Chapter 103 Death of The Hand

Early the next morning, Jon Arryn woke up with a discomfort so intense that it almost suffocated him. His head throbbed with dizziness, as if an invisible mountain were pressing down on it, and his body ached as if struck by a heavy hammer. Every muscle felt sore and weak, leaving him nearly immobile.

Despite this, Jon knew there were many urgent matters to address, especially the envoys to the Stepped Stone Islands that still had not been arranged. He gritted his teeth, determined to push through the pain. With great effort, he forced his weary body to stand.

He took a few trembling steps out of his room, but then, without warning, a wave of dizziness hit him like a tsunami. His vision blurred, the world spun wildly, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed helplessly onto the cold floor.

A servant, witnessing the sudden collapse, rushed over in panic. His voice trembled with concern as he asked, "Sir, are you alright?"

Jon Arryn's face was as pale as paper, sweat rolling down his forehead. With great effort, he waved his hand weakly and gasped for breath. "It's... it's nothing. I just didn't rest well last night..."

The servant helped him up, steadying Jon Arryn as he stumbled back to his room. He looked like a candle flickering in the wind. Just as they neared the door, Lysa Tully hurried in upon hearing the commotion. Her face was painted with concern, her eyes wide with worry.

She rushed forward, gripping Jon Arryn's hand with trembling fingers, her voice breaking slightly. "My dear, what's wrong with you?"

Jon Arryn's eyes were glazed, his voice faint as he tried to explain. "I don't know... I woke up and everything was spinning. My body feels... so weak."

Lysa's eyes narrowed, and her voice hardened with urgency as she turned to the servant. "What are you waiting for? Go and fetch Grand Maester Pycelle!"

The servant, clearly frightened, quickly bowed and rushed out of the room. "At once, my lady."

Lysa, her face still full of anxiety, ordered for warm water to be brought. She gently wiped Jon Arryn's forehead, her movements slow and careful, as if handling a delicate treasure. However, beneath the surface of her concern, a subtle glint of excitement and satisfaction flickered in her eyes, unnoticed by Jon.

In Maegor's Tower, Cersei Lannister was furious. Her face was flushed with rage, her eyes burning with fiery intensity as she confronted Petyr Baelish.

"Why isn't that old fool dead yet? If he's still alive, we won't get anything from the Lannisters!" she seethed, her voice thick with frustration.

Petyr bowed slightly, his expression as calm as ever. "Your Majesty, please calm yourself. A direct assassination—dagger or poison—would be too risky. If it's exposed, we'll face the consequences. But now, his life is in your hands. He's sick, isn't he? If he falls ill, he'll naturally take medicine. We can do this without him noticing. Let him die slowly, without raising suspicion."

Cersei's expression softened slightly, the corners of her mouth loosening into a small, smug smile. She turned toward the window, her thoughts beginning to settle. Behind her, Petyr's voice was a quiet reassurance. "Your Majesty, everything is under your control."

She stopped, her eyes narrowing, turning to face him sharply. "Do you think it's wise to let Jon Arryn linger and die slowly for a few more days?"

Petyr lowered his head, his voice respectful and humble. "It's entirely up to you, my Queen. When you decide, he will go to the Seven Gods."

He stood silently, like a submissive servant, waiting for her next command. Cersei's sharp eyes glinted with cold calculation as she considered her next move.

In the following days, Jon Arryn's condition deteriorated rapidly. He lay in bed, his face as yellow as the dying autumn leaves, his body withered and frail. The commanding presence he once had was nowhere to be seen. He was a shadow of the powerful man he had been.

Jon would occasionally wake from his unconscious state, calling out weakly, demanding to speak with Robert. "Send for Robert... I need him now!" he would cry, his voice hoarse and desperate.

Lysa would respond calmly from the sidelines. "The King is hunting in the Kingswood. His men are searching for him, but we don't know when he will return."

The hours stretched on, slow and torturous. Jon's breathing became weaker, as fragile as a candle flame flickering in the wind, threatening to be extinguished at any moment.

Finally, on a gloomy, oppressive day, Jon Arryn's life came to an end. With his final breath, he shouted hoarsely, "Strong caste!" Then, his eyes closed, and the room fell into an eerie silence.

Lysa Tully stood by his side, her face impassive. There was no sadness, only a subtle but unmistakable hint of pleasure, a satisfaction so chilling that it sent a shiver through the room.

Longyan Bay

In the vast, dimly lit dragon cave, tension filled the air as the three little dragons fought over a piece of fresh meat. Their tiny mouths opened wide, sharp teeth bared as they screeched and hissed at each other. They flapped their wings, unsteady and weak, while their small tails whipped the air, kicking up clouds of dust.

Amidst their chaotic bickering, a larger dragon suddenly appeared. Viserion, twice their size, rushed forward like a force of nature. With a powerful lunge, it knocked the smaller dragons aside, grabbing the piece of meat in its jaws.

Viserion then unleashed a burst of flame, enveloping the meat in scorching heat. The surface of the meat sizzled and browned, the flames crackling in the cave's dark silence. Viserion chewed contentedly, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling from its throat.

The smaller dragons were furious, roaring and snapping, but their anger faltered in the face of Viserion's dominance. They trembled, their bodies shrinking in fear. They hissed weakly, their sharp teeth glinting as they protested, but they dared not challenge the larger dragon.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed from outside the cave. It was a sound of unimaginable power, shaking the very walls of the dragon's lair. The four little dragons froze in fear, their eyes wide with terror.

A massive golden dragon swooped in, its gleaming scales catching the faint light. The sight of it made the smaller dragons shrink into the corner, quivering with fear. They dared not move, too terrified to even breathe.