Chapter 53: Execution

"Indeed."

The old knight wasn't clad in armor today; he merely wore a simple gray robe. His face was slightly somber, and he nodded in agreement.

"So it seems..."

Viserys paced before the throne, his gaze losing focus as confusion took hold.

He recalled the last time he saw his mother, Queen Rhaella. At that time, her mental state had already deteriorated significantly, plagued by hallucinations and fits of madness, shouting, getting angry, or bursting into tears for no apparent reason.

Viserys had thought that his mother's fragile mental state was due to her pregnancy, compounded by the various shocks she had recently experienced.

However, it now seemed likely that all of this was deliberately orchestrated.

"Mother... should not have died..."

"Is that so, Ser?"

Viserys abruptly stopped pacing and turned to address the old knight beside him.

Ser Joffrey's expression remained somber, not answering Viserys' question, as if silently confirming the truth.

Queen Rhaella shouldn't have died. Although she had suffered numerous blows, she remained strong.

She had endured countless abuses throughout her marriage to the Mad King, yet never succumbed to insanity. How could she suddenly break down and lose her sanity now?

Moreover, as Viserys tried to remember the events that were destined to happen according to the original timeline:

The real Viserys slowly became mentally unstable, prone to fits of rage and a twisted psyche. Even the usually mild-mannered Daenerys would eventually succumb to madness under extreme stress.

"So... that's how it is?"

Viserys stood in place, staring blankly at the sky and sea beyond the throne, lost in thought.

He should have realized it sooner.

But he hadn't.

Both Viserys and Queen Rhaella had been given hallucinogenic drugs, causing them to become mad and violent. It was possible that Daenerys, still in her mother's womb, had also been affected by the drugs.

But now...

Viserys, too, had been given a large dose of hallucinogens by the castellan of Dragonstone, yet he didn't display any signs of madness. He merely experienced occasional hallucinations.

For instance, the night before, as he sat in the great hall on the Conqueror's throne, gazing at the map of Westeros, he traced Aegon the First's path and reminisced about the stories the old maester had told him about the war.

In the end, he vaguely saw the shadow of the war in his mind, as if he were truly there, witnessing it all.

Looking back, it must have been the hallucinogens at work, trapping Viserys within his own fantasies.

However, it was also evident that the drugs had less of an impact on Viserys compared to his mother, Rhaella.

Viserys only experienced minor auditory and visual hallucinations and did not descend into the same state of mental instability his mother had suffered.

The old knight, standing by the throne, watched as Viserys stood motionless, lost in thought, and felt a pang of sympathy.

The situation was indeed cruel.

If Queen Rhaella had died from complications during childbirth, it might have been easier to accept. But she shouldn't have died.

She shouldn't have become what she did, but someone dishonored her, employing despicable means like poisoning a pregnant woman and a child, leading to such a tragic outcome.

The old knight's white hair fluttered in the wind as he took a deep breath.

The despicable usurper – he wished he could tear them to pieces.

But there was an even more pressing matter at hand...

"Your Grace."

The silence in the map room was palpable, until the old knight finally decided to break it after a long period of quiet.

"Perhaps you should have a healer examine your current condition."

There were no maesters left on Dragonstone, and common folk could not receive the care of a maester like the nobles and wealthy could. They usually had to rely on local healers, midwives, and their knowledge of herbs.

Medicine in Westeros was not particularly advanced.

This only made it all the more impressive that the old maester had managed to live to the age of eighty.

They could treat simple illnesses and injuries with herbal remedies, either taken internally or applied externally.

For sword wounds, they would resort to extreme methods of disinfection, such as boiling water, wildfire, or burning milk to clean the wound, with the latter two being applied directly to the injured area.

If a wound began to fester, maggots could be used to consume the rotting flesh before the injury was bandaged. If necessary, they could also suture wounds and apply a poultice made from mustard seed, nettle, and yeast to prevent infection.

However, these treatments had to be supplemented with poppy milk and sleeping potions to numb the pain and provide relief.

Physical methods of rendering a patient unconscious were only used in extreme cases and were generally avoided.

These remedies were all meant for treating illnesses and wounds, but for Viserys' current situation, there was only one other method...

Bloodletting.

Maesters and healers believed that to rid the body of poison, the toxic substance had to be removed from the bloodstream. Bloodletting was seen as a way to purge the toxins and allow fresh, clean blood to take its place.

Viserys' face twitched slightly as Ser Joffrey suggested this, as though recalling an unpleasant memory, but he decisively refused.

"There's no need, Ser."

"I feel quite well now and don't want to trouble a physician."

Without giving Ser Joffrey a chance to speak further, Viserys changed the subject.

"I believe you're aware."

"Only drunken fools, bastards, and women from the Free Cities resort to using poison as a weapon."

Viserys stared intently into Ser Joffrey's eyes, a burning anger visible in his pale violet orbs. The old knight found himself inexplicably unsettled by this gaze.

"Likewise."

"I know you think that a just king should not misuse punishment, even if the accused has been deemed guilty by the Seven."

"However, I don't want you to interfere with what I'm about to do next..."

Viserys brushed past the old knight, striding purposefully from his seat.

His left hand gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, while his right hand drew a short blade that was just slightly longer than a dagger.

"Because there's something I must do personally."

The sharp short sword gleamed menacingly, and Viserys held the hilt tightly, his expression as cold and unyielding as ice.

"Uh-uh-uh—"

The bound bastard on the ground watched in horror as the silver-haired boy approached with determined steps.

Fear filled his eyes. .