After Karl made his final decision, the camp did not immediately move.
Instead, another meeting was convened—one that lasted nearly two hours.
The atmosphere inside the command tent was tense.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
At the center of it all stood Karl.
Calm.
Unshaken.
Determined.
Around him, voices rose in opposition.
Led by Tyrion Lannister, Jon and the others argued fiercely against Karl's plan.
"This is madness," Tyrion said bluntly. "If you intend to claim the throne, then you do it properly—with an army behind you."
Jon nodded in agreement.
"You won't survive alone in King's Landing. Not with everything that's happening."
Others echoed the same sentiment.
Concern.
Frustration.
Even anger.
But Karl remained unmoved.
"For the throne," he said quietly, "the West matters more than anything."
The tent fell silent.
"If I control the West," he continued, "then I still have a chance."
He looked at Tyrion directly.
"But without it… even if I take the throne, it will be meaningless."
His voice hardened.
"The Seven Kingdoms would fracture again. Back into chaos. Back into the way things were before Aegon united them."
That argument…
Struck deep.
Tyrion's expression changed.
He understood.
Not just the logic—
But the weight behind Karl's words.
The responsibility.
The trust.
War was inevitable.
There was no avoiding it.
And in the end, only the battlefield would decide who truly ruled.
Tyrion exhaled slowly.
"Then at least take soldiers with you," he said. "What good are you alone?"
Karl shook his head.
"An army would only slow me down."
There was no hesitation in his tone.
"This time, I'm not just reclaiming what's mine."
His eyes darkened.
"I'm going to find the one behind everything."
"The mastermind."
A pause.
"And when I do… I'll avenge Robert."
The name hung heavily in the air.
Karl continued:
"After that, I'll return to the West."
"And then—"
His voice sharpened with conviction.
"I will make the Seven Kingdoms truly submit."
He looked at Tyrion.
"Do you remember what I told you?"
Tyrion frowned slightly.
Karl spoke three words.
"Thought."
"Sword."
"Truth."
Tyrion's eyes flickered.
In that moment, he understood something deeper.
Karl wasn't just chasing power.
He was building something.
Something far more dangerous—
And far more absolute.
No one spoke after that.
Because no one could change his mind.
In the end, they relented.
Not because they agreed—
But because they trusted him.
Trusted his strength.
His judgment.
His will.
After all…
Eddard Stark was still in King's Landing.
Karl still carried immense prestige.
And most importantly—
Neither Stannis nor Renly had their armies there.
The plan moved forward.
Orders were issued.
The army marched.
But Karl?
He took nothing.
No escort.
No supplies.
Not even his horse.
He handed everything over to Sam.
Then turned back.
Alone.
Step by step, he walked away from the army.
Until no one could see him.
He stopped beneath a tree.
An owl perched quietly on one of its branches.
Watching.
Waiting.
The next moment—
Light flashed.
Karl vanished.
At the same time, the owl took flight.
But its movements were… strange.
Unsteady.
As though something was not quite right.
Far away—
In King's Landing.
Inside the Throne Room, silence reigned.
Heavy.
Sacred.
The Silent Sisters moved slowly around a stone coffin.
Clad in gray robes, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods, they carried censers that released thin trails of incense into the air.
Their task was sacred.
To prepare the dead.
To honor the Stranger.
Inside the coffin lay Robert Baratheon.
The King.
His body had already been treated.
Emptied.
Preserved.
Filled with herbs and salt to slow decay.
Nearby, on a long wooden table, glass jars held his organs and blood—sealed and arranged with ritual precision.
The air smelled faintly of incense and something else—
Something heavier.
Watching silently was Eddard Stark.
He had remained there the entire time.
From beginning to end.
This was his farewell.
To a friend.
Memories surfaced.
Robert's voice.
His laughter.
His regrets.
"You cannot lie, Ned…"
"I was a foolish king…"
Eddard clenched his jaw.
He had tried to comfort him.
Tried to tell him otherwise.
But Robert had known.
"At least… my last decision wasn't wrong."
"Karl… and you…"
"You won't fail the realm."
His final wish.
His final hope.
The Silent Sisters completed their ritual and quietly withdrew.
The Throne Room fell into stillness once more.
Footsteps echoed.
Pycelle entered.
Followed by Barristan Selmy.
"Have the ravens been sent?" Eddard asked without turning.
"Yes," Pycelle replied. "Ten in total. They will reach him."
Eddard nodded.
"We must wait for him to return."
"This will be his last chance to see the King."
Barristan glanced at the coffin.
"At least a week," he said quietly.
Then—
A voice.
"No need."
All three men froze.
"I'm already here."
Eddard turned sharply.
His eyes widened.
Karl stood behind them.
Impossible.
"You… we only sent word yesterday," Eddard said, disbelief in his voice.
Karl didn't answer.
He walked past them.
Slowly.
Silently.
Until he reached the coffin.
He looked down.
At Robert.
And in that moment—
The truth settled in.
Robert was dead.
After a long silence, Karl spoke.
"I came as fast as I could."
Then he turned.
His gaze locked onto Eddard.
Sharp.
Cold.
"You should have told me sooner."
Eddard stiffened.
"I—"
Karl's voice rose.
"If I had known earlier—"
His fists clenched.
"He wouldn't have died."
The words struck like thunder.
Barristan stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, when the King returned from the hunt—"
But Karl cut him off.
"As long as he had breath—"
His voice broke into a roar.
"I could have saved him!"
Silence.
No one spoke.
Because no one could.
Karl turned away.
Breathing heavily.
He knew.
Deep down—
This wasn't their fault.
But he couldn't stop himself.
Because he knew the truth.
He could have saved him.
But now—
It was too late.
"I'm not a god," Karl murmured.
"I can't bring back the dead."
For a moment, the room felt unbearably heavy.
Then Eddard stepped forward.
"We must convene the Small Council."
Karl nodded.
Soon after—
The council was summoned.
But when Karl sat at the table—
Something was wrong.
Too many seats were empty.
Present were:
Eddard Stark.
Tyrion was absent—but Varys had arrived.
Pycelle.
Barristan.
Karl himself.
Missing:
Stannis Baratheon.
Renly Baratheon.
Mace Tyrell.
Eddard's face turned pale.
The game had already begun.
And the board—
Was no longer under their control.
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