"Come eat something first, Your Highnesses," one of the maids called.
Rhaegar and the four children moved to a sheltered spot behind the battlements where the wind was weaker. The maids had already spread blankets across the ground and laid out several food baskets.
They had served Rhaena for years and had helped raise Rhaegar since infancy, so they knew exactly what he liked to eat.
The wall was freezing cold, but the children loved the novelty of eating outdoors. They hurried over and sat cross-legged around the cloth spread on the ground.
Five children of similar age gathered together.
Rhaegar and the Baratheon siblings all had dark hair and dark eyes, yet their features were very different. Among the people of Westeros, Rhaegar's appearance carried an unmistakably foreign air.
Strictly speaking, the five of them were related by blood, though they belonged to three different generations.
Boremund (eight) and Jocelyn (six) were the children born after the Dowager Queen Alyssa remarried. They were Rhaegar's grandmother Rhaena's half-siblings, making them technically the same generation as King Jaehaerys.
The two silver-haired boys, Prince Aemon (five) and Prince Baelon (three), were the sons of King Jaehaerys, belonging to the same generation as Rhaegar's deceased mother.
And Rhaegar himself, just over four years old, was the bastard grandson of Rhaena.
Among the five, he was the youngest generation of all.
Fortunately Westeros did not care too much about such strict hierarchies among children.
Otherwise, the fact that Rhaegar had just beaten his "grand-uncle" Boremund black and blue would have earned him a severe beating from Rhaena.
Even so, the order of age still mattered at the table.
Rhaegar picked up the largest slice of white bread thickly coated in honey, along with a cup of milk warmed in hot water, and handed them to Boremund.
"For you."
"Haha! That's my favorite!" Boremund stuffed the bread eagerly into his mouth.
Next Rhaegar handed Jocelyn a small cherry cake.
"Thank you," she said politely.
She ate slowly, savoring every bite. The cherry on top she carefully saved for last, making the two white-haired boys beside her stare with visible longing.
Rhaegar then handed an apple pastry to the older prince.
"Aemon."
Aemon opened his mouth to speak, but Rhaegar immediately cut him off.
"Missing-tooth people shouldn't talk."
"Ha!" Aemon laughed, then obediently chewed with his lips closed.
He had just begun losing his baby teeth, and unfortunately the first to fall out had been a front tooth.
Finally Rhaegar placed the softest cream cake before the youngest.
"Brave Baelon, this one's yours."
"Ahh!" Baelon threw his hands up in delight, blowing a bubble of snot that hung from his lip until a maid hurried over with a handkerchief.
The four of them followed Rhaegar everywhere these days.
And Rhaegar deeply regretted it.
Once they attached themselves to him, there was no shaking them off.
He ate quietly as usual, saying little while his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
He had been in this world for more than four years.
He had learned the language, gained a rough understanding of its customs, and gradually realized what his position as a bastard truly meant.
Not only did he possess no inheritance rights, but his situation was far from secure.
Among nobles, most marriages were political alliances.
A legitimate marriage existed primarily to produce heirs and bind the interests of two families together.
Love sometimes happened.
But if it did not appear after marriage, couples often simply looked the other way and sought lovers elsewhere.
Having multiple lovers could even be seen as a mark of charm.
With primitive medicine, however, numerous lovers often meant unexpected children.
Bastards themselves were not considered especially shameful.
But when it came time for succession, matters grew dangerous.
Bastard daughters were usually safe enough.
Bastard sons, however…
They frequently died in unfortunate accidents.
This plague, ironically brought by Rhaegar himself, had killed many nobles across Westeros.
In some places even the legitimate heirs had perished.
The eldest sons, raised from childhood to manage lands and rule, were usually the designated heirs.
Second sons, by contrast, were often trained only in the knightly arts. As adults they either entered arranged marriages or sought their own fortunes.
When such poorly trained younger sons suddenly inherited titles due to the deaths of their elder brothers, their methods for securing power could be extremely brutal.
Rhaegar had overheard soldiers returning from supply trips discussing one such case.
The bastard sons of the lord of Buckler's Castle had all been murdered by "bandits."
Their bodies were discovered in a mass grave more than ten days later.
Rhaegar himself might carry the mind of an adult from another world…
…but where was the transmigrator's cheat ability he was supposed to have?
So far it was utterly useless.
The king already disliked him because of his bastard birth. The best Rhaegar could do was maintain good relations with the princes.
Otherwise one day they might simply kill him to eliminate a potential threat.
Technically his cheat ability had awakened.
Rhaegar concentrated.
Inside his mind, heroic music swelled dramatically. Then a large dragon emblem appeared before his vision.
Moments later, the screen went dark and a rectangular interface appeared.
Inside the character name box were two enormous names:
SleazyGuyWerther Baratheon
Those two names filled nearly the entire space.
Rhaegar's own name, Rhaegar Therys, was squeezed into the corner, so tiny it looked like a version number.
What kind of ridiculous system requires three people to share one account?
All the other categories, skills, talents, dragon shouts, inventory, were marked as already used.
At present the system had only one practical function:
When he opened it, outside sounds were muted.
It helped him sleep deeply at night, leaving him energetic the next day.
Still, Rhaegar had not given up.
Perhaps the system simply worked differently.
He often sneaked onto rooftops alone, trying to activate various "skills," experimenting with new ways to trigger it.
Returning to reality, Rhaegar glanced toward the two Kingsguard standing in the distance.
The maids were resting nearby.
Lowering his voice, he leaned toward the Baratheon siblings.
"Does your house have someone named Werther?"
Jocelyn shook her head.
"I've never heard of anyone like that."
Boremund, who had received some education from a maester at Storm's End, thought carefully before answering.
"Our house is only in its fourth generation since my grandfather. We have many relatives now… but I'm sure none of them are named Werther."
"What about bastards?" Rhaegar asked.
"None!" Boremund replied firmly.
He seemed about to add something else, but suddenly remembered that Rhaegar himself was a bastard. His words stuck in his throat and his face turned red.
Jocelyn spoke instead.
"Werther… Werther Baratheon. It actually sounds like a nice name."
Rhaegar didn't mind their reactions.
But he now understood something clearly.
The cheat ability that should have belonged to him had been hijacked by two unknown idiots somewhere in this world.
A name like SleazyGuy at least made sense for a gamer.
But Werther Baratheon?
What kind of lonely loser came up with a name like that?
Since a ridiculous name like that should never appear, Rhaegar immediately fabricated an explanation.
"Actually," he said solemnly, "in Essos, the word Werther means turtle-brained fool. It's a terrible omen. Anyone who uses it will have bad luck."
"Really?" the children asked together.
They loved stories about the eastern continent.
"Absolutely true," Rhaegar said confidently.
He knew nothing about the languages of Essos, but there were countless dialects there. Even if someone discovered the lie later, he could simply claim he had misheard.
Jocelyn smiled and nodded.
Privately, however, she decided she would ask a maester to record the name later—it sounded far too good to waste.
Learning this unfortunate truth did not discourage Rhaegar.
A transmigrator was favored by fate.
He refused to believe destiny would abandon him completely.
Surely there were other ways to activate the system.
One of them would eventually work.
And when it did-
He would command countless followers.
Take wives and concubines by the dozen.
Conquer battlefields.
Seize lands and crown himself king.
Fly through the skies.
Travel through time.
Reverse fate.
Create worlds.
Become a god.
"Ahahaha-!"
Lost in the fantasy, Rhaegar burst out laughing.
The two Kingsguard heard him and turned to look.
They exchanged glances, then both slowly shook their heads with identical expressions of regret.
The rumors seemed true.
Rhaegar indeed possessed astonishing martial talent for his age.
But his mind…
…was clearly not entirely sound.
"Cough—ugh—!"
Rhaegar laughed so hard he nearly choked and quickly gulped down some milk to recover.
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