Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 522: The Backstabbing from Helaena

The next day.

Topless Tower, the Silent Hall.

Dragonstone’s walls, adorned with frescoes depicting various gods, enclosed the dimly lit hall. A dozen towering stone pillars pierced through the two floors, their hollowed surfaces holding books and vessels. In the center of the hall stood an arc-shaped altar.

Helaena sat sideways in front of the flickering candlelight, her long pale blue silk dress draping over her calves. She softly sang an ancient Valyrian nursery rhyme.

This peaceful scene greeted Rhaegar as he entered the hall. He listened carefully to her delicate voice, filled with soothing gentleness.

“A Warm Winter in Valyria, a song in praise of winter", a bald Red Priest stepped out from the shadows, adding in a smooth, oily tone.

Rhaegar looked straight ahead, replying calmly, “The song’s origin is that the wife of a Valyrian nomad gave birth during the winter.”

The Red Priest smiled sweetly, the small characters tattooed on his face seeming to dance. “What happened?”

“The baby was born,” Rhaegar said, his eyes flashing with memories. “The heavy snow did not stop the birth, nor did it stop the mother. Even the sheep in the pen survived.”

“The story, like the song, ends warmly. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be called ‘A Warm Winter.’”

“It’s a heartwarming song,” the Red Priest replied, smiling. “No wonder it’s a famous nursery rhyme from ancient Valyria, perfect for lulling children to sleep.”

Rhaegar’s eyes widened, but when he glanced back, he saw Helaena turning her head, looking confused. She blinked, then continued to hum the unfinished nursery rhyme.

Rhaegar, with his discerning eyes, chose not to interrupt and instead continued speaking to the Red Priest. "Varys, what's the latest news from Slaver's Bay?"

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A new Dragonlord has appeared, defying the Targaryen's authority. Slaver's Bay will have to pay the price.

Varys replied, a knowing look on his face. "Your Grace, the false Dragonlord claims to be a legitimate descendant of the Freehold." Reaching into his sleeve, he pulled out a note, his expression humble.

His voice tinged with regret as he handed over the note, a slight smile curving his lips. "The High Septon reports that, under the name of this false Dragonlord, Slaver's Bay has recruited sorcerers from Asshai and is spreading dragon seed by taking numerous concubines and wives."

Rhaegar took the note and glanced at Varys. "You seem very pleased."

"Nothing escapes your discerning eyes," Varys replied with a shy smile. "You know me. Anything related to precious books and magic is my lifeblood."

He was confident that he was not inferior to others when it came to magic.

Rhaegar frowned. "Have you lost your most precious possession?"

Varys, an uncircumcised priest known for feigning disability, showed a hint of resentment and muttered, "Your Grace, what are you thinking?"

"If you keep talking to me like that, your thoughts might come true." Rhaegar gave him a sideways glance, clenching his fingers around the note. Varys shut up and slunk away.

Working for the royal family had its benefits—it was not only safe but also provided faster access to rare books than working alone. Seeing Varys retreat, Rhaegar opened the note to read it.

There was nothing of great importance, just trivialities. The new Dragonlord had taken wives and concubines, and his sisters had married the Good Masters, causing the family to grow rapidly.

After reading, Rhaegar believed part of the new Dragonlord's claim of being a descendant of the Aethyrys family, as they were known for their fertility.

"Ha, a bunch of insignificant people," Rhaegar scoffed, his gaze lingering on the wizard of Asshai for a few moments. "Asshai..." he murmured, raising his eyebrows slightly.

A strange and absurd relic of the world, Asshai was said to be full of magical researchers such as Shadowbinders and alchemists. Sea Snake Corlys had once reached Asshai during his nine voyages. According to the tales, the local customs were perilous. Corlys himself had remarked that he would rather journey to the far north again than touch the cursed land of Asshai.

With a pop, a ball of flame appeared, and the note burned in Rhaegar's hand. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, “The magic tides are growing more turbulent, and all kinds of monsters are beginning to show their faces.”

Particularly, the magic tide had fluctuated once on the way back from the Smoking Sea to the Disputed Lands. It must have signaled something.

Creak. The door opened with a loud groan.

Johanna approached, her black hair cascading down and her body swaying. Rhaegar glanced at her.

Joanna bowed and reported, “We have news from Tyrosh that Daemon has sent out invitations to his wedding to Lady May. He can't wait to get married.”

Rhaegar smiled and asked, “What are Sea Snake and Laena's attitudes?”

“The news from Driftmark hasn't come back yet,” Johanna replied truthfully. “Lady Laena has locked herself in her room, not eating, not sleeping, and not talking to anyone.”

After a moment’s thought, she added, “Lady Baela broke into the Dragonpit and tried to ride Moondancer, but the Dragonkeepers stopped her.”

“As expected,” Rhaegar nodded. Baela's character was indeed like her father's, full of courage and boldness. She was even more daring than his three sons combined. “It's a pity that Rhaenyra didn’t give me a child who could be called brave,” he thought to himself, dissatisfied.

His grandfather was known as “Brave Baelon.” His eldest son, who bore his grandfather’s name, was reserved and always acted with dignity. The second and youngest sons... one was a mischievous rascal, the other a sullen loner. Each of his three sons had inherited a part of his personality, but none of them were exactly like him.

Having received the information he wanted, Rhaegar waved his hand, indicating that Johanna should leave. Varys, however, did not depart. When the Topless Tower was first built, the Silent Hall had been his domain.

“Brother, are you leaving?”

The nursery rhyme came to an abrupt end as Helaena slowly stood up, her big eyes filled with confusion.

“Yes, I came to say goodbye,” Rhaegar replied with a smile. “Why are you here?”

Helaena, usually introverted and rarely seen singing alone, shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her stomach. “I just came here,” she said softly.

Being alone helped her find peace of mind, otherwise, the images in her head would always disturb her.

Rhaegar understood. A special talent often comes with its own burdens. He had been tormented by nightmares as a child, though as an adult, his dreams had become less frequent, appearing only as critical premonitions.

Helaena tilted her head, her long curls falling over her chest. “This trip will go well. I’m very relieved.”

“Of course,” Rhaegar chuckled.

Helaena’s eyes flashed slyly as she pouted. “Keep an eye on Aemond. He’s up to no good.”

“Aemond?” Rhaegar hesitated. The boy couldn’t cause much trouble in the Stormlands. Could he be planning to break off his engagement? “Anyway, keep an eye on him,” Helaena insisted, sounding like an older sister complaining to a parent.

Rhaegar was momentarily at a loss for words but promised, “Okay, I’ll deal with him when I see him.”

He hadn’t heard from Aemond for more than half a month, so he probably deserved a scolding. He might not even be at home.

...

At noon, the sun hung high in the sky.

A black dragon, as massive as a small mountain, soared into the air, its vast wings eclipsing the sun as it slowly flew over Lys. The townsfolk below glanced upward and quickened their pace to get away.

Even after many years, the reputation of the Deathwing remained terrifying.

...

Meanwhile, at Driftmark, high tide...

A muddy dragon with a pitted and ugly appearance flew over the tide and landed heavily in front of the castle. As soon as Sheepstealer landed, he swung his long, thick tail. With a loud crack, the gallows holding a mummified corpse snapped.

The dragon's wings supported its weight as its claws and hooks gripped the ground. The crows, disturbed from their feast, screamed and scattered as the mummy was crushed into a pile of rubble.

"Behave yourself, Sheepstealer!" Aemond shouted, offering a symbolic scolding as he leapt from the dragon's back.

"Roar!" Sheepstealer hissed and waddled to a corner of the courtyard, completely ignoring his rider.

Aemond, long accustomed to the dragon's peculiarities, remained expressionless. He strode into the castle, watched by the guards who had come to meet him.

...

Hall of Nine,

Aemond entered with a clear goal in mind, leaving his escort behind.

Rhaenys had been waiting in the hall, alerted by the dragon's roar. She was surprised to see her nephew but welcomed him warmly. “Aemond, did you come alone?”

Over the years, House Targaryen and House Velaryon had reconciled, and she often met with her nephews and nieces. Rhaegar had become king and treated her with respect. Daeron, engaged to her granddaughter Rhaena, served as a cupbearer at High Tide. Aegon, though dissolute and foolish, was sensible. Aemond was exceptionally accomplished.

As a second son, Aemond excelled in poetry, history, and swordplay. He managed affairs in King's Landing and inspected the Stormlands and Dornish Marches, earning respect throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

When his aunt asked him a question, Aemond didn't answer directly. Instead, he inquired, "Are Lord Corlys and Daeron not here?" He looked around with one eye as if searching for them.

"Daeron is delivering orders for Corlys. You may have to wait a while to see him," Rhaenys replied, frowning slightly. "Did Rhaegar send you? What are your orders?"

"No," Aemond replied, confirming that no one else was present. "I came for myself, and..."

Under Rhaenys' watchful gaze, he stepped onto the dais and approached the driftwood throne. His eye flickered with uncertainty as he placed his hand on the cold, watery driftwood. “Something that will help people progress,” he said cautiously.

Rhaenys frowned deeper, watching her nephew touch the driftwood throne in an impolite manner. She felt the urge to scold him.

Suddenly, a deep voice spoke up.

“Tell me, I’m really curious.”

Rhaenys and Aemond turned their heads to see the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, standing at the side door of the hall. Despite his injuries, he had discarded his crutches and walked steadily toward them, his dark face full of interest.

Aemond blinked and smiled seductively. “I guess you’ll listen to reason.”

Without wasting any time, Corlys walked up the steps and sat on the king's throne, asserting his authority as the head of the house. Aemond descended the steps and took a seat in a nearby chair.

Rhaenys, ignoring the underlying tension between the two men, said helplessly, “Corlys, the Maester said you should be resting.”

Corlys waved her concern away. “My body knows its limits. The Maester is just being overly cautious.”

A seasoned sailor like Corlys had his own way of judging his health. Despite this, Rhaenys couldn’t help but worry.

“Lord Corlys, what do you think of the war in the Smoking Sea?” Aemond asked, steering the conversation towards the pressing matter.

Corlys’ expression turned serious. “There are dragons in the Smoking Sea, so war is inevitable. The key is calculating the cost.”

“Volantis is the front line of the war,” Aemond noted, his lips curling slightly. “My brother won’t let it slip from his grasp.”

“If we take that land, how will it be divided?” Aemond’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Corlys’ expression changed slightly. “That decision lies with the king. It may be incorporated into the Crownlands.”

“What if we take it first?” Aemond pressed. “Volantis is beyond the Disputed Lands. The Free Cities are overcrowded and lack quality resources, making them difficult for the royal family to manage.”

“What are you suggesting?” Corlys frowned, though he likely already guessed Aemond’s intent.

Among the nine Free Cities, some struggled in trade, like Lorath, which had no port, and Qohor, located in the inland Forest of Qohor. Volantis, known as “the daughter of Valyria,” had once been prosperous. However, after the failed invasion during the Age of Bloodshed, its economy had plummeted. The city was now filthy, and its springs were drying up—clear signs of decline.

If Volantis hadn't been included in the trade route to the Disputed Lands after the Narrow Sea War, its economy would have continued to decline year after year.

Aemond spoke openly of his ambitions. "Volantis is not a suitable domain for my brother. Perhaps he should give it to me and let me rule it for him."

The Sea Snake remained silent for a moment before asking, “What does House Velaryon get out of this?”

Aemond replied, “I will follow the Topless Tower system in Lys. Velaryon can appoint a councilor, and the port will exempt House Velaryon from fees.”

“This...” The Sea Snake was visibly moved, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Aemond continued, “You provide the troops, I provide the dragons, and together we will conquer Volantis, relieving the army of the burden of war. My brother might be so pleased that he would grant me Volantis.”

After weighing the pros and cons, the Sea Snake shook his head. “No, the division of the Crownlands is no joke. House Velaryon only follows the orders of the king.”

Without that last sentence, he might have considered it. However, asking House Velaryon to bear the brunt of the attack was too risky. Aemond's proposal, while enticing, was riddled with potential pitfalls. If the Sea Snake helped him, he might lose everything.

Despite the rejection, Aemond remained calm. “I think House Velaryon needs an ally, a reliable ally.”

Learning from his uncle Daemon’s example, Aemond coveted the territory of a Free City. Stonehelm was a good place, but it was remote with pitiful income. In contrast, Aegon, who ruled over the Stepstones, had minimal responsibilities and reaped a fortune several times greater than his own.

Hearing this, the Sea Snake's already dark face grew even darker. The last ally had been Daemon, who had betrayed his daughter.

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