King Robert's funeral was held with great solemnity, yet what truly shook the crowd was not Robert himself.
The reappearance of a dragon—after a hundred years—soaring in the skies above King's Landing was, without question, a tremendous surge of confidence for those who witnessed it with their own eyes.
Stories once heard only in song and tale, images once seen solely in books, now lay plainly before the people in vivid clarity.
Although the golden dragon was still very young,
the people understood that, compared to a dragon's size, the meaning it represented mattered far more.
Thus, for some who watched this scene, their shock at the creature's existence mixed with a deeper, more complicated feeling.
These sharp-minded and perceptive individuals understood that, with the dragon's return—and with it being brought back into the world by Kal Baratheon, the young new king—the implications were profound.
They could not help but wonder:
after a century since the end of House Targaryen's rule of dragons, would the Seven Kingdoms once again usher in a new age—this time under House Baratheon, with dragons at its command?
Would it differ from the age a hundred years past?
And where would the future lead now that this sign—the return of a dragon—had appeared once more?
The river of history, which had long since branched, now seemed to show signs of converging again.
Beneath the surface, hidden currents began to stir.
Because his clothing had been scorched by flame, Kal had no choice but to change into a proper set of dark blue garments before returning to finish presiding over Robert's funeral.
After telling Eddard Stark and the others who the culprit behind the scenes truly was, Kal said little more.
The small golden dragon remained perched upon his shoulder, occasionally glancing around, its eyes filled with curiosity as it observed this world where everything was new to it.
From time to time, Kal would make pieces of bear meat, crocodile-beast meat, mutton, and even fragments of failed dragon eggshells from the volcanic mountains of the game-world appear in his hand, offering them one by one to the dragon's mouth.
During the dull pauses of the funeral, Kal experimented and discovered that the little golden dragon liked the eggshell fragments best.
However, with it biting down on the shells, it was like a dog gnawing on a bone, eating with great difficulty, so Kal still had to give it smaller pieces from time to time.
Yet whether because it was too small or for some other reason, it could not eat much of the stuff.
So, aside from using it as a side dish, it could only chew on some crocodile-beast meat, bear meat, or goblin ears to grind its teeth and sate its hunger a little.
Compared to those, it seemed rather disdainful of mutton.
"What is it called? I mean—what name will you give it?"
Riding his warhorse along the road back to the Red Keep, the Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark, could not keep his eyes from lingering on Kal and the little golden dragon perched upon his shoulder.
Through the entire day he had held himself back, unsure of what he should ask; even when he wanted to ask something, he was not sure if it would be appropriate.
Now, as they rode toward the Red Keep, Eddard Stark hesitated for quite some time before he finally failed to suppress his curiosity and asked what should not be considered an excessive question.
"Robert. I plan to name it Robert."
Kal rode on, swaying slightly in the saddle, his gaze somewhat vacant as he looked toward the Red Keep in the distance, lost in thought.
Hearing the words of his future father-in-law, Lord Eddard, Kal added casually, "I got this dragon egg by accident during the years I trained in the Free Cities. I bought it from an adventurer."
He said no more after that; he left it at that.
Eddard opened his mouth, then closed it again, and the group walked in silence into the Red Keep.
Varys, Peyton, and Ser Barristan Selmy all followed silently behind Kal, their expressions no different from the Hand's.
Everyone understood that being able to hatch this dragon egg was unquestionably King Kal's most important secret.
Once they dismounted, and as the stablehands—eyes filled with curiosity—led the horses away, Kal turned to look at the group.
"Convene the Small Council. I have orders for you."
The royal councillors exchanged glances and nodded.
The current situation was at a very awkward stage; unless something was said—unless the matters ahead were arranged—none of them felt any sense of certainty.
Especially when the previous king had been murdered, and the legitimacy of the new king's throne seemed to be under some question.
So when the group filed into the chamber used specifically for convening the Small Council, all their gazes turned toward Kal, waiting for the king to speak.
Kal, meanwhile, held the little golden dragon Robert in his arms, letting it suck on his outstretched finger.
Where no one could see, he used a magic potion as milk to quench Robert's thirst after gnawing on eggshells until its throat felt scorched.
Facing their gazes, Kal said calmly, "Lord Eddard, next I will return to the Westerlands. I will not remain in King's Landing. I need to prepare for war."
Kal went straight to the point without any hesitation, stating his plans directly.
Hearing this, Eddard's brows tightened.
Setting aside whether it was suitable for the newly crowned ruler of the Seven Kingdoms—the king on the Iron Throne—to leave before even spending a single day upon his own seat, at the very least, after so much had already happened, Eddard did not believe war would still break out.
"Your Grace, perhaps you should wait. The letters summoning the three lords paramount have only just been sent. With what has just happened today, they may not act as we originally feared."
As he said this, he could not help but glance at the little golden dragon—having eaten and drunk its fill, it yawned, then curled its tail, shifting a few times in Kal's arms before settling into a comfortable position to sleep.
Eddard Stark's meaning was clear: after Kal had caused such a stir at King Robert's funeral, as long as Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon were not fools, they should not dare to act recklessly.
His view of the situation was not nearly as grim. But Kal only shook his head at the advice of his newly appointed Hand, Eddard Stark.
"No. Waiting for death is not my way. And I will not hand the initiative to my two uncles."
"But if they sincerely admit their fault, I will still stand by what I said before—no past grudges will be pursued."
Kal's eyes were cold, his tone firm and steady, entirely rational.
Yet after saying this, he looked at the others and laid out his thoughts and reasoning.
"As for the Westerlands, I still must go. Unlike my two uncles, I do not have deep family wealth behind me. Right now, I have nothing at all—that gives me no sense of security."
"Right now I don't even have a suitable heir to manage the Westerlands. That will take time, and I need to plan for the future."
Hearing the man who was the Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and the one who had brought dragons back into the world say that he "had nothing," the corners of the mouths of every councillor present twitched uncontrollably.
If you truly have nothing, then what are we?
But regarding Kal's explanation afterward, the group exchanged glances and expressed their understanding.
The current situation in the Westerlands was indeed a difficult problem, and His Grace King Kal's approach was not without merit.
And they all knew Kal was not wrong—otherwise, why would he go to such lengths?
Seeing the king insist on leaving King's Landing and returning to the lands he had not once visited, in order to prepare for the future stability of the realm, Eddard could only agree helplessly.
It was not that he lacked a sense of the greater good; he also understood perfectly that the Westerlands' situation was indeed unusual.
As for Ser Barristan Selmy, he immediately rose, turned toward Kal, lowered his head, and knelt on one knee. "Your Grace, please allow the Kingsguard to accompany you!"
Hearing Ser Barristan's words, Kal suddenly remembered that the Kingsguard did, in fact, belong to him now.
After all, he was the lawful king.
It was just that being king did not feel very real.
And more than that, the Kingsguard did not seem to have much presence before him.
Not to mention that before he had even become a knight, he had already killed two of them. And after becoming a knight, he had gone on to kill the Kingslayer along with his queen-sister.
To this day, he still carried at his waist the gilded longsword Tyrion had gifted him—his brother Jaime's blade, the very one that had once slit the Mad King's throat.
Thinking about the Kingsguard, Kal could not help scratching the little golden dragon Robert's round belly.
Because after finally winning the war against the Lannisters, and after using the newly held tourney to select three knights through successive trials, the Kingsguard had only just been restored to full number.
Yet during last night's operation to capture the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, several had died again.
And at the thought of the Red Viper, Kal could not help baring his teeth slightly in a headache.
"Who is still in the Kingsguard right now?" Kal turned to ask Ser Barristan Selmy.
"Um—aside from me, there are Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Balon Swann, and Ser Meryn Warrick."
Faced with the king's question, Ser Barristan Selmy felt a bit embarrassed.
After all, the Kingsguard—only recently restored to full number—had been cut in half again because of a single operation to capture the Red Viper. No matter how one phrased it, it made the Kingsguard look rather incompetent.
Hearing this, Kal counted with his fingers. Including Ser Barristan Selmy, there were four of them, which left him speechless as he turned to look at Ser Barristan.
"I'm worried that if you continue following me, I'll be the one who ends up protecting you. I would rather not have my Kingsguard become the most casualty-ridden in the history of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. Gods forbid I'm cursed."
Kal's joke struck painfully close to the heart.
But when Barristan opened his mouth to refute it, he did not know where to begin, and his weathered face flushed red with frustration.
Because Kal had not spoken falsely, nor was he truly insulting him.
From King Robert's reign to Kal's succession, they had lost six men in barely a year.
And Ser Arys Oakheart had survived only because the king had given him a miraculous antidote potion; otherwise, from Robert's Kingsguard to Kal's, Barristan would have been the only one left alive.
Thinking of this, Ser Barristan could not help remembering the king's disappearance yesterday when he pursued the Faceless Man.
But that only strengthened his resolve to follow Kal.
At the very least, the next time the king faced danger, he hoped that even if he died, it would be before the king.
"To sacrifice for Your Grace, for our oath and our duty—that is our honor," Barristan said firmly, his gaze unwavering.
This time, he would allow nothing that had happened to King Aerys or King Robert to happen again.
Otherwise, he would truly begin to doubt his purpose.
Looking at the stubborn Ser Barristan Selmy, Kal scratched the little golden dragon Robert—sleeping belly-up on his knee, mouth hanging open as it drooled, a small patch of Kal's trousers scorched from its high body temperature.
After eating dragon-eggshells and magic water, the little creature's growth already seemed unusual; its body was extremely hot.
"I remember that my betrothed, Sansa Stark, is still in King's Landing. Why don't you go and protect her instead?"
"Ser Barristan Selmy, it is not that I look down on you or scorn your honor—please do not misunderstand. It is simply that, among all the Kingsguard, I have found that you are the only one I can truly trust."
Kal searched for a reason for quite some time, and he honestly did not feel there was anything he needed the Kingsguard for. If anything, having them follow him would only make certain matters more difficult to carry out.
So he remembered that he still had a betrothed.
Originally feeling somewhat humiliated by Kal's refusal, Ser Barristan Selmy realized after hearing Kal's explanation that it was indeed so.
But although he felt moved by Kal's words, he was also troubled, for this was not quite what he had intended.
Before Barristan could find a proper way to respond, the Hand—Lord Eddard Stark—could no longer hold himself back. He stepped forward and rejected Kal's offer of such special treatment for Sansa.
"Your Grace, Sansa is not yet your queen. This is against proper custom!"
The Kingsguard hold no lands, take no wives, father no children. From the moment they don the white cloak, they devote their entire lives to their sworn monarch.
Their foremost duty is to shield the king from harm and threat.
Strictly speaking, whether the Kingsguard protect others is left to the king's discretion—even when it concerns members of the royal family.
Some kings in the past had even ordered their Kingsguard to protect their queens, their children, their siblings, and all manner of kin near or far, believing it perfectly rightful.
Some had even sent the Kingsguard to guard their lovers, mistresses, or bastards.
But in Eddard Stark's view, Kal should not act in this way—at least not now, when Sansa had not yet married the king.
Being a man whose integrity bordered on stubbornness, Eddard held firm.
But Kal merely shook his head in response.
"Lord Eddard, Sansa is my betrothed. She will be my queen in the future, and she may one day bear my heir. Protecting her safety is only natural."
Kal's words left Eddard Stark momentarily speechless.
After all, the matter of Robert's succession was still vivid in everyone's memory, and it had even affected the stability of Kal's own throne.
So he could not help but look toward Ser Barristan Selmy, who was still kneeling on the ground. After thinking for a moment, he gritted his teeth and said, "If Your Grace truly intends to leave King's Landing and return to the Westerlands, and still asks Ser Selmy to protect Sansa, then please take Sansa with you—"
What Eddard said was… well, even Kal felt a little awkward.
After all, he and Sansa were not even married yet, and his future father-in-law was already trying to hand his daughter over.
But Kal also understood why Eddard would say such a thing.
It all still came down to the matter of the Kingsguard.
"King's Landing also needs people, Lord Eddard. This place is my future—and the future of the realm," Kal said, raising his head to look at the councillors before him, tossing the grand justification with practiced ease.
The reason he did not want to take Barristan with him—aside from the fact that he truly did trust Ser Barristan Selmy's honor—was that King's Landing genuinely had almost no capable people left.
Having Barristan follow him would not be useless, but it would certainly be a tremendous waste of talent.
And Varys… to be honest, Kal was now hesitating whether he should simply remove the man.
But Varys had been obedient from start to finish, never overstepping.
And besides, hatching his dragon publicly had not only been meant to shock certain schemers—it had also been meant to solidify the legitimacy of his claim.
And most importantly, compared to Littlefinger and Pycelle, Varys was vastly different.
At the very least, he was someone who could truly be used—though whether he could be used well depended on whether he could be made genuinely loyal.
Kal had confidence in this.
Because Varys was truly clever, he would know which choice to make.
And if he did not, Kal could have him removed at any time.
On that basis, since Kal had already decided to leave King's Landing, he had to leave Eddard with people who could actually be used.
Otherwise, Ned would not be able to handle the political games of King's Landing; at best, he could only manage the city's affairs in a rigid, by-the-book manner.
So Barristan had to stay.
"My mind is made up. Ser Barristan Selmy does not need to remain by my side."
"But I will take the three remaining White Cloaks with me—do not worry about that. And I will fill the remaining three vacant positions in due time."
After giving his orders, Kal looked toward Barristan Selmy, who was still kneeling and raising his head to meet Kal's gaze.
"Ser Barristan, you will stay in King's Landing. I need you to assist and protect Lord Eddard Stark as Hand of the King. Safeguarding the capital is more important than guarding me."
"As for Sansa—Lord Eddard—we are not married yet. It is not appropriate for her to remain at my side. Once this conflict is resolved, I will return and formally ascend the Iron Throne."
"When that time comes, if Sansa is prepared, I will give her a grand wedding."
Hearing Kal mention the wedding, Eddard could not help remembering how Robert had, not long ago, spoken of attending Kal's wedding.
His spirit wavered, and he let out a sigh. "As you command, Your Grace."
"Then… regarding the matter of King Robert…?"
Having no choice but to withdraw his earlier insistence, Eddard turned to the matter of his former liege.
Hearing this, Kal's gaze turned cold.
"I will make them pay the price."
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