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Chapter 189
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:45:58 +0000 UTC"Ed won’t let you into Robert’s room anymore?" Renly paced back and forth, restless, before stopping abruptly. He lowered his voice and asked, "You’ve been by my brother’s bedside day and night. What exactly is wrong with him?"
"I don’t know... I don’t know..." Margaery shook her head in confusion, looking as if she were on the verge of tears. "His Grace was resting and recovering just fine, but for some reason, he keeps getting weaker and weaker. These past two days, he’s even started muttering things like ‘I’m beyond saving’ and ‘I’m going to die’... No matter how much anyone tries to convince him otherwise, it’s no use."
For half a month, she had attended to Robert with tireless care, only to watch him deteriorate before her very eyes. It felt like descending step by step from heaven into hell. Now utterly drained, her once radiant eyes, capable of being soft and gentle or sharp and cunning, had lost all their luster. A cursed voice seemed to echo in her mind: You will never, ever, ever marry the man you want.
Shaking her head to dispel the phantom voice, she still couldn’t make sense of it. "It’s just a stab wound to the back, isn’t it? He’s such a strong man, and he didn’t die at the time... With so many healers and maesters around, how could they not save him?"
Renly saw the lost look in Margaery’s eyes and realized there was no point in asking further. She didn’t know the answer any more than he did. Letting the matter drop, he resumed pacing the room. In truth, he didn’t need her to answer; he just needed someone to vent his growing anxiety to.
Having lost both parents at a young age, Renly had been practically raised by his older brothers, Robert and Stannis. He knew them both inside and out, from their tempers to their personalities. He hadn’t overheard a word of what Robert had said to Eddard Stark, but he could guess well enough.
If he did nothing now, he would spend the rest of his life under the rule of his rigid, joyless older brother. The Baratheon family would split into two branches—King’s Landing and Storm’s End—and his descendants would be forever barred from the Iron Throne.
He couldn’t accept that.
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"Robert just finished giving his final orders and sealing his will." Renly glanced out the window at the lit Tower of the Hand before turning back to the despondent Margaery Tyrell. He knew he couldn’t rely on anyone else to make this decision for him. Clenching his jaw, he took a decisive step forward. "Do you know what our Hand of the King is doing right now? I’d bet my life he’s writing a letter to Stannis, urging him to return to King’s Landing and claim the throne. And my dear older brother already has a wife! Do you still want to be queen?"
"Do I still want to be queen?" Margaery raised her head as if waking from a dream, her face a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. "With Stannis’ character, there’s no way he’d set his wife aside to marry me."
"Of course not," Renly sneered. "Even if something happened to her, Stannis would never consider you. Remember how the Tyrell army laid siege to Storm’s End, nearly starving him and his men into cannibalism? He’s never forgotten, and he’d never forgive. If he takes the Iron Throne, the Tyrells can forget about rising to power for a generation, or even a century."
"So what you’re saying is... he can’t be allowed to sit on the Iron Throne?" Margaery’s eyes snapped into focus as she caught the underlying message in Renly’s words. Her body tensed as she fixed her gaze on him. "But... the City Watch is under Eddard Stark’s control!"
"The City Watch is only two thousand men. What difference does that make?" Renly’s voice trembled, a mix of nervousness and determination, but there was a note of scorn as well. "The armies of the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands are all fighting in the Westerlands. My army only began marching west two days ago; they’re less than a hundred miles from King’s Landing. If I bring them here, and the Reach sends reinforcements, what can two, even five thousand men do?"
"This..." Margaery hesitated, her back tingling with unease. An armed coup? Though she had always schemed to elevate her family’s power, she had never considered such a violent, dangerous approach. This was far beyond the teachings of her grandmother.
"I’ll write to my bannermen," Renly continued, his breath quickening as he glanced at the door and window. Turning back to Margaery, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you—write to your family. Have Loras bring men here as soon as possible."
"Even if you take King’s Landing, how will you deal with the Crownland and Northern armies when they return?"
"Do you think I’ve spent all these years in King’s Landing doing nothing but drinking and whoring?" Renly snapped, his excitement making him look almost wild. "The Crownland lords are all my friends. They might obey Eddard Stark’s orders to march south, but on the way, they’ll encounter all sorts of ‘delays’ and ‘mishaps.’ By the time they arrive, I’ll already be sitting on the Iron Throne, and they’ll swear loyalty to me without hesitation. As for the Northern houses... I can’t explain everything to you, but trust me, they won’t be able to return in time."
Margaery’s sharp mind quickly pieced together the implications. Narrowing her eyes, she studied Renly’s face, now contorted with determination. "You... you’ve made some sort of deal with the Lannisters, haven’t you?"
"Don’t be ridiculous!" Renly shot back, gripping her arm hard enough to make her wince. "I’ve promised the Lannisters nothing! If Tywin thinks otherwise, that’s his delusion!" He softened his tone slightly, though his words remained fervent. "Loras already pledged his support. You’ll be queen, and the Tyrells will get everything they’ve ever wanted. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New!"
The word queen shattered Margaery’s last reserves of hesitation. Since leaving the Reach, she had been met with setback after setback. Just when she thought she’d finally secured her place, Robert’s sudden decline had dashed her hopes. Now, faced with despair and uncertainty, Renly’s bold plan felt like a lifeline.
Trembling, she clutched at it. If the gods wouldn’t make her queen, she would take the throne herself.
Regaining her composure, she immediately addressed the practicalities. "But the ravens in King’s Landing are under Eddard Stark’s control. How will you send messages?"
"I’ll ride to Rosby and use their ravens," Renly said, excitement flashing in his eyes as he saw her agreement. "We leave at dawn, as soon as the gates open. I promise, the Rosbys won’t just let me use their ravens—they’ll escort me west to rejoin my army. They might even deploy their forces within the city to help me take it more easily."
"And what about me?"
"You’ll return to the Reach. The armies currently fighting in the Westerlands are too far to recall, but the Reach’s vast resources and population should allow you to raise an additional thirty to fifty thousand troops quickly. With their help, we’ll solidify our hold."
Pausing, he released her arm and smiled grimly. "Once I have King’s Landing—perhaps even Eddard Stark himself—I can force him to amend Robert’s will and name me as the legitimate heir."
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