Faced with Lysa Tully's accusations—and seeing young Robert Arryn sitting beside her, clapping his hands in excitement at his mother's madness as though watching some fine spectacle—the lords of the Vale could not help but darken in expression.
Justice lies in men's hearts. If not for this madwoman, they would never have found themselves in such a position.
Yet out of loyalty to House Arryn, they could not voice such words against Lysa Tully and the last heir of House Arryn.
But as Lysa raved on, Kal would not allow the Vale's nobility to be put in such a bind.
He had come here on business—not to watch a farce.
And he was not mad.
So when Lysa's shrill accusations fell upon the vassals loyal to House Arryn, Kal stepped forward.
Abruptly, he drew his longsword with a sharp hiss and leveled it at Lysa on the high seat.
His expression was no longer gentle—his features hardened, cold as ice.
"In the name of King Robert, I come to the Vale to question its lords regarding the matter of war!"
"I did not invoke my authority, but came observing the courtesies due in the Vale. Yet Lady Lysa greets me thus, denying even the rights of a guest!"
"Now, in the name of Robert Baratheon the First, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—and by my title as Warden of the East—I put this question to House Arryn of the Eyrie!
"Does House Arryn harbor thoughts of defiance?"
"Do you mean to secede from the Seven Kingdoms, to betray the Iron Throne?"
Kal's voice crashed like thunder, shaking the very eardrums of all present.
His harsh rebuke rang through the great hall of the Eyrie, drowning out the whistling gusts from the Moon Door and the roaring of the Tears of Alyssa waterfall.
The nobles of the Vale, who had moments before still harbored dissatisfaction at Kal Stone's arrival, blanched in shock.
Confronted by the gleaming sword pointed at her, Lysa Tully—who only an instant earlier had been raging and shrieking at her own vassals—was struck dumb. At the very moment Kal's roar shook the hall, she collapsed back into her seat.
She felt as though his voice were a hammer crashing down upon her, its killing intent suffocating.
Her pupils contracted, her scalp prickled as if shocked by lightning, and a chilling numbness spread across her skin.
And in her heart, one truth struck her like ice—if she dared to utter "yes," that sword would fall and take her head.
Fear surged like a flood, drowning her wits. She sat frozen on the weirwood throne, lips trembling, unable to form words.
As for Robert Arryn, who had moments before been clapping and shouting gleefully for traitors against House Arryn to be "sent flying"—he, too, froze in shock like his mother.
And when Kal's roar still echoed as it faded away, the boy's mouth opened, and he suddenly burst into frightened sobs.
The sound of her son's crying jolted Lysa out of her terror. Her hand went slack, and she instinctively dropped the slender sword, rushing to pull her "sweet Robin" into her arms.
Madness and fear still flickered in her eyes as she clutched the boy tightly, her lips trembling as she tried to comfort the six-year-old Lord of the Eyrie. Only when the sword struck the floor with a sharp clang did the suffocating tension left by Kal's thunderous outburst finally ease enough for her to breathe again.
The gathered nobles, too—startled and cowed by Kal's sudden change of bearing and the force of his roar—finally remembered to draw breath.
Looking upon the widow and child of House Arryn, cowering together under the shout of a mere bastard barely come of age, their expressions soured.
Though they resented Lysa Tully's refusal to carry out the king's command and summon them to arms, as vassals of House Arryn they were bound to stand forth now.
"Ser Kal Stone, you may rest assured—the Vale harbors no thoughts of disloyalty to the realm!" Yohn Royce, Bronze Yohn, stepped forward to ease the strife.
His expression was grave, as if he might swear it to the gods themselves.
Yet Kal's longsword did not waver; its point still aimed at the mother and son upon the weirwood throne.
Still, with Lord Royce's words, Kal turned his gaze upon him.
But there was no trace left of his earlier gentleness.
"Lord Yohn Royce, I honor you—but you and I both know such matters cannot be smoothed over by words alone."
"The fact that Lord Jon Arryn was slain by Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister is proven beyond doubt, with Lord Stannis Baratheon himself testifying to it."
"And yet, when the king declared war upon the Lannisters, the Vale acted in a way contrary to what was expected."
"Tell me, my lord—if you sat upon the Iron Throne yourself, what judgment would you make of this?"
Confronted by such harsh reproach and the questioning of the Vale's loyalty, Yohn Royce's face grew ever darker.
But against the evidence Kal laid bare, he had no words in reply.
At last, he turned his eyes to the mother and son huddled together where the sword's point still aimed, and let out a weary sigh. Then his features hardened with resolve as he faced Kal again.
"The Vale will answer to the Iron Throne!"
"Lord Warden of the East, from this moment forth, House Royce of Runestone shall heed your command, to prove the Vale's loyalty to the Iron Throne!"
Lord Yohn Royce's voice was solemn, and to seal his words he bent down upon one knee, pledging loyalty both to the Iron Throne and to its Warden of the East.
But scarcely had his voice fallen when another sound rang out—a sudden, jarring scrape of steel drawn from its sheath.
"Kal Stone! Who gave you the right to bare steel against the mistress of the Eyrie within her own hall?"
A knight, who had been fully armed from the start and standing by the weirwood throne, suddenly drew his longsword and leveled it at Kal, loudly rebuking him for showing disrespect to the Lady of the Eyrie.
The atmosphere, which had eased somewhat with Bronze Yohn's submission, turned grim again the moment steel was drawn.
Seeing someone dare to stand out and challenge him at such a moment, Kal narrowed his eyes slightly. His gaze held a trace of curiosity—but more than that, he looked upon the man as though he were a fool.
When Kal saw who it was raising a sword against him, he slowly lowered the gilded blade he had been pointing toward Lysa and her son.
"Who are you, and what right do you have to question me?"
At Kal's words, the knight only grew more arrogant.
He strode with heavy steps to the edge of the high platform, looking down at Kal Stone in the hall below.
"I am Ser Vardis Egen, sworn vassal of House Arryn, Captain of the Guards of the Eyrie!"
"Oh~"
Hearing that introduction, Kal instantly recalled who this man was. Yet instead of concern, his lips curled into a mocking smile.
For this was none other than Vardis Egen—who, in the original tale, had been named by Lysa Tully as the champion of House Arryn, when she brought Tyrion Lannister bound to the Eyrie. At that time, with Tyrion so desperate under accusation that he could only demand trial by combat, it was Ser Vardis who had been chosen to stand for the Arryns.
Now remembering clearly, Kal calmly slid his longsword back into its scabbard.
Without a word, he turned and walked straight to Jory Cassel. Before the man could even grasp what was happening, Kal drew the longsword hanging at his waist.
He weighed the weapon lightly in his hand.
Then, under the bewildered stares of all around him, he once again turned his gaze to Ser Vardis upon the high platform.
"You just asked me who gave me the right to bare steel against the mistress of the Eyrie."
"I can give you the answer right now."
Kal's face still bore that faint, cold smile.
But before he even finished his words—
Before the shocked eyes of the gathered nobles in the Eyrie's great hall—the longsword Kal gripped by the blade was suddenly hurled straight at Ser Vardis Egen.
The iron sword, cast like a spear, split the air with a shrill, piercing hum.
Its target was none other than the chest of the man who had dared speak to him with insolence—Ser Vardis Egen.
Clad head to toe in armor, his face hidden beneath a helm, no one could see the expression beneath.
Yet just as he had been looking curiously at what Kal Stone was about to do—suddenly, the sword flew at him.
In the blink of an eye. No—less than the blink of an eye.
Ser Vardis had no chance to react at all. The iron blade, forged by a smith of Winterfell, was already upon him.
With a sharp clang of metal striking metal, the iron sword pierced through Ser Vardis Egen's plate armor, its momentum unbroken as it drove further into his body.
The blade tore through the steel plate, then punched cleanly into the mail beneath, before once more slipping effortlessly through his chest.
The sudden, brutal force struck him like a carriage crashing into his body. Standing at the platform's edge as he rebuked Kal, Ser Vardis was hurled backward, armor and all.
The impact robbed him of balance; stumbling, he toppled helplessly.
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