**Nighttime.**
**The Burning King's Tower, Hall of a Hundred Hearths.**
The hall was vast and hollow, featuring thirty-four hearths and a smoothly paved stone floor.
At the solid wooden long table, Rhaegar dined with Rhaenyra and Helaena.
As she ate the out-of-season fruits, Rhaenyra glanced around and muttered under her breath, "Every time I come here, it feels overwhelming."
She was afraid to raise her voice too much, worried that it would echo throughout the hall.
After all, Harrenhal was a colossal fortress built by Blackheart Harren over forty years.
The sheer size of its main hall alone was beyond imagination.
According to historical records, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was large enough to accommodate an entire army.
"Harrenhal is all about being grand and indestructible—you'll get used to it."
Rhaegar smiled, full of pride in his castle.
With the black dragonstone smelting technique, the restoration of Harrenhal had progressed rapidly.
Aside from necessary structures like the Flowstone Courtyard, the bathhouse, and the stables, the five towers were the top priority.
After being scorched by Balerion's flames, the five towers had become twisted and deformed, with their tops burned into ruins.
Fortunately, their walls were thick—almost unbelievably so.
The interiors remained intact and required only minor refurbishments.
On the exterior, Rhaegar ordered the removal of the charred and warped layers of stone, replacing them with a fresh black dragonstone facade.
The rooftops were entirely reconstructed, restoring their original height and floors.
At the tower spires, Rhaegar had enormous dragon sculptures cast in dragonstone, inspired by the architectural style of Dragonstone's Stone Drum Tower.
The **Burning King's Tower**, the central tower, bore the image of the Devourer.
The **Widow's Tower**, connected to the Burning King's Tower, was sculpted with the Gray Shadow, a dragon that had left Dragonstone for the Isle of Faces.
The **Wailing Tower**, with storage rooms at its base and a vast cellar beneath, was adorned with a depiction of Syrax, symbolizing abundance.
The **Ghost Tower**, connected to the newly rebuilt sept, featured a dragonstone carving of Dreamfyre, Helaena's dragon.
The last one, the **Dread Tower**, had no specific dragon to depict.
To complete the set, Rhaegar chose to feature Aegon's Sunfyre, rounding out the dragons of House Targaryen's current generation of dragonriders.
Once the five towers were fully restored, Harrenhal underwent a dramatic transformation.
Gone were the shadows and scars of its past—it had become a grand and magnificent stronghold, the finest castle in Westeros.
To silence potential critics, Rhaegar also rebuilt the **Sept of the Seven**, removed the charred weirwood tree, and replaced the godswood with ornamental trees.
These construction efforts alone took a full year and a half.
As a result, parts of Harrenhal's outer walls remained unfinished, still undergoing repairs with black dragonstone.
Noticing Rhaegar's satisfaction, Rhaenyra smiled knowingly and offered her praise.
One major reason Rhaegar hadn't returned to King's Landing was the overwhelming workload at Harrenhal—he simply couldn't afford to leave.
"I'm full," Helaena announced, putting down her knife and fork. Her cheeks were puffed as she took a sip of fruit wine to help digest her meal.
Rhaegar chuckled. "If you're full, go to bed. We're heading back to King's Landing tomorrow."
"Mm-hmm. Good night, brother."
Helaena hopped off her chair, walked around the table, and hugged Rhaegar.
Then, she turned to Rhaenyra, who was sipping red wine, and lightly stepped toward her, giving her a hug as well.
"Good night, sister."
After saying this, Helaena wiped her mouth and ascended the stairs leading out of the hall.
The **Hall of a Hundred Hearths** was truly enormous, with staircases connecting to two separate corridors filled with countless rooms.
With only the two of them left, Rhaenyra hesitated before saying, "Rhaegar, about Jeyne…"
"She's doing well. I visited her three months ago."
Rhaegar spoke calmly, free of the awkwardness he once had. "She understands my decision. When the time is right, I'll give her a proper answer."
"As long as you have a plan."
Rhaenyra nodded, dropping the subject.
Jeyne had always been quiet and well-behaved, staying in the Vale and only keeping in touch through raven letters.
Though Rhaenyra still resented her betrayal, she had to admit—Jeyne was remarkably patient.
Dinner was nearly over when Rhaegar retrieved two letters from his pocket and shared them.
"Tyland wrote to me a few days ago. There's been a severe drought in Dorne, and bands of outlaws are beginning to roam the borders."
Not just refugees—outlaws.
Marauding bands who pillaged, burned, and murdered at will.
Rhaenyra read through the letters, her expression growing serious.
It wasn't just Dorne that was in trouble.
House Tyrell of Highgarden was facing its own crisis.
The **Duke of Tyrell** was growing old, and his only heir, a frail son who had been sickly since childhood, had recently succumbed to illness in the **Citadel's infirmary**.
Now, the duke had no other legitimate sons to inherit his title, leaving him devastated.
In a private letter, he subtly hinted at his desire to legitimize one of his bastards and asked for Rhaegar's approval.
After reading the contents, Rhaenyra's face darkened.
"Rhaegar, you must not agree to the Duke of Tyrell's request. Your status does not allow you to support something like this."
"Don't worry. I haven't replied to him."
Rhaegar took a sip of his sweet fruit wine, seemingly unbothered.
In Westeros, where bloodlines were paramount, bastards were an unwelcome anomaly.
As the **Crown Prince and heir to the Iron Throne**, Rhaegar was the last person who should ever support the legitimization of bastards.
If he endorsed a bastard inheriting Highgarden, what would stop someone from claiming that **Aegon** had a stronger claim to the throne than he did?
Aegon, after all, was a legitimate **Targaryen prince**—the king's second son.
That alone gave him a far more legitimate claim than any bastard.
So Rhaegar had no intention of wading into this mess.
Hearing his response, Rhaenyra relaxed and let out a sigh of relief.
Then, with a scowl, she muttered, "Tyrell and Tully—two sides of the same coin. Both struggling with their succession."
The **Lord of House Tully** had lost his eldest son in the war, leaving Riverrun without a clear heir.
For three years, he had wavered between his two younger sons and his grandson.
By tradition, succession should favor the second son before the grandson.
But both younger sons were utterly incompetent—arrogant, ignorant, and incapable.
The grandson, though unremarkable, was at least passable.
The old Tully lord wanted to name his grandson heir, but his two sons had joined forces to stir up chaos, throwing Riverrun into turmoil.
This was not a situation Rhaegar intended to meddle in—he would let House Tully handle its own affairs.
Looking at the indignant Rhaenyra, Rhaegar sighed helplessly and smiled. "But these two houses are the most loyal to the royal family—we can't just ignore them."
"Ugh, don't even bring them up. Just thinking about them is annoying."
Rhaenyra furrowed her delicate eyebrows, fuming.
Rhaegar blinked. "It's late. Go to sleep."
"Fine, then serve your queen as she retires for the night."
Rhaenyra's voice was soft and melodic as she opened her arms, waiting.
Rhaegar chuckled, stood up, and carried her in his arms.
---
The Next Day.
Early in the morning, the walls of Harrenhal echoed with the sounds of chatter and construction as craftsmen repaired the fortifications.
Most of these craftsmen came from King's Landing, sent by Maester Menas of the Dragonpit.
The rest included former slaves and locals from the Riverlands.
Rhaegar had estimated their numbers—inside Harrenhal, there were over a thousand craftsmen, and with their families, the total population reached four to five thousand.
Fortunately, the castle was large enough to house them all comfortably.
"Screech—"
"Screech…"
A series of three dragon cries tore through the sky, accompanied by gusts of wind as they soared over the castle walls.
The craftsmen steadied their footing and looked up in admiration.
Under the clear blue sky, the jet-black Devourer led the way, its vast wings casting a shadow over the land.
Dreamfyre, slightly smaller, carried the sharp-eyed Helaena as she and her dragon weaved through the clouds.
Syrax, the smallest of the three—barely past adolescence—trailed behind the two massive dragons.
The three dragons soared past the vast expanse of the God's Eye Lake, heading southeast for a shorter route.
Flying dozens of miles from Harrenhal, a large unwalled town came into view.
From above, the settlement sprawled over a considerable area, bustling with people.
What stood out were the uniquely shaped houses—stone walls built in rounded formations, with conical wooden roofs.
From a distance, they looked like clusters of giant brown-capped mushrooms with grayish stems.
This was Mushroom Market.
A trade hub formed by the free folk, former slaves, and women and children taken in from Flea Bottom, all loyal to Rhaegar.
The market specialized in regional goods, furs, and handcrafted items.
Rhaegar had purchased several orchards, and among the former slaves, there were skilled vintners who crafted a sweet fruit wine—fragrant, crisp, and smooth.
It had quickly become one of the best-selling products in Mushroom Market.
Since establishing himself in the Riverlands, the market had grown into a thriving commercial hub, attracting merchants from the Riverlands, the Crownlands, the Vale, the Reach, and the Stormlands.
Each year, it generated increasing wealth.
"Screech…"
Devourer's vertical pupils gleamed with arrogance as it flapped its wings, soaring past the familiar settlement filled with those tiny, insignificant creatures.
---
King's Landing.
The sun slowly climbed the sky, its golden rays melting away the winter's chill.
As a coastal city, King's Landing rarely saw snow.
But the damp, bone-chilling air was still unbearable.
Every winter, corpses of the frozen and starved were dragged out of Flea Bottom in droves.
However, this winter was much better.
The king had taken Prince Rhaegar's advice and granted land from the Crownlands to the homeless, allowing them to farm.
Prince Rhaegar himself had also taken in many women and children, offering them work in the Riverlands to support themselves.
Life in King's Landing had improved considerably.
By late morning, the temperature had risen slightly.
"Screech…"
A deep, resonant dragon roar echoed through the city as a massive black dragon spiraled down, wisps of green flame flickering from its maw.
With the sun now out, many townsfolk had stepped outside, leaning against walls to soak in the warmth.
Hearing the dragon's cry, they instinctively looked up.
What they saw was Devourer, its terrifying, godlike appearance looming over them.
"That black dragon… It's Prince Rhaegar…"
"Prince Rhaegar has returned…"
The moment they saw Devourer, the image of the young crown prince surfaced in their minds, and a wave of excitement spread through the city.
In recent years, the prince and his massive black dragon had rarely been seen in King's Landing—people said you could only find them in the Riverlands now.
Every time the monstrous black dragon circled above the capital, it stirred the emotions of the people.
No one disliked a prince who cared for the common folk.
"Screech…"
Devourer circled King's Landing twice, announcing the return of both the dragon and its rider.
Once Dreamfyre and Syrax caught up, the three dragons descended toward the Dragonpit.
---
Dragonpit Gates.
Maester Menas, clad in his scholar's robes, his frame thin and frail, had been waiting. His expression was filled with excitement.
As Devourer landed, Rhaegar slid off the dragon's back.
Menas hobbled forward, beaming. "Prince, it has been too long."
"It has, Menas."
Seeing the loyal Dragonpit maester, Rhaegar smiled. "This time, I'll be staying in King's Landing for a while."
"Wonderful!"
Menas clapped his hands in delight.
"Screech…"
Suddenly, a sharp dragon cry echoed from within the Dragonpit.
Rhaegar turned his head. In the dim interior, a pair of crimson eyes flickered in the shadows.
He frowned slightly and asked, "Can it fly yet?"
Menas shook his head regretfully. "It's still struggling. The misaligned healing tore open again, and it will take at least another year or more before it can return to the skies."
Hearing this, Rhaegar nodded and handed Devourer over to the dragonkeepers.
Even in his absence, the Dragonpit remained firmly under control.
(End of Chapter)