Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 291 The Mad King's Final Madness and the Death of Colton Chester

In the throne room of the Red Keep, the flickering candlelight cast the menacing shadow of the Iron Throne onto the stone wall, making it appear like a monstrous beast ready to devour its prey.

Iris II's withered fingers gripped a roll of freshly written parchment tightly. His breathing was rapid, and his eyes were bloodshot with madness.

"Traitors! Traitors! All traitors!" His shrill voice echoed through the empty hall like the hooting of an owl. He turned to a clerk kneeling on the ground, trembling, and hurled the letter at him: "Send this letter to Casterly Rock by the fastest raven! Tell that golden-haired old fox, Tywin Lannister!"

His words trailed off, his body lurching forward in rage, almost falling off the spiked throne. He roared, each word sharp and menacing, "Tell him that if his army doesn't appear at the gates of King's Landing immediately and crush those rebels for me—I'll cut off his handsome son Jaime's head, lime-preserved it, and put it on my table as a decoration! Let him eat with his precious son's head before him every day!"

The scribe turned pale with fright and almost dropped the scroll of paper, which seemed to be cursed. After Iris finished speaking, she slumped back onto her throne, letting out a nervous, chilling laugh.

This threatening letter, filled with madness and despair, was quickly sent out, flying to distant Casterly Rock, and into the hands of the Westerlands Warden who had been watching coldly from the sidelines.

Inside the throne room of the Red Castle, Aerys II paced back and forth on the cold floor like a caged beast.

His fingers twisted nervously together, his lips moved incessantly, muttering curses no one could hear. Madness had consumed most of his sanity, but the last vestiges of clarity made him see more clearly than anyone else that his current advantage had vanished, and the possibility of failure and death, like the shadows outside the window, was growing ever larger.

This realization did not subdue him; instead, it ignited the most extreme destructive desires within him. He abruptly stopped, a terrifying light flashing in his murky eyes—a mixture of despair, anger, and a vicious pleasure that screamed, "If I can't have it, neither can anyone else."

"Rosate—" he called hoarsely, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

Soon, the fire mage Rosat appeared silently beneath the throne like a shadow. This man, obsessed with wildfire, bore a similar fanatical fascination with destruction as the king.

Aerys looked down at him, issuing the order in an unusually "calm" tone, yet more chilling than a roar: "It's time—to complete our great masterpiece." He swung his arm sharply, pointing out the window at King's Landing. "I want you to systematically and massively place wildfires in every corner of the city, underground, under buildings! The more the better! Prepare the entire city—for the final feast!"

Rosat's eyes gleamed with excitement as he bowed deeply. "As you wish, Your Majesty. This will be—an unprecedented 'purification'."

With this order, the deadly green liquid began to be secretly and efficiently transported to various strategic points in King's Landing, buried beneath the city's foundations.

The Mad King not only intended to put up a last-ditch resistance, but also planned to drag the entire King's Landing, along with its hundreds of thousands of inhabitants, into the inferno of hell the moment defeat was imminent.

The newly appointed Hand of the King, Earl Colton Chester, strode through the inner courtyard, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow—whether from the heat of the Red Castle or the heavy responsibilities on his shoulders, was unclear.

Colton's trip was originally intended as a routine briefing to King Aerys. The year-long rebellion had already drained the royal treasury, and he, the nominal prime minister, was still futilely trying to maintain the last vestiges of the dynasty's dignity. He had prepared a thick stack of documents, intending to consult the king on: how to appease the demoralized and potentially unruly soldiers who had retreated from the Trident; how to procure grain for King's Landing, which was on the verge of starvation; and how to quell the growing resentment within the city.

However, Colton unconsciously slowed his pace as he approached the throne room.

Colton keenly noticed that members of the Alchemists' Guild were entering and leaving the King's Chamber with unusually high frequency.

Those figures in dark robes resembled ominous crows, their expressions mysterious and focused, always carefully holding containers tightly covered with heavy black cloth. This was the third batch he had seen in just one hour.

When he once again saw the pyromancer Rosat personally leading another group of alchemists disappear behind the heavy doors of the throne room, a cold, intense sense of foreboding gripped Colton's heart like an invisible hand, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

The documents concerning military pay and provisions in his arms now appeared so pale and ridiculous under the king's frenzied gaze.

Iris II didn't even let him finish, abruptly interrupting and ending Colton's report with a sharp, piercing "Get out!"

Colton staggered out of the throne room, the ominous cloud in his heart quickly spreading into a chilling fear. He realized that the king's thoughts and energy had long since flown into a darker, more deadly realm than the secular affairs that kept the kingdom running.

"I need to know what these fire sorcerers are plotting with their frequent visits to the palace." That night, Colton stood alone at the highest window of the Tower of the Hand, looking down at the flea-infested city of King's Landing below, which stretched like an inky black mass, and murmured to himself, a chill creeping up his spine.

In the darkness, a few faint but strangely moving lights caught his attention—they flickered and lingered mysteriously among the narrow alleys and ruins, like will-o'-the-wisps. He immediately realized that it was not a repair project, but rather the Alchemists' Guild secretly burying those deadly wildfire pots under the cover of night.

The following morning, a deeply worried Colton, using his position as Hand of the King, summoned a captain in gold robes responsible for the city's defenses, attempting to subtly probe the situation under the guise of inspecting the city's defenses.

During a casual conversation, the captain inadvertently revealed that the fire sorcerers had indeed recently been carrying out so-called "reinforcement and repair" work under the king's orders in various locations, including the foundations of the Great Cathedral of Baelor, the dilapidated huts densely populated with fleas, the various stables and warehouses, and even near the seven city gates and the ruins of the dragon's lair. Their movements were secretive and they did not allow anyone to inquire about them.

Upon hearing these specific locations, Lord Colton's heart sank into an icy abyss. He knew all too well Aerys's morbid obsession with wildfire. This was not defense; it was a utterly insane final plan to sacrifice the entire city of King's Landing and its hundreds of thousands of inhabitants.

The golden bracelet on Lord Colton Chester's chest heaved heavily with his hurried steps, striking his breastplate with a monotonous, muffled thud. He strode through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, finally stopping before the massive, nail-studded throne room door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open.

In the somber hall, Aerys II, like a sickly dragon dwelling in its lair, reclined on the iron throne forged from a thousand swords. His withered fingers, adorned with long nails, tapped erratically on the armrests of the chair, producing a chilling "tap-tap-tap" sound. The pyromancer Rosat, the man who had personally sent Rickard Stark to the Green Hell, stood silently by his side like a ghostly green shadow.

"Your Majesty!" Colton knelt on one knee before the cold stone steps, his voice trembling slightly with excitement and fear. "I beg you, stop this plan! Stop it! There are half a million living beings in King's Landing, your people!"

Iris slowly leaned down, the spikes of the throne almost piercing his contorted face. A pair of murky eyes darted about in their deep sockets, flashing with an abnormal, almost fanatical light: "Colton—I smell it, you're afraid, you're panicked. You can't understand, you can't comprehend—the power of a true dragon is beyond the measure of mortals! The fire will purify everything, and the filth and betrayal in this city have become—suffocating."

"But Your Majesty, it's not just the common people! There are also the nobles who remain loyal to you, your ministers! They are all in this city!" Colton raised his head, cold sweat already beading on his forehead.

A low, hoarse laugh escaped Aerys's throat, like the whine of a broken bellows: "Isn't that better? They will—forever be with their king. Usurper, Robert, that traitor—he'll never have my capital! All I'll leave him is—a vast tomb of ashes. Let him, like me, be crowned—among these charred bones and roasted flesh!"

Upon hearing this utterly insane and inhuman declaration, the Earl of Colton's face drained of color, turning deathly pale. He slowly and stiffly rose to his feet. The loyalty to the monarch, deeply ingrained in his bones for years, clashed violently with his conscience and basic humanity, surging within him like a raging storm. The Prime Minister's necklace, a symbol of supreme power, now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, suffocating him.

Colton Chester stared intently into the eyes of Iris II—eyes that had once held ambition, obsession, and even cruelty, but now only a non-human, empty madness remained, devoid of any human emotion or reason. His last shred of illusion shattered; he understood that any words, any rational advice, were futile in the face of such utter madness.

A surge of despair, anger, and years of suppressed grief erupted within him like a volcano. He abruptly straightened his long, humbly bent back, and for the first and last time, abandoning all the formalities of a subject, he unleashed a powerful cry towards the figure on the Iron Throne, a cry that reverberated throughout the entire throne room. His voice was filled with the pain of betrayal and the resolute courage of unwavering resolve: "By the Seven Gods! Iris!!"

He addressed the king by his given name as if cursing a fallen soul.

"I watched you rise to power and helped you govern the Seven Kingdoms! When Rhaegar grew stronger and became a threat to you, I stood by your side without hesitation to consolidate your rule! But look at what you have become! You are no longer worthy to be a king!"

I hereby declare that I am no longer your Prime Minister!

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly grabbed the heavy necklace that symbolized the highest authority and responsibility of the seven kingdoms from his chest and ripped it off his neck with all his might! Then, as if he were shaking off a snake's molted skin covered in venom, he slammed the glittering necklace onto the cold marble floor!

"Clang—!"

A piercing, sharp, death knell-like crash reverberated through the throne room, echoing in every corner. The gold chain, like a broken spine, bounced and scattered on the smooth floor before finally coming to a helpless stillness, its light dimmed, symbolizing the utter end of an era's loyalty.

The golden hand badge, broken off from the necklace, clattered as it rolled across the cold marble floor, finally coming to rest at the feet of the fire mage Rosat. The symbol of power and the messenger of destruction met strangely at this moment.

Seeing this, Iris II did not fly into a rage, but instead burst into a hysterical, maniacal laugh, his voice echoing shrilly throughout the throne room: "Ha ha ha ha! Colton! You've forgotten that all your status, power, and wealth were bestowed upon you by me!"

"You're nothing but a wild dog that barks only because of the dragon's might! What right do you have to roar at a true dragon!" He abruptly turned to Rosat, his murky eyes flashing with a chilling green light, indistinguishable from wildfire. "Rosat, let him—personally experience the purifying power of the flames."

A near-reverent fervor spread across Count Rosart's face as he bowed deeply to the king with an elegant air, like an artist preparing to display his masterpiece. He calmly retrieved an unassuming earthenware jar from the lining of his dark robe and slowly approached Colton, who was being held down by the guards.

"Let me go!" Colton struggled in terror, letting out a desperate scream as the earthenware jar shattered at his feet, splattering his magnificent court robes with a thick, pungent brown liquid.

"This is the essence of fire, former Prime Minister," Rosat replied in a low, chanting tone, skillfully striking a small black stone to create a spark and flicking it lightly.

The instant the spark touched the liquid—"Boom!"

The emerald green flames, as if possessed by a living being, leaped up instantly, greedily engulfing Colton's entire body! It wasn't ordinary burning; it was an intense, bone-deep searing pain. Colton's screams were no longer words, but the most instinctive wails of life being torn apart by extreme agony, so piercing they could freeze one's blood.

In his final, distorted vision, through the leaping, merciless green flames, he clearly saw Aerys on the Iron Throne—the king to whom he had served his entire life—leaning slightly forward, his face displaying the focused and joyful appreciation of a work of art, as if watching a long-awaited grand performance.

Colton Chester—a courtier who had groveled before power and endlessly flattered the Mad King—unleashed astonishing courage in his final moments, choosing conscience and justice. His resolute act of smashing the Prime Minister's necklace and his final scream amidst the eerie green flames, like a blinding flash of lightning, briefly illuminated the deepest darkness and madness within the Red Keep.

His sacrifice has not been entirely forgotten. Among the onlookers of that brutal burning at the stake, young Jaime Lannister, draped in the white cloak of the Kingsguard, stood frozen in place. He had witnessed how the Hand of the King was burned alive in an attempt to save tens of millions of lives; he had seen how Aerys on the Iron Throne reveled in this cruel "performance."

The leaping green flames not only devoured Colton's flesh and blood, but also deeply scorched the last remaining illusions in James's heart about chivalrous honor and the sanctity of the king.

This scene, like the most deadly poison, was planted deep in his young soul, providing the most direct, cruel, and convincing footnote to his later decision to regicide at the moment King's Landing fell—a decision that would carry eternal infamy but changed the fate of countless people.

Colton achieved his belated awakening in the most tragic way, inadvertently shaking another young man's blind adherence to his oath.

In the long history of Westeros, Colton may not have been the most outstanding prime minister, but the courage and conscience he displayed at that moment made him like a brief spark in the darkness among countless corrupt courtiers, illuminating the long night that was about to descend.