Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 431 The Last Gift
The morning mist in King's Landing was sweet and rotten, like boiling medicine mixed with the stench of corpses. The Dragon's Cave was also dead silent, shining on the patients lying in all directions. Some of them were still groaning, while others were as quiet as stones.

The old Beile's white robe was stained with pus, blood and herbal residue. His skinny fingers were applying the last bit of mint ointment to the forehead of a little girl with a high fever. The old man, who was not too old, hummed an off-tune prayer, a strange melody he learned in the Far East. The girl's breathing gradually became steady, but his eyelids became heavier.

The fire whimpered. The gray-white giant moved its body, and its twelve tentacles moved on the stone floor, as if they had their own life. When the old man stumbled towards it, the dragon immediately wove a net with its tentacles and gently wrapped him.

"Old friend." Belle's voice was as light as a feather. "Let me rest for a while."

His head rested on the cool scales of the fire, his tentacles gently supporting the old man's body. In his last moments, he vaguely saw the flocks of butterflies he had seen in Sothoryos when he was young, those strange creatures with human faces on their wings, now dancing in the dawn light.

When Ringol Vareses woke up from his dream, Star Song's roar shook off the dust on the beams. As if knowing what happened, the Prime Minister ordered his bed to be moved to the side of the Fire. The Fire did not stop the Prime Minister from approaching, but looked at the old Prime Minister with some sadness.

The ugly dragon raised one of its tentacles, revealing Beile's peaceful face. The old man had a smile on his face, as if he was just asleep. Lingol raised his hand with some effort and brushed Beile's gray temples, where there was still a little mint cream, exuding a cool breath.

"He's gone." Ringol's voice sounded like it had been sandpapered.

Xingge exhaled a breath of fire behind him, and his crown-like dragon horns refracted the morning light into a rainbow of colors. Ringol suddenly punched the bed in anger.

"Coward!" he growled at the corpse. "You are free!"

The fire hissed in confusion. Ringol looked up and looked at the dragon, and found that the amber pupils were filled with sadness.

This was a rare moment of Lingol's gaffe.

Beile is Samantha's son, and Samantha is his closest sister. When Samantha got married, the young Ringol even did something stupid like wearing helmet and armor and standing outside his twin sister's door fiercely.

But now, her sister has passed away, her bloodline is gradually dying out, and now, her son is gone too.

The indescribable sadness made the old prime minister lose his composure, but it only lasted for a moment.

The old Baylor's departure did not take away the gloom.

The next day's dawn came with an especially heavy weight.

Baelor I's boots sank into the mud of the flea ditch, making uncomfortable noises. The king's robes had long lost their original color, stained with medicine, mud, and suspicious dark stains. He personally stuffed the medicine sachet into the hands of an old woman with a high fever. When the woman's skinny fingers grasped his wrist, he felt the weak but tenacious beating of her pulse.

"Your Majesty." Tears welled up in the old woman's cloudy eyes, "May the Virgin Mary have mercy on you."

"Mercy belongs to the Seven Gods, old mother." Baelor smiled and patted the back of her hand, "And bread and medicine are what your king should give. It is your king's responsibility."

Lord Brynden stood three steps away, his thin body wrapped in a black woolen cloak, his single eye scanning the crowd vigilantly. Since the outbreak of the Black Blood Fever, the intelligence chief has followed the king like a shadow, both to protect him and to forcibly drag this overly merciful monarch back to the Red Keep to rest when necessary. The no longer young Blood Raven has not had a good rest for a long time.

"We'll go back after we send out this batch." Beile said without turning his head, his voice full of tiredness and briskness, "The quarantine area over at the Mud Gate still needs--"

His speech suddenly stopped.

Brynden saw the king's body stiffen suddenly, and the hand that was dispensing the medicine sachets suddenly clenched the cloth on his chest. Baelor's lip trembled, and his violet eyes widened as if he had seen some terrible vision. "Your Majesty?"

The king did not answer. His knees slammed into the mud, and the medicine bag fell from his fingers. Brynden rushed forward and caught Baelor's body as he fell forward.

"Healer!" The roar of the blood crow startled the ravens on the nearby rooftops. "Damn it, call the maester!"

The poor people of Flea Bottom retreated in fear, some began to sob, and some came to check on the king like crazy. Baelor convulsed in Brynden's arms, bloody foam oozing from the corners of his mouth, his fingers tightly grasping the Marquis's cloak, as if it was the only lifeline.

"Hold on!" Brynden lifted the king up horizontally, his one eye flashing with fear and madness. "Your people still need their king!"

As he rushed towards the Red Castle with Beile in his arms, the scenes along the way were distorted like a dream. The golden robes pushed the crowd away in panic. A baker's wife knelt on the side of the road and kept drawing seven-pointed stars. Prostitutes leaned out their pale faces from the painted windows. Everyone was praying. A ragged little girl chased after him for more than ten steps, crying and shouting for their "good king not to leave."

On the steps of the Red Keep, Rhaegal Targaryen was arguing with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. When he saw this scene, the parchment in his hand fell to the ground.

"Prepare the Crow's Nest!" Brynden shouted at the stunned servants. "Send the ravens to learn immediately - no, to Dragon's Nest! Send Damion Vareses back!"

But it is already late.

The king's heart suddenly stopped beating due to fatigue and tremendous psychological pressure.

Even if Damion could arrive in time, it would be too late to save the situation.

When Maekar Targaryen burst open the door to his chambers, he was greeted by the strong scent of lavender and mint, the spices that the maesters used to try to mask the smell of death. His brother lay on the silk sheets, his face calm and almost peaceful, if it weren't for his pale face, he would have looked like he was asleep.

Reg stood at the foot of the bed, holding a blood-stained supply list tightly in his hands, his knuckles white from the effort. Maekar noticed that his boots were still stained with mud from King's Landing, and it was obvious that he had just returned from the chaos.

"Fly to Dragon's Nest immediately." Reg's voice was low and hoarse, as if he hadn't drunk water for a long time. "Take your sheep thief and leave now."

Maika stared at his brother's body for a long time, then suddenly grinned, "Go to hell, brother. I'm not a deserter." He pointed at himself, "I've been controlled by you for long enough."

There was a dangerous light in Reg's eyes: "This is the king's order."

"Then wait until you are crowned king." Meka turned and walked towards the door. Now no one could restrict his freedom.

The sound of the door closing startled the crows on the windowsill. Reg stood alone in the silence left by his brother, the parchment in his hand torn without knowing when.

He knew his brother's character very well.

In the end, everything turned into a long sigh.

In the faraway flea kennel, the old woman who received the last packet of medicine was distributing the medicine to the children next door who had lost their parents. She didn't know, and she wouldn't know, that this packet of medicine was the last gift from a king with his life.

(End of this chapter)