Inside the The Red Keep, there was a deathly silence.
Jaqen's movements were swift, not disappointing Lynn's expectations of him.
Myrcella was currently packing her luggage.
Now that the goal had been achieved, she would soon follow Lynn out of King's Landing amidst the chaos.
She did not want to be held in King's Landing as a "hostage" to threaten Lynn.
Jaqen, Ned, Jaime, and others were also preparing to head north together.
Currently, the doors to the King's chambers were tightly shut, sealing off all prying eyes and anxious chatter.
The strong smell of herbs permeated the cracks in the door, enveloping the entire Maegors Holdfast.
Robert Baratheon lay on the massive bed, large enough for three or four whores; his body, once mighty as a bull, was now like a collapsing mountain.
The huge wound in his abdomen, ripped open by a boar's tusk, had been sealed by Grand Maester Pycelle with a searing hot iron.
The charred, rotten flesh gave off a nauseating burnt smell.
But everyone knew it was futile.
Robert had sustained internal injuries; people of this era did not understand what infection was, only that it brought Robert continuous high fever and unbearable agony.
"Wine..."
Robert's eyes, which were always full of desire and rage, were now clouded.
Cersei sat by the bedside, wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a damp piece of silk.
On her beautiful face hung a perfectly measured expression of grief and concern.
But in the depths of her green eyes, there was only cold stillness, and a hint of barely perceptible delight.
"Robert, my dear, Pycelle said you cannot drink any more wine."
Her voice was so tender it could drip honey.
"Get out! You... whore!"
"You want me dead more than anyone!"
Robert roared with all his strength, but the sound was as weak as a kitten's whimper.
"Give me wine!"
Just then, the door to the chambers was gently pushed open.
Varys's round figure silently slipped inside.
He bowed, holding a roll of parchment in his hands, like an apologetic shadow.
"Your Grace."
His voice was soft and filled with unease, as if afraid of disturbing the King's final peace.
"An... an unsettling message, brought back by your men earlier, but alas, you had already gone hunting."
"I should not disturb you at a time like this, but... but this concerns the safety of the realm."
Cersei's gaze instantly sharpened.
She stared at the parchment in Varys's hand, a sense of foreboding rising in her heart.
Robert turned his head with difficulty, his clouded eyes focusing on the roll of parchment.
"Read it."
Varys hesitated for a moment, but then unfolded the letter.
Then, in his uniquely soft tone, he slowly read it aloud.
[To the loyal Davos: The air in King's Landing is more suffocating than the sea wind of Dragonstone. The stench of decay is everywhere. My 'merciful' brother is drowning himself in wine and women.]
[His body is decaying faster than the honor of House Baratheon. I see his end, and I see the future of the realm. What ought to be mine will soon return to its rightful owner. Law and justice shall ultimately triumph over chaos and desire.]
[Have the fleet ready. When the stag falls, that is the day we return to King's Landing.]
In the chambers, the silence was absolute.
Every word pierced the heart of Robert, which was already corroded by venom and fury.
"Heh... heh heh..."
Robert suddenly began to laugh.
The laughter pulled at the wound in his abdomen, contorting his entire face.
"Good... good Stannis, my dear brother!"
Robert's body suddenly convulsed, and a mouthful of dark blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, staining the silk sheets beneath him.
"Pycelle!"
A terrifying, final flash of ferocity erupted in Robert's eyes.
"You old useless fool! Come here!"
Grand Maester Pycelle scrambled and tumbled to the bedside.
The heavy maester's chain clinked and swung around his neck.
"Examine me!"
Robert weakly grabbed his wrist.
"Now! Immediately! At once! Check if there is poison in my body!"
"Your Grace... you..."
Pycelle was trembling with fear.
Robert let out a faint roar. "Examine me!"
Pycelle dared not hesitate for another second.
Trembling, he took a set of silver bloodletting needles and several small crystal vials from his medicine box.
He carefully pricked Robert's finger and drew a drop of blood that had already turned slightly black.
Then, he dropped the blood into a small vial containing a transparent liquid.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the vial.
They watched as the drop of black blood slowly diffused in the liquid.
Immediately afterward, the liquid in the entire vial turned a strange, faint purple at a visible speed.
Pycelle's face instantly went ashen.
He dropped to his knees with a thud.
"The Seven save us..."
His voice was choked with tears.
"It's... it's Tears of Lys..."
"Your Grace, your body has been steadily poisoned by small doses of 'Tears of Lys'..."
"This poison is colorless and odorless, undetectable when mixed with wine. It slowly corrodes the victim's internal organs, making the poisoned person appear... appear to have died from debauchery and heavy drinking..."
The chambers fell into a deathly silence.
Cersei's pupils contracted sharply, and she subconsciously looked at Varys with a guilty start.
Varys was also looking at Cersei.
His mild, plump face was filled with a perfectly measured expression of shock and horror.
But upon closer inspection, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Stannis..."
Robert squeezed the name through his teeth, every syllable laced with endless malice and killing intent.
"That bastard... not only does he want to steal my throne... he wants to poison me too..."
"Did he think that if I died, no one would ever know of his plot?!"
"Barristan!"
Robert suddenly turned toward the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who had been silently guarding the door.
"In the name of the King, issue my command!"
"Stannis Baratheon, for plotting the murder of the King, is unforgivable!"
"Strip him of all titles and lands as Lord of Dragonstone!"
"He is no longer my brother! He is a usurper! A kingslayer! An enemy of the entire realm!"
"Have the fleet immediately blockade Dragonstone! I want him to rot and die on that miserable rock!"
"And Renly!"
"Have him return to Storm's End immediately!"
"Without my command, he is forbidden to step foot in King's Landing again!"
"Cough... cough cough..."
The string of commands exhausted Robert's last remaining strength.
Robert coughed violently, great gouts of dark blood continuously surging from his mouth.
His hands, which once wielded a warhammer weighing a thousand pounds, dropped down weakly.
"All of you, get out!"
"Bring Ned here to me, I have two words to say to him!"
...Dragonstone.
The cold sea wind carried salty, damp mist, which perpetually shrouded the black castle.
The castle's stone had been fused by the dragonfire of the ancient Valyrians, black as solidified midnight.
The waves tirelessly crashed against the cliffs.
In the Chamber of the Painted Table, deep within the castle, Stannis Baratheon stood before the massive map of Westeros.
His stern, rigid face was devoid of expression.
The line of his jaw was particularly prominent from years of clenching his teeth.
A letter from King's Landing was clenched tightly in his hand, the parchment already crumpled and misshapen.
A kingslayer?
A usurper?
He, Stannis Baratheon, a man who valued law and duty more than his own life, was being branded with such a vile accusation?
He had not even left Dragonstone recently!
He had done nothing!
And then Robert had unilaterally stripped him of his lordship... A rage so intense it was absurd burned in his chest.
This was outrageous!
By what right did Robert do this?!
He felt like a puppet, manipulated by an invisible hand.
Who was it?
Was it that viper Cersei?
Or that spider Varys?
Or perhaps... Lynn, that upstart from the North who had recently garnered so much attention in King's Landing?
But how had they done it?
"My Lord."
A voice as soft and smooth as smoke and honey sounded behind him.
Stannis did not turn around.
But his tense body unconsciously relaxed slightly.
The stone doors of the Chamber of the Painted Table had opened at some point.
A woman in a long, deep red dress slowly walked in.
She was like a walking flame, instantly illuminating the gloomy hall.
She was tall, full-figured yet graceful, and every step carried a strange sense of rhythm.
It was as if she were not walking on hard stone, but treading on the hearts of believers.
A cascade of coppery red hair flowed with a metallic luster in the dim light.
Her skin was as pale as milk, made all the more enticing by the contrast with the red dress.
Most striking was the large ruby at her throat.
The gem seemed to possess a life of its own, pulsing rhythmically with a faint glow between her collarbones, like a beating heart.
Melisandre.
The Priestess of the Lord of Light.
She walked around the massive Painted Table and approached Stannis.
A warm scent, mixing cinnamon, cardamom, and some unknown exotic spice, instantly enveloped Stannis.
It was an aroma that could intoxicate any man.
But Stannis was unmoved.
He merely looked at her coldly, his blue eyes holding a chill that could freeze a man solid.
"Did your Lord of Light see this?"
His voice carried suppressed fury.
"Did he see how I 'poisoned' my own brother?"
Melisandre did not answer.
She extended a hand.
The hand was pale and slender, the nails neatly trimmed and rounded.
She gently took the letter.
"This is merely the trickery of the darkness, my King."
Melisandre's voice carried a compelling force.
"The Long Night is coming, and the great war is at hand."
"The great war never begins on the battlefield."
"The enemy seeks to use lies to tarnish your reputation and shake your resolve."
"They fear you, they fear the king's blood that flows within you, they fear that you are the Prince Promised who will lead humanity out of the darkness."
Stannis did not speak, but his tightly clenched fist slowly relaxed.
"Tell me, Melisandre."
He stared intently into her red eyes.
"Tell me what I must do."
"Show me the power of your Lord of Light, tell me who the enemy is!"
A profound, knowing smile appeared on Melisandre's face.
She did not answer directly, but took Stannis's hand and led him to the massive hearth in the center of the hall.
Fierce flames burned in the hearth.
"The flames do not lie."
"The Lord of Light will tell you everything."
Melisandre's voice became low and filled with solemnity.
She released Stannis's hand and walked alone toward the hearth.
She spread her arms, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes.
Her posture was like embracing an invisible lover.
"Lord of Light, heed the prayer of your servant."
"Dispel the mists and illuminate the path ahead."
"Reveal the true face of the enemy to us!"
She began to chant in an ancient language that Stannis did not understand.
The chanting was distant and mysterious, as if it came from the end of time.
As she chanted, the flames in the hearth began to change eerily.
They were no longer the typical orange-red, but began to display various brilliant colors.
The flames leaped more and more violently, twisting and swirling within the hearth.
Gradually, the flames coalesced into a series of indistinct images.
Stannis held his breath.
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