Inside the Red Keep, dead silence.
Jaqen's actions were swift, not disappointing Lynn's expectations.
Now Myrcella was packing her luggage.
Now that the goal had been achieved, she was about to leave King's Landing with Lynn amidst the chaos.
She didn't want to be detained in King's Landing as a "hostage" to threaten Lynn.
Jaqen, Ned, Jaime, and others were also preparing to go north together.
Now, the doors of the King's bedchamber were tightly closed, shutting out all prying eyes and anxious discussions.
A strong smell of herbs seeped through the cracks of the door, enveloping the entire Maegor's Holdfast.
Robert Baratheon lay on that huge bed large enough to accommodate three or four whores; his body, once strong as a bull, was now like a collapsing mountain.
The huge wound in his abdomen ripped open by the boar's tusk had been cauterized by Grand Maester Pycelle with a red-hot iron.
The charred, rotten flesh emitted a disgusting burnt smell.
But everyone knew this was futile.
Robert's internal organs were injured; people of this era didn't know what infection was, only knowing it brought Robert continuous high fever and unbearable severe pain.
"Wine..."
Robert's eyes, always full of desire and irritability, were now cloudy.
Cersei sat by the bed, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a damp silk cloth.
On her beautiful face hung just the right amount of sorrow and worry.
But deep in those green eyes was a cold, dead silence, and a trace of imperceptible surprise.
"Robert, my dear, Pycelle said you can't drink anymore."
Her voice was gentle enough to drip water.
"Get away! You... bitch!"
"You want me dead more than anyone!"
Robert roared with all his strength, but the voice was weak as a kitten's whimper.
"Give me wine!"
Just then, the door of the bedchamber was pushed open gently.
Varys's rotund figure slipped in silently.
Like an apologetic shadow, he bowed, holding a scroll of parchment in his hand.
"Your Grace."
His voice was soft and full of unease, as if afraid of disturbing the King's last peace.
"A... a disturbing piece of news, brought back early by your men, but unfortunately you had already gone hunting then."
"I shouldn't disturb you at such a time, but... but this concerns the safety of the realm."
Cersei's gaze became sharp instantly.
She stared at the parchment in Varys's hand, an ominous premonition welling up in her heart.
Robert turned his head with difficulty, cloudy eyes focusing on that scroll of parchment.
"Read."
Varys hesitated for a moment, then unfolded the letter paper.
Then, using his unique soft tone, he read it out slowly.
[To loyal Davos: The air in King's Landing is more suffocating than the sea breeze of Dragonstone. The smell of decay is everywhere. My 'benevolent' brother is indulging in wine and lust.]
[His body decays faster than the glory of House Baratheon. I see his end, and the future of the kingdom. What should belong to me will soon return to its rightful owner's hands. Law and justice will eventually defeat chaos and desire.]
[Get the fleet ready. When the Stag falls, it will be the day we return to King's Landing.]
In the bedchamber, you could hear a pin drop.
Every word stabbed precisely into Robert's heart, long eroded by poison and anger.
"Heh... hehe..."
Robert suddenly began to laugh.
The laughter tugged at the wound in his abdomen, twisting his entire face.
"Good... what a Stannis, my good brother!"
Robert's body trembled violently; a mouthful of black blood gushed from the corner of his mouth, soaking the silk sheet beneath him.
"Pycelle!"
In Robert's eyes burst a terrifying fierce light like terminal lucidity.
"You old waste! Come here!"
Grand Maester Pycelle scrambled to the bedside.
That heavy maester's chain swayed around his neck, clanking.
"Check me!"
Robert grabbed his wrist weakly.
"Now! Immediately! Right now! Check if there is poison in my body!"
"Your Grace... you..."
Pycelle was trembling with fear.
"Check!"
Robert let out a weak roar.
Pycelle dared not hesitate any longer.
Trembling, he took out a set of silver blood-letting needles and several small crystal vials from his medicine chest.
He carefully pricked a drop of blood, already turning somewhat black, from Robert's finger.
Then, he dripped the blood into a small vial containing some transparent liquid.
Everyone's eyes focused on that small vial.
They saw that drop of black blood slowly disperse in the liquid.
Immediately after, the liquid in the entire small vial turned a weird pale purple at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Pycelle's face turned pale as a sheet instantly.
He knelt on the ground with a thump.
"By the Seven..."
His voice carried a sob.
"It's... it's Tears of Lys..."
"Your Grace, your body has been eroded by small doses of 'Tears of Lys' all along..."
"This poison is colorless and tasteless; mixed in wine, it is undetectable. It slowly corrodes human internal organs, making the poisoned person look... look like they died of excessive indulgence and alcoholism..."
In the bedchamber, deathly silence.
Cersei's pupils contracted sharply; she instinctively looked at Varys with a guilty conscience.
Varys was also looking at Cersei.
That gentle fat face was written with just the right amount of shock and horror.
But if observed carefully, his gaze carried a trace of amusement.
"Stannis..."
Robert squeezed this name through his teeth; every syllable was full of endless malice and killing intent.
"That bastard... not only does he want to steal my throne... he also wants to poison me..."
"Does he think if I die, no one will know his conspiracy?!"
"Barristan!"
Robert turned abruptly to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who had been guarding silently at the door.
"In the name of the King, pass my order!"
"Stannis Baratheon, plotted to murder the King, his crime unforgivable!"
"Strip him of all titles and fiefs as Lord of Dragonstone!"
"He is no longer my brother! He is a usurper! A kingslayer! An enemy of the entire kingdom!"
"Let the fleet blockade Dragonstone immediately! I want him to rot and die on that broken rock!"
"And Renly!"
"Let him roll back to Storm's End immediately!"
"Without my order, he is not allowed to step into King's Landing again!"
"Cough... cough cough..."
A series of orders exhausted Robert's last strength.
Robert coughed violently; mouthfuls of black blood gushed from his mouth continuously.
His hands, once capable of wielding a thousand-pound warhammer, hung down weakly.
"Get out, all of you!"
"Call Ned here for me; I want to say two words to him!"
...
Dragonstone.
Cold sea breeze carrying salty mist shrouded this black castle perennially.
The stone of the castle was fused by ancient Valyrians with dragonfire, black as solidified midnight.
Waves beat tirelessly against the cliffs.
In the Chamber of the Painted Table deep in the castle, Stannis Baratheon stood before that huge map of Westeros.
There was no expression on his cold, rigid face.
The jawline appeared particularly prominent due to constantly clenching his teeth.
A letter from King's Landing was clutched tightly in his hand; that parchment had long been deformed by his grip.
Kingslayer?
Usurper?
He, Stannis Baratheon, a man who valued law and duty more than his own life, was actually branded with such despicable crimes?
He hadn't even left Dragonstone recently!
He did nothing!
Then he was unilaterally stripped of his dukedom by Robert...
An absurd rage burned in his chest.
This was too ridiculous!
By what right did Robert do this!
He felt like a clown, played in the palm of an invisible hand.
Who was it?
Was it that poisonous woman Cersei?
Or that Spider Varys?
Or... that Northern upstart Lynn who had just shown off in King's Landing?
But how did they do it?
"My Lord."
A voice soft and greasy like smoke and honey sounded behind him.
Stannis didn't turn around.
But his tense body relaxed a trace involuntarily.
The stone door of the Chamber of the Painted Table had opened at some point.
A woman in a deep red dress walked in slowly.
She was like a walking flame, instantly lighting up this gloomy hall.
She was tall, her figure full and slender; every step carried a strange rhythm.
As if not walking on hard stone ground, but treading on the tips of believers' hearts.
A waterfall of copper-red long hair flowed with metallic luster under the dim light.
Her skin was white as milk, appearing even more alluring against that red dress.
Most eye-catching was that huge ruby at her neck.
That gem seemed to have its own life, flashing dimly rhythmically between her collarbones with her breathing, like a beating heart.
Melisandre.
Red Priestess of the Lord of Light.
She walked around the huge Painted Table to Stannis's side.
A warm scent mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and some unknown exotic spices instantly enveloped Stannis.
That was a scent that could intoxicate any man's mind.
But Stannis wasn't intoxicated.
He just looked at her coldly; in those blue eyes was a chill that could freeze a person stiff.
"Did your Lord of Light see it?"
His voice carried suppressed anger.
"See how I 'poisoned' my own brother?"
Melisandre didn't answer.
She extended a hand.
That hand was white, slender, nails trimmed round and neat.
She gently took that letter.
"This is just a trick of darkness, my King."
Melisandre's voice carried a convincing power.
"The Long Night is coming; the great war is imminent."
"Great wars never start from the battlefield."
"The enemy wants to use lies to defile your reputation, shake your determination."
"They fear you, fear the king's blood flowing in your body, fear that you are the prince in the prophecy who will lead mankind out of darkness."
Stannis didn't speak, but his clenched fist slowly loosened.
"Tell me, Melisandre."
He stared fixedly at her red eyes.
"Tell me, what should I do."
"Show me the power of your Lord of Light, tell me who the enemy is!"
A profound smile appeared on Melisandre's face.
She didn't answer directly but took Stannis's hand, walking to the huge fireplace in the center of the hall.
In the fireplace, raging fire burned.
"Flames do not lie."
"The Lord of Light will tell you everything."
Melisandre's voice became low and full of sanctity.
She let go of Stannis's hand, walking to the fireplace alone.
She opened her arms, raised her head, and closed her eyes.
That posture was like embracing an invisible lover.
"Lord of Light, please listen to your servant's prayer."
"Please disperse the fog, illuminate the road ahead."
"Please reveal the true face of the enemy for us!"
She began to chant in an ancient language Stannis couldn't understand.
That chanting sound was distant, mysterious, as if coming from the end of time.
With her chanting, the flames in the fireplace began to undergo eerie changes.
They were no longer ordinary orange-red but began to present various colorful hues.
The flames danced more and more violently, twisting and spiraling in the fireplace.
Gradually, the flames converged into blurred images.
Stannis held his breath.