Robert, you are the King, you should stay in King's Landing!
Ned Stark frowned.
The new Dynasty had just ceased hostilities; it was a good time to recuperate and prepare for war. How could he tolerate Robert Baratheon donning his armor again and campaigning in the North?
"Viserys, descendant of the Mad King in the West…"
Ned Stark hadn't even finished speaking when he was again impatiently interrupted by King Robert: "He defeated the Dothraki with his dragons, and the Narrow Sea is abuzz with the news!"
"If there are no more dragons, I'll be next!"
Robert Baratheon, red-faced and furious, roared at Ned Stark: "Stop spouting nonsense about dragons growing slowly or being too young! Chivalry didn't save my father, or your brother!"
"A little bird from across the Narrow Sea sent word that Viserys Targaryen has led troops to attack the city-states of the Narrow Sea. Once he seizes enough warships, this great decisive battle will be unavoidable!"
Seeing Ned Stark fall silent, Robert Baratheon's tone softened slightly.
He looked helplessly at his brother, who once prided himself on chivalry, and sighed: "I don't want to be rough with an old man either, but think about what happened to our ancestors who were tormented by the Mad King. If it were your son or daughter, would you agree?"
Upon hearing this, Ned Stark completely closed his mouth.
He also had a family, he also had children, so he naturally empathized with Robert's actions!
"Alright!"
Ned Stark nodded in agreement.
Even if he was unwilling, there was almost no possibility of reconciliation between the Stark Family and the Targaryen Family.
Regardless, helping his brother secure the iron throne was Ned Stark's only choice as the Warden of the North.
"Don't worry, it's just a few wildlings, I'll easily handle them!"
Robert Baratheon laughed heartily.
Careless as he was, he didn't realize that Ned Stark's concern wasn't for him at all.
"Grand Maester Pycelle, write a letter for me to Prince Doran and that brat Viserys. Tell them that the day I return from the North will be the day these rebels die!"
Robert Baratheon pointed at the old man in black beside him and added.
"Yes!"
Upon hearing this, Grand Maester Pycelle, who was standing nearby, paled and nodded in agreement without delay.
News that Viserys Targaryen could command dragons in battle had already spread throughout Westeros.
Compared to the dragons' deterrent effect on the great nobles of the Narrow Sea, the nobles in Westeros were all shaken to their core.
Three hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryen landed in King's Landing with three fire dragons.
Against all odds, he crushed the entrenched powers of Westeros and established the Targaryen Dynasty, which lasted for several centuries.
And the current Viserys Targaryen, by all accounts, was no less powerful than his ancestor Aegon!
The fear of being dominated by dragons instantly re-entered everyone's hearts!
"If I write this letter, I'll probably completely offend Viserys Targaryen!"
Grand Maester Pycelle thought, full of worry.
If he hadn't betrayed the Mad King Aerys Targaryen back then and tricked him into opening the city gates, he probably would have secretly contacted Viserys like other nobles!
"Damn it, it seems this new King Robert is unreliable too. I'll mostly have to rely on Lord Tywin!"
At this moment, he was in a dilemma.
Caught between the powerful new King and the new Hand, his job as Grand Maester was truly difficult.
Suddenly, a light bulb went off in his head, and he quickly stepped forward and said: "Your Majesty, I also need to develop dragon-slaying crossbow bolts for King's Landing! Legend has it that a Dornish giant crossbow shot down a fully grown fire dragon!"
"It was just a lucky shot to the eye!"
Ned Stark shook his head and said disdainfully.
He had always looked down on politicians like Pycelle.
They often disappeared when it was time to put in effort, but when it was time to reap benefits, they all jumped out to claim credit.
"It's just a small dragon, nothing to worry about!"
Robert Baratheon waved his hand, dismissing the annoying Maester.
With the power struggles among the great families, he had almost no reliable companions in the vast King's Landing.
Every day was filled with intrigue, a situation far more complex than the battlefield.
This kind of duplicity from the Grand Maester was already the norm.
"Have the Gold Cloaks prepare, I will lead the expedition myself!"
Robert Baratheon's eyes narrowed, and he once again regained his dashing demeanor from his days campaigning on the battlefield.
"This time, I will not only defeat those wildlings like my ancestors, but I will also make them submit! If I have the help of the wildlings beyond the Wall, even without dragons, I will fear nothing!"
Listening to Robert Baratheon's bold words, Ned Stark, standing by, felt inferior.
In terms of leading troops in battle, Ned Stark considered himself no weaker than his brother Robert.
However, when it came to the broader strategic view of the battlefield, Ned Stark was indeed far inferior to the new King!
"Wildlings?"
Upon hearing this, Grand Maester Pycelle was slightly stunned, then his eyes widened, overjoyed.
The next moment, he clapped his hands in support: "Your Majesty is brilliant! As long as we reclaim the wildlings and gain mammoths and giants, and control them, what are mere dragon offspring!"
At these words, Robert Baratheon immediately burst into joyful laughter.
This Grand Maester, though lacking true ability and always procrastinating, was indeed good at adapting to the situation.
"Good, good! Go quickly and write the declaration of war. If the giant crossbow can shoot down a dragon, I will give you a first-class merit!"
Robert Baratheon then heavily patted Grand Maester Pycelle's shoulder and turned to leave.
Watching Robert and Ned's retreating figures, Grand Maester Pycelle's face turned ashen.
"First-class merit? Bah!"
Robert Baratheon's empty promises were not as real as the gold dragons in Duke Tywin's treasury!
Why be an official? Besides being unwilling to give up the little power they held, wasn't it just for money and beautiful women?
Thinking of this, Grand Maester Pycelle instantly felt relieved.
"Tonight, I must order seven girls to admire the glory of the Seven Gods!"
Grand Maester Pycelle murmured to himself.
Just as he was grumbling and cursing the avaricious Littlefinger, a royal decree of war from the new King appeared on paper.
"Take this to that little King across the Narrow Sea!"
Grand Maester Pycelle carefully checked it, and after confirming it was correct, he said in a deep voice to the messenger beside him.
His signature was none other than Hand of the King, Duke Tywin Lannister.
"You great houses fighting among yourselves, scrambling for power and profit, what does it have to do with me?"
Grand Maester Pycelle sneered.
Although he was outwardly Robert Baratheon's subject and secretly Duke Tywin Lannister's informant, he was actually only loyal to himself.
So-called loyalty was merely further exploitation of the weak by the strong!
And he, Pycelle, was the insatiable glutton who would never leave the table at this feast of power.