Lord Blackwood, can I understand that you and your house are in rebellion?"

Silence fell over the hall, heavy and foreboding. Lord Blackwood stood in that brief, tense silence, grappling with the gravity of the accusation.

Kellan's heart skipped a beat as he regretted coming to the trial. This wasn't a negotiation - it was a condemnation.

Swallowing hard, Kellan spoke in a deep voice, "No! House Blackwood is loyal to Targaryen rule and has no second thoughts."

Under such pressure, he had no choice but to bow his head, and his words were sincere. Before entering Riverrun, he had seen the three dragons with his own eyes, especially the black, colossal Cannibal, towering like a small fortress. Such extraordinary creatures were beyond human resistance.

Rhaegar's voice rose, "But you disobeyed the king’s order, attacked your feudal lord, and stationed troops outside of Riverrun without authorization!"

With a thud, Kellan fell to his knees and bowed his head. "Prince, those orders came from me alone. I alone bear the responsibility."

When he came to Riverrun, he did not expect to leave unscathed. After insulting both the royal family and the Tullys, he knew there would be a price to pay.

Rhaegar looked down at him with an indifferent expression. The quick confession was noted.

"Rhaegar, we need the Blackwood army to confront House Bracken," Rhaenyra whispered in his ear, offering a letter in her hand.

Rhaegar's cold demeanor softened as he read the letter from the Bracken family, detailing their refusal to admit guilt and their defiance. This was a house that called for stern measures.

Following Rhaenyra's advice, Rhaegar rose, walked to the edge of the room, and announced, "Lord Kellan, you will return to King's Landing alone to confess your sins. Your eldest son will inherit your title and lead the army to atone for these transgressions."

He preferred not to deal harshly with nobles who confessed willingly. The final judgment was left to his father and the Small Council. Samwell Blackwood, Kellan's eldest son, had already pledged loyalty and could serve as a sharp sword for their cause.

Kellan slowly closed his eyes and accepted his fate, "Yes, Prince."

He had anticipated this outcome and the loss of his position, but it was a small price to save his house. Moreover, their longtime rivals, the Bracken House, were on the brink of destruction.

With trembling legs, Kellan rose and walked out of the hall, his back heavy with resignation. Robb, feeling a pang of sympathy, lowered his head, remembering the Prince's words on the journey here-House Blackwood must surrender quickly or face dire consequences.

"Robb."

Rhaegar called out, catching his attention.

Robb lifted his head and responded, "Prince, what is your command?"

"Take the men of the Second Sons and mobilize Commander Samwell's army. March to Stone Hedge immediately."

Rhaegar's mind was clear and his plan was already in motion.

"Yes, Prince."

Robb bowed and left to carry out his orders.

Rhaegar then turned to Elmo. "Gather a thousand soldiers and block their retreat along the Red Fork River."

Elmo, not daring to refuse, left quickly. He had just returned to Riverrun and now had to leave again without rest. The exhaustion was obvious, but Rhaegar did not care.

Everyone had to work for the sake of their families.

"Rhaegar, shouldn't we return to Harrenhal first and discuss our strategy with Lord Leonor?" Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice low.

The Blackwoods had 2,000 men, while Riverrun could barely muster 1,000. If both sides set out at the same time, it would take about a day and a night to reach Stone Hedge.

"No need. We will rest in Riverrun tonight," Rhaegar replied firmly. He turned and smiled. "Lord Leonor's allegiance is to a benevolent king, and his actions will reflect that benevolence. I have my own ideas."

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room. Helaena stood stunned, the stones she had been playing with shattering in her hands.

"Broken," she murmured in confusion.

Rhaegar glanced over, curious. He took her hand gently, ruffling her lightly curled silver hair.

Helaena looked up, confused, and let him ruffle her hair with his large hands.

"Never mind, I'll ignore both of you." Rhaenyra said, unable to bear the sight of the siblings' closeness. She gave Rhaegar a look before leaving.

Rhaegar smiled, ignoring the meaning of her glare. When you are a young man, it is important that you keep to yourself.

...

A day and a night had passed.

Blackwood's army had maneuvered into position. They were now camped five miles south of Stone Hedge, a castle located south of the Red Fork River, near the Inn of the Kneeling Man, High Heart, and Acorn Hall, and east of Riverrun. The castle itself was built on a hillside, with a ridge running along its south side, creating a natural barrier.

Meanwhile, Riverrun's army had reached the banks of the Red Fork River first, effectively blocking Stone Hedge's retreat to the north. Despite the looming threat, Stone Hedge remained eerily silent, its gates tightly shut, the atmosphere tense and foreboding.

"Roar..."

Rhaegar arrived astride Cannibal, the dragon’s wings flapping mightily as it descended. The wind whipped his black robe around him—he had grown fond of this attire after his campaigns in the Triarchy Kingdom. The loose black robe was fast, durable, and sturdy, perfect for battle. Anticipating a fierce clash, he had donned it in advance.

Boom!

Cannibal landed on the muddy ground, spraying dirt in all directions. As Rhaegar dismounted, Samwell rushed over.

"Prince," Samwell said respectfully, "Amos Bracken it's trapped in the Stone Hedge and cannot avoid battle. Shall we prepare for a direct attack?"

Rhaegar laughed derisively. "Amos talks tough in his letters and claims he will defend the castle to the death."

The letter from Amos had been half a plea about the kingdom's injustices and half a tirade against the Blackwood House, refusing to admit any fault and eager for immediate war.

Robb approached, his expression grave. "Prince, Lord Amos has forced many civilians into Stone Hedge, probably hoping to use them as human shields to deter you."

"A despicable tactic," Rhaegar spat, then said firmly, "Send a message to Amos. Tell him to meet me at the city gates for a talk."

Whether the conversation was successful or not, the effort had to be made. If dragonfire ended up destroying the city, public opinion would favor Rhaegar's attempt at diplomacy.

"Yes, Prince," Robb replied, sending a bastard son of a knightly family loyal to the Brackens to deliver the message.

After a tense wait, the messenger returned with news: Amos had agreed to meet, but with two conditions. They were to speak only under the battlements at the city gates, and Rhaegar was to bring only one dragon, allowing Amos to escape quickly if necessary.

"Roar..."

Rhaegar glanced up at Syrax and Dreamfire circling above, their vertical pupils fixed on Stone Hedge.

"No problem. I'll meet him," Rhaegar said with a confident smile. He called for Robb and some guards to accompany him.

...

Arriving at the gate of Stone Hedge, Rhaegar and his retinue were met by a grim-faced Amos Bracken standing beneath the gate stacks, surrounded by a large group of soldiers.

Rhaegar approached slowly, a smile playing on his lips as he approached the drawbridge. Cannibal eyes glinted from the shadows, its green pupils glowing with a menacing light.

Robb followed close behind, sword in hand, proclaiming loudly, "Behold Rhaegar Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys I, Breaker of Shackles, Maker of Ruins, and the Heir to the Iron Throne!"

Amos hesitated for a moment, processing the string of titles.

Rhaegar, accustomed to such introductions, remained calm. In addition to his identity, the titles of "Breaker of Shackles" and "Maker of Ruins" were earned after the burning of the Triarchy, reflecting both awe and fear.

With both parties now only five meters apart, Rhaegar's expression hardened. "Amos, release the civilians in the city and you will be left with a whole body."

Amos gripped the hilt of his sword, his voice defiant. "Prince, if you withdraw now, the Lord of Light will forgive your sins."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Has the Bracken House changed its beliefs?"

Some lords in the Riverlands believed in both the Old and New Gods, including houses like Blackwood, Bracken, and Tully.

Amos raised his chin arrogantly. "I have the protection of the Lord of Light. The gods have given me strength."

He drew his longsword and pointed it at Cannibal with reckless bravado. "Targaryens are of fire, and the Lord of Light has given me fire."

"From wildfire?" Rhaegar frowned, wondering if Amos was as foolish as he seemed.

"Wrong!" Amos roared, seemingly emboldened. "Wildfire is but a product of alchemy. I have the aid of the Lord of Light."

Foolishness! Rhaegar decided, losing interest in further dialogue. "Release the civilians, or Stone Hedge will be reduced to rubble."

"They are my people; they will live and die with me!" Amos declared with a mad look. "The Targaryens are full of sin, you are also a abomination created by sin."

Rhaegar's face darkened, fury burning in his eyes. Even Robb stiffened, inwardly raging at Amos's audacity.

Seeing Rhaegar's anger, Amos laughed wildly. "You are full of sin and filth.. The king will assign you to follow the tradition and accept that even more abominable creatures are born."

"Roar!"

Cannibal roared, stretching its thick neck, its gaze locked onto Amos. The dragon's green pupils glowed ferociously, sensing its master’s wrath.

The humiliation cut deep. The Targaryen tradition, a point of contention for centuries, was rarely mocked so openly since the reigns of Maegor the Cruel and Jaehaerys I.

Rhaegar's purple eyes turned scarlet, flames dancing within. One thought consumed him.

His voice was hoarse but resolute: "Dracarys!"