The door to the King's bedchamber slowly closed behind Ned Stark, shutting out all the whispers and anxious glances from outside.
Varys, Pycelle, Cersei... everyone had been roared out by Robert with his last ounce of strength.
Only he and Robert remained in the entire room.
And that thick, suffocating stench, a mix of herbs, blood, and decay, was almost unbearable.
Ned walked to the bedside, looking at his dear friend with whom he had grown up since childhood.
The strong man who once could flatten an enemy's breastplate with a single hammer blow was now just a shell clinging to life on the bed.
The wound on his abdomen was sealed with a branding iron, and the charred, rotten flesh gave off a nauseating smell.
A high fever gave his cheeks a sickly flush.
Those blue eyes, once full of vitality, were now cloudy, as if covered by a layer of gray mist.
In a moment of lucidity before death, Robert felt clearer than ever before, as if he had lived in a fog all his life and now suddenly saw everything clearly.
"Ned..."
Robert's voice rang out.
It was no longer the furious roar from earlier, but an astonishing calm, a calm that made one uneasy.
"Are they all gone?"
"All gone, Robert, only me."
Ned sat by his bed.
"Good... good..."
Robert struggled to pull at the corners of his mouth.
He seemed to want to smile, but his expression was uglier than a cry.
He rolled his cloudy eyes, scanning the room, finally letting his gaze fall back on Ned's face.
"I'm a damn... bastard, aren't I?"
Ned's heart gave a sudden pang.
He hadn't expected Robert to say such a thing.
"When we were young... at The Eyrie, Jon always cursed me, saying I'd be ruined by the two ounces of flesh between my legs."
Robert's breathing became ragged.
"I talked back to him then... now it seems, Jon was damn right."
"My whole life, I've been chasing a phantom."
Robert's gaze became somewhat distant, as if piercing through the dome of the The Red Keep and seeing the years from decades ago.
"Lyanna... I always see her in my dreams, but I don't even know what color flower she liked best."
"I thought I loved her, Ned."
"But perhaps what I loved was just a woman I imagined myself."
"No woman can accept her fiancé's philandering."
"So, I knew in my heart, Lyanna wasn't held captive by Rhaegar; it's very likely they eloped..."
"I won, I sat on this damned iron throne, but I feel worse than if I had lost."
Ned Stark's throat tightened, unable to utter a single word.
He could only listen quietly.
Listening to a king, also a dying man, make his final confession.
"Tell me, Ned, did Lyanna ever like me?"
Ned listened to Robert's question, and finally gritted his teeth and said,
"Robert, don't overthink it, Lyanna always liked you."
Robert stared intently at Ned, then suddenly laughed.
"Ned, you're comforting me, I understand."
"I don't blame Lyanna, I was the one who was bad."
"I wasn't a good king either, Ned."
"I dumped everything on you and Jon, only knowing how to drink, hunt, and chase women."
"I wasn't a good husband, and even less a good father."
"The one I'm most sorry for is Cersei, and my three children, and of course, Cersei's child who died young..."
For the first time, clear pain and remorse appeared in Robert's eyes.
It wasn't due to physical pain, but a self-loathing from the depths of his soul.
"I even... doubted you."
"I believed those idiotic rumors, thinking you and that northern boy were going to rebel... I truly am a complete fool."
"Stop talking, Robert."
Ned finally couldn't help but speak, his eyes uncontrollably reddening.
"Stop talking."
"No, let me speak."
Robert panted, but stubbornly continued.
"I'm running out of time, Ned."
"Remember?"
"At The Eyrie, we snuck out to drink at a tavern in the Vale."
"You'd pass out after one cup, I'd drink three knights under the table alone, and then with a blacksmith's daughter... hehe..."
Robert laughed.
The laughter tugged at his wound, making him cough violently, black blood foam constantly welling up from the corners of his mouth.
Ned quickly picked up the silk scarf nearby, wanting to wipe his mouth.
But Robert grabbed his hand.
That hand, which once could easily wield a warhammer, was now weak, but still held on tightly.
"I'm dying, Ned."
Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, looked at his only friend with an almost pleading tone.
"I know, I know I won't live long."
"Tears of Lys... those bastards, they've wanted me dead for a long time."
"Stannis... Renly... they're all eyeing this chair, they'll tear the kingdom to pieces."
"So I stripped Stannis of his dukedom, and sent Renly far from King's Landing..."
"Ned, my brother..."
Robert's breathing became weaker and weaker, and his voice became intermittent.
"I beg you... as a friend, as a brother, I beg you..."
"Help me... help me look after Joffrey."
Ned's body suddenly stiffened.
"I know... I know that boy is no good."
A flicker of pain crossed Robert's eyes.
"He's not like me, not at all."
"He's cowardly, cruel, and stupid... he has too many of House Lannister's bad habits."
"But he... he is my son after all, Ned."
"He is my eldest son."
"He is the legitimate heir of House Baratheon."
"I cannot let Stannis and Renly disrupt things..."
Ned opened his mouth, the words "He's not your son" were on his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to say them.
He looked at Robert's eyes, full of anticipation and pleading, looking at his dying best friend.
How could he, at this moment, shatter his last hope with such a cruel truth?
"Promise me, Ned."
Robert's grip tightened, his fingernails almost digging into Ned's flesh.
"Support him, teach him, let him become a king like me."
"Don't let him ruin the kingdom we worked so hard to build."
"Promise me!"
Ned looked at Robert, at the bloodshot in his eyes, at the black blood at the corners of his mouth.
He thought of the young man named Lynn in Winterfell, and the new world he had described.
He thought of the choice he had already made.
A lie.
His whole life, what he hated most was lies.
But now, he had to tell his best friend the heaviest lie of his life.
Ned slowly, solemnly nodded.
"I promise you, Robert."
His voice was very soft, yet it seemed to use all his strength.
"I swear by the honor of House Stark, I will protect your bloodline, I will do my best to set the kingdom on the right path."
Hearing Ned's promise, Robert's tense body finally relaxed completely at this moment.
"And that... Daenerys Targaryen... don't harm her... let her live..."
"I have... given up my... hatred..."
The light in Robert's eyes, like a flickering candle in the wind, quickly dimmed.
That last breath that sustained him, was gone.
"Tha... thank you, Ned..."
Robert's lips moved, uttering the last few blurry syllables.
The hand that had gripped Ned's slid away weakly.
Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands, King of the Seven Kingdoms, victor of Robert's Rebellion.
He was dead.
He died in King's Landing, which he hated most, and on the throne he detested most.
Ned sat quietly by the bed, motionless.
He didn't cry, but the sorrow in his eyes was thick and unyielding.
His best friend's body was still warm, but the promise he had made was like a block of ancient ice, pressing on his heart, making him feel cold from the inside out.
Robert, my friend, my brother.
I promised you, but I also betrayed you.
Joffrey is cruel and tyrannical, not a suitable candidate for king; I cannot support a Lannister bastard on the iron throne, nor can I stop the coming war.
I can only choose the path I believe is right.
Even if that path means carrying the burden of guilt towards you, I must still walk it.
Ned slowly stood up and closed Robert's eyes, which had been open in death.
He walked to the window and pushed it open.
The night wind of King's Landing blew in, dispersing the deathly air in the room, and making him shiver.
He looked up at the northern sky.
But this kingdom was just beginning its true suffering.
Countless people would die in the coming conflicts... Lynn... how should the path ahead be walked?
Ned Stark stood beside the king's corpse, feeling an unprecedented sense of confusion and heaviness for the first time.
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