"Seven hells… I'm already starting to miss my warm, comfortable bed."
On the broad stretch of the Kingsroad, a triumphant procession slowly advanced toward King's Landing.
At the head of the column rode King Robert Baratheon, mounted atop a powerful warhorse. Despite the victory they carried with them, the king looked strangely weary.
He leaned slightly forward in the saddle, his broad shoulders slumping as he spoke to the man riding beside him.
"Tell me, Ned," Robert muttered, his voice thick with impatience, "how much farther do we have to ride before we reach the Red Keep?"
His dull eyes gazed toward the distant silhouette of King's Landing. The city's massive walls were already visible on the horizon.
There was longing in Robert's eyes.
It was the kind of look a traveler in a burning desert might wear when spotting an oasis at the very edge of death.
Beside him rode Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King.
After listening to Robert complain for most of the journey, Ned's ears had almost gone numb.
He did not reply immediately.
Instead, he lifted his head and studied the distant city.
Then his gaze drifted backward, toward the long line of prisoner wagons trailing behind the royal procession.
Among those prisoners was the most prominent captive of all.
Tywin Lannister.
The former Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West.
Tywin rode alone in a covered prisoner carriage. Despite his situation, his posture remained straight, his expression calm and composed.
He looked less like a prisoner and more like a lord traveling in quiet dignity.
At that moment, Tywin seemed to notice Ned's gaze.
Their eyes met briefly.
Tywin's face remained as expressionless as ever.
Yet Ned felt as if he detected the faintest hint of a smile hidden within those golden eyes.
It made him strangely uncomfortable.
Perhaps the journey had simply exhausted him.
Or perhaps the oppressive heat was affecting his mood.
Ned forced himself to stop thinking about it.
During the past half month, he had remained in Harrenhal, handling countless matters following the war.
Tywin Lannister's unexpected surrender had brought the war to a sudden end.
Yet peace had not simplified things.
In fact, it had created an endless stream of complications.
Reception of surrendered forces.
Distribution of prisoners.
Negotiations with allied lords.
Settlement of war damages.
All of these tasks had fallen squarely onto Ned's shoulders.
Political relationships—the very thing Ned despised most—had become unavoidable.
After all, he was both Lord of the North and Hand of the King.
As the king's chief minister, it was his duty to manage these affairs.
When Robert began urging everyone to return to King's Landing, Ned chose not to oppose him.
Truthfully, Ned had also grown tired of Harrenhal.
So he allowed Robert his impulsive decision and accompanied him south.
As for the defeated Lannister armies, Robert still had not fully decided how to handle them.
In the end, they were divided into three groups.
The first group was taken north by Ned's forces.
These men had been judged guilty of severe crimes committed during the war—murder, rape, and pillaging.
They were the worst offenders.
Even so, because Tywin had surrendered rather than being defeated outright, Robert showed a degree of mercy.
Only a few ringleaders were executed as a symbolic punishment.
The rest were sentenced to take the black.
They would be sent to Castle Black to serve in the Night's Watch, where they would spend the remainder of their lives defending the Wall.
It was a convenient solution.
The criminals received punishment.
And the understaffed Night's Watch gained desperately needed recruits.
A perfect arrangement.
The second group consisted of a smaller but more delicate category of prisoners.
These were knights and noble-born heirs captured during the war.
They were valuable assets.
Rather than imprisoning them indefinitely, Ned decided they should be used as compensation.
Many lords of the Riverlands had suffered enormous losses during the conflict.
By receiving captured knights and heirs, those houses could demand ransoms or leverage alliances.
After discussing the matter with Robert, Ned chose to entrust these prisoners to House Tully of Riverrun.
The Tullys would distribute them among their vassals.
This decision also served another purpose.
The Riverlands had collapsed shockingly quickly when the war began.
Ned had sensed an unusual atmosphere among its lords.
By strengthening House Tully's authority, he hoped to restore unity to the region.
Still, this was only a temporary measure.
The Westerlands remained an enormous prize.
Dividing such wealth and territory would require careful negotiation among the great houses.
For now, Ned preferred to step back and observe.
The final group—the largest by far—consisted of ordinary Lannister soldiers.
These men technically belonged to the Iron Throne now.
However, there were simply too many of them to bring to King's Landing at once.
For the moment, they remained stationed at Harrenhal under guard.
Eventually, they would be processed in batches.
Some would be disbanded.
Others would be absorbed into royal forces.
Only the best soldiers would be allowed to serve in the capital.
The entire process could take half a year or more.
As Ned reviewed these responsibilities in his mind, he felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue.
At times, he felt like the mill horse back in Winterfell—blindfolded and forced to walk endlessly in circles.
With a quiet sigh, he loosened his collar slightly.
A faint breeze brushed against his neck, bringing momentary relief.
His gaze drifted once more toward King's Landing.
The southern sun blazed overhead.
Compared to the frozen North, the climate here felt almost alien.
Ned now wore only a thin silk garment.
His heavy northern furs had long been packed away.
Yet even this light clothing clung uncomfortably to his skin.
The humid air felt thick and suffocating.
Like a wet blanket draped across the world.
This place did not suit him.
He belonged in the North.
There, the air was cold and clean.
Life moved slowly and peacefully.
After a long day's work, he could dine with his children, spend the evening with Catelyn, and sleep with the cold wind blowing through an open window.
That was when he truly felt at home.
Not here.
Not in this suffocating southern heat.
At last, Ned turned toward Robert.
With a tired sigh, he said:
"If I'm not mistaken, Your Majesty… you've probably spent less time sleeping in your grand bed at the Red Keep than you have in other people's beds."
Robert blinked.
Ned rarely made jokes.
Yet the bitterness in his tone was obvious.
Robert frowned immediately.
"Who told you that?" he demanded.
His deep voice thundered across the road.
Ned simply looked at him with quiet disdain.
"Stories about you travel across the Seven Kingdoms," he said calmly.
"I don't need anyone to tell them to me."
Robert scowled.
"The king enjoys praise," he growled.
"But not slander."
"If I hear someone spreading lies about me, I'll rip out their tongue."
Ned wiped sweat from his brow.
"I suppose that means you'll never hear your favorite songs again."
Robert blinked again.
"What?"
"After all," Ned continued dryly, "people without tongues cannot sing."
He glanced at Robert thoughtfully.
"If I recall correctly, your favorites include The Bear and the Maiden Fair, A Barrel of Ale, and Fifty-Four Barrels."
"Perhaps Your Majesty should show mercy."
"Otherwise the poor singers will starve."
Robert stared at him.
Ned added calmly:
"The Old Gods know your tastes are simple."
"Wine and women."
Robert's face darkened.
"Are you saying no one praises their king?" he roared.
Ned loosened his collar again.
"The warm winds of the South cannot reach the North."
"There, the cold freezes your urine before it hits the ground."
He shrugged slightly.
"Perhaps praise for the king travels just as poorly."
For a moment, Robert fell silent.
Then suddenly—
He burst into roaring laughter.
"You're right, Ned!"
He pointed a thick finger toward his old friend.
"But I'm the king!"
"I can do whatever I want!"
Robert leaned closer with a grin.
"And right now, your king has been deprived for months."
"The girls behind Rhaenys's Hill must miss me terribly."
"How could I make them wait any longer?"
His eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Those laundry women we encountered on the road were nothing special."
"They had no charm at all."
Robert laughed again.
"But the beauties of King's Landing…"
"Now that's something worth returning for!"
Ned grimaced.
"If you weren't the king," he muttered, "I'd force you into armor and challenge you to a duel."
Robert laughed even harder.
"I'd kick your fat backside."
Robert wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"But sadly, Ned…"
"I am your king!"
Outside King's Landing, near the Gods Gate, preparations were already underway.
The Gold Cloaks had blocked the road.
Crowds of commoners, merchants, and minor nobles gathered behind barricades.
Everyone waited eagerly.
They all knew why the streets had been cleared.
The king was returning.
Under a large tent stood Ser Karl Stone, the man currently controlling the city's administration.
He remained in the shade, avoiding the burning sun while watching the gathered crowd.
His sharp eyes occasionally shifted toward the Gold Cloaks stationed nearby.
Among them were warriors secretly loyal to him.
Although they wore the same uniforms, their bearing was different.
Like a husky standing among wolves.
Karl observed them carefully.
Then he remembered an old saying from his previous life.
Just then, a soft voice spoke beside him.
"Sir Karl, would you like some iced milk?"
Karl turned slightly.
Standing beside him was a plump bald man dressed in expensive silk.
Lord Varys.
The eunuch held a tray filled with chilled milk, fruit, and melon.
"These refreshments are perfect for such hot weather," Varys said sweetly.
Karl casually picked up the cup of iced milk.
Cold droplets formed on the surface.
Yet he did not drink.
Instead, he stared down the road.
Far in the distance—
Dust clouds rose into the air.
The royal procession was approaching.
Karl smiled faintly.
"Lord Varys," he said calmly.
"Before we enjoy these refreshments…"
"Perhaps we should prepare something the king truly prefers."
He glanced sideways at the Spider.
"As the Master of Whisperers who has served the royal family for many years…"
"Do you have any suggestions?"
His tone sounded innocent.
Like a young man seeking guidance.
But his eyes remained fixed on the approaching dust.
And the king returning to the city.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)