Based on his understanding of Stannis, Grand Maester Pycelle wrote a letter mimicking Stannis's tone. After waiting for the ink to dry, Lancelot checked it carefully to ensure it was flawless.
Just as he was about to leave the Grand Maester's tower, Pycelle seemed to remember something and called out to him.
"Ser Lancelot."
"What is it, Grand Maester?" Lancelot asked.
"A good friend of mine, also a maester from the Citadel, has arrived in King's Landing. He has a particular fondness for researching magic. Could he study that black coffin of yours?"
"Who is he? Not Qyburn, the one from earlier, is it?" Lancelot asked.
"No, it's an Archmaester named Marwyn."
"Fine. In a few days, bring him to the Red Keep to find me."
Lancelot returned to the brothel where the Onion Knight was.
He placed the resealed letter back into Davos's pocket.
A day later, the Onion Knight woke up. Finding himself in a brothel, he jumped up immediately.
"Oh my! What's the rush, Ser? The day is still young!" a flamboyantly dressed prostitute said to the Onion Knight.
"Damn it! Where are my things? Where are the things I had with me?" he asked.
"They're all over the floor," the prostitute replied.
Without bothering to dress, the Onion Knight scrambled on the floor searching.
Finally, he found the letter in his pocket.
"Thank the gods, the letter is still here. It hasn't been opened."
The Onion Knight breathed a sigh of relief.
"Did Lancelot bring me here?" he asked the prostitute.
"Yes, he's such a handsome young lord! Giggle!" she laughed.
"Where is Lancelot?" he asked.
"I heard they are performing a ritual now. The priests of the Lord of Light are preparing some offering for their god."
The Onion Knight eventually found Lancelot.
He was watching Melisandre and Thoros recite prayers together.
Several bizarre statues were being thrown into the fire.
Surrounding them were many listless people—singers, septons, maesters.
Recently, they had been tormented by nightmares of a terrifying, unspeakable, indescribable existence in the deep sea.
"Lord of Light! R'hllor! We sacrifice this false god to you. He is heresy, he is sin, he is death."
"Please purify him with your holy fire! Protect those who believe in you," Melisandre chanted.
Beside her, Thoros pulled a flask of green Wildfire from his robes and threw it into the pyre. Instantly, the flames roared higher.
Lancelot watched from the side, noticing nothing amiss until Bran arrived.
It was the first time Brandon Stark had left his room since his legs healed.
"Bran, your eyes!"
Lancelot stared in surprise at Bran's moss-green eyes, which had become just like Jojen Reed's.
"Greensight. My newly acquired ability! Lancelot, even with Greensight, I can't see the true form of the existence beneath the deep sea, but it is a great terror," Bran said, pointing to his eyes and looking worried.
At night, he had entered the body of a raven and patrolled the vast seas, sensing a terror beneath the waves far greater than the White Walkers beyond the Wall.
He couldn't see clearly what it was, only an outline.
An octopus head covered in tentacles, a pair of bat wings on its back, arms sharp as razors. It sat upon a massive stone, seemingly thinking, or perhaps sleeping.
Fortunately, the seawater insulated its power, preventing it from directly controlling humans on land. So it could only interfere with the consciousness of some people through dreams.
Those with faith, deep thinkers, and artistic souls were particularly susceptible to its interference.
Certain exceptionally intelligent individuals, or those who spent their lives at sea, were also easily affected.
Just as the two priests of the Lord of Light were finishing their prayers, a sudden sea breeze carrying a fishy scent blew out the fire.
Both Melisandre and Thoros turned pale.
"Impossible. R'hllor lost in a contest against a false god? What kind of existence is that?" Melisandre's expression was grim.
"It seems that existence far exceeds our imagination. He is absolutely a god-like entity," Thoros said.
"But do not worry, we can still contact R'hllor. He is fine. His power will strengthen when the Red Comet arrives," he added.
Despite the fire going out, those tormented by deep-sea phobia seemed much relieved, thanking the two priests of the Lord of Light.
Qyburn wanted to research further, so he left with a few others to discuss it elsewhere.
Syrio went back to teaching; Joffrey had been slacking off recently.
Margaery also greeted Lancelot and went home.
Lancelot returned to the Red Keep. He paid no further attention to the Onion Knight's subsequent actions. He had done his best; if King Robert still found out about Cersei and Jaime, it was fate.
Back in his solar, Lancelot continued his alchemy. His technique was getting smoother; he had already minted ten thousand gold coins, but he needed many more. He couldn't slack off.
He transmuted silver into molten gold, cooled it in water to get raw gold, and then minted the raw gold into Golden Lion coins.
Lancelot picked up a still-warm Golden Lion coin, staring at the pattern on it.
"The future depends on you! Money isn't everything, but without money, you can do nothing."
That night, while sleeping, Lancelot dreamed again. He dreamed of many things about other people.
The Tourney at Harrenhal, the Siege of Storm's End, the burning of Lannisport.
But at the end of the dream, he found himself in a sea area. It was the deep ocean; visibility was low, and not a single fish could be seen.
There was only a deathly silence. In the dream, Lancelot remained lucid.
"My Dreamwalker ability seems out of control! Where is this? Why does it look like the place described by those with deep-sea phobia?"
Lancelot was swept along by the current. He arrived before a palace built of gigantic stones. It was submerged in the deep sea, but on land, it would have been magnificent.
"What is that?"
Lancelot saw a bizarrely shaped statue. He wanted to swim closer to investigate, but found he couldn't approach. He swam forward with all his might, but the distance seemed endless; he simply couldn't get there.
Finally, Lancelot managed to get a slightly clearer look at the statue, and the sight shocked him awake.
Waking up, Lancelot found himself soaked in cold sweat.
"That thing... was... C-Cthulhu!"
Lancelot closed his eyes and recalled the image. He had absolutely not been mistaken; that was the likeness of Cthulhu.