Rhaegar sighed helplessly. "Things have escalated. Aemon has been placed under house arrest by his two uncles. He managed to get a letter to me through an intermediary."
"Then you should go see for yourself. Riverrun must not fall into chaos," Rhaenyra said sternly.
Lord Tully was gravely ill. If his two sons were allowed to run amok, it could lead to internal strife and turmoil throughout the Riverlands.
Rhaegar nodded. "I should indeed make the trip."
Though Lord Tully was somewhat mediocre and stubborn, he had at least remained loyal to the crown.
Being in the Riverlands, Rhaegar couldn't simply stand by.
He gestured for Grey Worm to come closer and instructed, "Set out soon. Take some men and ride through the night to Riverrun."
"How many men do we need?" Grey Worm tightened his grip on his spear.
After a brief moment of thought, Rhaegar said, "Fifty Unsullied and fifty Fearless. That should be enough."
The Fearless were infantry soldiers trained in a modified version of the Unsullied's rigorous regimen, developed under Grey Worm's supervision.
Though they weren't as formidable as the Unsullied, they were still capable of taking on two or three enemies in direct combat.
Harrenhal's defenses primarily relied on the Fearless for patrol duty.
Upon hearing the exact number, Grey Worm's eyes flickered. He nodded solemnly. "Understood, Prince."
For Riverrun, which usually housed no more than a thousand troops, a hundred elite soldiers would be more than enough to ensure the prince's safety.
Rhaegar glanced at both Tormund and Grey Worm before asking, "Anything else to report?"
If not, he was ready to take a much-needed rest.
Grey Worm hesitated for a moment before saying in a low voice, "Prince, Scholar Trystan asked me to inquire about his request. With the restoration of Harrenhal underway, he wishes to return to the Citadel and reclaim his maester's title."
Trystan was a former maester, stripped of his title. He disliked being called a maester.
In Harrenhal, people typically addressed him as "Scholar" out of respect.
This was partly due to his efforts in educating local children, teaching them to read and write.
Rhaegar considered it briefly, then glanced subtly at Rhaenyra before smiling. "Tell him not to worry. In due time, I will arrange for his journey to Oldtown."
Oldtown—he did need to visit there at some point.
Grey Worm let out a small sigh of relief, as if he had just completed an important task. He nodded and withdrew respectfully.
He had learned the Common Tongue of Westeros from Trystan, who had a mild temperament.
Since this was the first time Trystan had ever made a request of him, Grey Worm took it seriously.
Rhaegar then turned to Tormund, who remained behind. His gaze signaled him to speak quickly.
Tormund offered a helpless smile and said softly, "The Faith of the Seven has sent two missionaries to the sept within the castle."
"That's not an issue. Just make sure they don't wander around. Think of them as extra hands to keep the sept clean," Rhaegar said, frowning slightly.
He wasn't particularly fond of the Faith of the Seven.
The high-ranking members contributed nothing productive, yet they constantly demanded tributes from nobles to fill their own coffers.
The lower ranks were mostly impoverished commoners who, rather than finding ways to survive, placed their hopes in the so-called Seven.
There were some sincere believers who traveled to spread the faith and provide aid to orphans and the elderly.
However, they were often too ignorant, making unreasonable demands that defied logic.
Sure enough, the two missionaries had not only taken up residence in the sept but had also made a request.
Tormund looked troubled. "They want you to fund the construction of a thirty-foot-tall statue of the Mother, made entirely of bronze."
Rhaegar chuckled in disbelief. "Do they have any idea how much bronze it would take to create a thirty-foot statue?"
On the continent of Westeros, aside from gold and silver being the most valued currencies, copper was also extremely precious.
These two missionaries had the audacity to ask him to pay for a solid bronze statue, as if bronze were free.
Tormund gently stroked the restless white hawk on his shoulder and said in a calm voice, "According to the missionaries, this is a negotiable request."
"Harrenhal has lost its Old Gods' traditions, and you rebuilt the sept, which proves that the Seven are gaining favor in the Riverlands," he continued.
"As the Targaryen heir, you should set an example by spreading the Faith of the Seven as widely as possible in this land."
The Riverlands was an ancient region, home to many noble houses that still followed the Old Gods.
Many families had weirwood trees in their godswoods.
The Faith of the Seven had long sought to convert these families.
Rhaegar understood the missionaries' true intentions and scoffed.
After a brief pause, he said, "Tell them that the Mother represents mercy and purity. I will have a ten-foot wooden statue carved in her honor—nothing more. They must not be greedy."
His army of Fearless soldiers required a vast supply of metal for armor and weapons.
He had no spare resources to indulge the missionaries' ambitions.
Tormund's eyes flickered with amusement, and he smiled. "I will remind them of this, Prince."
The Faith of the Seven was a unique force in the realm.
You couldn't hit them, nor could you scold them.
Yet, they shamelessly extended their hands to everyone, demanding money.
And you couldn't refuse.
Refusal was seen as disrespecting the Seven, an act punishable by judgment.
—
**Two days later.**
**Riverrun.**
"Screeeech!"
Gluttonous soared above the city, its keen eyes watching the tiny figures scurrying below.
The castle guards swiftly lowered the drawbridge, and the soldiers at the gate pulled open the heavy doors.
Gluttonous descended slowly, allowing its rider to dismount.
Rhaegar landed lightly on his feet, patting the dragon's scaly hide. "Go rest nearby, my friend."
"Roaaar..."
Gluttonous let out a low growl in response, its green, slit-pupiled eyes sweeping over the soldiers on the walls before it turned and took flight.
"Prince, you've arrived."
As soon as the dragon took off, Grey Worm led a squad of soldiers out from the city.
"Let's go inside," Rhaegar said calmly.
"Yes, Prince."
Grey Worm followed closely behind, just half a step back, leading the soldiers in two columns to escort Rhaegar into the city.
After crossing the drawbridge, Rhaegar glanced around, surveying Riverrun's garrison.
Each soldier stood with their head hanging low, stationed at various points along the city walls.
It was clear that Lord Tully's illness had deeply affected the family.
"Take me to see Duke Glover first."
Rhaegar's primary concern was Lord Tully's condition.
The old man better not die in bed before naming an heir.
That would make things complicated.
Grey Worm led the way, pushing aside obstructing attendants as he escorted Rhaegar through Riverrun's main keep, searching for the duke's quarters.
He didn't see Lord Tully's two sons or Elmont.
The entire castle was eerily quiet, lacking its usual lively atmosphere.
Lord Tully had always been fond of pleasure, frequently hosting banquets and hiring traveling circuses and theater troupes for entertainment.
Riverrun's main keep and walls were built from white stone.
The duke's quarters were located one floor below the attic of the main tower, and Rhaegar's group arrived quickly.
In front of an old, slightly worn brown wooden door, two armored knights stood guard.
Upon seeing Rhaegar approach, they hurriedly saluted. "Your Highness."
They were sworn knights of Lord Tully, loyal only to him.
Rhaegar raised a hand slightly and said calmly, "At ease. I've come to see Duke Glover."
One of the knights spoke in a low voice. "Your Highness, the maester is inside treating the duke. Please keep your voice down so as not to disturb his rest."
"Don't worry, I'll just take a quick look and leave." Rhaegar respected the knight's concern.
The knight placed a hand over his chest in a gesture of gratitude.
The other knight opened the door and silently stepped aside.
Rhaegar left Grey Worm at the door and entered the room alone.
As soon as he stepped inside, the thick scent of medicine filled his nose.
He instinctively covered his mouth and nose slightly and walked in with lowered eyes.
Riverrun wasn't a large castle, so the lord's quarters were relatively modest.
The rough stone walls were decorated with swords, stag heads, and candleholders.
A solid wooden round table sat in the center of the room, not far from a feather-stuffed bed beside the fireplace.
The fireplace crackled with burning logs, and the resin-rich pinewood popped occasionally.
A middle-aged maester sat at the bedside, writing down the duke's condition with a quill.
"Low fever… unconscious… half a bowl of bloodletting at set intervals…"
Rhaegar tiptoed closer, observing the unconscious Lord Tully.
The old man's face was pale as he lay with his eyes closed. A damp cloth rested on his forehead, and a thick blanket covered him.
Rhaegar's arrival startled the maester, who flinched.
"Your Highness! When did you come in?"
Rhaegar placed a finger to his lips and whispered, "Shh! Don't disturb the patient."
"Ah… yes, of course."
The maester was momentarily stunned before offering a bitter smile. "The duke has been unconscious for days, and his condition hasn't improved."
"Have you finished your examination?" Rhaegar asked.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Then leave."
He had already heard enough about the duke's condition, and the maester's presence was no longer necessary.
Once the man left, Rhaegar sat down beside the bed, gazing at the unconscious Lord Tully.
He reached out and lifted the damp cloth from the old man's forehead.
It was ice-cold—no longer suitable for use.
Casually tossing it aside, Rhaegar muttered, "Old man, I told you long ago to name an heir, but you just had to hesitate."
Lord Tully had always favored his grandson, Elmont Tully, as his successor.
However, he was also a stubborn traditionalist, unwilling to defy the ancient rules of succession.
According to the Andal inheritance law followed in Westeros, if the eldest son of a noble house died, the line of succession would be rearranged.
The deceased heir's children did not automatically inherit; instead, the title passed to the next eligible male heir in the direct line.
Under these laws, Lord Tully's second son was next in line, while his eldest grandson, Elmont, was only third in succession.
But both of Lord Tully's sons were incompetent, and he had no desire to entrust Riverrun to them.
With his sons constantly causing trouble and his own reluctance to break tradition, the issue of succession had remained unresolved.
"Hah… hah…"
As if responding to Rhaegar's complaint, Lord Tully's dry lips quivered slightly, and he took several deep breaths.
Rhaegar paused, thinking for a moment that the old man might wake up.
But after a few labored breaths, Lord Tully fell silent again.
Rhaegar rolled his eyes in disappointment and muttered, "If scolding could wake you up, I'd actually be impressed."
Shaking his head, he rinsed the damp cloth in warm water and placed it back on the old man's forehead.
The strong smell of medicine in the room was overwhelming, and he decided it was time to leave.
*Crunch—*
As he stepped forward, something cracked beneath his boot.
Rhaegar looked down, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes.
Squatting down, he picked up a cracked sunflower seed shell and glanced under the bed.
It was dim, but surprisingly clean—whoever maintained the room had done a decent job.
Standing up, he flicked the seed shell aside and chuckled softly.
*(End of Chapter)*