The doors of the King's bedchamber slowly closed behind Ned Stark, shutting out all the whispers and anxious gazes from outside.
Varys, Pycelle, Cersei...
Everyone was roared out by Robert with his last bit of strength.
In the entire room, only he and Robert remained.
And that thick, inseparable smell, a mixture of herbs, blood, and rotting stench, almost suffocating.
Ned walked to the bedside, looking at his best friend whom he grew up with.
The burly man who could once smash an enemy's breastplate with one hammer was now just a shell lingering on the bed.
The wound on his abdomen was sealed by a red-hot iron; the charred, rotten flesh emitted a disgusting smell.
High fever gave his cheeks a sickly flush.
Those blue eyes, once full of vitality, were now incredibly cloudy, as if covered by a layer of grey mist.
At the moment of terminal lucidity, Robert felt unprecedentedly clear-headed, as if he had been living in fog before, and now suddenly saw the light.
"Ned..."
Robert's voice sounded.
No longer the furious roar just now, but surprisingly calm, calm enough to make one panic.
"They all left?"
"All left, Robert, only me."
Ned sat by his bed.
"Good... good..."
Robert tugged the corner of his mouth with effort.
He seemed to want to smile, but that expression was uglier than crying.
He rolled his cloudy eyeballs, scanning the room, finally his gaze falling back on Ned's face.
"I'm... a fucking bastard, aren't I?"
Ned's heart twitched violently.
He didn't expect Robert to say such words.
"When we were young... in the Eyrie, Jon always scolded me, saying I would be ruined by that piece of meat below my belt."
Robert's breathing became rapid.
"I even talked back to him then... now it seems, Jon was fucking right."
"All my life, I've been chasing a phantom."
Robert's gaze became somewhat drifting, as if penetrating the dome of the Red Keep, seeing the years decades ago.
"Lyanna... I always see her in my dreams, but I don't even know what color of flowers she liked best."
"I thought I loved her, Ned."
"But what I loved might just be a woman I imagined myself."
"No woman can accept her fiancé's fickleness."
"So, I also know clearly in my heart, Lyanna wasn't abducted by Rhaegar; they very likely eloped..."
"I won, I sat on this damned iron chair, but I feel worse than losing."
Ned Stark's throat tightened; he couldn't say a word.
He could only listen quietly.
Listening to a King, and a dying man's last confession.
"Tell me, Ned, did Lyanna ever like me?"
Listening to Robert's question, Ned finally gritted his teeth and said.
"Robert, don't overthink, Lyanna always liked you."
Robert stared fixedly at Ned, suddenly smiled.
"Ned, you are comforting me; I understand everything."
"I don't blame Lyanna; it was my fault."
"I'm not a good King either, Ned."
"I threw everything to you and Jon, only knowing drinking, hunting, playing with women."
"I'm not a good husband, nor a good father."
"The one I wronged most is Cersei, and my three children, of course, and the child Cersei lost..."
In Robert's eyes, clear pain and remorse appeared for the first time.
That wasn't because of physical pain, but self-loathing from the depths of his soul.
"I even... suspected you."
"I listened to those bullshit rumors, thinking you and that Northern boy were going to rebel... I'm truly an out-and-out fool."
"Stop talking, Robert."
Ned finally couldn't help speaking, his eyes reddening uncontrollably.
"Don't say anymore."
"No, let me speak."
Robert panted but continued stubbornly.
"I'm running out of time, Ned."
"Remember?"
"In the Eyrie, we sneaked out to the tavern in Gulltown to drink."
"You fell after one cup; I drank three knights under the table alone, and with a blacksmith's daughter... hehe..."
Robert began to laugh.
That laughter tugged at the wound, making him cough violently; black bloody foam gushed continuously from the corner of his mouth.
Ned quickly picked up the silk scarf nearby, wanting to wipe it for him.
But Robert grabbed his hand.
That hand, once able to wield a warhammer easily, was now weak but still held very tight.
"I'm dying, Ned."
Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, King of the Seven Kingdoms, looked at his only friend with a tone bordering on pleading.
"I know, I know I won't live long."
"Tears of Lys... those bastards, they wanted me dead long ago."
"Stannis... Renly... they are all eyeing this chair; they will tear the kingdom into pieces."
"So I stripped Stannis of his dukedom, let Renly stay away from King's Landing..."
"Ned, my brother..."
Robert's breathing became weaker and weaker, voice intermittent.
"I beg you... as a friend, a brother, I beg you..."
"Help me... help me watch over Joffrey."
Ned's body stiffened abruptly.
"I know... I know that kid isn't something."
A trace of pain flashed in Robert's eyes.
"He's not like me, not at all."
"He is cowardly, cruel, and stupid... he has too many bad habits of the Lannisters."
"But he... he is my son after all, Ned."
"He is my firstborn."
"He is the legitimate heir of House Baratheon."
"I can't let Stannis and Renly disrupt the situation..."
Ned opened his mouth; that sentence "He is not your son" was on the tip of his tongue but couldn't be said no matter what.
He looked at Robert's eyes full of expectation and pleading, looking at this best friend about to leave the world.
How could he use such a cruel truth to shatter his last thought at this time?
"Promise me, Ned."
Robert's hand gripped tighter; nails almost dug into Ned's flesh.
"Support him, teach him, let him become a King like me."
"Don't let him destroy the realm we fought so hard to win."
"Promise me!"
Ned looked at Robert, at the bloodshot veins in his eyes, at the black blood at the corner of his mouth.
He thought of that young man named Lynn in Winterfell, thought of the brand-new world he described.
He thought of the choice he had already made.
Lies.
What he hated most in his life was lies.
But now, he had to tell his best friend the heaviest lie of his life.
Ned nodded slowly, solemnly.
"I promise you, Robert."
His voice was soft, but seemed to use all his strength.
"I swear on the honor of House Stark, I will protect your bloodline, I will do my best to put the kingdom on the right track."
Hearing Ned's promise, Robert's tense body finally relaxed completely at this moment.
"And that... Daenerys Targaryen... don't act against her anymore... let her live..."
"I have already... given up my... hatred..."
The light in Robert's eyes dimmed rapidly like a candle in the wind.
That last breath supporting him dissipated.
"Thank... thank you, Ned..."
Robert's lips moved, spitting out the last few blurred syllables.
The hand grabbing Ned slipped down weakly.
Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, victor of the War of the Usurper.
Died.
Died in King's Landing he hated most, died on the throne he loathed most.
Ned sat quietly by the bed, motionless.
He didn't cry, but the sorrow in his eyes was thick enough not to melt.
His best friend's corpse was still warm, but the promise he made pressed on his heart like a block of ten-thousand-year-old ice, making him feel cold from inside out.
Robert, my friend, my brother.
I promised you, but also betrayed you.
Joffrey is cruel and tyrannical, not a qualified candidate for King. I cannot support a Lannister bastard to sit on the Iron Throne, nor can I stop the coming war.
I can only choose a path I think is right.
Even if on that path, I have to carry guilt towards you, I must walk on.
Ned stood up slowly, closing those eyes unwilling to close in death for Robert.
He walked to the window and pushed it open.
The night wind of King's Landing blew in, blowing away the dead air in the room, also making him shiver.
He looked up at the northern sky.
But this kingdom had just begun its real suffering.
Countless people would die in the ensuing strife...
Lynn...
How should the road ahead be walked?
Standing beside the King's corpse, Ned Stark felt unprecedented confusion and heaviness for the first time.