"I told you, I'm not drunk!"
Just as the two of them were staring in stunned silence, the King—who by all rights should have been dead drunk—suddenly sat up from the bed.
Looking at Eddard and Barristan, both staring at him in blank confusion, the King burst into loud laughter, his face full of triumphant mischief.
The sudden prank made the two court officials in the tent freeze for a moment.
"Your Grace?" Barristan Selmy called out, as if trying to confirm that the King had not truly drunk himself senseless.
Yet in the face of Barristan's concerned inquiry, the King casually tossed the gold rose pendant still in his hand onto the long table beside him, and when he turned his face back, his expression had already regained its seriousness.
"Go outside and guard the door. Don't let anyone approach. I have something to say to Ned."
The King did not appear muddle-headed at all—Barristan, who knew Robert well, was certain of this.
Thus, after offering a sincere bow in response to the King's command, he exchanged a glance with the Hand, touched the longsword at his waist, and turned to leave the tent.
In just a short while, everything around them had been cleared, and the entrance of the tent was personally guarded by Ser Barristan Selmy.
"Your Grace—" Seeing Robert so solemn, Eddard Stark felt a faint foreboding stir within his heart.
That Robert had staged such an entire act merely to speak privately with him—there was no way he would believe it was not something important.
But just as he was about to say something, he was cut off by the King raising his hand.
"Ned, what do you think about what happened today?"
Robert's breathing was steady, his features calm. Though he reeked of wine from head to toe, aside from his flushed complexion, there was little trace of drunkenness.
Even his eyes looked exceptionally clear.
Seeing Robert's calm and serious expression, and having been friends for many years, Eddard Stark naturally understood what he was asking.
Thinking of this, Eddard could not suppress a sigh.
He could only speak plainly: "Lord Renly Baratheon is not wrong, Your Grace. Margaery Tyrell—and House Tyrell behind her—is presently your best choice."
"Of course I know that, Ned. I don't need you to remind me," Robert said, thoroughly impatient. "Seven hells, I don't want to hear this tiresome prattle. You know exactly what I want to hear from you!"
Facing Eddard Stark deliberately refusing to say the answer he wanted, Robert immediately erupted into curses.
And those words did make Eddard's expression tighten; his brows immediately furrowed.
But this time, he fell silent, keeping his mouth shut without saying a word.
Seeing his old friend still refusing to support him, Robert Baratheon became somewhat annoyed at once.
"Seven hells, why can't you change that damned stubbornness of yours?!"
"Ned, do you want your King to beg you?!"
Seeing Eddard Stark clearly knowing what he wanted to hear yet still deliberately avoiding it, Robert was now truly angry.
He slammed his palm down onto the long table; the tremendous force travelled through the wooden surface, shaking the gold rose pendant resting upon it.
But neither of the two in the tent looked at it.
Facing the angry King, Eddard knew there was no avoiding matters today.
Unlike Stannis's pressure, when it came to Robert, he simply could not ignore him.
"Your Grace, this cannot be done. Everything Kal has received now is already more than generous, and is enough to repay what he has done," Eddard Stark said helplessly, his words as earnest as they could be.
Yet Eddard Stark had barely finished half his sentence when Robert cut him off: "Ned, Kal will be the best King in the future. Don't tell me you cannot see that!"
Robert Baratheon glared at his Hand, puffed up with anger, forcing him to support his idea.
And seeing Robert still so stubbornly bent on his own way, Eddard Stark also became a little angry.
"But he is not the most suitable—!"
The Hand could not help wanting to shout as well, but in the end he suppressed it and did not yell.
Because he knew the one he was angry at was actually himself, not King Robert.
House Stark had received his favor, yet could not repay him.
They could not even offer him mere support.
But he was the Hand, the King's Hand; he had to think for the sake of the realm.
He could not be like Robert, this willful King who only did whatever he wished without considering the consequences at all.
Seeing Eddard still so stubborn, Robert's temper flared even further.
He snatched up the gold rose pendant that he had just thrown onto the table and flung it straight into Eddard's arms.
His eyes bulged wide as he shouted: "Then on what basis do you think that even if I marry that damned Highgarden Rose from House Tyrell, I would definitely be able to sire a qualified heir?!"
"Kal has already proven how outstanding he is. As long as he trains for a few more years, he will be entirely capable of taking on how to become a suitable King."
"Ned, don't tell me you don't know what Joffrey is like!"
Seeing that plain words were useless, Robert immediately began laying out his evidence.
"But Joffrey is not your child."
Eddard Stark clearly did not buy his reasoning. Holding the gold pendant Robert had thrown to him, he did not give ground at all.
"So I've had enough of children," the King slammed his palm on the long table again, "why must you all force me to find some woman to bear another one? That damned Cersei has already made me sick of it!"
"You said House Tyrell is the best partner to work with—then let Kal marry her. I'll just marry some daughter of a minor noble house at random; by then no one will have anything to say."
"Make Kal legitimate. After a few years, I will give him the Iron Throne and go off to enjoy myself."
"If you wish, you can remain his Hand. If you don't, you can return to your North and live your peaceful days."
"As long as Kal becomes King, House Tyrell will naturally be his strongest ally, and I believe Kal will manage the realm well—at least better than I have."
Having drunk quite a bit, the King grew more and more excited as he spoke, his plans rattling out one after another.
However, in the face of the King's naïve words, the Hand only looked at him coldly.
"But he is still a bastard. That point can never be changed—so Robert, do you think it's possible?"
Now that they were in private, Eddard was so angry he could not even be bothered to call Robert 'Your Grace.'
"His foundation is shallow; he cannot possibly bear the weight of the throne."
"You've seen everything Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon have done. If not for this, why do you think they would be in such a rush?"
"If you legitimize him, or even let him ascend the throne, do you think Stannis and the others would accept it?"
"Robert, I do not want to see another Baratheon killing Baratheon after the Blackfyre Rebellion and the Dance of the Dragons of the Targaryens."
"Baratheons are not Targaryens. Baratheons have no dragons!"
Eddard Stark showed no mercy as he punctured Robert's naïve fantasy.
"So what use would House Tyrell's support be then?"
"Is Highgarden truly a solid block of iron? Does House Tyrell really have no internal discord at all?"
"And even if Kal ultimately wins this war and plants himself firmly upon the Iron Throne, it still cannot stop future generations from condemning him."
When speaking of realistic problems, Eddard Stark simply felt exhausted.
He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and slowed his tone as he continued: "Robert, for Kal, Casterly Rock is already enough. The Iron Throne is not something he should set foot upon, nor something he should imagine."
"If you truly place him on the throne, then in time there will be nothing around him but enemies. There will be no exception."
"It may even be that someone will seize the chaos to bring those Targaryens hiding far across the Narrow Sea back again. This mercenary fleet incident on Dragonstone already shows a hint of something amiss."
Hearing these earnest words, Robert sat silently on the stool, head lowered.
Yet Eddard noticed his fists were clenched tightly.
Then he heard the curse squeezed out from between the King's teeth.
"Damn it, damn it!"
"Ned, you should never have stopped me from killing those two Targaryen brats."
Eddard acted as though he had not heard these words from Robert.
So he took a deep breath, gathering his tangled emotions back in, and looking into Robert's blue eyes, Eddard said solemnly: "You may wed Margaery Tyrell, win House Tyrell's support, stabilize the Seven Kingdoms in truth, and let the Baratheon dynasty continue on forever."
"As long as it remains so for a few more decades—after two or three generations—no one will miss what came before."
"And if you do not like her, you may also wed Princess Arianne Martell of House Martell of Dorne."
"To gain Dorne's support, to set aside past grudges and let Dorne fully merge into the Seven Kingdoms—this is also a path."
Eddard counted the pros and cons on his fingers; ever since Stannis Baratheon had come to speak with him, this had been the issue he had been pondering.
"No matter whom you wed, as long as you let them bear you a Prince—a true, legitimate heir of noble blood for the Iron Throne—then all disputes over the Iron Throne will be withdrawn."
"Your Grace, the realm can no longer endure upheaval. Why did the Lannisters choose to surrender instead of gritting their teeth and fighting to the end? Was it not precisely because they saw the situation clearly?"
"Tywin understood that only by doing so could he preserve everything."
"Although it seems they have now lost everything, the Lannisters, in truth, still remain."
Eddard Stark poured out in one breath everything he had been worrying over these days—reasoning, stating facts, wanting to make the King sober up.
He, of course, also knew Kal had the potential to become a qualified King.
But this could not defeat reality.
If Kal El were truly legitimized under Robert's obstinate will and made the first heir to the Iron Throne, then without doubt, the first to stand against him would be his two brothers.
And as for the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, whom they would side with at that time was even harder to predict.
Kal would not even need to become King; merely for him to truly bear the name Baratheon and become a Prince—
Then one could foresee a storm even greater than the Lannister rebellion breaking out in an instant.
Kal's rise would mean that the Iron Throne, which the Baratheon family had only just managed to win by overthrowing the Targaryens, would crumble apart in a moment.
Put plainly, no matter how outstanding Kal El was, he could not withstand the fact that his name was not proper and his claim unjustified.
And the Seven Kingdoms, unable to share a unified interest with the Iron Throne, would naturally begin to harbor different intentions.
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