King's Landing
The King's is dying. No, he's already in the Stranger's embrace.
The hunt. That was when it had all gone wrong. Robert's drunkenness, Lancel's wines, the boar, the spear... No, not all the blame lie on that. I was there, Ser Barristan Selmy regrets. I could have stopped him from drinking, could have shoved him out of the way from that beast. If I was just quicker or saw that thing sooner, then all of this could have been avoided.
The large man lying on the bed is merely a shadow of his former self. Gone are his laughter, his fury, and even his passions for the serving girls... Leaving only a husk barely able to speak. The King's skin is as pale as the bedsheets, while his fat does not hide his withering figure. When Grand Maester Pycelle patched him up, he had assured them all that the King will be just fine. "Up and hunting again in a matter of weeks," was the exact quote. But it only has been three days since the hunt; no signs of improvement.
Throughout the Red Keep, whether it be the guards, the cooks, or the servants, all are expecting his death anytime soon. None share Pycelle's bright outlook on life. The rumours of his imminent death have spread beyond the Red Keep, and many are prepared for mourning. The Sept of Baelor has been conducting prayers with their strange lights, while Queen Cersei have took it upon herself to prepare his funeral arrangements. It's not odd to sometimes see her wandering the halls of the Red Keep in a black dress, though he has yet to see her cry about her King.
But what will it be for Ser Barristan? Another dead king under his post. Aerys the Mad King, and Jaehaerys before that. And each time, he can't do anything to stop it; how is the one now any different? And with the state of the Realm, I fear that I will attend the fourth, he thinks bitterly. With four kings, am I not a more fitting Kingslayer than that oathbreaker?
Sitting to Robert's side is Lord Eddard Stark, the current Hand after the tragic passing of Jon Arryn. He finishes writing the King's last wills and testament, stamping it with the royal seal. The man's not much older than the Kingslayer, yet he looks far more aged with greying hair and a wilted face. No doubt the events of the past week have crushed his spirits. Not just Robert, but his clash with the Kingslayer lead to the Lannisters marching into the Riverlands, Catelyn Stark's homeland. Barristan can still see the limp that the errant Kingsguard left him. I'll need to sanction the boy for such actions, but he's with Lord Tywin now. He doesn't even hold loyalty to the crown, oh how the Order have fallen with each king...
But Barristan doesn't want to stay still. Surely, something must be done. Whether that be stopping the Kingslayer's foolish campaign, or keep the King alive until all of this is over. When he passes on, all of the Seven hells will break loose in this realm. The Prince... Even if he is the rightful heir, I have a bad feeling about it. Lord Stannis could lay claim to the throne. And what then? War? Rebellion? How many more will die because of one King's death? "Lord Stark, may I speak with you?"
Eddard raises his head, his tired eyes opening wide upon seeing Barristan. "Ah, yes yes... Sorry, Ser Barristan, I've forgotten that you're here. What is the matter?"
"Lord Stark, the King is dying. I doubt Grand Maester Pycelle's assurance that he'll be well."
"Yes, I suspect as much," Eddard sighs, holding the King's hand. "There's not much we can do, however. Pycelle, however old and frail he is, is a healer far more skilled than all of us. Even then his skills are lacking. There's nothing left to do but wait."
"Lord Stark, forgive me but I must object to giving up. Even the King will admonish such thinking. No, I'm suggesting we search for another healer."
"Healer?" Eddard raises an eyebrow. "There's someone better than Pycelle? He's the Grand Maester!"
"He may be a Grand Maester, but he's not solely focus on the art of healing. I've heard of a travelling healer staying in Flea Bottom, healing the poor and crippled for no charge. Even merchants from across the Narrow Sea have visited him. We still have time to summon them here, my lord. The sun is still up." Rumours of such a skilled man travels fast. For Barristan, this person might be their only hope of recovering the King. But there is a problem.
"Have you met this healer, Ser Barristan?"
"I have not, my lord."
"Then I don't trust him with Robert," Eddard declines. "We don't know what that man might do, perhaps even going so far as to pilfer this room or, gods forbid," his voice lowers, "kill Robert."
"Death will alleviate King Robert's suffering, my lord," Ser Barristan answers, shocking the Warden of the North. "It is risky, yes, but we don't have any other choice. And as his vassals, it is our duty to keep him alive unless everything unravels." What actual unravelling Ser Barristan doesn't exactly know, but he didn't get this far as a Kingsguard by being absent-minded. He paid enough attention in the courtly procedures to understand the gravity of the Realm's situation. His thoughts about the Spider does not quell his fears.
"Ser Barristan, what if they ask for gold? An exorbitant amount of gold? You know that the Iron Throne is millions of dragons in debt."
"In my honest opinion, Lord Stark, the gold price is easier to pay than the iron price. And I fear that with the Lannisters heading up North, we will be forced to accept the latter."
The fear for the Lannisters strikes worry at Eddard's heart, wiping away any doubts of gold and cost. He glances at Robert's sleeping form, the King's breaths shallow and wheezing. With that, Eddard relents. "Alright. As Hand, I order you to find this healer and bring him here. We can discuss the prices later; Robert's life is far more important."
"At once, L-"
"However," Eddard adds, his voice turns low to not be overheard, "keep this order a secret between you and I. There's some foul play afoot with the Lannisters, perhaps even Lord Littlefinger and the Spider."
Ser Barristan bows and leaves the royal quarters. As there is no active Kingsguard at the door, he heads to the White Sword Tower and finds Ser Balon Swann, a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. The rugged man is a capable knight for sure, but Ser Barristan is not convinced that he is fitting as a Kingsguard. In fact, he doesn't find any of the other Sworn Brothers fit as the King's protector. They're either too unskilled, too corrupt, or both. Two in particular, the Kingslayer and Ser Boros Blount, have their hands in the pockets of the Lannisters. He's not sure if he can even trust Ser Balon, but with the other options, he'd rather have a simple knight than a traitorous one. Ser Barristan hold his sigh as he greets him. "Ser Balon."
"Evening, Lord Commander," Ser Balon stands and bows. "Exchanging guard duty?"
"Yes, even a Lord Commander needs a break after all," Ser Barristan chuckles as he takes off his plate armour.
"I see. May I ask, how is the King? You've been by his side longer than any of us."
"He's recovering," Ser Barristan lies. "He was awake an hour ago, but he needs his rest so please try not to disturb him."
"Of course, Lord Commander," Ser Balon replies as he leaves for his duty.
Obedient, strong, but much too simple for my liking. But perhaps that's what I need in these trying times...
Barristan dons a much more conspicuous clothing of brown tunic and leather, making him look closer to a begging brother than a Kingsguard. He puts on a large cloak, enough to hide the sewn-in pockets of armour and his arming sword. He descends to the lowest floor of the tower and rubs the walls for indentations. Finding the correct divot, he presses into it and pulls out the wall, revealing a secret passage. He learnt of these passages many years ago with the help of the Spider who often wanders around these forgotten halls. He's not sure whether to be thankful or disappointed that his fellow Sworn Brothers don't know of such passages.
Walking into the dark stony hall, he travels for a while before exiting at the Hook, west of the Red Keep. A murder of crows and ravens on a nearby tree greet him. He wonders if some of them are the ravens that escaped from the Red Keep's rookery. The smell and clamour of the city is far more welcoming than the eerie stillness of the Red Keep. Barristan looks up to the sky and sees those strange lights piercing the clouds. He never liked those things, shimmering in the sky like a mirage. But the Faith is responsible for its appearance and many call it a blessing upon the Realm.
He can only wonder at such claims; he's not a pious man, but he had never heard of such things in his teachings before. And if it is a blessing, why is the King dying? The Realm's sufferings did not end when the lights and the comet shined, rather it began there. Dark thoughts threaten to cloud his mind but he shakes them off. He continues walking past the praying populace and into Flea Bottom, the slums of King's Landing.
As he passes by many stalls and pot-shops, he comes across multiple beggars and children with bandages and stitches on their body. No doubt the work of the healer, Barristan thinks. He follows the trail towards a no-named wooden building, maybe an inn from the looks of it. At its front he can see many people lined up bearing various injuries: burns, crutches, pale complexions... What he finds most curious however is the fact that he spots a few Red Keep guards among them. So that's how popular the healer is... No wonder merchants come and ask them for help.
But this means he can't enter through the front for risking his identity to the guards. Instead, he enters a nearby alley and go to the back of the building. He pushes on the door; it's unlocked.
Barristan steps into the room, which is quite bright due to the numerous candles strewn about. He closes the door behind him, making sure to lock it. He looks around; the room looks to be a kitchen, though there is no smell of food being prepared here. Instead, the air smells rich and sharp like the sea. Herbs and mushrooms are scattered on the counter along with a set of mortars and pestle. Some of the bottles with green and purple liquids exude a disturbing glow; he avoids looking at it for too long. Does this healer use sorcery? Like a hedge wizard?
He exits the kitchen and enters the main area of the building. Like the kitchen, this room is also full of candles but much more furnished. A bed with no sheets lie in the middle of the room. Treading on the wooden floor quietly, he spots a large longbow leaning against a table. Curious, Barristan picks it up but finds it surprisingly heavy for a wooden weapon. It's well balanced and the wood has quite the fine grain on it, but I can't identify what tree is it from. Ironwood? Elm? Looks far too dark to be oak or ash. The Kingsguard trace his finger along the bowstave, noting the various cuts and scratches. Looks like there's been some use to it. The string... Barristan tries to pull the string back, but for the life of him he couldn't. The thing is as stiff as metal, but it's clear that it's some sort of string. Or is this only a ceremonial weapon of sorts? Some nobility comiss-
"It's rude to play around with someone's weapon without permission," a voice comes from behind him.
Barristan turns around and finds himself face-to-face with a tall woman. Well, not really face-to-face since her face is covered by some cloth and some strange crystal visor. "Forgive me for my curiosity, Lady Healer," Barristan bows, putting the weapon back on the table.
"What do you want?" the woman asks, crossing her arm. He notes the brown gloves and white cloak she's wearing, both of which are covered with speckles of blood. She looks more like a silent sister than any healer he had seen before. "You didn't line up outside, which means that it's something urgent or something annoying," she says with a hint of disdain.
"None of the sort Lady Healer. My name is Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and in service of the Iron Throne."
"Ah, your king."
"Yes, my King, Robert Baratheon, is an urgent need of-"
"No."
"I-Buh, I beg your pardon?" Her answer catches him off-guard.
"I know what you're asking and the answer is no. Please leave," she replies sternly before heading towards one of the tables covered in parchment and begins jotting things down.
"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Lady Healer," Barristan approaches her table, though he stops the moment she looks at him. Even from behind those strange visors, he can feel her glare. "It is the King we're talking about. The King of Westeros."
"Yes, the very same king that hunted for boars drunk and got his price." A portly woman descends from upstairs and hands the healer a cup of some hot drinks. She offers one to Barristan as well. "Thank you dear."
"I don't tolerate insults to his Grace, Lady Healer. I'm here not by the Lord Hand's request but by an order," Barristan pushes, but the woman does not budge.
"Why didn't you line up outside?"
"I- It's the King, Lady Healer. He's in a dire condition."
"And so are some of the people outside. Tell me, why should I give him priority of such a treatment and not the ones who waited patiently for my service?"
Barristan knows the answer to that, but it's such a crass and bitter statement that he holds it back. "If the King is healed, then he can instill order to the Realm. And that means less people getting hurt and sick, Lady Healer."
"Less?" she scoffs. "I was here before he had gotten into his little accident and saw no worsening nor improvements in Flea Bottom when he fell ill. In fact, why should I trust such a stupid, uncivilised man to 'heal' this sick realm of yours?" She finishes her drink before continuing her rant, the server staying quiet to the side. "It was your king who had gotten drunk on a dangerous hunt. Such a large man need at least five to six wineskins to raise his BAC to dangerous levels, and he drank eight if the rumours are true. He's a human, not an oni. And now his followers don't even have the decency to line up outside and wait their turn; they're even worse than a beggar! I may be able to cure his wounds, Barristan Selmy, but I'm unable to cure his stupidity. Is that clear?"
...Ser Barristan understands some of the things she just said. Though most of them add up to insults towards the King, which is not unfounded, those last sentences of hers brings some clarity to his mind. "So you can heal him."
"Are you deaf!? I don't want to heal him. Lya, please get him out of here. I'll get the next patient."
"Yes Lady Eirin," the woman answers before leading Barristan back to the kitchen by his arm. Once inside though, he pries himself from his grip and grabs Lya by her shoulders, scaring her.
"Miss Lya was it?"
"Y-Yes, Ser B-Barristan," she stutters.
"Please, are you able to convince Lady Eirin to help me? You know her well, surely!"
"I don't, Ser Barristan," she confesses. "I'm the owner of this building, this inn, before she started to bring all those street urchins and beggars in. And she had the gall to tell me that I was being disruptive on her practice. Now I'm forced to help her! I don't even understand half of the things she rambles on about, let alone those healing sorceries of hers."
"So you're not her assistant? Why not, well, kick her out?"
"Damn wench got a viper's tongue," Lya sneers. "Can't say a word against her without getting a good lashing. Might as well play along for the time being. At least when merchants come by, they leave a few coins."
That is interesting. So this healer works pretty much on her own, unwanted in someone else's home. Then perhaps... "Lady Lya, could you please bring me back to her? I have a plan to convince her out of your home."
"You will?" her eyes shine bright at Ser Barristan, hopeful.
"Yes, you have my promise as a Kingsguard," he smiles. Barristan knows that the best play he could do is to display his kindness. Or more accurately, the King's kindness and gratitude. Unlike his sworn brothers, he can't do much with the display of live steel; not only is it loathsome for him to do so, but he fears what her retaliation might be. She carries herself like an experienced knight, and it's best not to anger the one who heals you. He needs to approach this carefully.
The two enter the main room again where the healer is treating a child with a baby in her hands. She sighs upon seeing their faces. "Not you too, Lya..."
"Lady Eirin, I offer you a proposition. It will be beneficial for all of us. First, I ask for you to heal the King of his ailm-"
"No."
"I'm not finished," Barristan raises his finger. "I'll say it again. You'll help to heal his Grace then we can work out a deal with you. From what I've heard, you've taken up an unlawful residency in Lady Lya's home and turned it into your clinic. Though it is a very honourable act, Lady Lya here has been given the short end of the arrangement. That's why I am making this proposal."
The healer continues to treat the child, seemingly uncaring of Barristan's speech. But he continues. "King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, will be very grateful for the healing you've done to him. And with that, you may request anything within reason from him. Let's say, your own building to treat the ill? Or skilled healers and maesters as your assistants? Is that not much better than having poor Lady Lya here as your helper? I'm not trying to speak ill of her, but don't you find her skills to be lacking?"
Eirin turns to them, her fingers rapping hard against the table. Lya gulps, fearing the words that may come out of the healer's mouth. The child at the table stay silent, anxious. "Lya."
"Y-Yes Lady Eirin!"
"Take a break."
"I-I'm sorry?"
"You haven't had lunch right? It's already sunset, so you still have time to make supper for yourself. Go eat."
"Oh, thank you so much, Lady Eirin!" Lya exclaims before running back upstairs. Barristan can only wonder what kind of trials and tribulations did the healer impart on that poor lady.
"Barristan."
"Yes, Lady Eirin?"
"Prepare clean bandages for this girl here. After that, wash my tools with hot water and vinegar before the next patient comes in. Now."
"I have no experience in-"
"And neither did Lya, but she did well enough. Surely you must be even better, right?" the healer cocks her head. "The faster I treat these patients, the faster I'm going to be with your king. So? Can you do it?"
"Of course, Lady Eirin!"
King's Landing
"Barristan, fill up this flask."
"Right away!"
"Barristan, hold down his leg."
"Yes!"
"Barristan, wipe away the blood."
"At once!"
Barristan moves to and fro, from task to task. They're like a river: unending and in constant supply from the healer. It's hard for him to breathe with the cloth covering his mouth, but Eirin insists that he wears it lest she'll disregard his plea for help. And so he complies to her many orders and demands, acting both as a helper and a cleaner for the healer.
He doesn't know how long has he been here. The pristine brown leathers he'd been wearing is now splattered with blood; he should have heeded the healer's advice to wear a spare apron the inn-owner has. He didn't want to ruin the woman's clean clothes. During all that time, Barristan wrote, cut, and held things down for the healer. As the Lord Commander, he's used to such extraneous activities. Though with the face covering and old age, his exhaustion is catching up to him.
As he wipes away the blood from the table, he watches the healer do her healing arts. She moves the needle and string with such precision that it's more reminiscent with a skilled needleworker than a maester. In a matter of seconds, the cut on the man's leg is stitched up. But what surprises him the most is the sorcery she displays in the open. Whenever she makes an incision, the cut on the body carries a slight bluish glow. Sometimes it's red, sometimes it's green; he doesn't know the difference between each one. Even now with the man's leg stitched up, her finger glows blue as she rubs the cut spot. The skin heals over it like it was nothing. A hedge wizard... No, more than that. Where did she come fr-
"Barristan, transcribe the following instructions."
"Alright," he replies, running over to the quill and parchment.
"Mister Knoll, please consume these pills two times a day, preferably before eating breakfast and dinner, for two weeks. Do not put much strain on your right leg. Though that cane of yours is sufficient, I'll recommend you to get a crutch fitted with Mister Colton at the Street of Steel. Come back here tomorrow and I'll give you the papers to have it fitted; I'll be unable to pick it up myself due to my work here."
"It's free?" asks the balding man.
"I have an agreement with Mister Colton's son," answers Lady Eirin. "Barristan."
The tired Lord Commander hands the man the set of instructions. "Please read them over when you get home, Mister Knoll. I bid you a good night and a safe travel."
"Thank you, Ser Barristan! My son has always been looking up to you, with all your knightliness and what not," Knoll chuckles, standing up from his chair. "A shame he couldn't be one, nor could his father."
"Surviving the ailment you have now is a worthy enough achievement to be proud of, Mister Knoll," Eirin assures him as she leads him to the front door. "Healing and surviving requires a strong will, something that you have in you."
"Really, Lady Eirin?"
"Of course! Just come back here tomorrow, okay?"
"Yes. Thank you Lady Eirin, for everything you've done here."
"It's my job," she replies with glee. She waves the man goodbye befor closing and locking the doors. "Barristan," her voice stern now, "wash my tools."
"At once!"
"Neat up the parchments."
"Of course!"
"Put seven sheets into my case."
"Yes!"
"Place my tools and seven red bottles into my case."
"Right away."
"Good. Let us head out."
"Ye- Pardon?"
"Lya, make sure the doors are locked, okay?" she shouts to the person upstairs. They answer with a muffled confirmation.
"Are we-"
"Yes, go prepare yourself," Eirin replies as she takes off her blood-stained white cloak and head-wear. He's taken aback by how long her platinum hair is; even braided, it still reaches past her ankles. However, her face catches his attention. There's some otherworldly aspect to her look. Perhaps it's her grey eyes or pale skin that reminds him of the previous dynasty, the Targaryens. She's strangely beautiful, yet soething about it sends shivers down his spine. She turns to him with a slight smile. "Well? Are you ready?"
"Oh, sorry Lady Eirin! Please give me a second."
"Take your time, it's your king after all."
Barristan tries his best to wipe away any blood and pus on his clothes; though he's not well versed in the art of healing, he knows enough to understand the importance of cleanliness. And with the King, that is of the utmost importance. After checking through all of his equipments, he's ready to go. "Let us head out."
And so, they leave the bright comforts of the inn and traverse into the dark streets of Flea Bottom. Since there are no lights shining from the Sept of Baelor, Barristan guesses that it's quite late in the night now. By the Seven, I hope we're not too late. As they pass by a few groups of guards and beggars, he notices that they're giving them odd looks and glances. That's when he realises that the healer is also carrying her longbow with her. "Lady Eirin, I think your weapon is giving us some unnecessary attention," Barristan says politely.
"You have your sword, I have my bow."
"I see... I take it that you're an experienced archer then? If it's not rude for me to ask, are you by any chance a warrior?"
"Not really," she answers as they enter a more crowded and lively street. The commonfolk part ways upon seeing the healer. "I'm far more skilled in medicine than fighting, though that doesn't mean that I have not spilt blood."
Interesting, so what is her background then? Do women in her part of the world wield weapons as well? Or is it the healers who do such a thing? So much questions, so little time. "I'm sorry if I've brought up bitter memories, Lady Eirin. It's just rare for me to see a women wield weapons in the open, especially in Westeros." He actually does have experience of women wielding weapons, but that only amounts to the occasional Wildlings he met during his time as a novice knight. This woman doesn't look to be from that sordid bunch.
"Where I come from, women are not as restricted in taking more... Masculine positions, shall we say. Where my home is, it's often women that fight, not the men. In fact, I trained some under me to take over my position after I'm gone. They've done great so far!"
A culture whose commanders and soldiers are women... I'm not sure if I've ever heard of that. "What an interesting place! I must pay it a visit in the future."
"I'm not sure if you would like it," the healer chuckles. "Though I can confidently say that it's much cleaner than whatever mess this city is."
"Even in Westeros, King's Landing is renowned for its smell. Now, we should be reaching our destination." They turn a corner and walk towards the hidden passageway that Barristan exited from. The climb feels far longer now due to his exhaustion, but the woman doesn't show any sign of tiredness. Barristan doesn't bother to change his clothes for it'll take far too long.
As they walk towards Maegor's Holdfast, he notices something odd. Throughout their whole trek, they didn't come across any servants nor guards. Not even at the entrance of the Holdfast. And so when he sees that the door to the royal quarters is wide open, he stops in his tracks.
All of his senses are firing at once. The quietness, the dim lights, and that faint smell of sick and viscera... The Kingsguard draws his sword whilst his companion readies her own bow. With a silent gesture, the two move forward quietly towards the doorway. He can see a faint red droplet on the stony floor. He makes sure to keep the healer behind him before calling out: "Whoever is in there, drop your sword and I may leave you alive!"
"Ser... Barristan..."
Barristan recognises Lord Stark's voice. He looks into the room with his sword at the ready and sees carnage. Furnitures and ornaments are strewn about, many of them broken or have been chopped to pieces. Blood paint the marble floor red. At the centre of the room he sees the unconscious form of his Sworn Brother, Ser Balon Swann. A dagger is sticking out of his side, his white cape and armour dyed in blood. At the foot of the King's bed is Lord Eddard Stark, heavily wounded and clutching a gaping cut at his stomach, his guts threaten to spill out.
Barristan rushes to his side, trying to get the man to a more correct position. Barristan dares not letting him stand for he has fear of causing even greater damage to the already wounded Stark. "Lord Hand! What- What in the Seven Hells happened here!?"
"Barristan, your man," Eddard wheezes out. "Attacked me and... Robert... He-"
"Please stay still, Lord Stark. The healer has come to help. Lady Eirin!" Barristan shouts and sees the healer already wearing her cloth and visors. "Please, Lady Eirin, help Lord Stark!"
"I have grave news for you, Barristan Selmy. I just examined the wounds on your king and he'll need most of my attention. I can only operate one at a time, so think carefully on who I should heal."
Barristan freezes in spot. His heart is pounding in his chest for the decision lies on him. I-I'm the Kingsguard, so I must protect the King. But Lord Stark is wounded and looks to be in need even more so than Robert! What-
"Ser Barristan..." Lord Stark coughs up some blood, "I... Order you to help... Robert..."
"But my Lord, your wounds-"
"That is a command, Ser Barristan..."
Ser Barristan looks into the dying Stark's eyes. Even so near to the Stranger, that cold gaze of him bores deep into the Kingsguard. A stubborn man even to the very end... "I'll carry your orders, Lord Hand. It is my duty as the Kingsguard."
"...Good," Eddard Stark smiles.
"Lady Eirin," Ser Barristan stands up, addressing the healer who is now undressing the King and his bandages. "May I call over for more help? We'll need all the hands we can get for supplies and more."
Eirin hesitates for a second before approving it. "But be quick for I'm cutting into him soon."
Barristan nods and dashes out of the room, heading straight to the main halls of the Red Keep. But even with his confidence, he's unsure on who to actually call for help. He now knows that he can't trust his Sworn Brothers to not thrust a blade into his neck, nor any of the Lannister guards for he remembers the Lord Hand's warnings. The fact that the guards have stayed away from the Holdfast meant that they couldn't be trusted either. So who should I call? Which servants!?
Desperate, Barristan enters the cooking area of the Red Keep. Even this late into the evening, the kitchen is still full of servants and staff, most of which are eating their long-deserved dinner. "S-Seb Bawisten!" the head chef bows at him with a mouth full of bread. All eyes are staring at him. "W-What brings you-"
"I need a bucket of boiling water, clean rags, and sets of vinegars and salts that you have. Bring them all to the royal quarters. NOW."
"Y-Yes Ser," the chef gulps before sending all of the others scurrying for the supplies. "Is there any reason for-"
"I'll tell you later. And avoid any of the Red Keep or Lannister guards if you can. They'll only hinder you, is that clear?"
"Yes Ser."
Satisfied, Barristan runs back to the royal quarters, his breathing now ragged. Upon entering, he immediately covers his face with a cloth and begins helping the healer.
"Fetch me a red bottle and scalpel."
"Yes, Lady Eirin."
"Hold these parts still while I cut."
"Yes!"
"Wow, what a disgusting mess," the healer chuckles as she opens up the old wound. The smell of rot and pus assaults Barristan's nose, causing him to gag at the exposure. "Hold steady, Barristan. We don't want you to puke on the patient now, do we?"
"No."
"Good. Shit, this part here is gone... This one as well..." the healer whispers as she begins slicing off black and green flesh from Robert's body and dumping them on the carpeted floor. "But that's vital, so where am I going to-"
"Ser Barristan, I'm here with the- HOLY SEVEN HELLS!" the chef exclaims upon seeing the room, dropping the bucket of hot water and the requested spices. Luckily it lands the right way up, though some splashed onto the carpet. "What the- What the hells is-"
"You at the doorway, bring me the bucket and items," the healer orders, wiping away the sweat on her brow. "And Barristan, bring me a candle. It's too dark to see here."
Barristan pries off a red candle from the wall and holds it over the two of them, ignoring the heat from the melting wax. The chef, though still stunned and pale, move the bucket over to Eirin's feet before running out of the room. "He'll inform the guards, and they're going to be troublesome to deal with."
"Lock and block the door. Leave the candle."
Barristan complies and sticks the candle onto the bed-frame's whirling decorations. Closing the door and bringing down the beam, he realises that it will not be enough if the guards bring in a ram. So with great effort, he moves a nearby shelf and sofa to block the doorway. "Hopefully that'll hold," the Kingsguard pants.
"Barristan."
"Yes Lady Eirin."
"I need you to follow these instructions carefully. First, take out three small silver needles in my case. They have a piece of paper attached to them; hold it there and not on the metal."
"Yes!" Barristan takes them out of the healer's case. They look like a typical sewing needle, though far thinner than the ones he would see in Myrcella's quarters.
"Stick one into the King's stomach."
Barristan does so, still confused at what the items are used for. The piece of paper slowly changes its colour from white to green while the healer watches it intensely.
"Now stick it to the man on the floor and the man leaning on the bed."
As Barristan turns Balon Swann's body around, he sees that a large gash had been struck into the man's forehead. Protecting the King with his life, Lord Stark has done more in his few months as a Hand than I ever did as a Kingsguard... Sticking the needle to the now dead Lord Stark, Barristan can't help but feel a pang of guilt. If I had been quicker back at Flea Bottom, then all of this could have been-
"Barristan, what's the colour for the man on the floor?"
"Blue, Lady Eirin. Sky blue."
"And the one leaning on the bed?"
"Green."
"Like the one on your king?"
Barristan looks closer at the needle sticking out of Lord Stark's neck. "No, it's darker. Or bluer, I'm not sure, but it's green."
"Tch, I'll have to make do then. Barristan, strip him of his clothes and lay him on the bed. I'll start operating on him."
"Lord Stark is dead-"
"I know, but this not for the Stark." Eirin points at the King. "The wounds your king has are not just from the hunt, but also some fresh cuts and stabs from whatever skirmish happened here. He's barely breathing and not moving even when I'm operating without anaesthetics, and that's a bad sign. If you want your king to survive, then I must take some parts from that dead man."
He looks at the woman as if she had grown another head. Gone is the assurance that she's simply a well-practised healer or hedge wizard; she's a maegi. "Y-You're suggesting necromancy!?"
"No, but if you don't help then I may nee-"
*BANG BANG*
The two look towards the doorway. They can hear the shuffling of feet and an array of voices from behind the blockade. With another thud, the whole thing shakes from the force of whatever is ramming the door. "Shit, the guards!"
"Hurry Barristan!"
The Kingsguard hesitates. He had heard of tales of maegis and warlocks from the land called Qarth, the ones who desecrate the dead and cause ungodly horrors on the world. If the woman here is such a person, then there would be a hidden cost somewhere. All talks of necromancy always had a hidden cost, but he doesn't know anything about magic. She's his only chance at Robert's survival.
The third King...
Steeling his resolve, Barristan draws his dagger and cuts apart the Lord Stark's clothes. He's already a failure of a Kingsguard anyway, but he's adamant to at least keep this one alive during his service. Even if that means dabbling into something very detestable.