Over the span of more than a week, the situation in Highgarden gradually stabilized.
And during the time he remained there, Kal, aside from patiently enjoying his rare holiday, also ensured that the news from this place had more or less spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Oh—no, not just the Battle of Highgarden. The battle in which the Redwyne fleet attacked Lannisport had surely spread just as widely as well—the dragon had come.
On the second day after the Battle of Highgarden, Kal received news from Casterly Rock. The message detailed what had happened there during this period, as well as the situation afterward.
Then, through the words alone, Kal could feel Tyrion's excitement. The dwarf expressed his respect and informed His Majesty King Kal that he now possessed a ready-made fleet.
All that was needed was for him to recruit and train a capable corps of sailors and naval troops, and then King Kal himself would also have a fleet upon the seas.
Kal's reply to this was to tell him not to grow arrogant, to be on guard against certain madmen from the Iron Islands, and, in addition, to have people dispatched to investigate the situation there and keep a constant watch on it.
And most importantly, he told him not to worry about the expenses required to establish the fleet.
Because his king had just won a great victory—and the spoils had been taken from a place as wealthy as the Reach.
So he told the dwarf to spend freely—if the money ran out, he could just ask his great King Kal for more.
As for the rest, it concerned the final notice of the summons.
The exact words of King Kal Baratheon I were: "Submit, or be burned by dragonfire."
However, although the Battle of Lannisport was likewise awe-inspiring, and marked yet another appearance since the disappearance of Targaryen dragons from the battlefield—the moment that had once proclaimed the extinction of dragons in the mortal world—its level of attention still differed from that of the Battle of Highgarden, where Kal himself had been present.
The reasons for this were manifold. Beyond the fact that Kal himself was the master of the great dragon Robert, and the absolute central figure among the current rulers of the Iron Throne, there was also the fact that this was another Field of Fire, the first in three hundred years.
The last Field of Fire had been the most crucial campaign in Aegon the Conqueror's unification of the Seven Kingdoms, marking the beginning of Targaryen rule.
It was the only time in history that three Targaryen dragons had gathered together—Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion striking as one—and it was for this reason that later generations of bards named it the Field of Fire.
This time, although there was only a single dragon, far from matching the shock of three dragons assembled together, the deterrent power remained undiminished—indeed, it was even more terrifying and deeply etched into the hearts of men.
Moreover, everyone understood the significance of what this battle represented.
And this Field of Fire, ignited by Kal Baratheon, was likewise destined to become the most important battle of Kal's life.
People had all come to realize that Kal Baratheon, the only one at present who possessed a dragon and also held the Iron Throne's legitimate right to rule, was destined to usher in a history belonging to House Baratheon—and to leave an indelible, richly colored mark of his own upon history.
…
Highgarden lay no small distance from Oldtown, but such a distance meant nothing to Kal, who could ride a dragon.
He set out in the morning. By the time the afternoon was barely halfway through, a black shadow that had vanished for over a hundred years appeared above this city—the largest in Westeros, and also the oldest.
Urgent bells rang out across the city, warning the people of Oldtown of the threat in the skies.
Kal, meanwhile, waited patiently, circling again and again, taking the entire city in beneath his gaze.
Only when the banners of House Hightower appeared, escorted by a crowd of cavalry, did Robert beat his wings and slowly descend before the gates of the Citadel, flanked by a pair of tall green sphinx statues.
Cries of terror rang out one after another. Robert's wings whipped up a fierce wind, sweeping dust from the ground as the timid crowd scattered in flight.
Yet before long, several frenzied figures came rushing out from the Citadel. At the very first sight of the miracle before them, they instinctively tried to throw themselves forward.
A sweep of flame cut across the space, drawing a boundary for them.
The searing heat hammered at their nerves, frightening those few fanatical figures into collapsing to the ground, where they finally regained their composure.
Behind those few, several elderly men appeared before Kal. They were draped in maesters' robes, bent with age, their beards long and white, with all manner of small trinkets hanging from their necks.
Seeing the stone-paved ground ahead—scorched black and even showing faint signs of cracking—these archmaesters who had hurried over stopped at the boundary line.
"Greetings, Your Grace King Kal Baratheon. We hope you will forgive Maester Carsen and the others for their offense. It is only that your majesty—and your dragon, Robert—are truly overwhelming."
As he looked at the elderly men who had come before him, Kal noticed that each of them held a staff in hand, and that their faces were covered by masks of varying materials and differing designs.
The one who was speaking to him wore rings, carried a staff, and bore a mask all fashioned of gold and silver, the whole giving off a pale sheen.
They inclined slightly in a bow toward him, yet there was not an excess of deference in their words.
"Which Archmaester is speaking to me?" Kal asked.
From the staffs and masks, Kal recognized that these six were members of the Conclave; naturally, their status would also be that of archmaesters.
Within the Citadel, the internal hierarchy of the maesters was divided into apprentices and assistant maesters, maesters, and archmaesters; above them still were the Seneschal and the Grand Maester.
However, compared to the first three ranks, the Seneschal and the Grand Maester were rather special positions.
And to explain all of this in detail, one would have to begin with the Citadel itself as an institution.
The Citadel itself was merely a complex of buildings constructed in Oldtown, but what it represented was the highest governing institution of the maesters throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
They gathered here to convene, to conduct research, and to train newcomers, or else lived here permanently.
The Citadel was the final destination of all maesters.
As for House Hightower, which ruled Oldtown, it had once spared no effort in the founding of the Citadel, and thereafter had always remained one of the Citadel's most important patrons and protectors.
As a result, the relationship between House Hightower and the Citadel was somewhat complex.
"Your Grace King Kal, you may call me Noren. I am the current Seneschal of the Citadel."
The elderly man clad in gold-and-silver alloy answered Kal's question and removed the mask from his face.
Upon hearing his self-introduction, Kal glanced at the mask and staff in his hand. These signified that this archmaester named Noren was, beyond any doubt, a master in both medicine and economics.
Upon hearing the reply from the man before him who called himself Archmaester Noren, Kal nodded, then leapt down from Robert's back.
The sudden movement startled the elderly men.
They widened their eyes, staring at Kal in utter shock, seemingly unable to comprehend how he could jump straight down from a height of four or five meters and emerge completely unharmed.
As archmaesters, any one of them possessed sufficient understanding of the human body.
Yet the actions of the king before them far exceeded their expectations.
Much like the enormous dragon before their eyes, even when they deliberately kept their distance, they could still feel waves of heat radiating from the dragon's body.
This involuntarily brought to mind a saying—one that claimed a dragon's flesh and blood were formed entirely of fire.
Kal, however, paid no heed to what they were thinking. After sweeping his gaze across the faces of the elderly men, each of whom had removed his mask, he finally shifted his attention to the Citadel's current Seneschal.
"I apologize for disturbing your peace. I am Kal El."
"And Archmaester Noren, it is a pleasure to meet you. I may have further matters to discuss with the Citadel later, so—if it is convenient—would you have time to remain a while?"
The Seneschal was not, in fact, a fixed position. It was selected by the archmaesters through the drawing of lots, with a new Seneschal chosen every year.
This was because the Seneschal's duty was to manage the Citadel, but to the archmaesters, most regarded it as a thankless and exhausting task, since it forced them away from their proper scholarly work.
Upon hearing this, the several Conclave archmaesters who had been temporarily summoned could not help but turn their gazes toward Noren, with unmistakable schadenfreude flickering in the eyes of two of them.
Only one man's eyes shifted slightly. He glanced at Kal, then at Robert, seemingly lost in thought.
Then he simply spoke up directly.
"Your Grace King Kal, might I also be permitted to take part?"
Seeing someone else join in, Noren looked over as well. Noticing the confusion in Kal's eyes, he hastily introduced him.
"Your Grace, this is Archmaester Perestan, a historian and the author of Studies of History."
Hearing this, Kal was mildly surprised. After glancing at the mask in Perestan's hand, he turned his gaze back to him.
"When I was traveling in the eastern continent, I had the honor of reading your work. I never expected to meet you here. Archmaester Perestan, if you are willing, you may join us as well."
However, just as Kal had agreed to the request of this archmaester named Perestan, another voice suddenly shouted from afar as someone came running over.
"Your Grace, might I also be fortunate enough to participate?"
What was going on today?
Kal could not help but feel puzzled.
He looked over instinctively, only to see a man with a bull-like thick neck and a slab-like chin, short and stout in build, with a broad chest and shoulders, a round wine belly, and stiff white hairs protruding from his ears and nostrils, sprinting all the way to him.
Like the others, he too stared at Kal with a look of fervent excitement.
No—his gaze was fixed even more intently on Robert behind Kal.
Kal noticed that the newcomer wore neither mask nor staff, but around his neck hung a chain of Valyrian steel, signifying profound attainments in magic and mysticism.
Maester Luwin's chain also bore such a steel link.
"Marwyn, this is not a place for you to run wild."
Before Kal could figure out who this man was, Archmaester Perestan—who had been speaking with him—snapped back with clear displeasure.
Yet in the face of Perestan's obvious hostility, Marwyn merely smiled indifferently, still staring at Robert with unbridled fervor.
"But before this, I was the only one who believed that all the rumors about dragons were true."
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