Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

It's a pretty intense experience to see someone die, and Rhaegar would probably admit that he wasn't prepared for it.

As blood spattered from Falcon's head, painting half of his once-silver hair crimson, Rhaegar remained calm and collected, without the expected discomfort, fear, or trembling that often accompanies such gruesome scenes.

He wiped the blood from his face with a steady hand, but his expression showed no emotion as he looked at Falcon's body. His lips were pressed firmly together.

His gaze then shifted, following the trajectory of the bone arrow to its origin—a towering pine tree shrouded in thick needles, where Xander, the fleeing wildling, stood poised with his bow drawn.

"Is he dead?" Rhaegar's voice was barely above a whisper as he nudged Falcon's body with a boot. There was a note of disbelief in his voice.

Despite the circumstances, Rhaegar couldn't help but acknowledge Falcon's intelligence and pragmatism, even in death.

He had shown a rare quality among the savage tribes, one that Rhaegar had hoped to rely on to escape.

But now that Falcon was dead, Rhaegar realized that he needed to find another way.

"Get up," he told himself, addressing the fallen chieftain. "Falcon is dead. I need to find another way to escape."

Meanwhile, Xander, feeling pretty confident after killing Falcon, went up the hill and got the other wildlings to rally.

They hadn't really grasped the situation yet. It was only after Xander asked them to look that they finally turned their gaze towards Falcon's lifeless form, sprawled in a pool of crimson.

One particularly tall wildling was seething with rage, eager to avenge Falcon's death by exacting justice upon Xander.

The others, however, didn't say anything. They just looked at Xander with a mixture of scrutiny and apprehension.

Xander silenced the dissenting wildling with a bone arrow, ending his life in an instant.

He then addressed the remaining survivors. "The Hawk tribe is no more. Do you want to wander aimlessly in these pine woods?"

He gave them a choice. "Follow me," he commanded. "We're going to find refuge with the Soldier Pine Tribe—a stronger, untainted tribe."

With a little persuasion, Xander got the others to switch sides, and their survival instincts won out over any lingering doubts.

Xander pointed to the frozen figure of Rhaegar and said, "His family is royalty, and he has lots of money. If we give him to the Soldier Pine Tribe, they'll accept us."

Some people agreed with him, and he got more supporters. Finally, Xander tied Rhaegar up and put him on his shoulders, showing that he was in charge of the wildlings.

Rhaegar, resigned to his fate, didn't resist as he was restrained. He kept his gaze fixed upon Xander with a penetrating intensity.

"Little brat, behave yourself if you want to live," Xander warned, a grin playing upon his lips as he caught Rhaegar's stare.

Rhaegar acknowledged his worth and said, "Indeed, I am valuable."

"Then be honest," Xander warned, his tone hinting at a hint of menace. "Or face the consequences."

"I assure you, honesty will be my virtue," Rhaegar replied.

...

As the sun started to set, a few savages were out scouring the area, gathering up their scattered friends and family, regardless of age or gender.

They were all brought together in a reluctant alliance.

Together, they walked carefully towards the temporary encampment of the Soldier Pine Tribe, with a feeling of unease hanging over them.

The familiar valley greeted them with an ominous air, tainted by the stench of blood and littered with the fallen from the Hawk tribe.

Rhaegar was led before the leader of the Soldier Pine Tribe, and his gaze swept the scene.

He felt his heart sink as he realized they were not the only enemies besieging the Hawk tribe.

Surrounding the Soldier Pine leader were four imposing wildling chieftains, hailing from different tribes. Their presence cast a shadow over the grim proceedings.

The Soldier Pine leader looked at Xander with disdain and ordered his subordinates to break Xander's arms and legs before sending him off to his fate.

The White Pine leader pointed an accusatory finger at Rhaegar, who was roughly thrust forward.

He was impatient as he delivered his decree. "This little brat will be confined with the women and children, while the others are reserved for the sacrificial rites."

"Yes!" came the confirmation, cutting off any chance for Xander's group to offer an explanation before they were forcibly dragged away, their limbs shattered in agony.

Despite their cries of pain, they clung to a sliver of hope, willing to barter Rhaegar's safety for their own lives.

But their pleas fell on deaf ears. The leaders didn't see them as anything but savages in a remote ravine.

But amidst the callous indifference, one chieftain's greedy gaze fixed on Rhaegar's bracelet. His lust for wealth overpowered any semblance of compassion as he snatched it away wordlessly.

Before Rhaegar could say anything, a quick punch sent him sprawling to the ground, his voice silenced.

"Take him away," the chieftain commanded dismissively, deeming Rhaegar a useless nuisance to be dealt with later.

Struggling to rise, Rhaegar remained silent, resigned to his fate as he was unceremoniously thrown into a fenced enclosure alongside the other prisoners—a motley assortment of women and children.

Among them, Rhaegar's gaze locked onto the siblings, their once-vibrant spirits now dimmed by the harsh realities of captivity.

Skylar was covered in mud and dirt, and she shielded Tormund in a corner.

Rhaegar spotted this acquaintance among the prisoners.

"It's you. Weren't you with Uncle Falcon? Why are you here?" Skylar inquired, with concerned face as she met Rhaegar's gaze.

Rhaegar's words hit her hard as she processed the news. "Falcon was a good person, but life can be cruel," he murmured as her eyes tinged with sorrow.

"Falcon Uncle died..." Rhaegar's admission hung heavily in the air, disbelief clouding Skylar's features.

"He was murdered by a traitor on our escape," Rhaegar added, resentment evident in his tone.

Skylar acknowledged the grim reality. "If even Uncle Falcon couldn't survive, what hope do we have?"

"Maybe there's still a chance," Rhaegar said, sounding a bit more optimistic.

After hearing Tormund talk something about sacrifices, Rhaegar thought about the situation.

"So, sacrificing traitors to appease the spirits of the dead... Is that something your people do often?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Tormund, hunched over on the ground, nodded solemnly."Yes, I heard from my captors earlier that the surrounding tribes believe the recent attacks by monsters are the work of vengeful spirits."

"They've resorted to capturing other tribesmen for sacrifice in hopes of appeasing them," he explained, his voice trembling with fear.

Acknowledging Tormund's words with a silent nod, Rhaegar refrained from pressing further.

He quietly retreated to another corner of their makeshift prison, his mind racing as he searched for a solution.

As he sat alone, Rhaegar couldn't shake the feeling of despair that hung heavy in the air.

The Hawk Tribe had never been known for their strength or cunning, and the other tribes gathered in the valley seemed equally ill-equipped.

With a resigned sigh, Rhaegar thought out loud, "Well, for now, it might be best to stay low and wait it out."

...

Night fell over the valley.

The victorious savages celebrated their triumph, lighting bonfires that illuminated the darkness and echoing their primal celebrations throughout the night.

But as the hours passed, the fervor died down, and a somber peace settled over the encampment.

People were tired from the day's events, so they went to sleep with loved ones.

Some people fell asleep quickly, while others struggled to get to sleep.

Amidst the eerie stillness, Rhaegar stirred from his feigned slumber, his senses sharp and attuned to the quietude of the night.

With a sense of purpose, he got up from the ground, looking at the scared women and children huddled together before he quietly made his way to the edge of the prison.

The fence, which was poorly manned by tired guards, provided little resistance as Rhaegar slipped through the gaps.

His small frame and dark attire blended seamlessly into the shadows.

He avoided the vigilant patrols and traversed the valley until he reached a precipice overlooking the captive Xander and his men.

They lay battered and broken, their bodies bearing the cruel marks of torture.

With a heavy heart, Rhaegar picked up an old iron axe from a nearby campfire. He felt his resolve strengthen as he approached Xander, who was unconscious and bleeding.

Rhaegar paused to think about what he as going to do next.

In a last-ditch effort to wake Xander from his slumber, he resorted to force, delivering a series of urgent kicks until Xander stirred, his eyes wide with fear.

"Look at me, Xander!" Rhaegar commanded, his voice cutting through the night.

As Xander's gaze met his own, Rhaegar's resolve hardened, his grip tightening on the axe.

"It's you..." Xander's words trailed off as Rhaegar's axe descended swiftly.

With a sickening thud, the blade severed Xander's artery, unleashing a torrent of crimson that drenched Rhaegar in a chilling baptism of blood.

Bowing his head in silent reverence, Rhaegar uttered a solemn farewell: "You and Falcon, halves of a whole. May your souls find peace."

With each swing of the axe, he was seeking not only vengeance but closure, as the echoes of his actions reverberated through the night.