Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 436: The Soft-hearted Policy

Chapter 436: The Soft-hearted Policy

Rhaegar's attention was drawn to a faint, piercing scream.

"Helaena!"

He recognized the sound; it came from Helaena's dragon patrol area. She must have encountered another enemy force.

Glancing down, he saw the battlefield littered with the bodies of fallen mercenaries, their armor and weapons scattered like debris.

"Cannibal, more fire," Rhaegar commanded, patting the dragon's back.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal swooped down, unleashing a torrent of Dragonfire along the road, creating an impassable barrier of flames. The panicked mercenaries, caught mid-escape, were forced back by the searing heat.

"Charge!" Ormund bellowed, leading the cavalry charge.

On the ridge, the doors of two arrow towers burst open, and over 300 armed soldiers poured out, intercepting the mercenaries attempting to scale the mountain.

With coordinated efforts from both flanks, the mercenaries on the mountain and those below were swiftly annihilated.

"Cannibal, let's go!" Rhaegar ordered, not sparing a glance backward. Confident in their victory, he directed his dragon skyward.

In the open sea, dragons might face threats, but in a confined place like The Prince's Pass, flanked by mountains, it was a deathtrap for any intruding force. No matter how many soldiers entered, they were doomed.

"Roar!"

The Cannibal shook its head proudly, flapping its wings and soaring high into the sky, heading toward the other end of the road.

...

The Other Side

A small fortress stood nestled in the mountain, strategically built into a narrow passageway. The fortress was divided into two parts. One part, the tower, was embedded in the mountain, its shape resembling an upside-down bowl. On the other side, a stone wall extended about ten feet high, connecting to the opposite mountain side. The wall, pierced with loopholes, had a thick iron gate at its center—a typical fortified pass.

"Roar..."

The dragon's roar echoed as orange and light blue Dragonfire pounded the city walls.

"Crossbow bolts! Aim quickly!"

"Put out the oil, don't let it catch fire!"

Inside the walls, hundreds of mercenaries screamed in terror, their hands trembling as they held three-barrel crossbows.

The pale blue dragon gracefully circled, setting the walls ablaze, then turned its fiery wrath on the mountain towers.

"Dracarys!" Helaena's face was stern as she watched.

Dreamfyre snorted, unleashing a torrent of Dragonfire that ignited the heavy wooden gate.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Arrows shot from the tower's firing holes, aiming for the dragon in midair.

"Roar..."fyre flapped its wings, ascending, allowing the arrows to strike its chest and belly, scattering sparks. With scales as tough as steel plates, the damage from ordinary arrows was negligible.

"Dreamfyre, don't let them get away," Helaena commanded, her eyes fixed on the mercenaries fleeing the city walls.

"Who would even look at a few refugees?"

Rhaegar shook his head. "The number of refugees is immense. Driving them away recklessly would be counterproductive. It would be no different from killing them all."

With discerning eyes, he saw another solution.

Ormund smiled sardonically. "What should we do then, kill them all?"

The sheer number of refugees, many from Dorne, made the task daunting. According to the traditions of Westeros, knights were supposed to protect the weak and helpless, not massacre civilians.

"No, I don't want to repeat the events of the First Dorne War," Rhaegar shook his head again.

Dorne was an extraordinary land. The native Dornish were not distinguished, resembling the short, dark-skinned Dornishmen of the Red Mountains. It was not until the Queen of the Rhoynar Warriors, Nymeria, crossed the sea that the Rhoynar bloodline was integrated into Dorne.

The Rhoynar had once faced the ancient freehold of Valyria in Essos. During the Rhoyne War, Rhoynar water wizards manipulated the river and killed three dragon riders. In retaliation, the Freehold sent 300 dragon riders, devastating the Rhoynar forces.

The Rhoynar fought valiantly, with Garin the Great calling on 250,000 men. However, the 300 dragons proved unstoppable, burning the Rhoyne River dry and slaughtering the Rhoynar forces. Garin the Great was captured and caged, forced to watch his people's massacre.

After this defeat, Nymeria led the remaining Rhoynar across the sea to escape the Freehold's pursuit. To this day, the people of Dorne inherited the Rhoynar's spirit of resistance, fearlessly facing death and war, and defending their territory to the end.

Rhaegar sighed softly and murmured, "If the other six kingdoms had been as resolute as Dorne, the conquerors would never have set foot in Blackwater Bay."

Unlike the other kingdoms, which either fractured internally or succumbed to the dragons, Dorne stood unyielding.

"To conquer a land, you can't rely solely on brute force," Rhaegar said sincerely. As a Targaryen and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, he understood the complexities of rulership. "Dorne must be mine, but killing alone won't secure it. A blend of kindness and wisdom is essential."

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar hesitated over his decision. Helaena, watching from the side, quietly took his hand and rested her head on his arm. The weight of accomplishing what past conquerors could not was immense.

Ormund, his eyes darting anxiously, urged, "Prince, we must deploy our troops immediately. Perhaps we should drive the refugees toward Kingsgrave."

Rhaegar opened his eyes and asked, "If someone is starving and knows there is food ahead, why would they turn back?"

"If we don't drive them out, our army won't be able to advance without constant harassment."

"But we can't just drive them away," Rhaegar replied, taking a deep breath. Determined, he said, "Provide food for the refugees, designate a place for them to stay, and assign someone to watch over them."

"What?" Ormund's voice rose in disbelief. "These people are from Dorne, and Lord Tyrell has just been murdered!"

Noble honor might keep them from slaughtering refugees, but it didn't mean they would treat them with compassion. Dorne had rebelled; providing aid seemed inconceivable.

"Lord Ormund, please remain calm," Helaena interjected, her face wrinkling with concern as she stood protectively in front of Rhaegar. "If my brother has decided this, he has his reasons."

Ormund's face flushed with frustration, but he looked away, unable to argue further.

Rhaegar remained patient, explaining, "Dorne must pay for its rebellion. With Lord Tyrell's assassination, Dorne and House Martell will face blood and fire!"

Realistically, Rhaegar knew the immediate priorities were attacking Dorne and avenging the old Tyrells.

Ormund's expression brightened slightly at this, and Donald and the others sighed in relief, fearing the heir prince might abandon revenge.

Rhaegar continued, "We will attack both Kingsgrave and the capital, but we must not slaughter or drive away the refugees. Treating them well may yield unexpected benefits."

If one approach fails, try another. Reflecting on history, Rhaegar recalled how Aegon the Conqueror's pride led to significant losses during the First Dorne War, largely due to the resilient common folk of Dorne. He understood the multifaceted reasons behind the failure to conquer Dorne.

The Iron Throne had ruled Westeros for over a hundred years, and the support from the other six kingdoms was no longer an issue. With more than a dozen dragons at their command, the Targaryens were formidable.

Rhaegar outlined his plan: Conquer House Martell, dismantle the rebellious Dornish strongholds, and appease the common people of Dorne. These steps, though not necessarily in order, are key to conquering this land.