And as Eddard looked at the silent King, racking his brains for what other topic might ease the awkward mood, a cool breeze brushed past—along with Robert's gritted-voice.
The King, who had been silent all morning, could no longer contain the fury rising in his chest as he stared at that flash of red in the distance.
"I know! Damn it, I know!"
"Yes, that damned bastard—he's the one who won us the war outright, he's a hero, a great hero!"
"And what of us? We did nothing, we could do nothing, and in the end we can only sit here and stew!"
After railing at Kal Stone, Robert abruptly turned his head and, with thick fingers, pointed toward the distant red.
"But then what?!" the King thundered.
"That damned dog of a Tywin Lannister, that son of a bitch—he chose to surrender!"
"I should have been on the field, hammering his chest in like I did to that Targaryen prince back then!"
"But this weakling, that rotten bastard, chose to surrender—he's shaming me, you know? He's shaming me!"
Thinking back to the previous evening when they had been in the war tent, hotly debating how to deal with that damned Tywin Lannister, only for a letter of surrender from Harrenhal to cut them off, Robert felt nothing but rage and humiliation.
That anger and humiliation was like being an ass, having Tywin Lannister—this damned, disgusting fellow—pierce his nose and fit a ring through it.
He wished, at that moment, he could wrench Tywin Lannister's head off and dunk it in a cesspit.
Yet most infuriating of all was that the first person to stop him from acting on that impulse was the very man he had ridden a thousand leagues to fetch as his Hand—Eddard Stark.
As his best and most trusted brother, he was loyal and acted in accordance with his conscience, and had without hesitation brought his army to support Robert's campaign against the West.
On the battlefield they had lived and died together, sharing honour and shame.
And yet this man had stopped him at his moment of greatest fury—with such a ridiculous reason.
Looking at the still-unpacified Robert, Eddard opened his mouth, but felt too weary to say a word; he could only pinch the bridge of his nose in some discomfort.
Faced with such a willful king, even his heart could not help but complain that Jon Arryn had died so young, and that this great infant had come to find him.
Robert did not see Eddard's headache; after cursing once more, he turned again and fixed his gaze on the distant red, continuing his tirade.
"Yes, Ser Kal Stone is a hero, I admit it."
"But Ned, don't you know why he became a hero?!"
"It was that damned bastard—he threatened me with my people, tens of thousands of lives!"
"And I have long said I will kill him, cut off his head, and stick it on a pike for all of King's Landing to see."
"Only then will my hatred be sated!"
King Robert spat as he hurled insults at Tywin Lannister's forces in the distance.
It was plain to see he was indeed furious.
And Eddard Stark was indeed helpless.
"Your Majesty, I know—if Tywin Lannister were my vassal, I would ride there at once and, in your name, pass judgement on him—"
Eddard tried to smooth things over for the enraged stag.
"Then why did you stop me?" Robert grew angrier. "You should be with me—cut his head off!"
"I do not mean to oppose you, Your Majesty. Tywin Lannister deserves to die—indeed, fifteen years ago I wanted you to take his head."
"But it was you who argued with me then, just as you are now!"
At Robert's spoiled, petulant display, Eddard felt some irritation.
He began dredging up old quarrels.
Hearing that, Robert couldn't help the twitch at his mouth; it brought back the memory of his first days in the Red Keep, when the Targaryen line had been wrapped in red cloaks and laid beneath the Iron Throne.
And Eddard had been as angry then as he was now.
That made Robert uneasy.
"Ned, I am the king!"
"...—hmm, if you were to bring me this suggestion now, I would agree without mercy, and place 'Ice' into your hands."
"Times are different now!"
Robert spat back stubbornly, reiterating his status.
Still, his tone had at least softened somewhat.
Seeing that the stubborn stag would not relent, Eddard could only swallow his anger.
After all, Robert was right—he was the king.
And when they had quarrelled all those years ago before he sat upon the Iron Throne, Eddard had not knelt and sworn fealty to him.
Times had indeed changed, Robert was right.
Their roles had shifted with the times.
And naturally, their positions had to change as well.
So Eddard could only take a few deep breaths to calm himself.
"Your Majesty, wait until Tywin Lannister comes here under a white flag, then you may make your decision..."
Eddard stepped back of his own accord, giving the king his dignity.
Seeing he had gotten what he could, Robert fell silent, his gaze still fixed on the distant red.
"Very well—if he cannot give me a reason to spare him, then his head will be mounted upon the walls of King's Landing!"
Having said this, still seething, Robert jerked his horse's reins and strode back toward the camp.
Through the fog that the wind was gradually dispersing, Eddard Stark glanced once more at the red spot in the distance, then also led his horse and turned away.
"Prepare the ground; we are now to accept Tywin Lannister's surrender."
"And then, end this war."
With a heavy tone he gave the order, then turned his head to follow Robert.
Before long, the grounds—already prepared in advance—were filled with people.
Lords from the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North each took their seats in two rows of benches, while many more stood.
As for the King and the Hand, they sat side by side on the raised dais at the head.
Yet neither looked at the other, both holding to silence.
Below, the lords who had learned of Tywin's choice to surrender showed varied expressions; seeing the two great men at the high seat remain wordless, they too had no choice but to fall silent, only exchanging glances with one another.
That silence held, until a guard's announcement arrived.
"Your Majesty, Lord Tywin Lannister has come before the camp."
Eddard Stark and King Robert exchanged a glance.
Eddard's eyes still bore that steady firmness.
The King could only grit his jaw, give a slight nod, and signal that he understood.
Eddard let out a quiet breath, then turned his gaze to the guard who had reported.
"Bring them up—"
The guard obeyed and left, and before long a bald man with thick golden whiskers at his temples and calm light-green eyes flecked with gold, Lord Tywin Lannister, came walking toward the open ground left clear for him.
He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered and straight of waist, appearing just past fifty in years.
At this moment Tywin wore dark-red armor engraved in gold with a bright lion; he bore no helmet, and on his shoulders rested a cloak woven with golden thread, fastened by a belt at his waist.
Behind Tywin followed four men, all unarmed, as they approached the place where Robert glared furiously at him.
His steady steps finally halted five or six paces below the dais.
"My greetings to you, Your Majesty!"
Tywin's noble manners were flawless, precise.
His hand brushed his left shoulder, where seemed set a badge of House Lannister's roaring lion, and he bowed slightly before the King.
He lowered his head.
Eddard Stark, watching Tywin Lannister salute the King, could not help but furrow his brow faintly, then turned his eyes toward his sovereign.
And as Tywin greeted him as though nothing had happened, Robert's fury, which had begun to subside, rose up once more.
His thick brows arched high, his eyes bulged wide in wrath as he glared at the bald man before him.
"If the place you came to greet me were not the battlefield but Casterly Rock, perhaps I would be happier."
"Tywin, I recall I once said I would take your head!"
Tywin, who had been bowing, felt a flash of sharp light pass through his lowered eyes when he heard Robert's undisguised words.
He then raised his head, straightened his posture, and looked at the King with a calm gaze.
"I yield to you, Your Majesty. If you so wish, you may cut off my head."
There was no fear or retreat in Tywin Lannister's eyes; as if he had no objection even if Robert were to truly take his head.
Seeing Tywin, now effectively a captive, bear such proud composure, Robert's rage rose anew—"Ha—Tywin, do you think I lack the nerve?"
"Off with his head!"
The King raised his hand to have him beheaded.
But before his hand was fully raised, his Hand, Lord Eddard Stark, held him back.
"Your Majesty!"
After stopping Robert, anxious that this quarrel might reignite the war, Eddard Stark hurriedly interjected.
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