"Your Grace, we're facing more than just military and financial problems," Ned sighed heavily. "Once war begins, the Iron Throne will have to contend not only with Viserys but possibly with The Reach and Dorne as well. Even the Crownlands, which the Targaryens ruled for 300 years, might see households flying dragon banners again."
In other words, the conditions for launching an offensive simply weren't there. The alliance of the 'stag, hawk, wolf, and fish' might seem formidable, but once they begin to march, who knows what might happen—especially with Jon Arryn gone. Moreover, Ned's father-in-law, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, was gravely ill.
During the War of the Usurper, many lords and nobles in these regions were staunch royalists. Now that the Targaryens were returning, wouldn't they be tempted to rebel?
"Anyone who dares defy me will taste my hammer!" Robert roared, his voice echoing through the room. Outside, Lancel flinched at the sound.
Ned, ever measured, held back the urge to point out the impracticality of Robert's threat. If someone like Tyrion Lannister or Oberyn Martell had been present, they would have surely mocked Robert's bravado. The image of the rotund king charging into battle clad in armor was almost too absurd to contemplate.
The sudden "grand announcement" also meant that the upcoming tournament, intended to celebrate Ned's appointment as Hand of the King, would have to be postponed. However, there was a silver lining—most of the sellswords in the kingdom had already gathered for the tournament and could now be recruited on the spot.
"By the way, where is the Red Viper?" Robert growled, his suspicion deepening. He had long suspected that Oberyn Martell might be colluding with Viserys, and this declaration of war only fueled his certainty.
"Your Grace, imprisoning the Red Viper will only push Dorne further against us!" Ned cautioned.
"Damn it, then he'd better have a good explanation for this 'Ring of Dorne' alliance! Not just him—bring everyone out and have them meet me in the Throne Hall!"
This was not to be a secretive meeting like the previous one, which only Ned had attended. This would be a general assembly, gathering nobles and lords from across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Since Viserys had sent letters to nearly every lord of rank, secrecy was no longer an option.
Robert wanted to confront the situation head-on, to show his strength openly. At the same time, he sent orders to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, demanding they bring troops to the capital. While he could count on the five northern kingdoms, The Reach and Dorne were another matter. After all, they had been the targets of his wrath during the rebellion, where he had shown no mercy in crushing the "King's Party."
"Ah, my dear brother," Renly said cheerfully as he made his way to the Throne Hall, accompanied by his personal guard, Loras Tyrell. He greeted Stannis with a broad smile. Stannis, however, was accompanied by the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, whom he had knighted himself.
Though they were brothers, Stannis and Renly could not have looked more different. Stannis stood like an impregnable wall, while Renly resembled an ornate carpet. Stannis's response to Renly's greeting was lukewarm at best.
As the Master of Ships and Master of Laws, respectively, the two brothers spent most of their time in King's Landing, despite their fiefs being in Dragonstone and the Stormlands. Renly, in particular, had left most of his responsibilities to his Maester, preferring to devote himself to his role as the court's flamboyant peacock.
"It seems war is inevitable. I believe we will emerge victorious this time!" Renly said, his tone filled with enthusiasm.
"Yes, we will be victorious," Stannis replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as if merely going through the motions. After all, they weren't yet rivals for the throne, so appearances had to be maintained. Despite his deep resentment over Robert giving the Stormlands to Renly, Stannis still upheld the facade of familial harmony.
Renly, however, had never experienced the horrors of war firsthand. His views were steeped in romanticized notions, fed by the legends of bards and the grand narratives of the theater.
As the two brothers exchanged words, two ambitious men happened to cross paths in the castle's corridors—though it seemed one had deliberately sought out the other.
"Lord Varys," came the smooth, slightly mocking voice of Petyr Baelish as he sauntered over to the spymaster. Thin and long-fingered, Littlefinger looked at Varys, who stood rotund and composed. At first glance, they seemed as mismatched as a cucumber and a zucchini.
"Lord Petyr," Varys replied with a polite nod.
Littlefinger's lips curled into a teasing smile. "It seems the gods have decided to make things interesting again. Who would have thought that a displaced, exiled prince could come this far? A true miracle."
Varys had known from the start that Littlefinger was an ambitious man. Petyr wasn't here just for idle conversation.
"Yes, and I must take responsibility for not warning King Robert in time," Littlefinger said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they weren't overheard. The nearest noble was dozens of paces away on the winding garden path, and the colorful bushes lining the way offered no cover for eavesdroppers. Feeling confident, he continued, "Lord Varys, I've come to realize that advisers like us aren't so different from prostitutes. The main difference is that we serve only one customer."
By "customer," he of course meant King Robert.
"As you know, I own a brothel, and sometimes the girls there meet a customer they actually like. When that happens, they work even harder." Littlefinger's gray-green eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Lord Petyr, you are indeed a boss who understands the psychology of his girls," Varys replied smoothly.
"If you're interested, Lord Varys, I can always arrange something," Littlefinger offered with a sly grin before briskly making his way toward the Throne Hall.
Varys watched him go, knowing full well that Littlefinger had likely guessed his contact with Viserys. However, Varys's true loyalty lay not with Viserys but with "Young Aegon." He knew he would soon face Robert's wrath for the situation with Viserys, but how could anyone have predicted Viserys's swift defeat of the Horselord in under three months and the hatching of dragon eggs?
The unexpected chain reaction had caught everyone off guard. Even the brightest minds in Westeros couldn't have devised a solution in time.
Varys also realized something else—Viserys's growing power was increasingly overshadowing Aegon's claim to the throne.
The Throne Room was now filled with hundreds of knights and dozens of lords and barons, all buzzing with talk of Viserys's rise and the dragons' return. Both events felt surreal to them. Many had received letters from the Citadel, and Viserys's demand for only the heads of Robert and Tywin had prompted some to consider staying neutral, preserving their strength for the storm that was coming.
Not everyone had the desire—or the stomach—to be part of the prince's grand revenge.
"King Robert Baratheon the First arrives! Queen Cersei Baratheon arrives! Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King arrives!" the herald announced, signaling the start of a fateful assembly.