"Petyr Baelish is dead!?"
In the smithy, Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, received the news that left him stunned.
"Yes, Lord Stark. The jailer went to bring Lord Baelish for his trial this morning and found he was no longer breathing. It seems his death was caused by complications from his severed arm…"
"Damn that 'Red Viper'!" Lord Stark cursed. "This was murder!"
The servant, hearing the mention of Oberyn, continued with another report.
"My lord, about Prince Oberyn…he, well…"
"What about Oberyn?"
"He's missing."
"Missing?" Eddard's voice rose in anger. "Wasn't he locked in the Black Cells? How could he be missing?"
"My lord, we aren't sure. But when the jailer went to check this morning, the cell was empty, and Prince Oberyn was nowhere to be found. At the same time, one of the jailers, a man named Logan, also disappeared, so we suspect he helped Prince Oberyn escape."
"Send word to Ser Janos Slynt immediately," Lord Stark ordered urgently. "Tell him to seal the city gates and conduct a full search of King's Landing! And alert the harbor—no ship is to leave without my permission."
"Yes, my lord."
"What about the other Dornish nobles? And Princess Arianne?"
"The other Dornish nobles are accounted for, but… Princess Arianne is also missing."
"And what about Oberyn's lover? And his daughters?" Eddard had begun to realize this was a premeditated escape plan, but he clung to the hope that at least some of them might still be here.
"They are all gone. Only servants and guards from House Martell remain."
"I understand." Lord Stark waved his hand, dismissing the servant.
The servant hesitated before asking cautiously, "My lord, should today's trial still be held?"
"Cancel it," Lord Stark replied, rubbing his temples as he felt a pounding headache coming on.
Since King Robert had been gravely injured, Eddard had hardly rested. In truth, ever since he had taken on the role of Hand of the King, peace had become a stranger to him.
Being the Warden of the North and the Lord of Winterfell was one thing, but governing the Seven Kingdoms was a burden of an entirely different magnitude.
Eddard felt utterly drained.
Today, he had come to the Street of Steel to meet a young man Varys had told him about—one of Robert's bastards.
The boy was around sixteen or seventeen, and the resemblance to a young Robert was uncanny.
Seeing him brought a surge of anger and sorrow to Eddard's heart, as if he were looking at Robert himself.
But it was no time to rest. For Robert's sake—and for Jon Arryn's as well—Eddard had to pursue justice.
In that moment, he remembered the advice of a certain lord from the Reach:
"Face one enemy at a time."
One enemy at a time…
As he reflected, Eddard noticed a servant running toward him again, reporting in a breathless rush:
"My lord, the Gold Cloaks discovered Grand Maester Pycelle's body this morning. He's been murdered!"
"What? Who did this?"
"They suspect it was Prince Oberyn…"
"Oberyn Martell!" Eddard gritted his teeth as he spoke the name.
Finally, he had made up his mind. "I'm sorry, Robert, but I will seek justice for Jon first."
Without another word, he turned and left, ignoring the uncertain gaze of the confused young bastard behind him.
---
Knock, knock.
Samwell opened the door to find Nathalie standing there, radiant and smiling.
"Good morning, Sam!" She wore a pale yellow silk gown with a white embroidered cloak draped over her shoulders. Her soft, dark hair was swept up elegantly, and her violet eyes sparkled with mirth.
"Good morning, Lady Nathalie." Samwell reached out to give her head an affectionate pat, taking care not to muss her hair.
"What's that smell?" Natalee wrinkled her tiny nose.
"Oh, I'm making a broth." Samwell stepped back to let her inside, closing the door behind her.
"What kind of broth?" Nathalie asked curiously, eyeing the pot on the floor near the window. "It smells…strange."
Kneeling beside the pot, Samwell stirred it with a wooden spoon, grinning. "It's a secret."
"Hmph!" Nathalie pouted but couldn't resist. "Is it done yet? Can I try some?"
"It should be." Samwell wasn't entirely sure, but he'd been simmering it all night, so it was probably ready.
He ladled two bowls of broth and handed one to her.
"Thank you!" Nathalie took the bowl, blew on it to cool it down, then took a cautious sip.
But almost instantly, her face scrunched up in disgust. "This tastes awful!"
The broth was indeed unpleasantly strong, with an overpowering fishy and bitter flavor.
Yet Samwell forced himself to drink an entire bowl, fighting down the nausea.
To his delight, he noticed that his mental attributes were increasing! After finishing one bowl of the dragonbone broth, his mental stat rose from 2.19 to 2.21.
For some time, he hadn't been able to raise his mental attributes, and now, at last, he'd found something that worked.
Watching him finish his bowl, Nathalie hesitated, taking another sip of her own but soon grimacing and sticking out her tongue. "I can't drink this, Sam. How can you stomach it?"
Because it gives me stat boosts!
"You just can't appreciate the real taste. If you're not drinking it, pass it here. Don't waste it."
"Oh, fine. Take it."
Samwell took her bowl and drained it, feeling the effects immediately.
Nathalie rested her chin on her knees. "Did you hear? Today's trial was canceled."
"Yeah, I heard." Samwell scooped another bowl of broth for himself. "Littlefinger's dead, and the Red Viper has escaped."
"Prince Oberyn…that was so heartless."
"Yes, yes," Samwell replied, nodding as he continued to gulp down the broth.
"I heard he killed Grand Maester Pycelle before escaping."
"Pycelle is dead too?" Samwell paused. Having stayed in all morning, he hadn't heard this news. It seemed that the "Red Viper" had indeed taken Pycelle's life, probably out of suspicion that Pycelle, the Lannister loyalist, was involved in setting up his escape.
It was a logical conclusion, given the longstanding blood feud between House Martell and House Lannister.
"Were there any other deaths?" he asked.
"None that I know of."
That was a relief. If the Red Viper had gone on a killing spree in the Red Keep, it would have spelled trouble.
Luckily, Oberyn had shown some restraint.
"And what of House Martell? Did they all flee?" Samwell resumed drinking his broth.
"Arianne and Oberyn's lover have vanished, but their servants and guards are still in the city."
Perfect. This would give him the leverage he needed. Now, Dorne would have no way to clear its name, and Samwell could use the Iron Throne's power to weaken them, positioning himself to gain more land and influence.
Nathalie watched Samwell, astonished at how quickly he emptied the entire pot of broth. "Doesn't it burn, drinking that fast?"
He blinked, realizing she was right; he hadn't even noticed the heat. At first, he'd had to blow on it, but now he was gulping it down directly, and he felt nothing.
Curious, Samwell reached his hand toward the flames under the pot.
"Be careful!" Nathalie gasped, watching as his hand entered the fire, seemingly unaffected. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Samwell shook his head, his eyes gleaming.
Could it be that, besides boosting his mental attributes, this dragonbone broth also granted fire resistance?
Perhaps he was on his way to inheriting the title of The Unburnt, like Daenerys.
After about a minute, though, a faint prickling pain began in his fingers.
So, he wasn't entirely immune to fire.
Maybe he just hadn't drunk enough broth yet.
He withdrew his hand, blowing on his fingers, which showed no signs of burns—just a slight warmth.
This dragonbone broth is a treasure!
The only drawback was the bloating.
Feeling both pleased and uncomfortable, Samwell glanced at his status: his mental stat had increased to 2.32, and with the fire resistance, a bit of unpleasant taste and a full stomach seemed like a fair trade.
However, the fire resistance didn't show up on his attribute panel, so he wasn't sure if it was temporary or if it simply didn't register there.
Looking at the glistening dragonbone in the pot, he wondered if he could chew on the bone directly.
But remembering that even his sword, Dawn, couldn't break Balerion's teeth, he doubted his own strength could crack a dragonbone.
Still, it was worth a try. He picked up the bone and bit down—
Crunch!
Nothing. The bone didn't even dent, and his teeth nearly suffered for it.
Nathalie giggled, watching him. "Sam, why is that bone so hard?"
Samwell shrugged. "It's a dragon's bone, after all."
"A dragon?" Nathalie's eyes widened."Don't lie! How could a dragon's skull be so small? And where on earth would you find dragon bones anyway?"
"Picked it up on the road," Samwell replied, tossing the bone back into the pot as he refilled it with water to keep simmering.
Nathalie shook her head, smiling. She was certain he was teasing her.
Samwell replaced the lid, sighing inwardly. Ah well, if I can't gnaw on the bones, I'll just keep drinking the broth. He hoped that perhaps, with enough simmering, the dragonbone might soften eventually.
"Sam," Nathalie asked, "now that Prince Oberyn has escaped, does that mean there'll be no trial?"
"The Iron Throne will demand his extradition," Samwell replied, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. "But the 'Red Viper' will never return to King's Landing."
"What will happen now?"
"If he doesn't return, then we'll go to war with Dorne," Samwell replied, chuckling. "He's wanted for three murders: Jon Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and Grand Maester Pycelle. If the Iron Throne fails to bring this viper to justice, it'll lose all credibility."
Nathalie looked uneasy. "Do you think they'll march all the way to Starfall?"
"There's no need to worry." Samwell patted her head. "Even though you're from Dorne, this time you can stand on the side of justice. When the Iron Throne declares war, you'll simply sever all ties with House Martell."
"Alright," she nodded, visibly reassured.
Just then, the distant sound of bells reached them.
Dong! dong! dong…
The chimes were urgent and solemn, echoing through the city.
"Sam, what's happening?" Nathalie asked, suddenly nervous.
Samwell stood, moving to the window and looking out. The bells seemed to agitate the birds, scattering them into the skies above King's Landing.
"Our king has passed," he said, his tone low.
Nathalie gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
"Robert is gone," Samwell murmured, his gaze distant. "And with him, the peace that has spared the realms. War…is coming."
(End of Chapter)