Chapter 140: The Will
"How is His Majesty?"
"Not well…" Grand Maester Pycelle sighed, shaking his head. "The wound simply won't heal; it's festering. Any ordinary person would have been taken by the gods long ago. Frankly, I've never seen anyone with such a strong will to live…"
Lord Renly's eyes flashed. "Has the king drawn up his will?"
"Not yet." Pycelle looked down. "The queen asked about it earlier, but His Majesty insists on waiting until the Hand returns."
"Wait for him to come back?" Renly tugged impatiently at his collar. "He's gone to the Eyrie. Will he make it back in time? If the king…"
Pycelle's voice lowered. "It's… not as pressing as it might seem. His Majesty has a rightful heir, after all… even if… there won't be trouble…"
"But Joffrey is still underage," Renly's tone grew edged with impatience and ambition. "He'll need a regent."
Pycelle fell silent.
"I'm going to see my brother." Renly strode toward the king's chamber.
Inside, the fireplace blazed, filling the room with a grim, reddish glow that felt both eerie and oppressive.
Renly saw his brother lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, as if uncertain whether he was still fully conscious.
Renly approached the bed and lifted the blanket.
The king's abdomen bore a ghastly wound; despite Pycelle's attempts to stitch it, blood seeped through the bandages, staining them red, and even exposed some of his organs…
Yet the king had held on like this for seven days, the wound festering and rotting.
"Eddard… is that you?" Robert spoke, his gaze unfocused.
Renly wanted to correct him, but held back at the last moment.
After a brief internal struggle, he gestured for the servants to leave, then sat by the bed, took Robert's hand, and imagined what Eddard Stark might say in that moment.
"Robert… how did this… how did it come to this!"
"I got careless, Eddard. Damn it, all these years without war, I've gone soft. If I were the man I used to be, I'd have taken down that lot without breaking a sweat."
He really doesn't know who I am, Renly thought, fighting to contain his glee.
"Damn it!" Renly tried to sound as much like Eddard Stark as possible. "Did you have to be so reckless, Robert?"
"Screw you, Eddard!" Robert cursed. "Can't I even enjoy a good fight? Damn it, it's your fault! You all forced me to be king! You knew I never wanted that blasted Iron Throne. I just wanted to drink, brawl, and bed women! I should've run across the Narrow Sea, become a mercenary!"
"By rights, you are…"
"To hell with 'by rights'!" Robert scoffed. "If you cared about lineage, there are still two Targaryens across the sea. Why not let one of them sit on the Iron Throne? You insisted on making me king, and now look. Tell me, have I been a good king?"
Renly knew this was when Eddard would fall silent.
Robert's temper flared. "This is where you're supposed to say yes! Damn it, you Starks are useless liars!"
But after his rant, Robert broke into laughter. "Right, I'm no good king! Hah, maybe just a shade better than Aerys. At least I didn't burn people alive. Damn it, Eddard, I failed. I was never meant to be a king. And look at who's around me! Liars, fools… Eddard, Eddard…"
Renly, seething inwardly, held tighter to the king's hand.
"Help me… help my son…" Robert's voice grew weak. "He's still so young, so clueless… you have to help him…"
"I will," Renly vowed.
Robert pointed to the table. "Bring paper and quill, write down what I say."
Renly's heart pounded.
Silently praying to the Seven, he laid out the parchment, quill in hand. "Your Majesty, please proceed."
"I, Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms…" Robert paused to catch his breath. "… do hereby name Eddard of House Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, as regent and Protector of the Realm upon my death, to rule until my son Joffrey comes of age…"
Without hesitation, Renly replaced "Eddard Stark" with his own name.
"… by the old gods and the new… you know how the rest goes. Finish it and I'll sign."
Renly finished the will, his palms slick with sweat.
Handing the parchment and quill to the king, he prayed to the Seven again.
Perhaps the gods truly heard him.
Robert took the quill, signed without reading, leaving a bloody smudge on the paper as well.
"When it's sealed, we'll need witnesses. Go call the council."
"Yes, Robert." Renly's hand trembled as he gripped the rolled-up parchment.
---
"Where is His Majesty?"
Lord Eddard Stark, the King's Hand, walked into Maegor's Holdfast, exhausted.
He had reached the Eyrie only to receive this dreadful news via raven.
Without a second thought for Lysa and her son, he rode back at breakneck speed, day and night, running three horses to death on the way.
He only hoped he wasn't too late.
"It doesn't look good…" Varys struggled to keep up with Eddard's long strides. "The wound won't heal; he's clinging to life by sheer will, perhaps waiting for you…"
"Damn it! Why did you let him fight? Why didn't anyone stop him?" Eddard lost control, shouting in fury.
"We tried. Countless times," said Petyr Baelish with a shrug. "But you know his temper. No one could talk him down."
Eddard's anger faded into resignation. He knew well enough his brother's stubbornness.
If only I'd stayed here, he thought bitterly, regretting his journey to the Eyrie.
"And that armor malfunction was simply too coincidental. The breastplate just… fell off."
Eddard's brows furrowed. "The king's breastplate fell during the melee?"
"Yes," Petyr said, feigning a sigh. "Our king is, after all, rather… large…"
Eddard's mouth opened as if to speak, but he held back.
This seemed less and less like a coincidence.
Especially knowing that Lancel Lannister had fitted the king's armor…
"And those who fought against him in the melee—have you questioned them? Did they have any… encouragement?"
"We questioned the survivors," Varys replied. "Nothing suspicious."
"Survivors?" Eddard asked, stunned. "By the Seven! How many died in that melee?"
"Not many during the actual melee," Petyr explained with a sigh. "But after the king was injured, the Mountain's anger got the best of him… he killed quite a few." He spread his hands helplessly. "You know how he can be."
Eddard's frown deepened.
He knew all too well that the Mountain was the Lannisters' mad dog.
Unleashing him now—was it to silence witnesses? With memories of his son Bran's fall from the tower and the rumors of the queen's infidelity with Jaime Lannister, Eddard's suspicions about the Lannisters grew stronger.
But there was no time to dwell on this now. He needed to see his brother, the king.
As they reached the king's chamber, Renly came out.
He blinked upon seeing Eddard, but quickly masked any surprise. "Lord Eddard, you're just in time. His Majesty has written his will, and we need you to witness it with the council."
"The king has a will?" Petyr's face showed surprise as he looked at Renly with suspicion.
Eddard, however, missed this, stepping into the chamber without delay.
Renly hurried after him, pushing the parchment into his hands. "Here's the king's will. You'll need to seal it shortly."
Eddard took the will, too focused on reaching the king to read it. He entered the room, calling out, "Robert!"
Seeing his brother's deathly state, tears blurred his vision.
Not wanting them to speak much further, Renly urged, "Since His Majesty has made his will, let's proceed with the sealing."
"Yes, Eddard… just get it done so I can die already!" Robert groaned. "I'm in agony!"
Eddard forced himself to compose and opened the will. He checked Robert's signature without reading the contents.
The will would be read by the council after Robert's passing.
Before the assembled witnesses, Eddard rolled up the parchment, applied sealing wax, and stamped it with the royal seal.
"It's done, Your Majesty."
At this, Robert seemed to relax, saying, "Pycelle! Bring me something for the pain! Damn it, I'm ready to die!"
Grand Maester Pycelle quickly prepared a cup of milk of the poppy and helped the king drink it.
Robert discarded the cup, his gaze unfocused, murmuring, "Will I dream?"
"Yes, Your Majesty, you will have a good dream." Eddard Stark comforted him in a trembling voice.
"That's good." Robert showed a dreamy smile, "I will give your regards to Jon Arryn and your sister Lyanna. I miss them so much..."
After saying this, the king closed his eyes tiredly and sank his head into the pillow.
(End of this chapter)