Just as Lord Bronze Yohn Royce was demonstrating to Karl Stone and, by extension, the Iron Throne that the Vale harbored no rebellious intentions—going so far as to kneel on one knee before a bastard to show his sincerity—an unexpected disturbance shattered the fragile calm.
A knight who had stood fully armed beside the Weirwood Throne from the beginning suddenly drew his longsword and leveled it at Karl. His voice rang out through the hall as he loudly rebuked Karl for disrespecting the master of the Eyrie within the Eyrie itself.
The atmosphere, which had only just eased with Bronze Yohn's submission, instantly tightened once more.
Karl's eyes narrowed slightly. There was curiosity in his gaze, but more than that, there was the faint look of someone watching a fool step forward at precisely the wrong moment.
Seeing who had raised a sword against him, Karl calmly lowered the gilded blade he had been pointing at Lysa Tully and her son.
"Who are you," Karl asked evenly, "and by what right do you question me?"
Hearing this, the knight's arrogance only grew. He strode to the edge of the high platform and looked down at Karl standing below in the hall.
"I am Ser Vardis Egen," he declared. "Sworn sword of House Arryn, and Captain of the Guards of the Eyrie!"
"Oh?"
Karl immediately remembered the man. A faint, almost playful smile appeared on his face.
Vardis Egen—appointed in the original timeline as House Arryn's champion when Catelyn Tully brought Tyrion Lannister to the Eyrie. The same man who would later face Bronn in a trial by combat and die screaming as he fell through the sky.
Remembering this, Karl slowly returned his own longsword to its sheath.
Without a word, he turned and walked over to Jory Cassel. Under Jory's confused gaze, Karl drew the longsword from Jory's waist and weighed it in his hand.
Then, beneath the equally bewildered stares of everyone present, Karl turned back toward the high platform.
"You just asked who gave me the authority to draw my sword against the master of the Eyrie," Karl said, his tone calm. "I can answer you now."
Before anyone could react—before even a single breath could be drawn—Karl suddenly tightened his grip on the blade and hurled the longsword forward.
The iron sword flew like a spear.
A sharp hum split the air as it cut forward, its tip aimed straight at Ser Vardis Egen's chest.
Vardis Egen was fully armored, encased in steel from head to toe. His helmet concealed his expression as he watched, still not quite comprehending what was happening.
In less than the blink of an eye, the sword struck.
With a crisp clang of metal on metal, the blade punched through his plate armor, tore through the chainmail beneath, and buried itself deep into his chest.
The force of the impact sent him staggering backward. Armor and body toppled together as if struck by a charging horse.
Lysa Tully and her son, who had been clinging to one another in tears, froze.
They had only just looked up in time to see Ser Vardis Egen fall toward them.
Lysa screamed and instinctively wrapped Robert Arryn in her arms, scrambling off the Weirwood Throne and throwing herself to the side.
A heavy crash followed.
The armored body struck the throne where they had been sitting moments earlier, metal scraping loudly against stone and wood.
Panting and disheveled, Lysa finally dared to look back.
Her pupils shrank in horror.
Ser Vardis Egen sat slumped upon the Weirwood Throne, impaled straight through the chest. Only the hilt of the iron sword remained visible, jutting grotesquely from his shattered armor.
His own sword had already slipped from his grasp and lay somewhere below.
He clawed weakly at the air, producing only a hoarse, wet sound from behind his helmet—like a bellows punctured beyond repair.
Blood streamed down his armor and stained the pale wood of the Weirwood Throne, seeping into its ancient grain.
The Eyrie fell utterly silent.
Only the wind from the Moon Door and the distant roar of the waterfall remained.
Then—footsteps.
Clear, measured, unhurried.
Karl Stone walked up the winding stone stairs along the wall, his expression calm and composed.
Each step seemed to land upon the hearts of those watching.
He reached the high platform and passed Lysa Tully without sparing her a glance. She knelt there, trembling, her head bowed low in terror.
Karl stopped before Vardis Egen.
There was no pity in his eyes.
With one hand, Karl seized the edge of the knight's breastplate and lifted him from the throne as easily as one might lift a sack of grain.
Turning, Karl faced the assembled Vale lords below.
"It is the King's authority," he said clearly.
"The King's authority that grants me this mission gives me the right to draw my sword against anyone here."
His gaze swept slowly across the hall, lingering on every face.
"Because you all need to think. Think carefully."
Only then did Karl look back at Vardis Egen.
With a harsh screech of grinding steel, Karl grasped the hilt embedded in the knight's chest and pulled the sword free.
Blood burst forth, splashing onto the white stone floor like red flowers blooming in snow.
Karl let the blood drip from the blade before turning his head toward Robert Arryn.
"Good Robin," Karl asked softly, "do you want to see him fly?"
Without waiting for an answer, Karl hurled the corpse toward the Moon Door.
The body vanished into the abyss.
Silence returned.
Then Lysa Tully screamed.
"Karl Stone! What are you trying to do?!"
Her accusations poured out in hysteria, fear twisting her features.
But Karl ignored her.
Standing before the Weirwood Throne, he addressed the Vale lords instead.
"What a farce," he said coldly. "A complete farce."
His voice rose.
"Lord Jon Arryn was murdered because he uncovered a conspiracy—and you did nothing!"
Guilt flickered across many faces.
"King Robert sent me here because he loved Jon Arryn," Karl continued. "And because Jon Arryn raised me as his own."
He turned to leave.
Behind him, a voice called out that the Vale would swear only to the King.
Karl paused.
"In the name of Lord Jon Arryn," he said without turning, "Robert Arryn will one day rule the Vale himself."
"But first, he must be taught—
Not nursed in the arms of a madwoman."
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