GOT King of Dragon

"You don't need to apologize. Every Targaryen is obsessed with dragons. Making impulsive decisions under such circumstances isn't unusual." 

Looking at Rhaegar lying on the bed, enduring his pain, Erik didn't have the luxury of being angry. 

At the mention of dragons, fury surged in Rhaegar's eyes. Gritting his teeth, he said, "I was so close to taming Dreamfyre." 

"Something happened?" 

Erik frowned, sensing the matter wasn't simple. 

Rhaegar's voice brimmed with anger. "Dreamfyre was just about to accept me, but a chain restrained her, keeping her from even standing up." 

"My bonding ceremony with Dreamfyre was forcibly interrupted by that chain!" 

By the end, Rhaegar was nearly roaring the words from his throat. 

His bloodshot eyes, paired with violet pupils, created an eerie contrast. 

Failure wasn't the issue. 

Success, thwarted by interference, was the true crime. 

Erik hadn't expected such a situation. Grabbing Menas harshly, he threatened, "You're in charge of inspecting the dragonpit regularly. What's this about a chain?" 

Even without extensive knowledge of dragons, Erik knew that the chains used to restrain them were typically long enough to allow for free movement. 

As Rhaegar had described, Dreamfyre's condition was far from normal. 

Erik had reason to suspect that this bastard-born maester was plotting to harm the prince. 

Hoisted high by his collar, Menas panicked, blurting out incoherently, "It wasn't me! I only clean up bones and dragon dung—dirty jobs no one else wants. I'd never dare approach a dragon!" 

"If not you, then who? The dragonkeepers? Or that Maester Barth you mentioned?" 

Clearly unwilling to let him off, Erik punched Menas in the face twice, leaving blood streaming from his nose. 

Menas screamed in pain, desperately explaining, "It's really not me! Only the dragonkeepers can change a dragon's chains—they're the only ones who can calm the dragons!" 

He was shouting himself hoarse in his own defense. 

Rhaegar, agitated, felt his burns throb even more painfully. Frustrated, he said, "Tie him up first. We'll return to the Red Keep immediately. This matter must be reported to my father." 

The pain from his injuries made it hard for him to think clearly. At this moment, Rhaegar wanted only two things: 

First, to return home and find his father. 

Second, to figure out who had tampered with Dreamfyre's chains and feed them to the dragons. 

Erik complied without objection. "Yes, my prince." 

He threw Menas to the ground, stripped off his belt, and tied the man's hands behind his back. 

Securing the powerless, illegitimate maester, Erik gently carried Rhaegar out of the room. 

The carriage was waiting just outside the dragonpit. Erik's steps were steady and quick. 

Ignoring the terrified expression of the coachman, he placed Rhaegar on the spacious seat inside the carriage, allowing him to lie down. 

He kicked Menas toward the coachman, instructing, "Tie him to the back of the carriage and make him run alongside." 

Finally, he added a reminder: "The prince is injured. The carriage can go fast, but it mustn't jolt." 

"Yes, sir," the coachman replied, overwhelmed by the situation. He obediently tied Menas to the rear of the carriage and stuffed his mouth with a rag. 

With everything in order, they set off for the Red Keep. 

... 

**The Red Keep, the King's Chambers** 

Having spent the entire morning watching a tourney, King Viserys returned to his chambers, feeling the fatigue of his age. 

"Summon the Hand of the King. Tell him I have matters to discuss," he called out to the attendants outside the door, rubbing his sore back. 

A servant answered from beyond the door. 

Within ten minutes, Hand of the King Laenor entered, pushing the door open. 

"Your Grace, what is it you wish to discuss?" 

Laenor's plump frame stopped respectfully by the table, awaiting orders. 

After the servants poured wine for both men and left the room, Viserys swirled his wine glass, speaking with a trace of melancholy: 

"Recently, the marriage proposals for Rhaenyra have piled up so high they could form a small mountain. I keep hesitating over what kind of partner to choose for her." 

Laenor's face showed hesitation as he replied thoughtfully, "Your Grace, I believe there's an even more pressing matter requiring your decision." 

"Oh? What could possibly be more important than Rhaenyra's marriage?" 

Viserys asked with amusement. 

But Laenor wasn't smiling. His eyes had been fixed on the king's face from the moment he entered the room. 

A life filled with rich experiences had made Laenor a man of few words and sharp insight. 

He could see clearly that the king was feigning ignorance, as was his habit when avoiding difficult issues. 

Draining his glass of red wine in one gulp, Laenor boldly said: 

"Your Majesty, Prince Rhaegar is your eldest son. According to the Westero tradition of primogeniture, he should rightfully be the heir to the Iron Throne." 

Viserys's expression darkened immediately. He said coldly, "But the current heir is Rhaenyra. She was personally chosen by me, and she's older than Rhaegar." 

The matter was out in the open now, and Laenor had no reason to back down. 

From a logical perspective, he reasoned, "Prince Rhaegar is male. A legitimate male heir is more likely to gain the lords' allegiance." 

"Rhaenyra has been the heir for many years. Not long ago, she even toured the realm, and the lords have all acknowledged her," Viserys retorted angrily. 

In this, he was very much like Rhaenyra—willing to hear others' opinions but treating them merely as suggestions. His actions were entirely based on personal preferences. 

Laenor said, "That's only because they didn't have a better choice. If Prince Rhaegar were put forward, they would undoubtedly prefer a male heir." 

After years of knowing him, Laenor understood Viserys better than the king understood himself. He knew exactly what to say and do to persuade him. 

Unfortunately, when it came to the issue of succession, Viserys was unwavering and refused to yield. He shook his head and declared firmly, "No! Rhaenyra has done nothing wrong. No one can strip her of her right to inherit." 

"Then what about Prince Rhaegar?" 

Laenor didn't dwell on whether Rhaenyra had made any mistakes. He said calmly, "Prince Rhaegar was born to be the heir. He was previously hindered by his frail health, but now that he's strong, are you really going to abandon such an outstanding eldest son?" 

"Of course not!" 

Viserys denied it outright and revealed his plan. "Rhaegar is a good boy. He loves his father and his sister. I will find the best teachers for him, ensuring he grows into a capable and upright man. When Rhaenyra ascends the throne, he can serve as her Hand of the King, regent, or even Warden of the Realm." 

Laenor was dumbfounded. He asked incredulously, "Your Majesty, is that really what you intend?" 

This was just a polite way of putting it. 

Laenor's thoughts were racing. 

The king's eldest son, Rhaegar—shouldn't he be the heir instead? Moreover, would such an outstanding prince truly accept a subordinate role and selflessly serve someone else? Even minor noble families often see brothers fight bitterly over inheritance. 

Let alone the allure of an entire kingdom. 

Even siblings as close as these wouldn't be immune! 

Unbothered by Laenor's doubts, Viserys insisted, "I trust Rhaegar. He'll assist his sister in managing the realm and protect the kingdom from harm." 

Laenor opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words. He picked up a wine jug from the table, poured himself a cup, and downed it in one gulp. 

"Very well. I trust your judgment." 

---

**(End of Chapter)**