Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 537: White Worm Assassination

It is night, and dark clouds are gathering.

Topless Tower.

“Be careful, you idiot,” the fat man growled as he approached the back door where the fruits and vegetables were transported. He assumed the guise of a patrolling guard, glaring at the cook who was pushing the cart.

The cook, swallowing his nerves, kept silent and pushed a cart loaded with fresh vegetables covered in straw through the door.

The surrounding guards, recognizing the two men from their usual routines, let them pass without suspicion.

...

The corridor was dark and smoky.

The fat man found an excuse to leave the guard and met the cook waiting at the entrance to the pantry.

“Woof, woof...” A dirty little gray dog emerged, whimpering twice.

“Shh, don't make a sound,” the cook whispered, kicking the dog and glancing around furtively.

“What are you doing with it?” the fat man demanded, staring at the dog with cold eyes.

The cook shrank back but responded with a sense of entitlement, “This is the watchdog. It has the best nose.” Thanks to the dog, he had secured the job of a cook.

“Cut the crap and find someone,” the fat man ordered, ignoring the dog as he headed towards a seldom-used long corridor.

The Topless Tower was very tall, and the nobles used a winch ladder to go up and down. There were many passageways, but no one used them.

The cook didn't waste any time. He found a torch to light his way and led the dog behind him.

Everything was for the golden dragons promise.

...

Myr, Realm's Estate

It was a dark night, with not a single star in the sky.

Hoo-hoo

A skinny, muddy dragon descended slowly, its claws trampling the grass in the field.

Aemond dismounted and strode purposefully toward the solitary mill.

...

At this moment, a figure was busy in the mill. The walls were dry and peeling, the windows paper-covered and broken.

A dirty table held a candle burning in a waxy holder, with a book propping up one of the table legs.

Otto lowered his head, taking a baked potato and butter from the fireplace, and began to mash and stir them carefully.

"Dinner is ready," he muttered to himself, pulling out a piece of hard black bread to eat with the sticky mashed potatoes.

Otto had aged significantly over the years. His temples were lined with gray hair, his forehead wrinkled, and his once straight back now bent.

He stood at the table, hastily finishing dinner without the precious etiquette he once adhered to. He was a criminal advisor, sent by the king to the Disputed Lands under the rule of Myr, where he spent years cultivating the wasteland and managing the manor.

Life in the countryside was not as comfortable as the life of a nobleman in the High Tower in Oldtown. He had to work hard to earn his food and drink.

Day after day, the hard work eroded Otto's pride. The once deep and penetrating eyes now held a dullness to them.

Creak

The old wooden door creaked open, and a figure with silver hair and one eye entered.

Otto heard the noise but continued making the bed without looking up. The pillow was covered in messy hair.

"Grandfather!"

Aemond looked on with cold eyes and spoke up.

Hearing this, Otto stiffened for a moment and said awkwardly, "After all these years, only you still remember this old man."

Aemond walked around to the dining table and looked down at the leftovers. "It seems you've been doing well. You're not as poor as I thought."

"Just getting by," Otto replied, turning his back to his grandson. He straightened his messy collar before turning to sit down. "How is Alicent?"

He hadn't seen his daughter in a long time and wondered how she was doing.

Aemond tapped the spoon on the plate and replied, "Alicent lives in the chapel at Harrenhal, praying to the Seven Gods for forgiveness every day."

Otto frowned and sighed, "House arrest in disguise, not bad at all."

Aemond did not respond, staring at his grandfather with one eye, trying to peer into his decadent exterior.

Otto let him look and asked bluntly, “What do you want with me? I have to get up early tomorrow to grind wheat for someone.” He was not a man to sit idle, working hard from dawn to dusk. As an old man, he could barely endure the hardship.

Aemond sat down, his one-eyed gaze piercing. He placed a dagger on the table and said coldly, “I want a Free City, and I need an opportunity.”

“You've come to the wrong place, boy,” Otto replied helplessly. “My information is too limited to help you.”

“There's no one here, only me,” Aemond said, his eyes dark and uncertain. “I know you're not well-informed, so I've devised my own plan.”

Otto was stunned and then realized, “You don't have a clue, so you want my advice?”

“Tell me,” Aemond demanded, reluctant to admit his worry. He explained his plan to assassinate the White Worm.

The more Otto listened, the deeper his frown became until he interrupted, “If the White Worm is killed, Daemon will turn against the royal family and House Velaryon. Be careful. You can't get back what you've lost.”

The White Worm was staying in Lys to have her baby, and Daemon had arranged it that way. Laena had just returned to Lys, If the White Worm was killed under mysterious circumstances. Regardless of the truth, the royal family and the Velaryons would be blamed.

“Isn't that great?” Aemond's lips curled up with conviction. “Daemon is old, and House Velaryon is spoiled by his favor. Everyone will be in chaos, and my brother will trust me more.”

“No wall is impenetrable,” Otto warned. “Rhaegar is not easily swayed. Don't push him too far.”

“Are you afraid?” Aemond challenged.

Otto laughed, “I've already come this far. What’s there to be afraid of?” He was only concerned that his grandson would act recklessly and go astray.

Aemond sneered, “You lost a power struggle and now lack the courage to rise again.”

He had hoped Otto would be a key advisor. Seeing this, Aemond angrily got up and left. When he reached the door, he turned around and sneered, “Your heart has aged along with your wrinkled old body. Both are useless and superfluous.”

Bang!

The door slammed shut, sending pieces of plaster falling off the wall. Otto sat down on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, hands crossed. He muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

All he knows is how to act recklessly. He will never accomplish anything in his life.

...

Lys, Topless Tower.

“Hoo~” The fat man and the kitchen helper climbed the stairs, sweating profusely.

“We've finally arrived,” the cook panted, smiling. “This floor is where the important people live. I heard the maid who delivers the food say so.”

“Lead the way, you idiot,” the fat man snapped, tightening the scabbard at his waist and adopting a more serious gaze.

Tap, tap, tap... A figure in the dark corridor, clad in silver armor and white robes, patrolled back and forth.

“Woof woof~” The dog whimpered, biting the cook's pant leg.

The two quickly retreated, hiding in the corner to spy on the hallway. Steffon, a Kingsguard, was meticulously patrolling with his sword in hand. Behind him was the bedroom where the Prince lived.

The fat man peered closely and whispered, “No, that door leads to the king's son.”

“Let's try another way,” the cook suggested, hugging the dog as they climbed another floor. Inside the Topless Tower, the Queen lived on the top floor, while the female guests and Princes resided on the middle floor.

As they ascended to the upper floor, a distinctive aroma of women wafted through the air.

Whoosh! The fat man's figure disappeared around the corner, and a strange shadow flickered behind him.

“Hmm?” The fat man quickly turned around but saw nothing.

“What’s wrong?” the cook asked nervously.

“Nothing, I must have been mistaken,” the fat man replied, still suspicious as he continued to climb the stairs with his torch.

“Woof woof~~” The two men didn’t notice the dog curling up in the cook’s arms, shivering with fear.

...

Creak—

In the hallway, the wooden door opened. Maekar, half asleep, stepped out, hugging a small blanket in his arms. His watery blue eyes were full of confusion.

“Prince, did you have a nightmare?” Steffon immediately approached and asked tenderly.

“No, Ser.” Maekar shook his head and handed the small blanket to Steffon. “It's cold at night. You must be tired, Ser.”

Steffon took the blanket, which still smelled of baby food, and was touched. "Prince, go to bed early. Don't worry about me."

"Good night." Maekar tilted his head to the side, waving his chubby hand, but kept his eyes on the dark corner of the stairs. After making sure there was nothing there, he stumbled back to his room.

...

The fat man and the cook climbed the stairs, noting the absence of Kingsguard on this floor. They exchanged a glance, then looked around at the several tightly closed wooden doors lining both sides of the corridor.

“Which door?” the fat man asked in a low, murderous voice.

“Don't worry, I'll take a look.” The cook stroked the dog's head and took a silk scarf out of his pocket. “Smell it. Where is it?”

“Woof woof~~” The puppy whimpered softly, not daring to look up.

Bang! The cook gave him a kick, scolding, “You useless thing, I've been feeding you for nothing.”

The dog whimpered pitifully and crawled away in a panic.

The fat man pointed to the nearest wooden door with a cold face. “This is it.”

“Are you sure?” The kitchen helper was stunned.

“It’s all the same anyway. Hurry up.” The fat man grabbed his partner by the collar and squatted down to start picking the lock.

Creak.

The door opened.

...

In the bedroom, Helaena was sleeping soundly when a sudden feeling of discomfort rose up in her heart. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if she had just had a nightmare.

“Phew!”

Helaena woke up with a start, panting and covered in sweat. The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the bedroom was silent.

“Rats, worms...”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she quickly grabbed the two small clothes by the bedside, hugging them tightly. She hurriedly got out of bed, her instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong.

...

Meanwhile, in the next room, Mysaria was half asleep and half awake, tossing and turning restlessly. Suddenly, the sound of a door lock being picked came from the adjacent room. Mysaria's eyes snapped open, her sleepiness immediately vanishing.

Coming from a humble background, she was always on her guard. Quickly tying her scarf, she went to the door barefoot and peered through the crack. She saw two figures, one fat and one thin, prying open the door to the next room and sneaking in.

“Damn it,” Mysaria muttered, realizing they were likely coming for her. Her brain raced, trying to come up with a plan. Slipping out through the crack in the door, she moved silently downstairs in the darkness, unnoticed.

She knew there were Kingsguards downstairs and thought she could call out to them for help. But as she passed a half-open wooden door, she recognized it as the bedroom of the princess Helaena.

“Where did everyone go?” Mysaria wondered, perplexed. She guessed that Helaena might have escaped downstairs before her. With the assassins close behind, there was no time to lose. Mysaria hurried down the stairs barefoot, her heart pounding with urgency.