Late at Night
Otto, clad in black robes, left the brothel and entered the waiting carriage, protected by his guards.
"My lord, the White Worm is nothing more than a whore," the young servant who drove the carriage grumbled in obvious indignation.
Otto removed his hood, his eyes calm. "Even if she is a whore, she is a whore with skills," he said lightly.
"She barely acknowledges your goodwill and acts as if she's your equal," the young squire continued, still offended. As a member of the Hightower House, the nephew of Otto's cousin, he felt a sense of indignation at seeing his uncle bend over backwards for a prostitute.
Otto's gaze was deep, his tone measured. "Look at the long term. The White Maggot is just a minor player; the real focus is on the people behind her."
The Targaryen heirs were growing in number and influence, each one a potential player in the kingdom's future. Otto saw the need to plan for princely positions. Rhaegar's grant of Harrenhal had set a precedent, and the other heirs would soon make their moves. Preparing in advance was crucial for maintaining influence at court.
His nephew drove the carriage with a half-understood nod. As they neared the edge of Flea Bottom, a mocking voice sounded.
"Master of Piss and Shit, go eat shit!"
The young servant recoiled and looked around in shock.
Splat!
A bucket of feces and urine fell from above, splashing on the roof of the carriage.
"Who the hell did that?!" the squire yelled, drenched and furious, drawing his sword.
"Stop, don't make trouble," Otto ordered. "Hurry up and leave. The White Worm will take care of this."
Suppressing his anger, the young attendant gritted his teeth. "Yes, my lord."
He whipped the horse, speeding out of Flea Bottom, leaving behind the jeering crowd. Inside the carriage, Otto covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, his eyes sweeping over the soiled carport. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
King's Landing was a city filled with the stench of poverty and desperation. Refugees from all over the Seven Kingdoms flocked to the capital, hoping for a better life. This influx strained the city's security and exacerbated tensions between nobles and commoners.
As Master of Civil Affairs, Otto had taken on the responsibility of cleaning up the streets. His efforts had touched a nerve among the impoverished, leading to widespread resistance. After several failed attempts, he devised a localized approach.
The poor resisted the nobles' management, so he sought out individuals from their own ranks to lead them. The White Worm was a grassroots figure with notable talents, one of the main reasons he had gone to such lengths to bring her into his fold.
...
The Next Day
Viserys lay in bed, contentedly cuddling his beautiful wife, lost in a dream he hated to leave. Alicent, resting on his arm, listened to his familiar snoring, her mind lost in thought. She had been awake all night, planning for the future of her children.
A knock at the door broke the morning silence. "Your Grace, an urgent report from Stepstones!" came Erryk's voice from the hall.
Alicent blinked, shaking herself from her reverie. She shook her husband gently, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Viserys, there's a letter from Stepstones. Wake up."
Viserys groggily tried to sit up, only to find his right arm numb from his wife's weight. Alicent got up with a worried look on her face, slipped into her nightgown, and opened the door.
Erryk stood there, his expression grave. "Your Grace," he nodded.
"Come in, tell him what you have," Alicent said, stepping aside to let Erryk enter.
Erryk entered, his eyes averted out of respect. He presented a letter to the king, who was still struggling to fully wake up.
"All right, give it to me," Viserys muttered, taking the letter and tearing it open.
As he read the contents, his expression changed dramatically. "Vaemond Velaryon is dead!" he cried out in shock. "Vaemond is dead!"
Alicent's eyes widened. "Ser Vaemond?" she asked, equally surprised. Vaemond was the younger brother of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, and they were known to be very close.
Viserys nodded, his face grave. "The letter says Vaemond felt abdominal pains some time ago. At first, he didn't think much of it, but it kept getting worse. Two nights ago, he collapsed in agony, his abdomen swollen like a basin, and he died in terrible pain."
Alicent's mind raced. "What about Aegon? Is he alright?"
Viserys reassured her. "Aegon is fine. But Vaemond's death is strange. It doesn't seem like a natural illness."
The manner of Vaemond's death was eerily familiar to Viserys. His father, Baelon Targaryen, had died in a similar way after a hunting trip, his abdomen swelling painfully before his death.
Alicent gasped. "Could it be poison?"
"Possibly," Viserys said, his voice heavy. "There are many poisons in Lys. We can't rule it out."
He sighed deeply. "I heard that Lord Corlys has woken up. Vaemond's body will be returned to Driftmark for a funeral, and the royal family is expected to attend."
Alicent nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I'll make the arrangements," she said, summoning a servant to notify Grand Maester Mellos and send ravens with the news.
...
At the Same Time
Rhaegar awoke from his sleep after spending the night soaking in a hot spring. His eyes were still clouded with confusion as he emerged from the water.
"Roar..."
Sensing his awakening, the Cannibal, his dragon, rose from a nearby clearing and let out a low, rumbling growl.
Rhaegar stretched, feeling the wrinkled texture of his soaked skin. "I'm all cut up," he muttered, scratching at his long, wet hair. He pulled on his robes, mounted the dragon, and flew back to Harrenhal.
As soon as he landed, he saw the big, chubby Tru hurrying toward him.
"What happened?" Rhaegar asked, unable to suppress a chuckle at Tru's comically fast pace.
Panting heavily, Tru handed him a letter. "A message from Stepstones, Your Grace. I came to find you first."
Rhaegar's demeanor changed instantly. He grabbed the letter and read it quickly.
The letter was from Tormund, who had remained on Bloodstone Island. It detailed Vaemond's death and the circumstances surrounding it, suggesting that he had most likely been poisoned.
Crushing the letter into a ball, Rhaegar thrust it back at Tru and said urgently, "Oversee the work at Harrenhal. Get Robb to help you. I'll go back to King's Landing."
"Yes, Prince," Tru replied, catching the ball of paper and nodding vigorously.
Without another word, Rhaegar mounted the Cannibal and took off, flying back to King's Landing.
...
Within the hour, the Cannibal had flown from Harrenhal back to King's Landing. Harrenhal's strategic location was vital-it blocked the nobles from the Riverlands and used the fast-flowing rivers of the Three Forks to keep the armies of the Vale and the North at bay. Most importantly, it was in close proximity to King's Landing.
"Roar..."
The Cannibal circled over King's Landing, roaring to announce its return. It landed in the Dragonpit, and Rhaegar dismounted, intending to head straight to the Red Keep.
"Prince, wait a moment."
A black-robed figure emerged from a shadowed corner, moving with a light step. Rhaegar turned to see Syrio, his trusted agent, whose fluffy brown curls peeked out from under his hood.
"Any rumors in King's Landing lately?" Rhaegar asked.
Syrio managed a group of skilled operatives who specialized in gathering intelligence in King's Landing.
"Indeed," Syrio replied with a smirk. "The high and mighty have been splattered with shit, thinking they can work with worms."
Rhaegar frowned. "Worm? Otto found someone to collaborate with?"
Syrio explained, "White Worm, also known as Mysaria, a prostitute from Lys and Prince Daemon's former mistress. She organizes the largest intelligence network in King's Landing, though her allegiances remain unclear."
Rhaegar's brow furrowed further. "Look into the White Worm."
"To stop Otto from working with her?" Syrio inquired.
Rhaegar shook his head. "No need. It's time for the King's Landing reorganization plan to be put on the agenda. Let Otto handle that. As for the White Worm... no matter how much information she gathers, she can't stand against true power struggles."
...
The Red Keep
Rhaegar walked into the Red Keep and ascended the stairs of Maegor's Holdfast. Around a corner, he encountered a slender, middle-aged man with a shaved head.
"Prince, can I help you?" the man asked.
"No, Lord Caswell," Rhaegar replied, sidestepping with a polite nod.
Lord Caswell, from the Caswell House of Bitterbridge in the Riverlands, loyal to House Tyrell, nodded slightly and made way.
Reaching the upper floors, Rhaegar headed to the King's chambers, where he found his father, Viserys, at breakfast.
"Father, Lord Vaemond has been killed."
Rhaegar used the word "killed" deliberately.
Viserys, cutting into sizzling mutton, chewed thoughtfully before replying, "I know. We'll be going to Driftmark soon for the funeral."
"I'm glad you know," Rhaegar said, noting his father's calm demeanor.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten. With a bitter smile, he moved a chair and joined his father at the dining table.
(Word count: 1,534)