Over the past week, the situation in Highgarden had gradually stabilized.
During his stay, Karl finally enjoyed a rare period of peace and relaxation. At the same time, he made sure the news of everything that had happened spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Not only had the Battle of Highgarden shaken the realm, but the Redwyne fleet's attack on Lannisport had also become common knowledge.
Most importantly...
A dragon had appeared once again.
The day after the battle, Karl received a detailed report from Casterly Rock, describing everything that had happened in the west and the current situation there.
The letter was written by Tyrion Lannister, and Karl could almost feel the dwarf's excitement through every line.
According to Tyrion, His Grace now possessed an entire fleet.
All Karl needed to do was recruit skilled sailors and train a capable corps of marines. Once that was done, the Iron Throne would finally possess a true royal navy.
Karl's reply was simple.
He reminded Tyrion not to become overconfident.
The Ironborn were unpredictable fanatics, and they remained the greatest threat at sea.
He ordered Tyrion to keep spies watching the Iron Islands at all times and report any unusual movements immediately.
As for the cost of rebuilding the fleet...
Karl told him not to worry.
After all, they had just won a decisive victory and seized the immense wealth of the Reach.
"If you run out of gold," Karl wrote,
"Ask your king for more."
The final matter concerned the summons that had already been sent across Westeros.
Karl's original decree contained only one sentence.
"Those who refuse to submit shall be consumed by dragonfire."
Although the battle at Lannisport had shocked the Seven Kingdoms, it was still overshadowed by the Battle of Highgarden.
The reason was simple.
Karl himself had appeared there.
As the rider of the only living dragon and the rightful ruler of the Iron Throne, he had become the center of everyone's attention.
More importantly...
People had begun comparing the battle to the legendary Field of Fire.
Three hundred years earlier, Aegon the Conqueror had united the Seven Kingdoms after the famous Field of Fire, where Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes had burned countless armies to ash.
It was the greatest battle of the Targaryen conquest.
This time, Karl possessed only a single dragon.
Yet the fear inspired by Robert was no less overwhelming.
If anything, witnessing a dragon after more than a century left an even deeper impression upon the people.
Everyone understood the significance of what they had seen.
The Field of Fire of Karl Baratheon would undoubtedly become the defining battle of his reign.
People had begun to realize that Karl Baratheon, who possessed both the only dragon in the world and the strongest claim to the Iron Throne, was destined to usher in a new golden age for House Baratheon.
His name would surely be remembered throughout history.
---
Highgarden was a considerable distance from Oldtown.
For ordinary travelers, the journey would take several days.
For Robert...
It required only a single morning.
By early afternoon, a massive black shadow appeared above the skies of Oldtown.
For the first time in over a century, a dragon soared above the oldest and largest city in Westeros.
Alarm bells immediately rang throughout the city.
Citizens rushed into the streets, staring upward in fear.
Karl remained seated calmly upon Robert's back.
Instead of landing immediately, he circled the city several times, carefully observing every district and landmark below.
Only after the banners of House Hightower appeared outside the Citadel did Robert slowly descend.
His enormous wings beat powerfully, stirring violent winds that sent dust and loose stones flying in every direction.
He landed before the grand entrance of the Citadel, guarded by two towering green sphinxes.
Terrified cries erupted from the surrounding crowd.
Many people fled at once.
Others stood frozen in place.
Several figures suddenly rushed out of the Citadel.
The moment they saw the living dragon, they charged forward with almost fanatical excitement.
Robert released a narrow stream of dragonfire across the ground.
A blazing line of fire instantly separated them from him.
The intense heat forced the excited scholars to stumble backward in terror.
Only then did they regain their senses.
Soon afterward, several elderly men wearing Maester robes emerged from the Citadel.
Each possessed a long white beard.
Each carried a ceremonial staff.
Each wore a distinctive mask crafted from different metals.
They stopped respectfully before the still-glowing line of scorched stone.
One elderly man stepped forward.
"Greetings, Your Majesty, King Karl Baratheon."
"I hope you will forgive Maester Carson and the others."
"They were simply overwhelmed by the sight of you... and your magnificent dragon."
Karl quietly observed the group.
Every one of them carried a staff and wore an ornate mask.
He immediately recognized their identities.
They were members of the Conclave.
Naturally...
Every one of them was a Maester.
Within the Citadel, Maesters were divided into several ranks.
Apprentices.
Assistant Maesters.
Full Maesters.
Members of the Conclave.
Above them stood two special offices—
The Grand Maester and the Seneschal.
Unlike the ordinary ranks, these two positions carried administrative authority over the entire Citadel.
The Citadel itself was more than simply a collection of buildings.
It was the supreme institution governing every Maester throughout Westeros.
Here, Maesters studied, conducted research, trained apprentices, preserved knowledge, and advised the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.
It was, in every sense, the home of all Maesters.
House Hightower had played a vital role in founding the Citadel centuries earlier.
Since then, they had remained its greatest protectors and benefactors.
Because of this, the relationship between House Hightower and the Citadel had always been exceptionally close.
The title of Maester represented far more than simple scholarship.
Maesters served as healers, scientists, historians, engineers, teachers, and trusted advisors.
Many referred to them as the Knights of the Mind.
Long ago, these responsibilities had belonged to the Alchemists' Guild.
Over time, however, the Maesters gradually replaced them throughout Westeros.
Young students entered the Citadel as apprentices.
After earning their first chain link, they became assistant Maesters.
Most assistant Maesters spent their days copying books, writing legal documents, reading letters for commoners, and performing countless administrative tasks.
Before becoming full Maesters, every assistant underwent an ancient vigil.
Alone in a completely dark cellar stood an obsidian glass candle.
Unless they succeeded in lighting the impossible candle, they were required to spend the entire night in darkness.
The ritual symbolized humanity's endless pursuit of truth and knowledge.
Only after completing every requirement did an assistant finally become a true Maester.
Men of any age could study at the Citadel.
Women, however, were forbidden from joining the order.
Once assigned to a noble house, a Maester served as tutor, physician, counselor, and steward.
Examples included Maester Luwin of Winterfell, Maester Aemon at Castle Black, and Maester Cressen of Dragonstone.
Although they served noble houses, Maesters did not swear loyalty to individual families.
If a castle changed hands, the resident Maester simply served the new lord.
To reinforce that neutrality, every Maester surrendered his family name upon taking his vows.
From that day onward, he was known only by his given name and title.
That was why Karl asked the old man before him,
"And who are you?"
The elderly scholar smiled.
"You may call me Norren."
"I currently serve as the Seneschal of the Citadel."
Removing his silver-and-gold mask, the old man bowed politely.
Judging by the materials used in his staff, mask, and chain, Karl recognized that Norren had mastered both medicine and economics.
Within the Citadel, every metal represented expertise in a different field.
A Maester specializing in ravens carried black iron.
Astronomers wore bronze.
Each ring, rod, and mask symbolized mastery over a particular discipline.
Members of the Conclave were the Citadel's senior scholars.
They governed the order and elected the Grand Maester, who later served on the king's Small Council.
Grand Maester Pycelle's successor, Pate, had been chosen in exactly this manner.
Unlike ordinary Maesters, however, the Grand Maester wore an elaborate chain containing links from every discipline, woven together with precious gems to symbolize his unique office rather than his individual specialties.
Every meeting of the Conclave remained strictly confidential.
Each Maester also possessed an ancient black iron key capable of opening every door within the Citadel.
The key never left its owner's possession.
After hearing Norren's introduction, Karl nodded.
Then...
He casually leaped from Robert's back.
The distance was nearly five meters.
The elderly Maesters stared in complete disbelief.
As experts in medicine and anatomy, they fully understood the limits of the human body.
Yet Karl landed effortlessly without suffering even the slightest injury.
Their eyes widened.
The king before them had once again exceeded common sense.
Standing beside him, Robert radiated waves of tremendous heat.
The warmth pouring from the dragon's scales reminded them of an old saying.
The flesh and blood of dragons are made of living fire.
Karl ignored their astonishment.
Looking around at the assembled Maesters, he smiled politely.
"My apologies for disturbing your peace."
"I am Karl Baratheon."
"Maester Norren, it is a pleasure to meet you."
"I have several matters I wish to discuss with the Citadel."
"If your schedule permits, would you accompany me?"
The Seneschal was not a permanent office.
Every year, the Conclave selected a new Seneschal by drawing lots.
Managing the Citadel was widely regarded as an exhausting responsibility that distracted scholars from their own research.
As soon as Karl finished speaking, several Maesters glanced toward Norren.
Two of them even struggled to hide expressions of amusement.
Only one elderly scholar looked thoughtfully from Karl to Robert.
Finally, he stepped forward.
"Your Majesty..."
"May I also participate in this discussion?"
Norren quickly introduced him.
"This is Maester Perestan."
"A respected historian and the author of Historical Studies."
Karl's eyes brightened.
"I've read your work during my travels in Essos."
"I never expected to meet its author here."
"You are naturally welcome to join us."
Just as Perestan smiled in satisfaction—
Another voice echoed from the distance.
"Your Majesty!"
"May I also have the honor of joining you?"
Karl blinked in surprise.
What is happening today?
Turning around, he saw a short, heavily built man running toward them with astonishing speed.
The newcomer possessed a thick bull-like neck, an enormous chest, broad shoulders, a protruding belly, and wild white hairs sprouting from both his ears and nostrils.
Unlike the other Maesters, his eyes were fixed not on Karl—
But on Robert.
His expression bordered on religious fanaticism.
Karl noticed that the man carried neither ceremonial staff nor mask.
Instead, a Valyrian steel link hung prominently from his Maester's chain.
It represented mastery of magic and the higher mysteries.
Maester Luwin possessed the same rare link.
Before Karl could speak, Perestan frowned.
"Marwyn."
"This is hardly the place for your theatrics."
Marwyn ignored the criticism entirely.
His burning gaze remained fixed upon the dragon.
Then he smiled.
"Because before today..."
"I was the only Maester who truly believed that dragons still existed."
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