Chapter 324: King’s Landing Reformation

Alicent, dressed in a stunning green gown that accentuated her marvelous figure, gracefully stepped out next. Viserys, looking vibrant and full of smiles, assisted his wife as they walked hand in hand.

They were followed by the Hand of the King, Lyonel, who led a group of royal advisors who descended from the carriage one by one.

"Ohhh~" Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and stepped forward to greet them.

"Rhaegar, you rogue, you've finally decided to return," Viserys remarked half-jokingly.

Rhaegar laughed and asked, "Father, are you planning to travel by dragon?"

Seeing Vermithor released suggested more than a simple outing.

Viserys, adjusting his fine clothes and gently wrapping his arm around Alicent's waist, responded smugly, "I've been invited by Lord Walys of Maidenpool and decided to take Alicent to soak in the Jonquil's Pool."

"Soak in the pool?" Rhaegar questioned, eyeing the approaching royal advisers. "Lord Borros is dead, and Storm's End still needs your attention to settle the matter."

Taking a closer look at his father, he noticed not just a marked improvement but a vibrant transformation. Viserys, with his straightened posture, silver-golden hair flowing freely, and clean-shaven face, looked revitalized and energetic.

Viserys, beaming with happiness, explained, "I spoke with your aunt Rhaenys. Aemond is leading a team to escort the Four Storms back to Storm's End fortress. With Rhaenys's help, the heir and marriage matters are being handled."

The cause of Borros's death remained unresolved, and Lady Elenda left the investigation to her father, Royce Caron. The crucial issues were the marriage alliance between the Targaryen and Baratheon Houses and ensuring Cassandra, Borros's eldest daughter, inherited Storm's End Castle.

Rhaegar, taken aback, could only admire, "Aunt Rhaenys acts swiftly."

He had anticipated trouble at Storm's End, but it seemed matters were resolved quietly and efficiently.

"Of course," Viserys boasted, "back in the day, your aunt was known as The Queen Who Never Was. Her reputation was much greater than mine."

Viserys, clearly enjoying the moment, instructed, "I'll be leaving immediately and aim to be soaking in the pool by evening. The Small Council and King's Landing are in your hands."

"Father, you know I have a lot to handle in your absence..."

"Rhaegar, you are my eldest son, the Regent Heir of the Kingdom," Viserys interrupted firmly. "Whatever happens in King's Landing during my absence is your responsibility. Don't say you can't manage."

Rhaegar frowned slightly, "It's about the defense of King's Landing and changes to the Small Council."

"Still, you are in full charge," Viserys insisted, showing little interest but offering encouragement.

Rhaegar felt a bit uneasy, glancing sideways at the royal advisers. Lyonel and the others remained silent.

"They will all assist you. You need to get familiar with these duties in advance," Viserys added, patting his eldest son's shoulder. Then, with a pleased look, he suddenly mentioned, "And stop wearing black robes all the time. You're the Heir. You should dress appropriately."

Turning to his wife, he said, "Alicent, call Terra."

Alicent softly called out, and a tall maid emerged from the carriage.

"Prince," the maid said respectfully, "a set of clothes has been prepared within the carriage."

Rhaegar, surprised, followed the maid into the carriage.

A few minutes later, Rhaegar changed from his black robe into a black tunic adorned with silver ornaments. His short silver-gold hair was smoothed back and tied into a low ponytail with a hair band.

Viserys, watching him, couldn't contain his pride. "Look at my boy, much more handsome than my complacent brother," he boasted. Having Rhaegar had shown him why Westeros nobles were so keen on having handsome, wise heirs. Just looking at Rhaegar lifted his spirits.

"Father, you don't have to go to so much trouble," Rhaegar said, feeling a bit awkward.

Despite his words, Rhaegar's noble demeanor made every movement seem natural. He looked good in everything, as Rhaenyra often attested. He preferred his black robes for their ease of care.

"Nonsense," Viserys said, smiling. "An heir should look the part. Clothes make the man, just as saddles make the horse."

With a wave of his hand, Viserys dismissed Rhaegar. "Go on, now. It's your father's turn to enjoy life."

He wrapped his arm around Alicent's waist and strode towards Vermithor. Alicent looked uneasy and whispered, "Viserys, I really don't want to ride a dragon."

"Don't worry," Viserys reassured her. "Vermithor has a saddle. You'll be safe."

He ignored her protests, helping her onto the dragon's back.

"Roar!" Vermithor let out a low roar and flapped his massive wings, soaring into the air. Viserys' joyous laughter echoed faintly as they flew.

Rhaegar watched with a frown. "It seems my ascension to the Iron Throne has been delayed by another ten years," he joked to Lyonel.

Lyonel smiled. "That's good news. The maester said the king's wounds are no longer inflamed and just need some painkillers."

"Indeed," Rhaegar agreed. He suspected dragon riding had helped heal his father more than expected, perhaps due to a change in mindset.

Lyonel spoke up, "Prince, it's time to depart. The men you requested from Harrenhal are waiting at the Dragon Gate."

"Let's go then," Rhaegar nodded. He noticed Aemond and the Four Storms nearby. "Aemond, should we take them back to the Red Keep? The Baratheon ladies don't look well."

Aemond responded casually, "No need. Ser Steffon from the Kingsguard will pick us up soon."

Rhaegar glanced at the pale Cassandra, who was being supported by her sisters. "Are you sure?"

Aemond, unperturbed, replied, "No problem. I'll take care of them."

Rhaegar stared into his brother's eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity. Aemond's gaze remained steady.

After a moment, Rhaegar said, "Make sure to manage everything well. If there's any issue, contact Dragonpit Maester Maynard."

With that, Rhaegar boarded the carriage and departed with his advisors.

As the carriage rolled away, Aemond turned to the Four Storms huddled together. Maris, comforting her eldest sister Cassandra, whispered, "We should have gone with Prince Rhaegar."

"Didn't I say Ser Stephen will be here soon?" Aemond's tone was flat.

Maris, frustrated, tried to console her sister. They had already lost Prince Aegon as a potential match and couldn't afford to upset the more promising Aemond.

Aemond squatted, resting his chin on his hands. "Rest for a while. There's some big news coming."

"What news?" Maris asked, suspecting it might be about Aemond's choice of a betrothed.

Aemond shook his head gently. "Trust me, you don't want to know. Enjoy the peace while it lasts."

...

The carriage emerged from the Rhaenys's Hill, following a straight path toward the towering Dragon Gate, which soon loomed into view. The gate, adorned with a giant carving of a dragon in flight, stood open wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side.

Swish... Swish...

A group of soldiers in black helmets and armor, holding spears and shields, marched through the gate. At a glance, they resembled the Unsullied from Astapor. The soldiers, moving in neat, uniform ranks, numbered in the thousands.

Leading the soldiers were three high-mounted riders, each distinctively dressed. As the wheeled palace pulled up to the street, Rhaegar lifted the curtains, silently admiring the scene.

"Prince, are these the Fearless you've trained to follow the Unsullied?" Otto inquired, sitting up straight.

Rhaegar nodded. "This is the initial batch. There are still two thousand left to garrison Harrenhal."

His time in Harrenhal hadn't been just for repairs. Harrenhal's vast fertile lands in the Riverlands provided an ample pool of recruits. Rhaegar had selected thousands of 13 to 16-year-old boys from poor families with at least one living parent and more than one child. These conditions ensured loyalty and bravery in battle.

After recruiting a thousand men, it became challenging to find suitable soldiers from the civilians in Harrenhal. Rhaegar then turned his attention to the flea dens of King's Landing, where countless destitute children could be found.

Boys of the right age were selected for training, while girls were either assigned as maids in Harrenhal or sent to the Mushroom Set Caravan for handicraft work.

As long as they were hardworking, they were guaranteed shelter and food. When Flea Bottom ran out of recruits, Rhaegar began taking in strong young slaves and war orphans from the crownlands and the Vale. These recruits were loyal, eager to train, and competent fighters.

Otto, absorbing Rhaegar's explanation, remained silent but contemplative. Three thousand armored soldiers represented a formidable force anywhere.

Turning to Lyonel, Rhaegar instructed, "Lord Lyonel, I've purchased an area on theStreet of Steel large enough for three thousand soldiers. You'll oversee the construction of a barracks there. One thousand Fearless will serve as the garrison for King's Landing."

With a population exceeding hundreds ofthousands, the city's law and order were notoriously chaotic. The existing garrison of two thousand Gold Cloaks was insufficient. Even with the addition of the Dragonkeepers from the Dragonpit and the Kingsguard from the Red Keep, more was needed. The Gold Cloaks camped on Silk Street in the east, so the new garrison on Steel Street in the west would help secure the city from both sides, protecting the Red Keep.

Lyonel nodded. "Prince, I know that area. It's just west of the Alchemists' Guild."

"Exactly," Rhaegar mused. "Since the wildfire incident at the Battle of Harrenhal, many charlatans in the city claim to be Alchemists. The Fearless can keep an eye on them."

With arrangements for the Fearless in place, Rhaegar glanced back at the soldiers on the street. The three leading riders caught his eye. Two were clad in armor, riding confidently. The third, in rough linen, had curly brown hair and a pale face. On his shoulders perched a white falcon and a black crow.

Rhaegar's lips curled into a smile. "Tormund, you're hopeless on a horse. Join us in the carriage."

(Word count: 1,639)