Hearing Robert's grumbling and dissatisfaction, Eddard Stark could only feel a headache coming on.
The interests of the Westerlands were no small matter; as for how to divide them, he had no clear answer—nor the authority to set any proper policy.
That was precisely why he had come to block the King today—because this matter could no longer be delayed.
Eddard was not unaware of the principle that delay breeds change.
Moreover, after the King had been forced to accept Tywin Lannister's terms of surrender, it was difficult to further settle or punish the Westerlands.
At the very least, they could no longer take harsh or violent measures—after all, the very defeat in war was already the hardest blow for the nobles of the Westerlands to accept.
For they too had wagered everything.
Now, receiving the Iron Throne's assurance that they would not be purged was already something for which they ought to thank the Seven for their mercy.
Besides, they had not only lost men and soldiers—their wealth had been drained away as well.
Some of the knights and lesser houses who had been captured after the war still lacked the means to pay their full ransom.
Even now, Harrenhal continued to hold quite a few knights and nobles awaiting their families to finish paying their ransoms.
But in any case, this was still a good thing—at least for the moment.
"The Lannister family has acknowledged their defeat and willingly relinquished their millennia of accumulation and wealth. But now the entire Westerlands are leaderless. Your Grace, we must at least determine who shall become the new Lord of Casterly Rock, and even the Warden of the West—"
Looking at the King burning with fury, Eddard Stark thought for a moment, then decided that it was best to settle matters one by one.
And the first thing to be dealt with, of course, was the legacy left behind by House Lannister—
At the very least, the seat of Casterly Rock, and the title of Warden of the West.
And the reason he began with this was because he knew the King had long since made his own plan for it.
At least, this was a starting point—a breakthrough through which the current troubles could be quickly resolved.
That, at least, was the tacit understanding he shared with Robert.
And Eddard also understood that Robert had actually been waiting to see him take the initiative.
Not to beg him like last time.
Sure enough, as soon as the words were spoken, the look of fury on Robert's face immediately eased, and even the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.
He no longer looked worn from a night of revelry.
"Is that so, Ned? I'd like to hear what you—my Hand—have to say."
Robert watched his Hand with a smile, as if he had been waiting a long time to hear those words.
Seeing this, Eddard did not hesitate.
"Kal Stone, Your Grace—there is no one more suitable to be Lord of Casterly Rock. As for Warden of the West—" At this Eddard looked up and met the King's gaze.
Then his expression stiffened. "Kal Stone currently holds the title of Warden of the East; perhaps we should give that careful consideration."
Sure enough, when Eddard Stark said this, Robert—who had been pleased by the first half—sullenly lost his smile at the second half and began to curse.
"I knew you were going to bargain with me!"
"Warden of the West, Warden of the East—can Kal Stone split himself in two?"
"Are those bastards in the Vale so impatient?!"
Hearing the King spit out curses, Eddard took a step back.
He put his hands up and said plainly, "Your Grace, the Vale lords have not made any declaration, and anyway they do not know your thoughts. Besides, Kal's actions during this time have proven he is a capable leader."
"And he has not used his position to boss the Vale around; he even took good care of Little Robin, and his health has improved greatly during this period."
As he spoke, Eddard's face grew dour, as if something had occurred to him.
And sure enough.
At the mention of this, Robert's partly feigned, partly genuine anger surged into outright fury.
"Damn it!"
"They're all bastards; those bastards should be thrown down into the seven hells!"
He slammed his cup onto the table, shattering it into shards; Robert's eyes were red.
"Jon Arryn treated him so well, even personally promoted him, yet he conspired with Lysa to murder him!"
"If the Mountain hadn't butchered him first, I'd have made him understand what a king's wrath truly means!"
During this past month, Kal had certainly not been occupied only with trivial or insignificant matters.
After both the King and the Hand had returned to King's Landing—and after he himself had unexpectedly become Master of Coin—
At the second small council meeting convened by Hand Eddard, Kal had laid bare the true cause of Jon Arryn's death.
Having worked smoothly with Varys during that time, he had already gathered every piece of evidence.
Although after he submitted the truth, the follow-up handling of the matter had been quietly suppressed.
Kal, of course, knew why—but wisely chose not to pursue it further.
He believed that Robert and Eddard would handle the affair properly.
As for whether the truth would be made public, or how it would be dealt with, Kal likewise believed that Eddard Stark would see to this scandal appropriately.
Watching the King vent his rage, Eddard did not stop him.
Regarding this matter, his anger was no less than Robert's.
But between the two of them, one of them needed to stay calm—and since Robert would not, that role naturally fell to him.
"Lysa must die, Ned! And I want you to tell Hoster Tully exactly what his daughter has done!"
"He must know where all this conflict began!"
Indeed, the King's fury was not merely over Edmure's blunders, though the man was certainly foolish enough.
His resentment toward the Riverlands and House Tully had its roots in all these things.
Eddard Stark, of course, understood this clearly.
That was precisely why he knew the spoils of war needed to be dealt with—and why he had to grit his teeth and be the one to pierce this thin veil.
Thus, Kal Stone served as the perfect point of breakthrough.
As for House Tully, Eddard Stark chose to remain silent.
He only watched the King's outburst in silence.
Outside the chamber, Ser Barristan Selmy—who had also attended the council and knew the inside story—glanced toward the King's bedchamber as the shouting within erupted. After a faint sigh, he dutifully resumed his post.
...
"The new Grand Maester is a young man."
Samwell Tarly had just finished his own round of training. Panting heavily, he wiped the sweat from his head with a towel and spoke to Bronn, who was leisurely drinking water.
Bronn showed little interest in the topic. He merely set down his water skin, turned around, and looked at the fat man whom Kal had specifically ordered him to train.
"A young man of fifty? That's a new one for me."
Bronn's tone was full of scorn.
He knew well how the previous Grand Maester had died—he had seen it with his own eyes.
"Maester Peyton is only forty-six, not fifty—" Noticing Bronn's disdain, Sam gathered his courage to argue, though his voice was not very loud.
"Oh—very well, forty-six. A young man, sure. If he lives to be two hundred, I'll agree with you."
Bronn spoke idly, uninterested, and after tossing off the remark, he picked up his training sword to continue warming up.
In the past, he would never have had such privileges—the Red Keep, the very place usually reserved only for the white cloaks of the Kingsguard.
Thanks to Kal Stone's favor, he now had the chance to enjoy these fine amenities.
But Samwell wasn't ready to let him go just yet. Despite his aching body, he stubbornly followed him, continuing the conversation.
"Well, Maester Peyton certainly won't live to two hundred. Apart from dragons, there's no one in this world who could."
"But Maester Peyton has already forged black iron—for ravenry—bronze—for astronomy and astrology—red copper—for history—silver—for medicine—as well as lead, and—uh…"
"All right, enough, Sam. I don't care what this Peyton fellow has done. You'd best pray he handles the position of Grand Maester well."
Faced with Sam's incessant chatter, Bronn couldn't help glaring at him until the man finally went quiet.
Yet for some reason, Samwell was unusually stubborn this time. Even after being shouted down, he stood rooted in place, muttering under his breath.
"If he officially becomes Grand Maester, he'll also inherit Grand Maester Pycelle's chain."
"But that won't turn his neck into iron, nor will it make his head as stuffed with knowledge!"
Bronn felt the corner of his eye twitch and couldn't resist a sneer.
Confronted with Bronn's irritation, Sam opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.
He realized they were talking past each other.
He had only wanted to share some good news he'd heard.
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