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After finishing Shireen's bandages, Jimmy stepped back to admire his work. Her entire head was wrapped in layers of white cloth, leaving only a tuft of dark hair sticking up at the top like a stubborn sprout.
He tried to hold it in.
He failed.
A laugh slipped out.
"What is it, Ser Davos?" Shireen asked, still unaware, turning toward the Onion Knight.
Davos looked just as confused, clearly not understanding what had amused Jimmy so suddenly.
Still chuckling, Jimmy reached into his Horadric Cube and pulled out a small round mirror, handing it to her.
"Ha, sorry, Your Grace. I didn't really think about appearances while bandaging you. Right now, you look like… a pale turnip with a dark tuft on top."
Shireen stared at her reflection.
She tried pressing down the rebellious lock of hair, but it sprang right back up.
"Your Grace, I'll take my leave," Davos said quickly, bowing before making a hasty exit.
A moment later, muffled laughter could be heard from outside the door.
Shireen felt her soul leave her body.
Across Westeros, when people joked that a head wasn't worth much, they compared it to a turnip. The humble vegetable could be found everywhere, from the Wall to Dorne, a staple on the tables of common folk.
Shireen shot Jimmy a glare. "Ser, that was highly improper."
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry…"
But Jimmy was still laughing so hard he could barely stand straight.
Shireen hopped off her chair and stormed out without another word.
"Ha… haha…"
Wait.
Something suddenly clicked in Jimmy's mind.
In the shows, Shireen's hair had been more of a reddish-brown. But here, it was unmistakably the deep black of House Baratheon.
And Baratheon blood was famously consistent.
If that was the case… then the Shireen from the show might not have been a true Baratheon at all.
Which meant the so-called "king's blood" used in the sacrifice to the Lord of Light might not have been genuine.
That would explain it.
No wonder Stannis lost to Ramsay.
First, his supply camp burned, turning his cavalry into infantry. Then, after marching for a full day, exhausted and vulnerable, Ramsay's cavalry struck at full strength.
He'd tried to bargain with fate using a false offering. It was no wonder things fell apart.
…
The next morning, Shireen was already seated at the desk in the study, glancing back at Jimmy's door every few moments.
Her mother, Queen Selyse, sat nearby, though she clearly didn't believe anyone could cure greyscale.
Davos stood faithfully at Shireen's side, asking what she might like to eat.
But Shireen had no appetite. All she wanted was for Jimmy to come out and remove the bandages.
Davos considered knocking on the door ahead of Queen Selyse, but Shireen stopped him, insisting it would be improper. It would go against the etiquette of House Baratheon.
With that, even Selyse had no choice but to wait.
Selyse… she was the kind of person whose deep insecurity manifested as arrogance. Someone who believed she deserved a high place without truly having the strength to stand there.
The very definition of someone unfit for their station.
…
When Jimmy finally stepped out, everyone turned to look at him.
Including Samwell Tarly and Gilly, both of whom were astonished that he had managed to treat greyscale.
Sam's surprise came from a scholarly perspective. Gilly, on the other hand, didn't understand any of it at all.
"Why is everyone staring at me?" Jimmy asked.
"Good morning, Ser Jimmy," Shireen greeted.
"Good morning, Your Grace."
"Can we take this off now?" Shireen asked, her eyes shining with anticipation.
She had suffered enough of the "turnip" look.
"Of course."
Jimmy gave her a reassuring nod.
Shireen was so delighted she nearly spun in a full circle.
Jimmy carefully unwound the bandages layer by layer, then removed the treatment mask from her face and neck.
As it came away, patches of dead, stone-like skin clung to the fabric, peeling off to reveal fresh, healthy flesh beneath, soft and pink.
"Get some water, A quick wash will do the rest," Jimmy said, tossing the used mask into the fire before brushing off his hands.
After washing her face, Shireen picked up the mirror from the day before and examined herself closely.
It was gone.
Every trace of greyscale had vanished.
Her face was smooth, unmarked, as though the disease had never touched her.
A radiant smile spread across her face. "Mother, I'm healed, I really am, I have to write to Father and tell him!"
"Thank you, Ser Jimmy…"
Jimmy waved it off, barely acknowledging Queen Selyse's gratitude.
At that moment, Samwell stepped forward, unable to contain himself. "Ser Jimmy, how did you do it? From what I've read, curing greyscale requires cutting away the infected flesh and applying a toxic ointment afterward, It leaves terrible scars… but Princess Shireen doesn't have a single one."
Jimmy paused.
This man's dedication to study was something else.
"Well, first you do this, then that, then… the other thing. And it's cured."
Sam stood there, deep in thought, watching Jimmy walk away.
"…Which 'that'?"
…
News of Shireen's recovery spread through the higher ranks in less than half a day, thanks in no small part to Shireen herself enthusiastically showing off the results.
She was overjoyed.
But that joy wouldn't last long.
Because someone had arrived at Castle Black.
…
A few days later, a lone horse rode slowly through the gates.
The sight of its rider nearly made Brienne draw Oathkeeper on the spot.
Who was it?
Melisandre, the Red Priestess.
Brienne had restrained herself before, out of respect. She couldn't draw her sword in front of the courteous Davos, nor in the presence of Stannis's daughter or his queen. Her sense of honor wouldn't allow it.
But now, faced with the mysterious and unsettling priestess, her hand itched for her blade.
Someone else moved faster.
A flash.
A crimson blade appeared at Melisandre's throat.
Jimmy stood before her, his expression cold. "Call your Lord of Light. Or I'll send you to meet him myself."
A faint violet glow flickered in his eyes as he saw through her.
Beneath the illusion stood a withered old woman, and behind her loomed a figure formed entirely of flame.
A priestess of the Lord of Light.
Extremely dangerous.
With a sudden roar, the surrounding braziers and torches flared to life, flames surging higher than before.
Melisandre had never experienced anything like this. She hadn't even begun her prayers, yet the Lord of Light was already responding.
The fire behind her twisted and gathered, slowly forming the shape of a man.
"Godslayer, we are not enemies. Lower your hostility."
The voice that came from Melisandre's lips was no longer her own, but that of a man.
"A god who demands people be burned alive wants to talk about goodwill? Who would believe that?"
"My followers offer themselves, and I grant their wishes. They chose the bargain. I bear you no ill will."
Jimmy glanced at the blazing figure behind her.
He had to admit, there wasn't much he could do to kill it like this.
Unless it entered his mind, his god-slaying ability wouldn't work.
But the Lord of Light couldn't kill him either.
Jimmy's resistance to fire was simply too high.
"…Fine. Let's talk."
He lowered his blade and sheathed it, then casually picked up a nearby brazier and carried it inside.
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