In the Red Keep…
Sansa Stark rushed throughout the Red Keep, lifting the front of her dress to avoid tripping over herself as her mother Catelyn and Shae moved to keep pace with the visibly distressed Queen of Winter. When Ser Olyvar Frey hurriedly informed her that her husband, King Daveth I Baratheon—who remained bedridden due to serious illness—had suddenly stopped breathing… all color drained from Sansa's face. Catelyn and Shae held Lyonel and Cassana in their arms as they moved to keep up with Sansa, all the while the twins were bawling their eyes out.
"*Waah! Waah!*"
'Please no,' Sansa panicked, feeling her heartbeat tick a bit faster.
Eventually they reached the bedroom to find dozens of septas and Grand Maester Pycelle tending to the unresponsive Daveth, with Tommen, Margaery, Myrcella, Trystane, Jaime and Barristan watching over him.
"Move! Gods have mercy; get us some more ice he's burning up!" Septa Rosyn shouted. "We need to bring His Grace's temperature down! And clear out his trachea of any harmful fluid so the King can start breathing again!"
One of the healers pushed Grand Maester Pycelle aside and repeatedly pressing up and down against Daveth's chest, trying to jumpstart his heart. "One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand… Come on, Your Grace, breathe!"
"Please be all right, brother," Myrcella's voice shook.
Trystane Martell placed a hand on Myrcella's shoulder, doing whatever he could to calm her down to ease her distress. Tommen felt helpless at the medical staff's attempts at resuscitating the motionless Daveth Baratheon, with Margaery exchanging an uncertain (yet curious) glance at Pycelle.
The room doors flung open and in came in a stumbling Queen Sansa Stark, her long auburn hair was messy with a few bangs hanging in front of her face. Catelyn and Shae were not too far behind her and entered into the room as well; Catelyn was equally surprised at the sudden state of affairs—piecing the pieces of the puzzles together when her eldest daughter informed her of her son-in-law's condition; one septa wore a pair sanitary gloves on both her hands and stuck two fingers down the King's throat, trying to clear out any residue.
"Daveth…" Sansa piped.
Pycelle looked at her. "Oh, uh… Your Grace, we-we're doing everything we can, but, as you can see… the King is not responding. Oh, but rest assured we—"
The Wolf Queen didn't listen and moved to the bedside, brushing right past him. "How is my husband? What's wrong with him?" she asked Septa Rosyn.
"He's got severe pneumonia, Your Grace," she answered while dabbing cold wet washcloths on the King's forehead, "but I've never seen an infection like this become so acute or aggressive."
"Can you do something for him?"
"We're doing everything we possibly can. It's only a matter of time before—"
"Before what?!"
Septa Rosyn shook her head dreadfully, not liking what she's about to say next. "Your husband… He isn't just ill, Your Grace. He's dying."
Sansa's eyes widened, her eyebrows sloped outwards and her mouth dropped in disbelief, shocked and horrified—her mind having a difficult time processing the information. Her hands slowly shook and her distress levels rose greatly.
"What…? No, no it can't be," Sansa's lip trembled quietly. Instead of giving into despair, the Wolf Queen furiously shook her head. "No, I-I won't let it happen! Tell me, Septa. What do I need to do?"
"*Waah! Waah!*"
Pycelle looked at her. "Ah, uh, your-your desire to help save the King is…. admirable, Your Grace, but if the sickness has grown more aggressive as the, uh, kind Septa believes… then-then I'm afraid there's nothing to be done."
That remarked angered Sansa. "I don't believe that, Grand Maester. And neither do you," she said firmly, all while struggling to control her emotions. Rolling up her sleeves, she stood tall. "I love my husband. What kind of wife would I be if I stood on the sidelines and do nothing for my family? I already lost my father years ago, but I won't let my son and daughter grow up without one. Do you hear me?"
Catelyn observed her daughter's tone. Now THAT was true love and devotion, even if the effort to save Daveth's life appeared to grow more strenuous as did the seeming impossibilities. After wiping her eyes dry, Sansa pleaded with Rosyn again.
"Tell me what needs to be done to save my husband's life, Septa, please…"
'So young,' the senior Septa thought. "There's a tourniquet on the counter there," she points in a single direction. "Tie it tightly around the King's left arm until you see a vein."
Taking a few quick breaths, Sansa immediately sprang into action. She walked over and grabbed a nearby tourniquet and began tying it around Daveth's left arm above the elbow, squeezing it until she noticed one small vein making itself visible. She tapped the area with her index and middle fingers lightly.
"Very good. Now, there's a needle to your left with antibiotics. Take a cotton ball and dip it in alcohol. Dab it onto and around the vein to prevent any last-second infection from occurring before sticking the injection in."
Dipping the cotton ball in a small vial of alcohol, Sansa dabbed the vein and the skin attentively. She was receiving her first instructions on properly applying medicine, but this wasn't the time to practice properly—this was a new experience for the Wolf Queen. Regardless, Sansa was on an emotional mission of her own. Once she finished wiping Daveth's arm, she cautiously picked up the needle and filled the vial with the antibiotics Septa Rosyn pointed out to. Tapping the needle, Sansa carefully pressed the tip onto Daveth's arm and pressed it into his skin as gently as possible before taking another small tourniquet to keep it in place.
'Daveth, my dearest one… don't you dare do this to me,' her thoughts raced. 'Don't leave us, not after everything we've been though.'
"All right, now let's get this into his system," Rosyn sighed exhausted.
Prince Tommen, having watched the whole ordeal take place in front of him, shook his head. "I want to help!" he blurted out. His mind raced back to a certain individual he encountered quite some time ago, wondering if they were still here.
Jaime looked at his 'nephew.' "You haven't had any—"
"I WON'T JUST SIT HERE AND WATCH MY BROTHER DIE!" he continued shouting. "I know someone who can help! She says she's seen this before, and can treat him!"
Before anyone can say anything, Tommen immediately ran out of the room and charged down the halls of the Red Keep as fast as his legs could carry him despite others calling out for him. The Young Cub ignored people, including those he unintentionally knocked over in the race to a certain apartment complex. His mind was primarily focused on Daveth, and the fear in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of losing his eldest brother.
'Please still be there, lady,' he huffed. 'Hold on, brother. Just hold on!'
Unbeknownst to young Tommen, Ariyana Dayne observed from behind a nearby pillar—without the attire of the Kingsguard. Still under investigation and confined to the Red Keep for judgment, she was closely observing the situation of events occurring within the city and out via three "little birds". Sighing in resignation, she turned to one of the boys.
"What news do you have?" she asks.
"One of the groups that we've been hearing a lot of about is a group calling themselves 'the R'hllor'," one piped up. "Lord Varys says they're a cult, religious fanatics; capturing and burning people alive if they don't convert to worship their God. The other…"
"What other?"
Another little bird spoke softly. "Sparrows, they're called. More religious fanatics. Led by an old man called 'the High Sparrow.' They somehow made their way into the city."
'Hmm. R'hllor and the Sparrows… neither of them would have dared set foot in the capital if Tywin Lannister was still around or if Daveth Baratheon was still up and around. Perhaps they think with the Oathkeeper indisposed, they could make their move…' she thought.
"Lady?" a third interrupted. "What about the sweets you promised us?"
Ariyana snapped back into reality. "Yes, of course," she reaches into her pockets and gives them candies. "Here you go. Now, return to the streets. Inform the Spider of everything that's going on. And… don't forget to tell the Queen."
Eagerly the little birds took their prize and ran off, leaving Ariyana alone with her thoughts once more. She glanced behind her at the door to the King's quarters before venturing to return to the White Sword Tower.
"I know that forgiveness has to be earned, not automatic," she hummed. "Soon. Very soon. We'll meet again."
Somewhere within the dream world…
Encompassing a region of plains, forests, hills and a large river stream, an individual was laying on the field of grass… sleeping soundly as the rays of the sun shined brightly on the landscape. Black of hair, blue of eyes… Daveth Baratheon's chest rose and fell, dreaming pleasantly. As birds chirped and butterflies flew, one insect landed on the tip of his nose. Twitching slightly, Daveth brushed his hand across his nose and grumbly opened his eyes.
« Mmmm. Uhhh…? » he grumbled.
Lifting himself up to stand on his own two feet, the Young Stag rubbed his eyes and took a moment to gather his thoughts before turning his head to take in his surroundings.
« Where in the world am I? » The more Daveth looked around, feeling as if the ground beneath him was nothing more than a mere illusion, the more uncertain he became. 'Strange… I don't remember being here before, but something about this place… is familiar,' he thought.
Moving his legs forward, the Young Stag trekked through the field trying to understand his surroundings. Although the scenario was new, considering the last time something like this happened it was more… darker, depressing and the moisture of the ground was thick like the aftermath of a terrible storm. Here, it was more… calm. Serene, tranquil. Tall strands of dried wheat brushed past his fingertips.
Daveth continued examining his surroundings before ultimately arriving at a large lake. Glancing towards it he noticed two individuals sitting on a large fallen log near dozens of cherry blossom trees around a makeshift campfire—despite it being an apparent sunny day, smoke rose from the pit and the sound of conversations and laughter soon reached his ears.
[Chorus]
–Persecution of the masses [1]
–Sacred blessings count for nothing
Out of curiosity, the Young Stag cautiously made his way over—still uncertain as what to make of it all. The closer he got, he noticed both of them had lay down onto the ground two sets of opposing banners entailing their respective houses: a crowned black stag on a gold field, and a grey direwolf on a white field. Recognizing the sigil, Daveth slowly picked up the pace and made his approach. As he got closer, he could hear more of their conversations.
"Beh, it's been a long time since being in the afterlife, Ned. But I still remember every face," one said, his tone of voice was deep and rough.
"We had our moment a long time ago, Robert. Now it's up to the younger generation to carry on the task," replied the other.
Daveth stopped and blinked. He recognized those two voices. Robert? That was his father's name! Though the moment Daveth took another step forward, the sound of a twig snapping in two grabbed their attention. Turning their heads sideways, the Young Stag shook his head in disbelief and rubbed his eyes to be absolutely certain at the sight. He couldn't believe who he saw.
Once again, Daveth shared another encounter with not just one but two apparitions: Robert Baratheon, still an obese red-faced man with dark circles under his eyes and a wild, thick, fierce black beard with several strands of grey; Eddard Stark, still donned on a Northmen leather lamellar, long face and long brown hair with a closely-trimmed beard with strands of grey.
"Well, well! Look who just shows up out of nowhere!" Robert's ghost bellowed.
Eddard's spirit furrowed his brow in surprise. "Daveth?"
« Father… Lord Stark. »
"What are you doing here?" Eddard asked. "We thought you'd still be in King's Landing."
"Bah! What does it matter anyway, Ned? He's here now. Boy! Sit with us."
Confused, Daveth surprisingly moved to sit himself down onto the log. « I don't understand. What is this place? »
"What don't you understand? We're dead, you're here. That's it."
"I think what Robert is trying to say, Daveth, is that we've been watching you for quite some time. Here, a netherworld between life and death. Some tend to loiter around this particular location so the loved ones we left behind are never alone. That they'll always know we're always with them."
« You make it sound so… philosophical; spiritual, even. »
–Oh God
–Give us your protection
Eddard chuckled. "When you put it that way, I suppose it does."
« A lot has changed in the years since the two of you left the world. Most events… have been rather unpleasant. »
"I don't deny it. We know about the Iron Islands, about the Trial by Seven."
Daveth felt his throat tighten. « Then you know why…? »
"Pfff! I was right in the end, you know!" Robert belched, wiping his mouth after guzzling down a jug of wine. "You'll have it worse than I did… but at least you gave it everything you had, boy."
« I'm no longer a child, father. I'm almost 21. »
"I know. Want to know how I know? 'Cause of those scars," he pointed to Daveth's face. "Blackwater Bay, Moat Cailin, the Iron Islands, the Trial by Seven… Sounds like you've been through hell and back. Gods, I wish I could have seen it!"
"Come now, Robert. Even in the afterlife you still torment your own son," Eddard scolded.
"Ehhh, what he needs is a good chug of wine to clear his head," Robert handed Daveth a flask. "Drink. It'll make you feel good."
Daveth glanced down at the flask offered to him. Deep down, a part of him hated being reminded of his father's constant drinking; but at the same time, the Young Stag was still somewhat hesitant as to whether or not to actually partake in it—uncertain as to whether or not any of this was actually real.
The Young Stag went for broke, snatching the flask out of Robert's hand and taking a huge swill. The wine was a bit potent than expected, causing Daveth to begin coughing and choking on the fluids as it slid down his throat.
« *cough, cough!* *cough, cough!* »
Robert laughed. "Hahahaha! Finally, the boy's taken the plunge!"
Daveth wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. « *cough!* I hate you so much! »
"You drank it too fast," Eddard pointed out. "Try to pace yourself next time."
Shaking his head, Daveth glanced at his reflection in the lake. A cool breeze blew past them all.
"This is the Pool of Reflection," he explained. "It's a tool we use to glimpse into the real world, like a window. Only a few can be opened from this side; but only a few. Not all the resources here open a path of observation to the world we know."
« If not anywhere in Westeros, then…? »
"Places… in between, like this one. It's difficult to describe. One cannot remain looking through a Pool of Reflection forever. Look closely."
As the Young Stag observed closely, Eddard Stark tapped the 'lake' – causing several ripples on the surface; small cloud-like fogs quickly formed around them which generated familiar glimpses into the world.
–Let no blame lie at the innocents
–Who have prayed
« You… use this as a way to see us? » Daveth asked.
Robert nodded. "Still not sure about it myself; Seven hells, it makes my head spin. But yes, it's how we see you."
Daveth narrowed his eyes. He could see Riverrun, the Eyrie, Casterly Rock, Winterfell, Sunspear… and King's Landing. The thought of seeing his own home like this, in this apparent dreamlike world still hadn't settled in yet. He was slightly unsettled.
"Tell us about the children," said Eddard.
The Young Stag flinched. 'Lyonel, Cassana… Sansa,' « They… are a delight, father-in-law. Quite a handful, but still; I only regret that the both of you were not there with us to see them being born. »
"Eh, you sound surprised by that," even Robert was surprised.
« …More than you know, father. Sansa says our son looks a great deal like me. Only time will tell if that statement proves to be true. As for Cassana, she… she looks just like her mother. She'll be a great beauty someday. You would've been fond of them. » the Young Stag replied quietly, almost a whisper.
At the mere mention of his own family, Daveth grew quiet, withdrawn. Perhaps it was the thought of not being them at all or the fear of the unknown of what event might be bestowed upon them (just or unjust) without him present. Nothing made sense to him—being in the afterlife with his late father and father-in-law like this. Who's to say what is true and what isn't? If this was a dream, then it would be so. But if not… then Daveth felt he was breaking a solemn promise he swore to Eddard Stark years ago.
« Tell me, » he spoke up, « am I… dead? »
Both Robert and Eddard's spirits looked upon each other; none of them said anything before Eddard finally interjected.
"I'm afraid so, Daveth. I'm sorry if it's something you don't wish to hear," he said reluctantly.
Daveth sighed sadly. « An honest answer, Lord Stark, if not a reassuring one… »
–If your high praise is all we have
–Let us not be without you
…TO BE CONTINUED…
Chapter End
Author's Note: Another chapter ending in a cliffhanger as the stage is set for Part 2, just as you've seen in a few chapters prior to this one. So rest assured the other half will continue as planned. Sansa Stark is understandably upset, but she's not sitting on the sidelines as a bystander and is actively jumping into the fray in the attempt to save Daveth's life. Tommen, meanwhile, has wandered off to find someone he claims can help. Care to guess who that might be? As for Ariyana Dayne, meanwhile, she's obviously been keeping herself occupied with the Lord of Light zealots sprouting around as well as these Sparrows who've suddenly made their presence known in King's Landing.
How do you guys think this'll all turn out once word reaches the Red Keep? Thoughts? Let me know.
On a side note, I'd like to point out that as you can see the issue such as religion or beliefs regarding an afterlife and what it entails are normally not my field of expertise. Not something I'm used to. So sorry, apologies if I offend someone!
[1] "Persecution of the Masses" — composed by Shiro Sagisu
Silent Wolf Singer: No, bring him back.
BRING DAVETH BACK!
C.E.W: This is not good, Daveth being dead and now the Religious factions taking advantage of it to cause chaos. I can only hope Tommen knows what he's doing, and I hope he doesn't get caught by other factions before he reaches the lady. Ser Jaime might've gone after him, or maybe Frey or the Sand Snakes to make sure he's fine.
mitchn: Well this... complicates things. Do you think the Stannis could have told the High Sparrow that Tommen and Myrcella are born of incest in order to have the authority to arrest Jamie to further sow chaos? That would give him the opening to distract the kingdom so he and Melisandre can carry out their religious activities uninterrupted.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
Hear My Fury: Oh, the Tyrells better stay away. They just need to go back to Highgarden. They'll cause nothing but trouble down the road if this reaches them.