(Third-person pov)
"My lord I fear the worst."
Grand Maester Malleon stood with his head low. The only sound in the King's solar was the shallow and rattling breathing of King Daeron.
Bloodraven looked at his brother. The King's skin was gray and the black spots on his neck seemed to have darkened since the morning.
"Explain," Bloodraven said.
"The powder is miraculous for most. But there are some whose lungs were already too full of fluid. We lost a man within the hour who showed the same signs as His Grace. The medicine could not clear the blockage in time."
Bloodraven looked at his brother. Daeron had always been bookish and kind but he lacked the constitution of a warrior. If the medicine required strength to aid its work then Daeron had none left to give.
"How long?" Bloodraven asked.
"By sunrise," Malleon whispered.
Bloodraven turned on his heel and left the solar without another word. The Kingsguard stationed outside straightened as he passed but he ignored them. He walked swiftly to the Tower of the Hand.
He sat at his desk and pulled a fresh parchment forward. He dipped his quill.
The powder works but it is too slow for the King. He dies at dawn.
He sealed it with wax. He walked to the window where a raven waited. He tied the scroll to its leg and whispered the location of the camp outside the city gates. The bird took flight into the night.
Bloodraven watched it go. He had burned thousands to save the city. He would burn a thousand more to save his brother.
...
Prince Baelor's Camp
Dunk sat in his tent within Prince Baelor's camp and read the short message.
The powder works but it is too slow for the King. He dies at dawn.
'Well, he died in canon the same way,' Dunk thought. 'As for medicine, now that they knew it worked, I could send more.'
But he could not simply march into the Red Keep with a blue plastic barrel full of white powder. He was surrounded by Baelor's men and knights from the Stormlands. If they saw him pulling industrial chemical containers out of thin air then he would be answering questions he did not want to hear.
"Egg," Dunk said. "We have work to do."
He opened the System Shop interface in his mind. He bought sixty small glass jars with cork stoppers. They appeared in his inventory instantly.
Then he bought the antibiotics.
[ Antibiotics (Powder Form) : 20kg Barrel ]
[ Cost: 5 Gold Dragons ]
He brought five of them and summoned the barrel inside the tent. It was heavy and blue and looked completely alien in the candlelight.
"Ser?" Egg rubbed sleep from his eyes. "What is that?"
"Medicine," Dunk said. "Help me transfer it. But first..." Dunk brought masks for him and Egg for a few copper.
"Wear this..." He threw one towards Egg. "Like this."
Egg put on a mask, "It's like small clothes of a woman.. Huh? ...Do I sound weird?"
"No you don't sound weird... And it has nothing to do with small clothes. Start moving your hand."
They spent the next hour scooping white powder from the plastic barrels into the glass jars. It was tedious work. Egg asked a dozen questions about the blue barrel and the strange material it was made of.
When they were done Dunk stored the jars back in his inventory. He disposed of the empty blue barrel by selling it back to the system for a single copper star.
"Go back to sleep, Egg," Dunk said. "I have a meeting to attend. Once I'm back, I will cook spaghetti and meatballs for you."
Dunk slipped out of the camp. The guards were lax because they assumed the danger was the plague inside the city rather than anything outside it. He made his way to the river and found the entrance to the secret tunnel.
The air inside was cool and damp. He walked until he reached the meeting point beneath the Red Keep.
He took the sixty jars from his inventory and lined them up on a dusty stone ledge.
He leaned against the wall and waited.
An hour later he heard soft footsteps. Bloodraven emerged from the darkness. He looked exhausted. His single eye was bloodshot.
He stopped when he saw the jars.
"Ser Duncan." He gestured to the rows of glass containers. "Is this the cure?"
"It is the same powder as before," Dunk nodded. "There is enough here to treat the worst cases in the city. If you need more then you only have to ask."
Bloodraven did not reach for them. He looked at the hedge knight with an intensity that would have withered a lesser man.
"My brother is beyond this," he said. "The Maesters say his lungs are failing. He cannot wait for the powder to work. Do you have anything else?"
"I do,"
He reached into his pouch and pulled out the single vial of the Intermediate Healing Potion. The blue liquid swirled inside and glowed with its own faint light.
"This will cure him," Dunk said.
Bloodraven stared at the vial. The desperation on his face was clear. He wanted to snatch it but he restrained himself.
"What is the price?" Bloodraven asked.
Dunk had thought about this all the way from the camp.
"I want a title," Dunk said. "I want a lordship."
Bloodraven nodded slowly. "That can be arranged. A knighthood and a keep in the Crownlands."
"Not just a keep," Dunk said. "I want a fortress. Harrenhal."
"Harrenhal is a ruin. It is cursed. And it belongs to House Whent." Bloodraven said.
"It is a ruin now, but I will rebuild it. And I want gold. One million gold dragons."
Bloodraven blinked. The number was absurd.
"One million," Bloodraven repeated softly.
He looked at the vial in Dunk's hand. He looked at the glowing blue liquid that promised life. Then he looked at the hedge knight's face.
Bloodraven closed his single eye for a moment. He weighed the gold against his brother's life. It was not a difficult choice.
"Done," Bloodraven said. "You shall have Harrenhal. And you shall have your gold."
He held out his hand.
Dunk placed the vial in his palm. Bloodraven's fingers closed around it tightly.
He looked over Dunk's shoulder at the sixty jars of antibiotic powder on the ledge.
"And for those?" Bloodraven asked. "What is the price for the city?"
"Free, for the smallfolk." Dunk turned and walked away into the darkness of the tunnel.
Bloodraven did not waste a moment. He warged in his raven and used it to call a few loyal servent, they arrived in a hurry.
"Take these jars to the Grand Maester," Bloodraven ordered.
"Tell him to distribute them to the city immediately."
The servent gathered the jars with haste. Bloodraven turned and ran back toward the castle.
He reached the King's solar and threw the doors open.
Grand Maester Malleon looked up from the bedside. His face was grave. The other attendants were weeping softly in the corners.
"Leave us,"
"My Lord Hand?" Malleon asked. "His Grace is in his final moments. We should not—"
"Get out!" Bloodraven shouted. "All of you. Now."
Malleon flinched. He gathered his robes and helped the frightened servants out of the room.
Bloodraven was alone with his brother.
He rushed to the bed. Daeron was barely breathing. His skin was cold to the touch.
Bloodraven opened the vial. A faint blue mist rose from the neck of the bottle.
"Drink, brother," Bloodraven whispered.
He lifted the King's head gently and poured the liquid into his mouth. It flowed like water. Daeron swallowed reflexively.
A soft light seemed to spread beneath the King's skin. The gray pallor vanished. The black spots on his neck faded and disappeared as if they had been wiped away by an invisible hand.
Daeron took a deep breath. It was not the rattling gasp of a dying man. It was clear and strong.
His eyelids fluttered open. The glassy look was gone and his eyes were bright and focused.
....