That night I had a strange dream—I saw knights and ordinary soldiers fighting, shouting, killing each other, and dying, trampling wilting flowers beneath their feet. Blood flowed across the ash-covered ground. Vague, indistinct silhouettes of wolves flashed by, and a fierce head with long hair appeared and disappeared. A dead warrior lay on the ground, a spider crawling from his mouth, and a kraken stretched its tentacles out of the water. All of it was flooded with the bright, blinding light of the merciless sun hanging directly overhead.
I saw myself from the side—thin and emaciated, in crumpled armor, walking across this field. My face was streaked with dirt, my eyes filled with pain and despair. I held the Wind of Change in my right hand, and blood dripped from my sword…
I woke up. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. A light breeze stirred the curtain, barely audible. Next to me, under a transparent blanket, Margery's naked body glowed dimly in the starlight streaming through the window.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, I slipped out of bed, sat at the table, poured water into a glass, took a few sips, and thought.
Does the dream mean something, or is it just a random associative fantasies with no significance? Yet, if one considers it, the plot is easy to discern: the fighting knights represent war and the current state of Westeros. The various animals and symbols reflect the great houses. Everything is clear with them—only who the long-haired head represents is still in question.
After sitting for a while, pondering everything, I decided that this dream was not meaningless, but a warning from the Seven. So, I must be more vigilant. Nothing has happened in the past month, and I confess I had allowed myself to relax.
***
I think we are all incredibly lucky…
That day, Margery and I walked in the park, accompanied by Tommen, Myrcella, Sansa, and Tyrion.
Even before Myrcella's arrival, Margaery had visited the city several times, attended by guards and attendants, and had even ventured into the Flea Bottom, trying to learn how the poor lived and how she could aid them. She recounted what she had seen and shared her thoughts with us—Margaery wished to purchase several nearby houses, tear them down, and build a shelter and hospital for the poor.
The idea seemed sound and even useful. Yet, sooner or later, dragons will fly here and reduce everything to ashes. Undertaking a large-scale construction project under such conditions was far from wise. Still, I liked her line of thinking, and did not hesitate to compliment my wife.
After the walk, Margaery invited Myrcella and Sansa to visit us. Tommen agreed, but Tyrion went about his business, citing a busy schedule.
"What can I get you?" Margaery followed the girls and sat down on a low couch.
Sansa tried not to look in my direction—her fear of King Joffrey was slow to fade.
"Oh, I brought several amphorae of wonderful wine from Dorne," Myrcella suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands and ordering her maid, Imelia, to fetch it.
"All right," Margaery nodded. "Let's drink our wine in the meantime. Pour us all some, Taena."
Taena Merryweather was another woman in my wife's retinue. Wherever she appeared, men followed her slender figure with admiring glances. This extraordinarily beautiful woman had large eyes, raven-wing hair, smooth olive skin, full lips, and long, slender legs. Tyrion once remarked that "every step she takes is a temptation," and he was undoubtedly right.
Taena was born in Myr and often proudly mentioned her many friends across the Free Cities.
Beyond a simple physiological interest, I eyed Merriweather for a practical reason—it would be useful if she began working for Harald Orm. On the other hand, my memory reminded me that she was not so simple—she seemed to be spying for both Cersei and Margaery simultaneously. Perhaps for others as well—it seemed to me more and more often that there were simply no people in the Red Keep who didn't report anything to anyone.
"Water for me," I said mechanically, and Margaery laughed—she already knew that although I enjoyed wine, I tried not to overindulge. My wife believed that my father's example had shaped this habit.
"I'd rather have water in this heat too," Tommen joined me.
Taena nodded and began pouring drinks into the cups.
I settled into my chair, but glanced briefly at the table and frowned. Perhaps if today's dream hadn't affected me, I wouldn't have noticed anything. But now, on guard, one detail struck me as odd.
"Wait," I quickly stood and stopped Tommen, who was about to take a sip. "Where did this jug come from, dear? Do you remember it?"
"I don't think so." Margaery approached the table, frowned, and became serious, then shook her head. "Joff, everything is fine. You're just being overly suspicious. That's all."
"No, it's not," I said, stopping my brother from drinking the water again. "I clearly remember that Ser Josib didn't taste this water."
"Joffrey, this is ridiculous! It's just water," Tommen added, siding with Margaery.
"No, seriously. Hey, Robert," I shouted, and a moment later, the steward's head appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Find Spicer and bring him here."
"Yes, Your Majesty." He disappeared, and I turned to the puzzled group.
"Let's just be patient and wait a little longer, okay?"
(End of Chapter)
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