Robert was already irritated by his illness, and Wright's letter only brought more bad news. He waved his hand, dismissing the maester, leaving only Andrew and Varys in the chamber.
After much persuasion, Andrew finally got Robert to open up and explain what had happened all those years ago. Robert had kept this secret buried in his heart for so long that it had weighed on him. Now, after finally speaking about it, he felt somewhat relieved.
"The rumors back then were actually true!" Andrew recalled how, when Cersei was still queen, there had been gossip throughout King's Landing about her indiscretions.
Varys added, "Rumors and facts always have some similarities! The mystery of the missing Kingsguard from back then has finally been solved."
Fully dressed, Robert threw the letter to Varys, his tone harsh. "My Lord Spymaster, don't tell me you knew nothing about this!"
Varys was slightly startled. This was not the right time to provoke Robert. Carefully, he unfolded the letter and read it. When he finished, he turned to Andrew. "Lord Wright has personally seen Seran Farman—meaning Myrcella?"
"Seran Farman is now the lawful wife of Robb Stark of the North. They arrived in Tyrosh together. I saw Myrcella when she was a child. If she really is Myrcella, she may have changed as she grew, but there are still clear resemblances to Cersei." Andrew himself was a witness of sorts.
Robert grew angrier the more he thought about it. "Three children born of incest—I chose not to see them, so they wouldn't trouble me. But what truly enrages me is that Tywin deceived me! He tricked us brothers with four impostors! I want Tywin dead!"
"That's not a good idea! Unless His Grace plans to publicly reveal the truth, there's no legitimate reason to move against Tywin," Varys advised sincerely.
Robert wasn't so easily diverted this time and pressed on, "You still haven't answered my question, Varys! Did you know they were alive?"
Varys looked aggrieved. "Your Grace, my intelligence network in the Westerlands consists of only a few informants. Lord Tywin is extremely meticulous when handling such secret matters. My informants had no way of uncovering it, and I received no information. However, just yesterday, I learned that Cersei and Joffrey were seen at the Lannister manor in King's Landing."
"Is that true? They have some nerve, daring to return to King's Landing!" Andrew marveled at their audacity.
"I'll have that whore hanged!" Robert bellowed, his fury over Cersei rekindled.
Andrew wasn't much of a strategist when it came to grand schemes, but when it came to cunning tricks, he was quite adept. A thought occurred to him, and he tugged at Robert's sleeve. "Cousin! I have an idea on how to deal with Cersei."
Robert narrowed his eyes. "Oh? You have a way to kill that whore without making the truth public?"
Andrew grinned. "Heh! If we can't expose the king's scandal, then we won't mention it at all. Didn't Lord Tywin claim, years ago, that Queen Cersei and her three children were dead? Not just you, but the entire nobility of Westeros believes it. Their ashes were even buried in the family crypt. We just need to follow Tywin's narrative."
Robert frowned. "Follow Tywin's narrative?"
Andrew elaborated, "Cersei and Joffrey have been dead for nearly eight years. The two people in King's Landing must be impostors! They took advantage of your absence and the absence of key officials to pretend they were the late queen and prince, trying to swindle people. Cousin, you can simply have the Gold Cloaks arrest them. Kill them both as frauds. I'd like to see what excuse Tywin could possibly use to save them."
"Will that work?" Robert turned to Varys. In court affairs, he trusted Varys' judgment more.
Varys pondered for a moment. "The entire realm knows that Lord Tywin personally recovered Cersei and her three children's bodies, displayed them at Lannisport, and burned them in front of many nobles before burying their ashes. The dead do not return to life—not even the most powerful mage can truly resurrect someone. What power does Lord Tywin have to declare them alive? Therefore, the only possible identity for the two people in King's Landing is frauds. Your Grace, it would be wise to find a few nobles who were swindled out of money to serve as witnesses."
"I know a few nobles who lost a fortune. I can arrange something," Andrew offered, implying he could fabricate witnesses if needed. But Robert completely missed the hint. "There's no need for witnesses! Impersonating a dead queen and prince in King's Landing is enough of a crime. Killing them would earn me the praise of the Seven!"
With that, Robert ordered Varys to draft the royal decree while he searched for the king's seal.
Andrew then remembered Wright's plea for Seran. "Cousin, Seran and Tommen weren't in King's Landing. Dealing with them is trickier."
Robert had always had a soft spot for children. Back when everything happened, the two of them had still been young, and he held no particular hatred toward them. If he could have them killed along with the others, fine. If not, he wouldn't bother. "They are now members of House Farman of Fair Isle. As long as they stay out of my sight, I will pretend they don't exist. Varys, only write down Cersei and Joffrey's names."
"As you command."
A royal decree, signed by the king, was sent from Highgarden to King's Landing via raven. The officials did not keep it secret, and news spread quickly through Highgarden: impostors had appeared, King Robert was furious, and he had sworn to have them hanged at the gates of the Red Keep for all to see.
The nobles were also furious—of all identities they could have assumed, these two had to impersonate the deceased queen and prince! The higher their supposed status, the more they could swindle. Did they really think that just because the king was away from King's Landing, he wouldn't take action? Many nobles gathered around Robert to console him, while he himself wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
Andrew no longer paid attention to the two impostors. Over the past few days in Highgarden, he had been secretly investigating the cause of Robert's illness. He had no medical expertise, but seeing Robert's body covered in red spots and festering sores, he knew this was no minor ailment.
Days of investigation yielded nothing. The servants responsible for tasting the king's food were alive and well, their skin unblemished, just like normal people. That meant the source of the disease was highly suspicious—perhaps there was a conspiracy to murder the king.
Robert was not only the king but also Andrew's cousin. Determined to uncover the truth, Andrew took Varys with him one afternoon and went to Grand Maester Pycelle's quarters.
The door to the maester's chambers was unlocked. Andrew knocked twice before pushing it open and stepping inside.
"Grand Maester Pycelle, mixing medicines again? You certainly keep yourself busy as both a maester and a healer."
"Lord Andrew, Lord Varys—what brings you here?"
Varys maintained his ever-present smile. "We've come specifically to see you. His Grace's illness is quite unusual, and we need to understand exactly what he's suffering from."
"Well…" Pycelle hesitated.
Andrew glanced at the many bottles and jars on the table, casually picking one up. "The Grand Maester who serves the king—are you really going to conceal even the nature of his illness?"
Afraid Andrew might spill the contents, Pycelle quickly grabbed his hand. "The king's illness is difficult to speak of."
Andrew set the bottle down, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and started jiggling his leg as he stared Pycelle down. "I've already sent word to Tyrosh. Lords Wright and Renly will likely arrive in Highgarden on dragonback by tomorrow! If you won't talk today, you can explain everything to them tomorrow."
"It's nearly dinnertime. I know a place in Highgarden with excellent food. Andrew, you're our guest—I'll treat you tonight," Varys said, already preparing to leave.
Pycelle wrestled with his thoughts. The four Baratheon brothers—reckless, stubborn, inflexible, and downright fearless—were all involved!
Robert and Stannis were well-known figures. Renly, though typically reasonable, was impossible to dissuade once he set his mind to something. And Wright… he was a butcher who killed without a second thought. Anyone who opposed him could expect their entire household to be slaughtered.
If Wright had been there, he would have loudly protested his innocence. He was the most reasonable of them all, always preferring diplomacy over violence. But whenever he did resort to violence, the casualties tended to be excessive. Over time, his reputation had become warped.
Pycelle quickly made up his mind—he wanted no part in dealing with the Baratheon twins. "Wait! Close the door. I'll tell you—but you must promise not to speak of this to anyone!"
Andrew and Varys nodded and took seats beside the Grand Maester. They exchanged a glance. Both were masters of intelligence and deception—keeping secrets was hardly in their nature. It was just a matter of finding the right justification to reveal the truth.
"The king has the pox," Pycelle whispered.
"What kind of pox?" Andrew asked. Then, as a thought struck him, he made a circle with his left hand and thrust his right index finger in and out of it. With a questioning look, he turned to the maester. "That kind of disease?"
Varys, though an expert in espionage and subterfuge, was a eunuch and not well-versed in such matters. He mirrored Andrew's look of curiosity as he turned to the Grand Maester.
Pycelle nodded. "His Grace has been with too many women. One of them must have passed it to him."
"Will it kill him?" Varys asked with concern.
Pycelle flipped open a small notebook filled with notes on Robert's condition. "This disease was first documented in the Nine Free Cities. They say it originated in faraway Asshai. In Westeros, King Aegon IV and his great-grandson Daeron Targaryen both died from it."
Andrew kicked the table leg. "Seven hells, he's really going to die!"
"Calm down, I'm not finished," Pycelle said, speaking slowly as if savoring his own importance. "Records from the Red Keep show that more than just those two contracted the disease. Some succumbed to it, while others lived longer than average lifespans. There is no cure, only treatments to ease the pain and slow the disease's progression. How long the king lives is up to fate."
"Does the king know about his condition? Or have you kept it from him?" Varys pressed.
"I wouldn't dare tell him. I am old, and every day I can delay is a day I survive. If the king learns of his illness, we will all suffer the consequences," Pycelle said, lowering his head in feigned repentance.
Andrew, staring at the notes in Pycelle's book, became increasingly agitated. "There's a conspiracy behind this! According to your notes, symptoms don't appear immediately—there's a period where the infected person looks completely normal. That means Robert wasn't infected recently, but much earlier, either in the Stormlands or in King's Landing!"
"The same conclusion." Pycelle only wanted to serve as a maester in peace, leaving everything behind when he grew old.
Varys said, "This disease is contagious, which means it's not just Robert— the queen is at risk as well!"
Andrew kicked Pycelle in the chest. "Do you realize that hiding the king's illness is a crime punishable by death? I might as well take your maester's chain and confess my crime to the king myself! Varys, we need to see His Grace. If we want to investigate the women around him, we need his permission."
"I didn't want this to happen! I just didn't want to cause a scandal—how was I supposed to know there was a conspiracy behind it?" Pycelle clutched his chest, wailing on the ground.
Seeing that the old man still held on to his chain, Andrew strode forward, yanked it off his neck, and walked out with Varys. "Guards! Take Pycelle with us!"
Andrew and Varys both feared the worst. Someone had targeted Robert, using an infected woman to bed him, hoping to kill both the king and queen. The culprit could be someone from King's Landing, the Stormlands, or even the Reach—many nobles had been eager to send their daughters to Robert, as if they knew of his condition.
Inside the king's chambers, Pycelle collapsed on the floor, sobbing and begging for Robert's mercy, promising to return to the Citadel willingly.
"If the disease is detected early, can it be cured?" Robert asked, looking down at the maester clinging to his leg.
"There is no cure," Pycelle admitted, shaking his head.
Robert's expression darkened. "If caught early, can it at least be prevented from spreading to other women?"
Pycelle opened his mouth but could not speak.
"You served two kings with diligence, yet now, for the sake of your own status and a peaceful old age, you hid my illness. Not even the Citadel will protect you now. Barristan, take him to the dungeons!"
Robert was truly furious. He had barely finished dealing with one scandal, and now he was struck with news that his own life depended on fate. If he weren't so fat and lacking a weapon earlier, he might have beaten Pycelle to death on the spot.
News of the king's affliction spread through Highgarden, though none knew its exact nature. That evening, Robert ordered the maesters and handmaidens to examine all the women he had slept with, along with the guards who had physically assisted him while he was drunk.
A reception hall in Highgarden was commandeered for this purpose. Few were present—only members of the Small Council, Andrew, and the Kingsguard waited for the results.
There was one piece of good news: Queen Doris Rowan had not been infected. Due to her ongoing conflicts with Robert, they had not shared a bed in a long time.
But five girls from House Bracken were diagnosed with the same disease. The maesters determined that the rashes on their bodies had appeared after Robert's own symptoms, meaning he had infected them, not the other way around.
Though relieved that they were not suspected of plotting against the king, the five sisters were devastated by their diagnosis. They clung to each other, sobbing in a corner, while Robert, too preoccupied, had no time to console them.
The attention of everyone in the hall was drawn to one woman.
"Strip her clothes off!" Robert roared, pointing at her. He didn't care that the Kingsguard and other men were present—he ordered the maids to act at once.
The weather had grown cold, and most in Highgarden had switched to long sleeves. Between clothing and cosmetics, a woman's condition could be well concealed.
"There's no need. I'll do it myself."
Daenerys Targaryen lifted her silver-gold hair, tying it atop her head. Then, she unfastened the clasps at the collar of her luxurious robe.
One. Two.
The men in the room felt no desire as her skin was revealed—because through the opening in her robe, they could see the red rashes covering her chest, the same as Robert's.
Daenerys smirked. Though she was much shorter than Robert, she tilted her head up, looking down at him as if she towered over him.
She let her robe fall to the floor, then removed her trousers. Now completely bare, she raised her arms, exposing every inch of herself to the gathered nobles.
"Your Grace, do you find my body pleasing?"
Her entire figure was covered in red blotches. Everyone present immediately understood that her condition was even worse than Robert's.
"I'll kill you!"
This time, Robert had his Valyrian steel warhammer, Discord, in hand. He swung, intending to crush Daenerys's skull, but was stopped by several Kingsguard.
"Your Grace, ask questions first—kill her later!" Lord Mace Tyrell urged.
"I never wronged you! Why did you plot to murder me?!" Robert bellowed, struggling against the arms restraining him.
Daenerys sneered. "The Targaryens are the rightful rulers. And you—what right do you have to be king?"
"DON'T TRY TO PROVOKE THE KING! You want to die, but I won't let you. I have plenty of ways to make you suffer!" Barristan saw through her intentions—he wanted to know the truth but also keep Daenerys alive. "Your Grace, if you kill her now, you'll never find out anything!"
Daenerys ignored him and continued speaking to Robert. "Did you really think I slept with you because I wanted to?"
"I thought you were just a whore, a decent-looking one at least!" Robert spat venomously.
Daenerys sneered. "I only said I had magic in my blood and could withstand fire, and that was enough for you to crawl into my bed, desperate to sire a child. Robert, have you always been this shameless?"
"I've never forced a woman in my life! They've always come to me willingly, or I paid for their company in taverns. I have no regrets!" Robert's voice was firm, and many present had accompanied him on such escapades—they knew he spoke the truth.
Seeing their disbelief, Daenerys pressed on. "Robert, I couldn't have contracted this disease alone. Someone helped me."
"WHO?!"
She laughed, her makeup smudged by sweat, revealing more of the red blotches on her face. There was nothing left of her once delicate beauty—only something eerie remained. She glanced around at the gathered lords. "You're all high lords of the realm, yet you can't figure it out?"
"Tywin?" Mace was the first to speak.
"The Hand of the King? The Queen is unscathed—Rowan might be the culprit!" Andrew analyzed.
"Don't drag me into this!" Mathis Rowan protested. "I'm standing right here!"
"A bunch of fools!" Daenerys scorned. Still naked, she gestured at the red blotches covering her body. "If I pass this disease to Robert, he might die. The Queen might die. Robert will never have an heir! The throne will naturally pass to his brother!"
"Stannis? He's never been one for schemes," Andrew muttered. He had spent years around his cousin and knew Stannis's mind was too preoccupied with gambling to concoct such a plot.
Daenerys stepped closer to Robert. "It was Wright Baratheon."
"What?!"
"Impossible!"
"The man I love most is Wright! We fell in love in Meereen. I bore his child in secret. Even when you, Robert, were crushing me beneath you, I only thought of Wright!"
She traced a scar on her lower abdomen, just below her navel. The gathered lords finally noticed it—a telltale mark of a mother who had undergone a crude cesarean section without proper magical healing.
Daenerys continued, her voice filled with conviction. "I have a lover. I have a child. And yet, Robert, you had me locked away in the Red Keep, tearing us apart! Was it an accident? No. Wright wants to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. To help him achieve his dream, I am willing to give up my life. It doesn't matter—our child will take the throne one day. I have no regrets!"