The king lay sunk deep into the pillows, his body shuddering faintly as if even his dreams caused him pain. His breath came shallow and uneven, each rise of his chest a visible effort.
"How much longer does he have?" Eddard Stark asked quietly.
"By all reason, he should already be dead," the old knight replied. "I have never seen a man cling to life with such stubborn will. I suppose he wished to see you one last time. Now that he has, his heart is finally loosening its grip." The king's life was like a candle guttering in the wind, its flame trembling with every breath.
"My brother has always been strong," Lord Renly said softly. "He slew that boar. Even with his belly torn open, he still killed it." There was awe in his voice, mixed with disbelief.
"Robert never left the field while an enemy still stood," Eddard said. "That was always his way."
He turned to the men gathered there. "No one is to disturb his rest without my permission."
"As you command, my lord," Ser Barristan Selmy replied. The white-haired knight looked far older than his years. "I have failed in my sacred duty."
There was much more the two men needed to discuss, but with Lord Renly present, they could not speak freely.
"Even the most loyal knight cannot prevent a king from harming himself," Eddard said gently. "Robert loved hunting boar. I must have seen him kill more than a thousand. He would stand his ground, longspear in hand, cursing as the beast charged him. He always waited until the last possible moment, until the boar was nearly upon him, and then struck—clean and true. Who could have imagined that this one boar would be the death of him?"
"You are too kind, Lord Eddard," Barristan said, lowering his eyes.
"Even the king himself said so," Eddard replied. "He blamed the wine."
The old knight nodded slowly. "When we flushed the boar from its lair, His Grace was already unsteady in the saddle. Even so, he ordered us to stand aside."
"What of the wine?" Eddard asked.
"The king drank from his own wineskin," Barristan said. "I did not count how many, but it was more than one. Each time he asked, the attendants brought him a fresh skin."
A bitter taste filled Eddard's mouth. He recalled the two blond boys Robert had sent to fetch pliers for his breastplate. That night at supper, the king had told the tale, laughing until he could scarcely breathe.
"Which attendants?" Eddard asked.
"The elder one," Barristan replied. "Lancel."
"My poor brother," Renly said with a sigh. "Surrounded by Lannisters to the very end. Lancel is Ser Kevan Lannister's son—Lord Tywin's nephew, the queen's cousin. I only hope the boy does not blame himself too harshly."
"We must count our numbers," Eddard said after a pause. "Everyone in the camp should return to King's Landing with us."
Barristan looked at him strangely. Stability was needed, yes—but returning to King's Landing now was perilous.
"Yes, my lord," the old knight said at last, and withdrew.
Eddard and Renly left the tent together. After several steps, Renly spoke again, his voice low. "Lord Eddard, if you do not mind, may I speak with you privately?"
"Very well."
They found a quiet place among the trees. Renly glanced around cautiously before leaning closer.
"What did my brother speak of with you?" he asked. "Was it the regency? Did he name you Protector of the Realm?"
He did not wait for an answer. "We are in the Kingswood. I fear we will never reach the Red Keep unopposed. Someone from the camp has surely already ridden ahead to King's Landing."
"You are correct," Eddard said grimly. "The king's inner circle has long been compromised."
"My lord," Renly continued, "I have thirty personal guards in King's Landing, and friends besides. Give me an hour, and I can gather a hundred men. Yet even that will not be enough. The moment has passed—we are too far away."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Storm's End lies closer than King's Landing, and the Stormlands are mine. We should go there at once. In the name of the king's will, we raise an army. With sufficient strength, the Small Council will have no choice but to name you Regent. We imprison Cersei, and you become Joffrey's guardian."
He hesitated, then added, "If you will not do that, I can send ships to carry you safely back North."
"My daughters and men are still in King's Landing," Eddard said.
"There is no time," Renly replied sharply. "If you command an army from outside the city, they may yet be safe. But if you walk into a trap yourself, you risk becoming hostages along with them."
"Robert still draws breath," Eddard said. "The gods may yet spare him. If not, I will convene the Small Council in King's Landing, present the will publicly, and settle the succession lawfully."
Renly stepped back, his body tense as a drawn bow. "Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. Once Robert dies, it will be too late—for both of us."
"Then let us pray he lives."
"I doubt the gods will be so kind."
"Sometimes," Eddard said quietly, "they show mercy."
"The Lannisters do not." Renly turned and left.
Not long after, Ser Barristan returned.
"What did Lord Renly wish to discuss?" he asked. "He seemed in haste."
"He urged me to flee to Storm's End with him," Eddard said.
"He may not be wrong," Barristan whispered. "Someone has already fled the camp. Those swift-footed attendants will carry the news to the queen. Once she learns of the king's will, we will have no grave, let alone any hope of fulfilling his last command."
"But my daughters remain in King's Landing," Eddard said.
"If you return, you will be a wolf walking into a lion's den," Barristan warned. "Tradition cannot be overturned by a few words on parchment. To deny the queen and her son—who will believe such a scandal? King's Landing crawls with Lannister men."
"There are two wills," Eddard said. "I cannot simply flee. Thousands watch me. As for the other will, I ask that you deliver it across the Narrow Sea."
Barristan looked at him with deep concern. "As you command, my lord. But you…"
"I will make my own arrangements. At worst, I will take my children and return to Winterfell."
"My lord," Barristan said, torn between honor and fear, "we have already delayed too long."
"I place my other hope in you, Ser Barristan."
The old knight bowed. "As you command."
Soon after, more troubling news arrived: Renly had already departed south with his attendants, beyond recall.
"He has always been quick to act," Barristan said.
"But what of Loras?" Eddard asked. "Is Renly not afraid for him?"
"House Tyrell feeds the realm," Barristan replied. "No one dares offend the granary. Besides, Renly has many allies. It is you I fear for."
Eddard sighed. "I cannot abandon my daughters. Send the boy—my son—with you as well."
"Yes, my lord."
"There is one more matter," Eddard said. "I will write to Lord Stannis."
Barristan fell silent.
"I will ask him to send ships or soldiers to aid me."
"My lord," Barristan said at last, "you know Stannis's nature. If he learns the throne has passed to a legitimized bastard, he will rage against it."
"If he loved Robert," Eddard said, "he will help."
When Barristan left, Eddard returned to his tent. Grief threatened to overwhelm him. He longed to kneel beneath the heart tree and pray for the life of the man who had been dearer to him than a brother. But there was no time.
He unfolded the king's final will. A fragile scroll, sealed in yellow wax and stained with blood. Upon it hung the fate of the realm.
Eddard took up his pen.
"To Lord Stannis of House Baratheon," he wrote, and continued until the words were done. When he finished, he signed his name and titles, sealed the letter, and set it aside.
Jon Snow entered the tent.
"My lord," Jon said, "should I leave with Ser Barristan?"
"Yes," Eddard said. "King's Landing is too dangerous. He has a grave task, and you will go with him across the Narrow Sea."
"It is because it is dangerous that I wish to stay," Jon said. "Chaos is coming."
"I place my faith in justice," Eddard replied. "If the world still honors it, I may yet survive."
Even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at him. Would the City Watch stand firm? Would the Kingsguard honor a will brought by a Northerner?
As father and son spoke, a low horn echoed through the camp. The bells fell silent.
Eddard stepped outside. Panic rippled through the tents.
High above, the red comet burned across the sky.
King Robert Baratheon was dead.
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