"My lord—" Feeling the faint anger in Stannis's bearing and fearing trouble might arise, Davos could not help but give a low warning to his liege.
Hearing the Onion Knight's voice, Stannis drew in a deep breath and raised his hand to cut him off.
"I know what I must do, Ser Davos Seaworth. And that was only a conjecture—" Stannis said, casting a glance toward Melisandre beside him.
She was dressed in a crimson gown, a golden necklace with a ruby pendant hanging around her neck.
Noticing Stannis's gaze, Melisandre turned her head and offered the Lord of Dragonstone a faint smile.
"She is not your enemy, Stannis Baratheon, reincarnation of Azor Ahai—at least, not yet."
The Red Priestess's lips parted as she spoke words that sent a chill through the heart.
But to her counsel, Stannis merely cast a cold look her way, then gave a short, dismissive snort without replying further.
He remained silent until the guests he was personally receiving—the siblings who had resolved Dragonstone's crisis—stood before him.
"Lord Stannis Baratheon, it is an honor to be invited as a guest of Dragonstone."
Arianne Martell appeared courteous and graceful as she performed a Dornish salute before the Lord of Dragonstone.
Facing her greeting, Stannis, reminded by his two retainers, suppressed the irritation in his heart and gave a detached nod.
"As allies who aided Dragonstone—you helped me. Extending this invitation is only proper."
Saying this, Stannis turned and gestured toward the nearby castle.
"Though our supplies are scarce, we have nonetheless prepared a banquet in your honor, Princess Arianne Martell, and for your brother, Quentyn Martell. I hope you will do us the courtesy of attending."
...
"Your Grace, I think we ought to discuss the matter of the Westerlands—"
Early in the morning, when the mists over the streets of King's Landing had yet to disperse, Eddard had already risen, and right before the Maegor's Holdfast he caught the King—who had just been escorted back by Ser Barristan Selmy and two other Kingsguard knights.
"Ned?" Being cornered so early in the day, Robert's face was full of irritation.
He waved his hand, motioning for the men surrounding him to disperse.
Seeing that the King was at least sober, Eddard Stark sighed helplessly and inclined his head slightly in greeting.
It had been over a month since the last time Kal had mentioned his plan to construct a new commercial model—one that would bring fresh sources of income to the Iron Throne.
During this period, the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, had convened four small council meetings in total, roughly once every week.
And by making use of that month's time, he had more or less familiarized himself with his responsibilities as Hand, and in the process, gained a general understanding of the current state of King's Landing.
So now, it was time to talk about serious matters.
After all, it could not go on being delayed like this forever. Avoiding the issue was never a way to solve it.
What's more, under Kal's initiative to hold the Tournament, King's Landing had already become overcrowded.
Those who should have come—and those who shouldn't—had all flooded into the capital of the Iron Throne, freshly victorious from war and more firmly entrenched in its authority than ever before.
This included not just commoners—the commoners were manageable enough.
With the restructured and amply manned Gold Cloaks maintaining order, and with Kal Stone overseeing their command, Eddard had no worries that any unrest might break out.
What's more, Kal Stone would occasionally come up with little, inexplicably clever ideas to resolve various minor but troublesome problems.
Thus, public order was not much of an issue.
However, the arrival of the countless lords and knights from across the Seven Kingdoms was a different matter—one both troublesome and headache-inducing.
He had already met plenty of people who had nothing better to do and simply came to bother him.
Back in the North, such things would never have happened.
"Ned, I just want to sleep right now. Do you even know what I was doing last night?"
Watching his Hand bow respectfully, Robert muttered resentfully, clearly displeased at being blocked first thing in the morning.
At the moment, he didn't want to hear anything—not a single word about state affairs.
Having said so, he strode toward his chamber, waving impatiently as he went, his face full of irritation.
"And as for what you said—the Westerlands? Seven hells, what can we even do about that?"
Seeing that the King still refused to deal with the matter, Eddard could only pinch the bridge of his nose in bitter resignation.
Just then, Ser Barristan drew his two sworn brothers aside, whispered a few words to them indicating that they were dismissed, and then gave Eddard a meaningful look.
Naturally, it was Barristan who had quietly instructed Kal's men to inform the Hand about the King's return to the Red Keep—otherwise, with how busy the Hand was these days, he would never have had the time to come here just to intercept Robert.
After all, the Hand had already been complaining about this very issue during the last small council meeting.
Eddard spread his hands slightly toward the old knight who had hinted to him, then followed Robert's stride into the King's bedchamber.
Once inside, Robert went straight to his long table, picked up a finely carved silver-plated wine flagon, pulled out the stopper, and poured himself a cup.
Tilting his head back, he drank deeply to quench his thirst; only after that did he take up another cup, pour some wine into it, and hand it over to his Hand.
But after receiving the cup from the King, Eddard did not immediately raise it to his lips. Instead, he spoke again, his tone earnest and heavy.
"Your Grace, the Riverlands have suffered greatly in both loss and damage. Now that the war has ended and the lords from every region have returned to their lands to deal with the aftermath, they have all gathered here in King's Landing."
"Many of them have come to me during this time, saying they wish to see whether some portion of their losses can be compensated."
The moment Robert—who had been feeling pleased from the cool wine in the cool morning—heard this, he could not help but flare up in anger.
"Is it Hoster Tully who's voicing dissatisfaction toward the Iron Throne?" the King barked in irritation.
Whether it was caused by his hangover after a night of games with whores, or simply by the vexation of hearing such bothersome affairs, King Robert's tone was sharp and harsh.
Hearing the conversation between the Hand and the King, Ser Barristan, who had just stepped one foot into the chamber, paused, then quietly withdrew.
He shut the heavy door of the royal bedchamber behind him, straightened his back, and stood guard outside, his eyes sweeping around alertly.
Hearing the sound, both Eddard and Robert glanced toward the door before returning their gaze to each other.
That brief interruption allowed Robert to restrain his anger—barely.
Then, leaning against the long table, he took a small sip from his cup of red wine, his eyes fixed meaningfully on Eddard Stark.
Eddard froze for an instant upon hearing the words, then reacted.
Noticing his reaction, Robert understood at once that it was not the old man's idea.
But the anger that had just been pressed down suddenly blazed up again.
With a loud smack, the King slammed his cup onto the table, glaring furiously at his own Hand.
"So it isn't him, then? Ned, has Hoster Tully truly lost the ability to keep his vassals in line?"
"Don't tell me he intends to let the very culprit who sent the Riverlands into utter ruin—his beloved son, Edmure Tully—succeed Riverrun?"
"You should know it was through you and Tywin Lannister's negotiations that his ransom was agreed upon."
Of course Robert knew his Hand, Eddard Stark, was Hoster Tully's son-in-law—but precisely because of that, he showed him no courtesy now.
After all, he had already given enough face to House Tully back on the battlefield.
Even with his straightforward mind, Eddard Stark could clearly hear the King's meaning now.
Obviously, King Robert was expressing his dissatisfaction.
He was displeased with the conduct of the Riverlands during the war—and even more displeased that these people now had the audacity to come here seeking advantage.
Hoster Tully, at least, was not a fool; he knew that it was his son Edmure's misjudgment at the start of the war that had led to the chaos that followed—
—and ultimately to their falling into Tywin Lannister's trap, which had brought about the crisis at King's Landing.
Had it not been for those blunders, how could Robert and the Northern army he led have ended up in such a passive position?
So the old man had kept silent all this time, maintaining his silence.
But now, unable to restrain his own vassals, they had come all the way to King's Landing—to parade themselves before him.
How could that not make Robert angry?
After all, if not for Kal Stone's decisive intervention that resolved the crisis of King's Landing—fundamentally freeing the Iron Throne from Tywin's grip—
Then back on the battlefield, he and Eddard Stark would have found themselves in an impossible position: to fight Tywin Lannister, or not?
If they fought—and lost—what then?
If they fought and won, could it really be without cost?
Robert was no fool; he could clearly see Tywin Lannister's purpose when the man, holding King's Landing hostage, publicly challenged him to a duel before all Seven Kingdoms.
What Tywin wanted was to show the other nobles that even after Robert had gone to such lengths to even the balance, Tywin Lannister still had a chance at victory.
At that time, the real crisis was not merely the hundreds of thousands of hostages within King's Landing.
The greatest danger lay precisely in the hearts of men—and in their interests.
That was why Tywin Lannister had been so certain that Robert Baratheon would accept his duel challenge.
And that was also one of the reasons why, after returning to King's Landing, Robert had delayed the matter again and again—willfully ignoring it, deliberately putting off the division of that "cake."
Yes, one of the reasons.
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