**Chapter 121: The Eight Hundred Warriors**  

Near noon, the meeting concluded. 

Each person returned the stone ball before them to its designated spot on the circular platform and exited the hall together. 

"Viserys." 

As soon as they stepped outside, Alicent, dressed in a green gown, called softly and naturally took her husband's arm. 

"Have you been waiting long, Alicent?" 

Viserys enjoyed his wife's attentiveness and smiled as he asked. 

He was in his prime and deeply fond of the youthful and beautiful Alicent. The two shared a loving relationship. 

"I've prepared lunch and was just waiting for you to join me." 

Alicent smiled warmly, her gaze as tender as water. 

Viserys glanced at the accompanying ministers, straightened his posture, and felt a sense of pride in his wife's virtuousness. 

The ministers did not disappoint his expectations; they smiled, nodded, and tactfully walked away. 

Viserys turned expectantly to his two children and extended an invitation. "Would you like to join us? Alicent's cooking is quite good." 

"No, Rhaegar and I already ate," Rhaenyra replied, her face devoid of expression as she turned and walked away. 

She had grown distant from her father and was even more at odds with her "good sister" Alicent, to the point of hostility. If unnecessary, she avoided sharing a table with them altogether. 

Rhaegar stood in place, amused as he watched Rhaenyra's retreating figure. 

Having been freed from the constraints of the crown prince's title, Rhaenyra had relaxed in recent years. If she didn't like something, she didn't hide it. 

"Ahem…" 

Just as Rhaegar was contemplating how to decline the invitation, a soft cough came from not far away. 

Rhaegar looked over and saw Tyland, with his golden hair, clearing his throat and winking at him. 

The young Lannister was undeniably a handsome man. 

But being winked at by another man left Rhaegar a bit unsettled. 

After a moment's thought, Rhaegar politely declined. "Father, the caravan from Mushroom Creek is expected to arrive later. I need to supervise it." 

Viserys looked disappointed. "It's just a group of wildlings; what's there to supervise?" 

However, he knew the effort his eldest son had put in and didn't press further. He took Alicent's arm, and the two walked away together. 

Once they had gone, Rhaegar approached Tyland, who had been waiting for some time, and smiled. "Lord Tyland, what can I do for you?" 

"Let's talk as we walk." 

"Of course." 

As they strolled through the corridor, Tyland clasped his hands behind his back and spoke cryptically. "Prince, do you know why the Queen was waiting outside the council hall today?" 

"Is she planning something?" 

Rhaegar maintained his smile but raised the question. 

Since the succession council had concluded, Alicent had behaved herself. 

Aside from a few inconsequential maneuvers in private, she had maintained the appearance of a virtuous and gracious queen and had not clashed with Rhaegar openly. 

Tyland nodded. "The street-cleaning initiative you proposed recently? The Queen has privately recommended former Hand of the King, Lord Otto, to take charge of it." 

"Heh, clever. She plans to bring Otto back to King's Landing while taking control of the operation," Rhaegar said with a faint smile. 

The population of King's Landing had swelled to an astonishing 500,000, making it one of the largest cities in all of Westeros. 

Yet, despite being a political center, the city was overpopulated, chaotic, and riddled with filth. The streets were littered with human waste, and the stench was unbearable. 

Every summer, even from ten miles away, Rhaegar could smell the foul odor while riding his dragon. 

Before proposing the Dragonpit reform, Rhaegar had already suggested cleaning the streets and improving the residents' living environment. 

"Prince, you should act quickly and select someone trustworthy to oversee the implementation," Tyland advised earnestly, his words carrying deeper implications. "Allowing Otto to return to King's Landing would not only let him take credit for your work but also create unnecessary trouble." 

"Thank you for the information, Lord Tyland," Rhaegar said, amused, as he patted the man on the shoulder before parting ways at the staircase. 

He had no doubt about the accuracy of Tyland's intel. 

As for Tyland's motives, Rhaegar could only shake his head. 

... 

Night fell. 

Rhaegar returned to the Dragonpit. 

As he pushed open the large doors, the interior was shrouded in darkness. The interplay of firelight and moonlight cast mottled and indistinct shadows across the space. 

Rhaegar's steps were steady, and the faint sound of sharp friction reached his ears. 

"Scree—" 

Suddenly, a piercing roar echoed as a pillar of green dragonfire erupted, illuminating the entire dragon lair. 

The glutton climbed to the top of the lair, overlooking the rider below. 

As the dragonfire lit up the space, figures gradually came into view, neatly lined up in formation. 

"Prince..." 

The moment they saw Rhaegar, their shouts resounded like war drums, echoing throughout the vast dragon lair. 

*Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—* 

Torches were lit one by one, dispelling the darkness and restoring brightness to the lair. 

Rhaegar looked up and saw that the center of the lair was divided into two groups of people, crowded together. 

One group wore leather armor and wielded spears or swords—these were the lair's original guards. 

There were about 300 of them. 

The other group wore animal hides and coarse cloth. They were tall, burly, and fierce-looking—nearly a thousand in number. 

These were the freedmen who had once followed him from the Crab Claw Peninsula. 

From each group, a representative stepped forward. 

One was Maenars, wearing a scholar's robe, his pale complexion showing signs of recovery. 

The other was a slender, brown-haired youth dressed in coarse fabric, with a white falcon perched on his shoulder. 

The boy approached Rhaegar, bowed deeply, and said softly, "Prince, 800 warriors have been waiting for your orders." 

Rhaegar playfully punched his shoulder and asked, "There weren't any problems during transport, were there, Tormund?" 

Tormund glanced at the white falcon on his shoulder and said shyly, "Rest assured, I have more than one pair of eyes watching." 

That white falcon was a legacy of his tribe. 

"Good. Tomorrow, send someone to collect the equipment and increase the Dragon Guard to a thousand men." 

Rhaegar swept his gaze over the 800 freedmen warriors, feeling a surge of pride. 

These were the fighters he had meticulously trained. 

Now that the dragon lair needed manpower, they were a legitimate armed force. 

In the vast capital of King's Landing, the royal army consisted of only 2,000 Gold Cloaks. 

The dragon couldn't always stay by his side. 

If he didn't assemble a force loyal solely to him, how could he sleep at night? 

... 

After assigning tasks, Rhaegar ascended to the second floor of the dragon lair. 

The second floor housed his private chambers. 

*Creaaak—* 

Pushing the door open, Rhaegar stepped into the room, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

"You're back?" 

A familiar voice sounded as a lantern was lit, revealing Rhaenyra's figure. 

Rhaegar closed the door and lit the room's candles, surprised. "Rhaenyra, what are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for you." 

Rhaenyra had changed into an off-shoulder red dress. Swaying her hips, she approached, lifting his chin with her fingers and smiling playfully. 

"This afternoon, those endless lines of wagons carrying freedmen into the city? It wasn't hard to guess where you'd be." 

"You saw the army I've assembled. What do you think?" 

Rhaegar made no attempt to hide his pride as he sat casually at the table near the fireplace. 

"They're fierce. As expected from wildlings—they'll be of great use." 

Rhaenyra spoke honestly. 

Rhaegar picked up a quill and a piece of parchment, sketching as he talked. "I've put a lot of thought into solving the freedmen's survival issues." 

"The Mushroom Market, huh? That's a great money-making tool." 

Rhaenyra thought of the special caravans operating in the Crownlands and the Riverlands, her tone tinged with envy. 

The nobles of the Crownlands were mostly wealthy, and the Mushroom Market, established at the borders of their territories, served as a central trading hub. 

The Riverlands, with their unique geography of crisscrossing rivers and weak connections between lords, had a stagnant economy. 

Rhaegar had collaborated with the old Duke Tully, using trade caravans to transport goods to the various nobles' territories in exchange for supplies. 

This enterprise earned him a hefty profit each year. 

Not only could he support a group of freedmen, but he also had extra money to spend. 

Want to see dragons? If so, write more about the dragons in the storyline. 

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