Your Majesty, King Balon of the Iron Islands has been killed by his brother Euron Greyjoy, and his children have surrendered their fleet to the iron throne!"
At the Small Council meeting, Grand Maester Daniel said with a smile, clutching the letter.
Now, Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister have been captured by the iron throne and are being escorted to King's Landing.
As soon as the hand of the king, Young Aegon, crushes "iron-hard" Stannis Baratheon, the Seven Kingdoms will completely return to the embrace of the Targaryen Family.
"Perhaps this is a self-directed play, sacrificing one family member to gain power for the others!"
Former Grand Maester Pycelle sat far from the iron throne, speaking breathlessly.
At this moment, he was white-haired, hunched over, extremely weak, and permeated by a complex scent of aged herbs and an old body, as if he could die at any moment.
But even so, he insisted on attending court while ill, to uphold Viserys Targaryen's rule over the iron throne.
Looking at this former Grand Maester who had miraculously escaped from the wight army, Viserys Targaryen showed a mischievous smile.
If he hadn't read the original Game of Thrones, he might have really been fooled by this drama queen!
"Grand Maester Pycelle," Varys, the Spider, asked with disdain, hands in his pockets, "It is said that when Duke Tywin Lannister led his troops, pretending to come to the king's aid, it was you who advised King Aerys to open the city gates, wasn't it?"
At these words, all the ministers' eyes turned to the dying former Grand Maester.
"Cough, cough, cough!"
Grand Maester Pycelle's face turned red, and he immediately started coughing loudly.
At this moment, he looked like a dying invalid.
His grizzled beard clung messily to his sweaty cheeks and neck, and his once ruddy and plump face was now a sickly grey.
His eyes were deeply sunken, and his breathing was rapid and shallow; each inhale seemed to take all his strength.
His cloudy eyes slowly turned in Varys's direction, and a "ho... ho..." sound came from his throat.
After seemingly a long time of recognition, Grand Maester Pycelle's lips trembled as he uttered a few indistinct syllables.
And Varys just stood quietly beside him, his eyes completely devoid of warmth.
He did not urge, but patiently waited for Grand Maester Pycelle's explanation.
"It was indeed my fault... I wrongly trusted Duke Tywin!"
Facing everyone's gaze, Pycelle said breathlessly and remorsefully, "King Aerys and I, like me, were deceived... terribly deceived!"
Upon hearing this, The Spider was extremely surprised.
This old rival, who had contended with him in the Small Council for decades without a clear victor, was now uncharacteristically admitting his mistake.
Suddenly, Pycelle's body began to tremble violently.
Painful whimpers escaped his throat.
Immediately after, a strong, nauseating stench of urine and feces abruptly permeated the air, quickly overpowering all other smells in the room.
As far as the eye could see, the expensive, originally white wool cushion beneath Pycelle was rapidly spreading a deep yellow, unsightly wet stain, centered at his buttocks.
Moreover, the wet stain was still expanding, and even some darker, solid outlines could vaguely be seen through the thin fabric of his sleeping trousers.
In broad daylight, former Grand Maester Pycelle had soiled himself!
At this moment, Pycelle seemed to have completely lost control of his body.
Tears of humiliation and pain welled up in his cloudy eyes.
He tried to curl up his body, but he didn't even have that much strength, and could only lie helplessly in his own filth, emitting a faint whimper like a young animal.
At that moment, any suspicion of the Grand Maester seemed incredibly cruel.
Even Varys, the Master of Whisperers, couldn't help but cover his nose, his face pale.
This old man, who had served the kingdom for decades, appeared to be at the end of his life, unable to maintain even the most basic dignity.
He was no longer the eloquent, cunning Grand Maester of the Small Council, but a pitiful wretch completely destroyed by illness, struggling helplessly in his own excrement.
But even so, he still insisted on coming to uphold Viserys Targaryen's rule.
"Oh, my poor old friend..."
Olenna Redwyne immediately covered her mouth and shrieked loudly.
Her voice echoed through The Red Keep's hall, as if fearing the surrounding nobles wouldn't notice.
As a top schemer, equally cunning, how could Grand Maester Pycelle's trick of "feigning grave illness to save his life" deceive her?
"What are you standing around for? Don't you see the former Grand Maester needs help? Go quickly and call the Maester's assistants to clean Grand Maester Pycelle. Use the best medicine to alleviate his pain as much as possible."
Olenna Redwyne hurriedly reminded the surrounding servants.
Upon hearing this, the attendant rushed out.
Watching everyone cover their noses and scatter, the foul-smelling, dying former Grand Maester very slowly rotated his cloudy, deeply sunken eyes.
At this moment, all that remained of him was a cold, cunning, and profound shrewdness unique to an old fox.
Compared to life, all pain and humiliation were unimportant.
At this moment, staying alive was key!
"If the Grand Maester is ill, he should set aside state affairs and get proper treatment!"
Facing the horrified retreat of the crowd, Viserys Targaryen remained incredibly calm.
He knew that in the original story, this cunning old man had played both sides among various factions, with no loyalty whatsoever.
Even more despicable, he had pretended to be incontinent, attempting to freeload off the hard-earned money of King's Landing's prostitutes.
Such behavior was simply outrageous!
Who wasn't making a living through their labor?
Viserys Targaryen would never tolerate bullying the hard-earned money of working people.
"Little Ramsay!"
Viserys Targaryen said coldly, "Grand Maester Pycelle is entrusted to you for treatment. Be sure to put in extra effort; whatever you do, don't let him die!"
The next moment, a man from the North, still handsome in appearance but with a sinister smile on his face, stepped forward.
He was Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton's bastard son.
"Your Majesty, the Grand Maester is in my hands, rest assured."
Listening to Little Ramsay's chest-thumping assurance, Viserys Targaryen completely relaxed.
When it came to tormenting people, Little Ramsay was truly gifted!
The next moment, Grand Maester Pycelle was carefully carried away by the guards led by Little Ramsay.
Their gazes met across the distance, as if sparking a flame of love.
"Mere youngsters, still too naive!"
Pycelle, safely out of sight, was internally ecstatic at this moment.
No matter how powerful Viserys Targaryen was, wasn't he still firmly under his control?
A Small Council minister who had served under several dynasties was not someone a greenhorn like him could easily manipulate.
Just as he was feeling smug, the next moment, his face immediately changed dramatically.
"Where is this? Didn't His Majesty tell you to take me out for treatment?"
Pycelle stared at Little Ramsay's face and questioned loudly.
At this moment, he was outwardly fierce but inwardly cowardly, not even bothering to feign illness anymore.
Years of political intuition had allowed him to sense the dangerous atmosphere in advance.
Something was wrong, nine-tenths of it was wrong!
However, his response was Little Ramsay's playful laughter as he opened the iron bars of the dog kennels.
"Don't worry, a dog can't change its habit of eating shit! After the hounds clean out your intestines, we'll slowly — treat you!"
Little Ramsay stared at Pycelle, revealing a sinister smile, as if everything was under his control.
"Damn it!"
Looking at the drooling hounds with glowing green eyes, Pycelle was terrified out of his wits, immediately running barefoot, holding up his trousers.
"Oh, what a miracle! Grand Maester Pycelle can get up and run!"
Watching Pycelle being chased by the hounds and fleeing in a pathetic state, Margaery Tyrell, the Little Rose, covered her mouth with both hands and exclaimed gleefully.
"A divine physician, truly a divine physician!"
The ministers in The Red Keep all widened their eyes and gave thumbs up, praising him continuously.