Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 687: The Rebirth of a True Dragon!

The sun sank low in the west, igniting the clouds in shades of fire and ink. Over Meereen, the Colosseum roared with chaos.

"Stop them! Don’t let them open the gate!"

"Archers, ready yourselves! Let none escape!"

...

Angry shouts echoed through the arena as, unexpectedly, the iron gate creaked open. The slaves surged forward in a coordinated assault, overwhelming guards and claiming lives with ruthless efficiency. Within half an hour, they had nearly breached the Colosseum's walls.

Boom! Boom!

Torches and braziers toppled, spilling charcoal fires that blocked the passageways and ignited the wooden structures above.

"The gate is just ahead!" someone shouted, igniting hope.

Bands of young, powerful slaves surged forward, wielding makeshift weapons and leaving a bloody trail of guards in their wake. Aemon found himself in their midst, propelled forward by the relentless momentum. Every so often, he glanced back, catching sight of the ashes still smoldering in the arena. The gallows had burned through, embers rising into the sky.

Crash!

The Colosseum gates burst open, and, for a fleeting moment, sunlight poured through, casting a final glow over the fleeing slaves. They escaped from the inferno that had held them prisoner, running into the last light of the setting sun. Then, as if on cue, darkness fell.

"Don’t be afraid! Scatter!"

As night deepened, the slaves vanished into the shadows, fleeing in all directions. The Great Masters stood in fury, lashing out at their subordinates. "After them! Now!"

The slave soldiers hesitated, then steeled themselves and gave chase. Yet this rebellion felt strange—unlike past attempts where slaves made desperate dashes for the city gates, this group dispersed, vanishing into the streets and alleys.

It was as if they intended not just to escape, but to disrupt, sowing confusion and drawing the ire of the Great Masters and citizens alike, casting a shadow over the city’s much-anticipated celebration.

...

The night grew darker, deepening the chaos that had spread across the city. Fires erupted in pockets throughout Meereen, blending with the torches of the slave soldiers until the darkness blazed almost as bright as day. The flames weren’t random; they were set deliberately by the escaping slaves. But instead of fleeing, they turned on the nearby residents, releasing a pent-up fury that drove them to reckless attacks.

The slave soldiers fought back, using brutal force to beat, restrain, or kill the insurgents. Yet, the madness only seemed to grow. It was as though the slaves were venting for a battle they had long anticipated but had never had the chance to fight. Amid the chaos, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Order frayed to the brink of collapse.

...

Outside the Great Pyramid

Taking advantage of the fires raging around the city, a small group crept toward the Great Pyramid—the palace of Meereen's queen. Guarding the structure were ranks of Unsullied soldiers, the famed warriors purchased from Astapor, whose patrols secured the pyramid like an impenetrable wall.

"Who’s going?" murmured a muscular man with dark, wild hair as he lay hidden among the bushes, watching a patrol of Unsullied soldiers. There were only ten of them, but each was a product of brutal, unrelenting training.

A dozen slaves gathered behind him, visibly shaken by the sight of the Unsullied.

“Cowards,” the man spat, standing with a heavy creak as he lifted his massive sword. "I’ll lead the way. Are you with me?”

The sound of his voice immediately drew the attention of the Unsullied, who reacted with a swift, silent precision, spears and shields raised as they formed a tight circle around the advancing slaves. Trapped and seeing no way out but through, the slaves charged.

Puff! One of the slaves dashed forward, only to be impaled through the abdomen by an Unsullied spear.

Thud, thud, thud! The Unsullied struck their spears against their shields, their expressionless faces betraying no emotion as they crouched and moved in, closing the circle.

A major battle was about to erupt.

...

In the bushes nearby, Aemon watched the confrontation, his eyes sharp as he spotted his opportunity. He dropped low, moving stealthily on hands and knees as he crept towards the underground stone prison of the Great Pyramid.

He didn’t know where the red dragon was kept, but every so often, he heard a distant dragon roar, its deep echo reverberating in what sounded like an enclosed space. During his time with Irina, she had told him of the Great Pyramid’s layout. The only place secure enough to contain a dragon was the underground stone prison—a space originally built as a tomb.

Before long, he arrived at the stone prison’s entrance. Two imposing sphinx statues flanked the heavy stone door—one carved with a female face, the other with a male. Normally, there would have been guards, but tonight, their attention had shifted to the battles raging nearby.

“We have to hurry; time is running out,” Aemon said urgently, scanning the surroundings before sprinting toward the stone door.

The escapees were outnumbered, struggling to hold back the relentless waves of Unsullied. If he didn’t act quickly, all their efforts would be for nothing.

Bang! Bang! He pounded his fists against the stone door, pausing to press his ear against its rough surface. This door wasn’t ordinary; it was a specially crafted mechanism, said to be the work of a Blood Mage. Aemon remembered the burglar who had once taught him the art of lockpicking: ‘Use your ears and fingers, not just your eyes.’

He struck the wall beside the door, listening carefully. The sound changed, signaling he was close to the hidden mechanism.

With his fingers pressed against the cool stone, he felt along the surface, seeking the latch that would let him inside.

“Where is it? Hurry!”

A cold voice rang out behind him as footsteps echoed, growing closer. Aemon’s face tightened; he spun around to see a large group of Unsullied soldiers approaching, one squad moving straight toward him, blocking the path to the stone door.

“Open up, open up!” he muttered urgently, a thin line of sweat forming on his forehead as his fingers scraped against the rough stone, bleeding from the pressure. The Unsullied were closing in fast, their spears gleaming black in the flickering torchlight.

Then, with a loud crash, the heavy stone door lurched open, leaving a dent in the wall.

“Excellent,” Aemon whispered, relief flashing across his face as he glanced once at the approaching Unsullied, then slipped through the doorway into the darkness of the stone prison.

...

Inside, the dim, stale air clung to him, heavy with the acrid smell of smoldering ash. Aemon’s purple eyes widened as he carefully traced his path along the cold stone walls. “Where are you?” he whispered into the shadowed silence.

He knew the dragon was here—he had felt its call. His siblings had their own abilities, mysterious talents that hinted at ancient bloodlines: Daenerys with her prophetic dreams, Maekar with his keen intuition. Perhaps he, too, had inherited something, for he could feel the dragon’s presence as though it were a whisper deep within his bones.

“Come out!” Aemon called out in High Valyrian, his voice echoing with the magic he willed into the words.

Crack!

Something snapped beneath his foot. He glanced down and found a charred rib, still warm, bearing marks of something far hotter than ordinary fire. This had to be it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a sudden rush of hot air wafted from his left, thick with the scent of sulfur. A rumbling sound grew louder, punctuated by the heavy clank of chains.

Aemon’s heart pounded as he looked to his left. There, less than ten meters away, a pair of amber eyes opened, cold and piercing, fixing on him with a merciless gaze.

In that instant, the dragon’s maw parted, exposing the fiery red glow of Dragonfire that illuminated its outline. Aemon’s breath caught as the dragon came into full view—a massive creature covered in glistening crimson scales, its neck chained to the wall. It lay coiled in the corner, slowly lifting its head crowned with a crown of sharp, menacing horns.

The dragon’s snout hovered just a few feet from Aemon, their faces almost level. He could feel the searing heat radiating from the dragon’s breath as flames flickered around its jaws.

“Roar~~~”

The dragon released a low, guttural growl, its head tilted slightly as it eyed the silver-haired boy with wary curiosity. Its amber pupils, narrow and sharp, flickered as it assessed him, a mere moment away from unleashing its wrath.

But Aemon only laughed—a soft, breathy sound, almost childlike in its happiness. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he slowly raised a hand, each step taking him closer to the dragon’s open maw.

“Roar!”

The red dragon’s pupils flashed with a fierce, tyrannical light as it stretched its neck forward, nearly toppling the silver-haired boy with its sheer size and force. Straining against the sturdy chains, its enormous maw stopped just short of Aemon, less than a meter away.

In that tense moment, Aemon’s bloodied palm rested lightly against the dragon’s muzzle. With a soft smile, he murmured, “Are you trapped too, big guy?”

The dragon, bound and unable to soar, mirrored Aemon’s own confinement within these cold stone walls. Its pupils narrowed in surprise—no one had ever dared to touch it so casually.

“It’s not pleasant being caught, is it?” Aemon spoke softly, more to himself, his usual disheveled appearance now calm and composed. Unlike his eldest brother Baelon’s sternness or his third brother Maekar’s hesitations, Aemon seemed to carry both his father Rhaegar’s courage and his mother Rhaenyra’s resilient grace.

“Roar!”

The red dragon’s fury flared, a fiery intensity rising in its maw as it opened wide, its bright red Dragonfire burning hotter. It seemed ready to defend its pride, even if it meant devouring him in an instant.

“Don’t worry, I’ll set you free.” Aemon withdrew his hand calmly, stepping past the dragon’s fiery gaze, undaunted by its lethal breath, and moved toward the base of the dragon’s neck where the iron shackles bit into its scales.

The dragon seemed to understand; for a moment, it held back its wrath, observing him in guarded silence. Aemon’s steps were steady, and he even reached out to pat its glistening red scales, murmuring, “Bow your head, big guy.”

The dragon’s pupils glinted with suspicion, but after a moment, it lowered its head, its massive neck resting on the floor and turning slightly to expose the iron shackles. The three-foot-wide metal bands wrapped tightly around its neck, restricting its every move.

“Here we go,” Aemon said quietly, climbing up the chains to examine the lock. His fingers ran along the cold steel until—

Click!

The shackle unlocked with a metallic snap, and the heavy chains slid down, clattering to the stone floor.

“Roar!”

The red dragon lifted its head and roared triumphantly, its Dragonfire bursting forth in a torrent of brilliant, blood-red flames that scorched the ceiling, a volcanic fury unleashed after years of suppression.

Roar! Roar!

With its amber eyes gleaming, the dragon crept towards the prison door, each massive step echoing through the chamber as it coiled its thirty-meter body. It was massive, already a giant even among dragons, its form well beyond its age.

“Roar?” The red dragon stopped at the threshold, then turned, casting a glance back at Aemon, who remained in the shadows, watching quietly. He didn’t move closer; a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.

In his heart, Aemon understood: The dragon chooses its rider, and the rider chooses the dragon. This creature had known only chains and darkness, enduring the cruelty of the Dothraki and Slaver’s Bay. To tame it purely for escape would be to trade one master for another. If the dragon chose to leave, it would be a choice freely made.

Bang!

The dragon shook itself, flexing its powerful tail and crashing it through the stone door, sending a squad of Unsullied flying before they had time to react.

Then, as the dust settled, the red dragon slowly turned its head back once more.

“Roar!”

The red dragon’s fierce, vertical pupils locked onto the silver-haired boy, reflecting his image as if its roar were summoning him forward. Aemon’s eyes gleamed with excitement, his mouth curling up in a grin. “Here it comes,” he whispered.

He ran up to the dragon, who lowered its proud head once more, allowing him to climb onto its back. As Aemon settled in, his hands found steady footing on the barbs along its powerful neck. “Shall I name you, big guy?” he murmured, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Trickster… Trickster…” he mused, recalling his long-lost childhood companion. That memory was etched in his mind as if branded there. But his thoughts shifted to Leah, who was still in danger, and the little red horse she had once given him.

“Roar?” The red dragon’s head tilted slightly, sensing Aemon’s silence, then lifted itself up and climbed out of the dark stone prison, its wings unfolding as it took in its newfound freedom. The night sky sprawled above them, dotted with stars, the city below alight with fires. Aemon looked up, recognizing the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor shining clearly for the first time in ages.

“They’ve reunited too,” he murmured, a smile crossing his face as he ignored the stinging in his scraped palms. With this dragon, he could finally go home.

“Roar!” The red dragon’s excitement mounted as it saw the fires scattered across the city, eager to unleash its fury. An idea sparked in Aemon’s mind, and he leaned down, saying, “Big guy, how about Ursarion? You were born fierce, weren’t you?”

The dragon snorted indifferently at the name, caring little about titles. Its massive wings unfurled, catching the breeze as it launched into the sky, its blood-red wings stretching wide, seeming to scatter stars with each beat.

Below, ranks of Unsullied clustered around the Great Pyramid, alert and tense. Aemon looked down, a surge of pride filling his heart as he relished his new title—dragon rider. His voice rang out with perfect clarity: “Dracarys, Ursarion!”

Boom!

Bright red Dragonfire rained down like molten blood, drenching the Unsullied below. Their screams echoed as armor twisted and bodies turned to ash beneath the dragon’s wrath.

The dragon—now Ursarion—swooped low over the Great Pyramid, its vertical pupils gleaming with cold fury as it burned everything in its sight, exacting revenge on those who had captured and chained it, those who had wronged them both.

“Follow me, Ursarion,” Aemon commanded, gripping the dark red dorsal fin firmly as they descended toward the Pyramid’s entrance, eyes fixed on the vestibule ahead.

Tonight, vengeance was their guiding fire.

...

Meanwhile, in the vestibule:

Irina, who had been preparing for bed, heard the commotion and rushed outside, eyes widening as she spotted the red dragon hovering in the sky. "What's going on!?" she yelled.

Suddenly, she grabbed the bald wizard by the collar of his red robe, her voice a furious hiss. "Explain yourself! Why has the dragon escaped?" She strained her eyes; there was another figure on the dragon's back. Someone had tamed it.

"Your Grace, you must leave at once," the wizard replied calmly, recognizing that the red dragon was now a threat to them.

Irina’s expression shifted to horror. She spun to flee, but it was already too late.

Boom!

A torrent of crimson Dragonfire rained down, obliterating the Unsullied stationed in the forecourt. With a heavy thud, the dragon—now an unbridled force of rage—landed before her. Irina stood frozen, watching in horror as the soldiers around her were incinerated in a burst of blood-red flame.

“Roar!”

The dragon, Ursarion, unleashed a furious bellow, its merciless gaze fixed on those who had once tried to tame it. Among them was Irina, who trembled as the dragon and its rider approached her slowly. She could make out the figure now, and a chilling recognition set in.

“You… it’s you?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Aemon sat astride the dragon’s back, looking down at his former captor with a calm, relieved expression.

Aemon didn’t reply. Instead, he patted Ursarion’s back, bringing the dragon’s head level with Irina and the others. The dragon’s amber eyes gleamed with deadly intent.

“What do you want?” Irina forced out, trying to keep her composure, but her shaking legs betrayed her.

Aemon regarded her coldly, extending his hand. “My mother’s necklace. Return it to me.”

Irina’s hand went to the pendant hanging around her neck—a dragon-headed piece of Valyrian steel. For a moment, she hesitated, but Aemon’s unwavering gaze left her no choice. She ripped the necklace from her neck and passed it to the bald wizard. “Give it to him,” she ordered.

The wizard’s face paled as he approached Aemon, his steps slow, as if each one brought him closer to certain doom. Finally, he handed Aemon the pendant, who took it with a faint smile, rubbing the dragon pendant thoughtfully before placing it back around his neck.

The bald wizard began to turn, thinking the exchange complete.

“Roar!”

Ursarion’s mouth opened wide, releasing a fresh wave of Dragonfire, this time directed at the wizard. He barely had time to scream as the flames consumed him, his red robes igniting and his skin melting away, leaving only a pool of blood and ash in his place.

Witnessing the gruesome sight, the remaining maids and guards attempted to flee.

“Dracarys,” Aemon commanded softly.

Ursarion’s eyes flashed with savage glee, and it unleashed its fiery breath, scorching all those within reach. Their desperate cries filled the air before they, too, were reduced to smoldering remnants.

“No… no, no…” Irina backed away, her body trembling as she struggled to escape.

With a low growl, Ursarion lunged, its jaws snapping down on her shoulder, tearing away her arm and swallowing it whole. Piece by piece, the dragon dismembered her, reducing her to silence in six brutal bites, until only one blood-soaked leg remained.

Aemon looked down at the remains without a shred of remorse. He spoke softly, as if to himself, “There is only one Dragonlord family in this world, and you taught me that lesson well.”

His journey, marked by suffering and betrayal, had confirmed the harsh reality of survival in a world ruled by power. “I won’t consume you, but you will live on in me,” he whispered, glancing up at the stars with closed eyes.

“Roar!” Ursarion bellowed, its mighty form lifting into the sky, its wings carrying it above the burning city below. Tonight, the flames would dance until dawn, and sleep would be banished from Meereen.

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