Everyone exited the room.
"How long can he hold on?" Lord Eddard asked.
"That depends on the gods' will," Grand Maester Pycelle sighed. "It's already a miracle that he's made it this far."
"Robert! How is Robert?" Queen Cersei strode up, holding Prince Joffrey's hand, with her brother Jaime Lannister following behind.
Grand Maester Pycelle replied, "His Majesty has just signed his will and taken milk of the poppy to sleep."
"He signed a will?" Cersei's voice barely concealed her anger. "And you didn't call for me?"
The council members averted their eyes, remaining silent.
Lord Eddard, despite telling himself not to reveal any emotion, could not suppress his anger. He took a step forward, his voice hard as he retorted, "Your Grace, why were you not by the king's side in his final hours? Did you expect us to summon you?"
Cersei knew she was in the wrong, but her attitude remained unyielding. "Did you expect me to stay in that foul-smelling room for seven days and nights, without washing or eating? I leave for just a moment, and you write up a will. You have a remarkable sense of timing, Lord Eddard!"
Lord Eddard had no desire to argue further with her. Afraid he would lose control of his anger, he brushed past her, throwing a cold parting remark over his shoulder: "If that's the case, then you can sit with him now—he's not dead yet."
But Cersei wasn't finished. "Wait! The will—let me see it."
"The will is to be read by the Small Council after His Majesty passes." Lord Eddard placed the scroll behind his back, his disdain for this brazen woman growing with every word.
Cersei scoffed and warned in a sneering tone, "Fine, hold on to your little paper, Lord Stark. Let's see if it brings you any power."
Lord Eddard, too disgusted to reply, turned and walked away.
"Mother, let's go see Father," Prince Joffrey pleaded, his voice breaking.
But Cersei's gaze was fixed on Eddard's departing figure. She coldly shrugged off her son's hand and said, "Go by yourself if you want."
Without another word, she turned and strode away, never once heading toward the king's chamber.
Outside the tower, Eddard called to the council members gathered around him.
He addressed Grand Maester Pycelle first. "Lord Pycelle, please continue to look after His Majesty in these final days. Do everything you can… to ease his pain."
"I will, Lord Stark."
Eddard then turned to Varys, the Master of Whisperers. "Lord Varys, keep a close watch on any activity in the city. Report immediately if anything unusual happens."
"Yes, Lord Stark."
He then faced Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws. "Lady Lysa still refuses to come to King's Landing, so let's delay the trial until after the king's funeral. We'll discuss our approach then."
Renly, however, seemed to have a different opinion. "Lord Eddard, if Lady Lysa wouldn't come when you requested, I doubt anyone else can convince her. Perhaps we should proceed with the trial and convict the 'Red Viper' of Dorne, so that His Majesty can pass in peace."
Eddard hesitated, but he shook his head.
He remembered Cersei's menacing words and face. Right now, he felt that focusing on exposing the queen and avenging the king was the surest way to give Robert peace.
"No need to rush," Eddard decided. "We'll address it after the funeral."
Renly shrugged and didn't press further.
Finally, Eddard turned to Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin. "Lord Petyr, come with me."
As they walked, Eddard remained silent, seemingly lost in thought.
"Lord Eddard," Petyr spoke first, breaking the silence. "If you're concerned about the cost of the funeral, leave it to me…"
"No." Eddard shook his head, finally revealing his true concern. "How well do you know Janos Slynt, commander of the City Watch?"
"Ser Janos? Very well. We've shared drinks and, shall we say, entertained ourselves together." Petyr's eyes glinted. "Are you hoping to enlist his help?"
Eddard hesitated. He personally disliked Petyr, finding him too slippery and untrustworthy, but recalling his wife's advice, he nodded. "Yes. I'm concerned that the king's passing could lead to chaos, and I need to be certain he'll follow my commands."
"That can be arranged." Petyr snapped his fingers. "Janos is greedy. With enough gold, he'll do anything."
Eddard's respect for Janos plummeted, but knowing it wasn't wise to replace the City Watch commander in such a delicate time, he pressed on, albeit reluctantly.
"How much gold?"
Petyr chuckled. "Let's say thirty thousand. Ten thousand for Janos himself, another ten for his men."
"And the last ten thousand?"
"Why, that goes to me, of course." Seeing Eddard's growing fury, Petyr quickly added, "Consider it a contingency fund! If we give it all upfront, will they still follow your orders? Lord Eddard, you need a sense of humor."
"The king is dying, and you speak of humor?" Eddard replied icily, though he hesitated, eventually asking, "Can you even acquire thirty thousand dragons?"
"Of course I can." Petyr smirked. "The treasury may be bare, but I am still the Master of Coin—I can make gold appear with a snap of my fingers."
Eddard ignored Petyr's light-hearted words, unwilling to involve himself in such murky dealings. Instead, he dismissed Petyr with a wave of his hand, clearly impatient. "Petyr, handle it. Make sure the City Watch follows my orders."
"It'll be done!" Petyr bowed with a flourish, his smile all too bright.
---
In a dim room with tightly shuttered windows, golden light sparkled brightly.
Amidst a mound of gold coins, Samwell lay lazily, like a dragon guarding its hoard.
Yet he was not guarding but consuming it.
These gold dragons were his reward for winning the tournament.
As Samwell swallowed coin after coin, his strength attribute slowly but steadily rose.
Sensing the storm approaching, he knew he couldn't afford to hoard these coins—they had to be converted into power now.
While devouring the gold, Samwell thought over the current situation.
Petyr's counter-move had caught him off guard; the man was indeed a master of chaos. But thankfully, things hadn't spiraled out of control.
Samwell could already anticipate Petyr's next steps—he'd try to place the blame for Robert's death on the Lannisters, an easy task given the family's slip-ups. Perhaps Petyr had even left clues pointing to them.
If successful, Eddard Stark would be pitted against the Lannisters, sparking a war between the wolf and the lion.
And since Petyr had been part of the scheme to kill the king, he would undoubtedly pretend to support the Starks, while ultimately siding with the lions.
Samwell did not intend to let Petyr's plan succeed. Civil war in the Seven Kingdoms would harm Samwell more than it would help him.
He wanted to direct the chaos toward Dorne, not to plunge the entire realm into disarray.
To do so, he needed the "Red Viper" to act.
It surprised Samwell that the famously impetuous Red Viper had held back this long.
Could it be that after his defeat at Starfall, Oberyn Martell had finally grown cautious?
Samwell had several options to thwart Petyr's plan, but riling up the Red Viper was the most advantageous and least risky.
Clearly, he needed to "prod" the viper.
Of course, he couldn't confront Oberyn directly again, lest it raise suspicion.
He'd need another approach…
As he swallowed another coin, an idea surfaced, and Renly Baratheon's striking face came to mind.
Renly could be the key.
When Samwell heard that Renly had been present when the king signed his will, rather than Eddard Stark, he knew something was amiss.
Despite being the king's younger brother, Robert's true confidant was Eddard Stark.
In the original story, it was Eddard who helped Robert draft his will.
Though it was possible Robert had feared Eddard wouldn't return in time and so turned to his brother, Samwell suspected that Renly was already making his move.
If Renly was indeed revealing his ambitions, then Samwell had his opportunity…
With each gold coin he swallowed, Samwell's plan took shape.
Finally, Samwell rose from the mound of gold.
Ingesting close to thirty thousand dragons, he had nearly depleted the once-impressive pile.
His stomach felt fine, though his throat was sore, and his mouth bitter.
But the result was undeniable. His strength had risen to 6.74.
However, due to diminishing returns, he now needed over two hundred coins to increase his strength by 0.01. The rapid decline in effectiveness pained him.
At this rate, even if he consumed the remaining ten thousand coins, he might not reach a strength level of 7.
The remaining gold, he decided, would be kept as funds. He'd consider eating more when resources were less scarce.
Although it was heartbreaking, the effect kn him was evident. Samwell felt like his body was full of explosive force, and he couldn't wait to vent it out.
Even if Gregor Clegane, "The Mountain," was right in front of him, he would dare to confront him head on.
Samwell took several long breaths and forced himself to relax. I have to remind myself that i still lack the strength to behave foolishly in King's Landing, so exercising caution is a must.
Now that Lord Renly has revealed his ambition, he can try if he can use on him for his own.
(End of Chapter.)