Rhaegar glanced at the dining table.
Braised beef, roasted lamb, cream cake…
And a bottle of uncorked red wine.
His appetite immediately stirred as he picked up a piece of beef, chewing while mumbling, "Father, you're eating this lavishly so early in the morning?"
"I am the king. Of course, I should indulge myself."
Viserys took a sip of fine wine and smiled. "Being king is a heavy burden. Indulging in small pleasures like this is no big deal."
As he spoke, he patted his round belly.
With his hearty appetite and undisturbed sleep, he had gained quite a bit of weight.
"Mmm, you're absolutely right."
Rhaegar nodded as he ate heartily, agreeing with his father's reasoning.
After all, if you're a king, shouldn't you eat well?
Still, having such a greasy meal first thing in the morning and drinking wine three times a day—he couldn't help but worry about his father's health.
It was a rare occasion for father and son to dine together, chatting as they ate.
Midway through the meal, Rhaegar took out a document and handed it to his well-fed and satisfied father.
"What's this?"
Viserys leaned back in his chair and casually picked up the document.
Rhaegar replied, "Take a look first. This is my proposed reform plan for King's Landing."
Viserys shot his eldest son a curious glance before reading through the details seriously.
The document listed the following proposals:
1. Exterminate rats and bedbugs in the Red Keep and seal off the complex network of hidden passageways.
2. Repair and expand King's Landing's sewer system to improve waste disposal.
3. Establish designated zones for public latrines and hire night soil collectors and waste cart operators.
4. Inspect Flea Bottom, take in a number of orphans and vulnerable women and children, and organize labor forces for construction work.
5. Designate a portion of royal lands for the poor to farm, with royal subsidies and tax policies to support them.
A total of five recommendations.
The first three targeted the city's sanitation problems, while the last two aimed to address food shortages among refugees.
"Rhaegar, your plan is rather idealistic," Viserys said with a frown, pointing at the first three points with a complicated expression. "Otto has been trying to clean up the streets of King's Landing for some time, but not only has it shown little effect, he's been cursed by the common folk for his efforts."
Just last night, he had even been doused with a cartload of excrement—a truly nauseating ordeal.
Rhaegar had anticipated his father's objections and smiled. "The key lies in improving the sewers and building public latrines. Once we have proper waste disposal and designated places for people to relieve themselves, they won't have to dump their filth in the streets."
Public latrines—an unfamiliar concept.
It was an idea he had seen in his dreams, an urban facility well suited to King's Landing's current state.
Otto's failure stemmed largely from banning people from relieving themselves wherever they pleased or dumping waste in the streets.
In theory, this was reasonable.
But without alternatives, where were the people supposed to dispose of their waste?
It was better to channel the problem rather than simply ban it. By building public latrines and hiring workers to handle waste disposal, the issue could be resolved.
It sounded simple, yet it was a revolutionary proposal.
As he listened, Viserys found himself convinced.
With public latrines, people would have a proper place to relieve themselves.
Anyone who dared to defile the streets afterward could be punished justifiably.
But there was one problem.
Viserys hesitated. "Renovating the sewers, building latrines, hiring workers—this won't be cheap."
King's Landing did have a sewer system, but it had gone without maintenance for so long that it was practically clogged beyond use.
Building latrines also required stone, wood, and skilled labor, all of which cost money.
Then there was the cost of hiring waste collectors and cart operators—it was a bottomless pit of expenses.
Rhaegar pointed to the last two proposals and said thoughtfully, "We can recruit labor from Flea Bottom. If we provide meals as compensation, that should be enough."
Every day, people starved or froze to death in King's Landing.
By implementing a work-for-relief system, not only could they cut costs, but they could also help those in need—killing two birds with one stone.
Viserys pondered the idea. It did make sense.
Then his gaze fell on the final point, and he instinctively resisted. "There is undeveloped land under the Crown's domain, but giving it to refugees—"
Not a chance!
"We're not giving it away—we're hiring them to cultivate it," Rhaegar corrected. "The Crown will provide tools and grain for farming. The refugees will become tenant farmers under direct royal control, paying taxes annually in return."
It was essentially the same relationship as that of a typical lord and his subjects.
There was plenty of uncultivated land in the Crown's domain—even the Kingswood was an untapped resource.
Rather than letting it go to waste, why not use it to support a community of tenant farmers and generate tax revenue?
The initial investment would be substantial, but once stabilized, the tax income would help replenish the royal treasury.
More importantly, it would reduce the number of refugees crammed into Flea Bottom.
Easing the congestion of the overcrowded city.
Viserys fell into deep thought, weighing the feasibility of the five proposals.
The war in the Stepstones had already drained the treasury, and the construction of the royal palace had been a costly endeavor.
Adding sewer repairs, latrine construction, and land development on top of that would strain even a well-stocked treasury.
Rhaegar did not press the issue. After finishing his meal, he quietly left the chamber.
His father was the king—whether the reforms would be implemented was entirely his decision.
Rhaegar's role was simply to offer suggestions, not to force his will.
After all, the Iron Throne would be his eventually. If not now, he could always implement the reforms later.
For now, his priority was repairing Harrenhal and constructing the Dragonpit.
…
At dusk.
Viserys snapped out of his thoughts, feeling a wave of dizziness.
He glanced at the table—his leftover food had already been cleared by the servants.
Rhaegar had left at some point as well.
"Ser Erryk." Viserys rubbed his numb legs and stood up, calling out.
Creak—
The door opened, and Ser Erryk stood at attention. "Your Grace, your command?"
Viserys folded the document, straightened his hair, and spoke calmly, "Take me to the dungeons. I want to see that direwolf."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Erryk's expression remained unchanged as he respectfully stepped aside to make way.
Ser Criston Cole had already been stripped of his title as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
---
**Erryk and Arryk were rising rapidly—one was dedicated to guarding the king, while the other was assigned to protect the queen.**
It wouldn't be long before one of them was appointed as the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
---
**The Dungeon**
The dimly lit environment reeked of filth, and the prisoners' wails echoed from their cages.
Erryk led the way, holding a torch in one hand.
Viserys followed behind, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
If it weren't for the fact that he wanted to see his incorrigible younger brother, he wouldn't have set foot in this place for anything.
They walked deeper into the dungeon until they reached a familiar cell.
"Brother, what brings you here this time?"
Daemon sat sluggishly on the wooden cot, his shackles clanking with his every movement.
He had been locked up for so long that he had lost track of time, unable to distinguish between day and night.
His mind was hazy from the confinement.
Viserys shot him a look of disdain, then handed over a list of plans and said, "Take a look. See if it's feasible."
"Hah, so now I'm just your imprisoned advisor?"
Daemon scoffed but still got up obediently, taking the list to read.
During his time in the dungeon, he had come to a realization—when under someone else's roof, one had no choice but to bow their head.
The last time he had mocked that wretched woman, Alicent, it had felt satisfying.
But the very next day, his food had been mixed with excrement.
It took him three days of suffering before his meals returned to normal.
Viserys, in high spirits, had no interest in bickering with him.
But having his brother locked up and using him when necessary—
That was an indescribable satisfaction.
Daemon rolled his eyes and glanced at the list, reading aloud in a mocking tone: "Fix the sewers, clean out the waste…"
After barely skimming it, he lost interest.
It was filled with trivial matters that he couldn't care less about.
After a long silence, Viserys asked, "What do you think?"
"What do I think about what?"
Daemon drawled lazily, his head drooping.
"The new policies for King's Landing!"
Viserys' expression darkened, warning him, "Answer me properly, or you'll go another three days without food."
Daemon froze for a moment before realizing something.
"You know?"
"Hah, my own brother is eating shit in the dungeon—do you think I wouldn't know?"
Viserys sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. Then he added angrily, "I don't care what Alicent told you. You are not to agree to anything, and you are not to get involved with those mad women."
"Oh, so you don't know."
Daemon let out a breath of relief and chuckled, shaking his head.
"Know what or not, just answer my question!"
Viserys was quickly losing patience.
Daemon waved the list lazily, smirking. "Not bad. The sewers of King's Landing do need cleaning, and building public latrines is a good idea."
When he was Commander of the City Watch, his favorite and least favorite part of the job was patrolling the streets.
Hunting down criminals was exhilarating—it made him feel alive and like he was fulfilling his duty.
But the stench of King's Landing was unbearable.
Every day, his boots would step into something foul.
Viserys nodded in satisfaction and continued, "The last two points—hiring civilians and encouraging land reclamation."
"Who came up with this plan?"
Daemon dodged the question and asked one of his own.
"Rhaegar suggested it," Viserys answered honestly.
"Tsk, clever boy. His mind is full of possessiveness."
Daemon chuckled softly.
He could see the intent behind the plan—reducing the surplus population of King's Landing and preventing potential uprisings among the common folk.
Every Targaryen king had considered this.
But none had successfully carried it out.
After thinking for a moment, Daemon leaned back, resting his head against the iron bars, and murmured, "It's a feasible plan. Flawless, even."
Then, his eyes shifted, and he asked mischievously, "Who's going to carry it out?"
"Otto Hightower," Viserys answered directly.
"Heh, a good choice."
Daemon let out a snicker, his shoulders shaking slightly as he mocked, "This kind of thankless job—the type that'll get a man cursed to never have a son—suits that old bastard Otto perfectly, especially since he can't have a son anyway."
"Daemon, watch your words."
Viserys shot him a warning glare.
Like it or not, Otto was still his father-in-law.
"Tch, you've asked what you wanted to ask. Now I'm going back to sleep."
Daemon dismissed him with a wave, tossing the list aside and lying back down on the wooden cot.
Watching his brother's "dead pig unafraid of boiling water" attitude, Viserys ground his teeth in frustration.
"Daemon, don't you want to get out of here?"
"And do what? Leave as a convicted man?"
Daemon countered, pulling the blanket over his head.
"Hmph, think it over carefully."
Viserys snorted coldly, leaving him with one final remark—
"Vaemond is dead."
With that, he turned and left the dungeon under Erryk's protection.
As the footsteps faded into the distance, the wooden cot creaked twice.
Daemon suddenly flung off his blanket, his once dull eyes now shining with a sharp light.
Vaemond's death changed everything.
It could be the prelude to war—
Or the beginning of House Velaryon's downfall.
All he needed was the right opportunity—
And he would walk out of this dark, damp dungeon.
Realizing this, Daemon closed his eyes again, murmuring to himself:
"Brother, in the end, we are still bound by blood…"
(End of Chapter)