Bastard

Rhaegar interrupted his defense, stifling his annoyance.

"Just because of some rumors, Father grounded me? Isn't that a bit much?"

"Rumors can hurt people. There were all sorts of things being said back then. His Majesty just didn't want you to get into trouble."

Illyric tried to explain.

Rhaegar scoffed, "He's afraid someone will fill my head with bad ideas."

"Listen to the current prefix."

"Sleeping Whelp!"

'Sleeping' referred to his sickly childhood, and 'whelp' carried the dual meaning of youth and early death.

He wondered, what should a whelp do first upon waking from its slumber?

Naturally, it would be to eat constantly and grow into a true dragon.

When that time came, what prefix would be fitting?

"An Awakened True Dragon, or a Roaring Fury Dragon?"

This was deliberately done by someone to spread Rhaegar's status as King's eldest son among the populace, intending to stir up trouble.

"Sleeping Whelp it is then. Better than a whelp that dies young," Rhaegar consoled himself. He looked directly at Illyric and instructed, "Pay him his wages in full, not a copper less. And from now on, tell me immediately about any rumors concerning me."

"Understood!"

Illyric's expression sharpened as he accepted the command.

"Let's go. Take me to buy some toddler toys, and then to the Dragonpit."

Rhaegar turned to get into the carriage, his already foul mood worsening.

The carriage paused for a while on Silk Street, while Illyric scurried about, buying a large pile of toys.

After storing them all in the carriage, they headed for the Dragonpit.

The Dragonpit was built against the mountainside, much quieter than the bustling city.

Since it was a spontaneous visit, no one came out to greet them at the Dragonpit's entrance, only two guards in armor.

Seeing the royal carriage arrive, one of the guards jogged forward and asked, "May I ask which noble has arrived?"

"Rhaegar Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys I!"

Illyric announced Rhaegar's identity and alighted from the carriage alone.

Although the Prince's face was not visible, seeing the white cloak of the White Knight, the guards respectfully saluted and opened the gate.

The Dragonpit occupied a vast area with numerous entrances and exits.

There were not only the main gate but also caves by the mountain, open spaces on the cliffs...

and other areas suitable for dragons to pass through.

The carriage stopped outside, with guards to watch over it.

Rhaegar chose to enter on foot, walking into a large, open space akin to a training ground.

At the end of the training ground stood a tall, magnificent domed building.

Not long after entering, a Maester and dragonkeepers who managed the Dragonpit hurried over.

Dragonkeepers were dragon handlers, mostly of Valyrian descent, who had served the Targaryen family for generations.

They were fluent in High Valyrian, capable of somewhat soothing the dragons' restlessness, and responsible for the dragons' food, drink, and waste.

"Greetings, Your Highness!"

Those present bowed.

"Rise. Forgive my intrusion, I merely wish to see what the Dragonpit is like."

Rhaegar had no interest in pleasantries and got straight to the point.

"Very well. Maester Pycelle is not here today, so I will be your guide."

A young Maester with black hair, black eyes, and sallow skin volunteered.

"What is your name?"

Out of basic courtesy, Rhaegar asked politely.

"Menas Waters, Your Highness."

The young Maester smiled sheepishly and quietly spoke his name.

"Waters?"

Rhaegar paused slightly, recalling that it was the surname for bastards.

On the Westeros Continent, bastards from different regions had different surnames.

The North's unified surname is Snow.

The Crownlands' is Waters.

Rhaegar sized up Menas, noting his simple clothes, some even patched.

It seemed he wasn't doing too well.

That made sense; bastards weren't well-regarded.

Even a well-read bastard wasn't well-regarded among the Maesters.

Sensing his gaze, Menas's expression shifted slightly, a sense of inferiority washing over him as he gritted his teeth.

As a bastard, he'd endured countless scornful looks since childhood.

He just had to endure it.

"Lift your head. Your parents gave you a face that isn't ugly, don't be stingy with it."

Rhaegar suddenly said.

Menas obediently raised his head, his expression well-controlled, showing a humble smile.

"I can't advise you to ignore your origins, because the world will help you remember."

"But you have your talents. Not everyone can be a Maester, so don't underestimate yourself."

Seeing Menas's inferiority complex about his birth, Rhaegar offered a few words of encouragement and said no more.

Who you crawled out of determined your life.

This one was seriously injured, Rhaegar couldn't help him.

Fortunately, his mother had fought desperately to bring him into this world, bestowing him with great honor.

"Thank you, Mother!"

Silently praying for his deceased mother, Rhaegar beckoned Menas to lead the way.

Grief was for the night, to be wept away under the covers. Now, he had to be his guide; personal feelings couldn't interfere during work hours.

On the way, Rhaegar asked, "How many dragons are there in the Dragonpit currently?"

"There are three in total: Dreamfyre, Caraxes, and Syrax."

Menas adjusted his mood quickly, showing no trace of his earlier melancholy, and answered diligently.

"Take me to see them. I've never been up close to a dragon before."

"I'm afraid I can't, Your Highness."

Rhaegar asked curiously, "Why? Do dragons also reject strangers?"

"That's not the reason. Before you entered, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon arrived ahead of you, planning to ride out on their dragons."

Menas spoke the truth.

"Rhaenyra's here too? Hurry and take me, I have to see the dragons."

Upon hearing his sister was here, Rhaegar's eyes lit up, hoping to pester her into taking him for a ride.

"Of course, Princess. She just arrived not long ago, let's hurry over now, we should still make it."

Menas calculated the time and didn't refuse.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."

Rhaegar urged Menas to lead the way, and the group entered the Dragonpit, heading towards the open space on the mid-level platform.

Hurrying as fast as they could, Rhaegar climbed onto the high platform, panting.

He happened to see a few dragonkeepers calming Syrax and unlocking the shackles on its hind legs.

On the other side, the all-red Caraxes was ready.

Daemon and Rhaenyra, dressed in dragon-riding gear, stood between the two dragons, chatting.

"Sister!!!"

Rhaegar shouted loudly, ignoring Illyric's dissuasion, and ran excitedly towards Rhaenyra.

Hearing his voice, Rhaenyra turned around in surprise, asking, "Rhaegar? What are you doing at the Dragonpit?"

Rhaegar hurried closer, skillfully took his sister's hand, and said proudly, "Didn't I tell you last night that the dragon in my dream said there was something wrong at the Dragonpit? I came specifically to check."

"I didn't expect to hear you were here right after I entered. I thought you were watching the tournament."

Rhaenyra looked at him, amused, and teased, "So, did you come to find me, or to find dragons?"

"Of course, I came to find you. The dragons are after you."

Seeing the two dragons up close, Rhaegar was incredibly excited, his eyes constantly darting between them.

"This yellow dragon must be Syrax, as beautiful as you."

Compared to Caraxes, which was slender and had prominent horns on its head.

Rhaegar, preferring the well-proportioned Syrax, offered flattery with a fawning tone.

"Syrax is the name of the harvest goddess, so of course she's beautiful."

Rhaenyra saw through Rhaegar's little scheme early on. Crossing her arms, she asked with feigned ignorance:

"So, my brother, you've seen it. Is there anything else?"

Chapter Three. Two more chapters in the afternoon, please look forward to them.