Carl Stone, in the Name of the King, I Appoint You as the "Warden of the East"
The chamber buzzed with low voices.
Every lord present was engaged in heated discussion, speculation flying freely as they attempted to divine Tywin Lannister's true intentions. The sudden appearance of a massive western army along the borders of the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and the domain traditionally overseen by the Warden of the East made no sense—especially when the Westerlands themselves had been left conspicuously exposed.
Why would Tywin Lannister abandon the West, the land that formed the very foundation of House Lannister's power, and march east so decisively?
No one could understand it.
The unanswered questions weighed heavily on every mind in the room, giving rise to increasingly wild conjectures. Some suspected a feint. Others whispered of secret alliances or hidden forces lying in wait. The atmosphere grew noisier by the moment, the constant murmuring echoing through the council chamber like the hum of agitated insects.
And it was precisely that noise that pushed King Robert Baratheon to the edge of his patience.
Robert sat slouched in his chair, one thick hand pressed against his temple, his brow knotted as though his skull might split open at any moment. He had never been a man for riddles or conspiracies, and the thought of trying to unravel the schemes of the "Old Lion" made his head throb.
Finally, he snapped.
With a sudden movement, Robert surged to his feet and slammed his massive palm against the long oak table. The sharp crack echoed through the chamber, silencing every voice at once.
"Enough!" he bellowed.
"Stop wasting breath on pointless guesses!"
He swept his glare across the assembled lords, his eyes bloodshot with irritation.
"I don't care what Tywin Lannister is thinking," Robert growled. "I don't care what twisted little plan he's cooked up in that rat-eaten skull of his."
He raised his fist, flexing his fingers as if grasping an invisible hammer.
"All I know is this—my hammer is itching to crush his head!"
The blunt declaration left no doubt about the King's mood.
After venting his frustration, Robert exhaled heavily and turned toward the man standing nearest to him—his Hand and oldest friend.
"Ned," he said, his voice lowering slightly. "You're right."
"Whatever Tywin intends, whatever conspiracy he's brewing, there's only one thing we need to do."
He jabbed a finger into the tabletop for emphasis.
"Make sure he can't do anything at all."
A grim smile tugged at Robert's lips.
"If he wants to crawl into a hole, then I'll see to it that it becomes his grave."
He straightened and spoke with finality.
"When the army is rested and ready, you will continue the pursuit. I want Tywin Lannister hunted down, his head severed, and placed before me."
The order hung in the air.
Eddard Stark, who had been quietly contemplating Tywin's movements, lifted his gaze. He first glanced toward the gathered Lords of the North, then stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Eddard said evenly. "I will carry out your command."
He paused briefly before continuing, his tone shifting into that of a seasoned commander.
"However, since matters have reached this stage, and Tywin has chosen to relinquish his territory in the West, I believe we should seize the opportunity."
Robert raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt.
"We should dispatch troops to capture the Golden Tooth and establish a strong garrison there," Eddard continued. "Additionally, Riverrun must be reinforced. We cannot rule out the possibility that Tywin's retreat is merely a ruse."
He gestured lightly toward the map spread across the table.
"If we secure these positions now, then even if Tywin is attempting to mislead us, we can cut off his retreat later. Should we eventually turn our attention westward, the terrain will favor us, reducing the cost in blood and time."
It was a careful, methodical proposal—one born of caution rather than ambition.
Robert studied Eddard for a long moment, then glanced at the Northern lords watching eagerly from their seats.
Finally, the King let out a slow breath and nodded.
"Very well," he said. "But only within what we can firmly control. I don't want our lines stretched thin."
His eyes sharpened.
"If Tywin hopes to lure us into greed and overextension, then we'll deny him that satisfaction."
Robert then fixed Eddard with a meaningful look.
Eddard felt his chest tighten.
He understood the warning immediately.
Once the Golden Tooth fell, advancing west along the River Road would place their forces dangerously close to Casterly Rock itself—a move Eddard had quietly considered. Tywin Lannister could not truly abandon the ancient seat of his house.
But Robert's words made it clear: now was not the time.
Dividing their forces at such a critical moment would not be tolerated.
Eddard also realized something else—that as Hand of the King, any eagerness to seize the West could be misconstrued. Politics mattered, especially in the South.
Catelyn's earlier warnings echoed in his mind.
The North was not the South.
After a brief pause, Eddard inclined his head.
"House Stark and the North remain at your command, Your Majesty."
Satisfied, Robert nodded.
"Good."
Then, without warning, he turned his attention to another figure at the table.
"Ser Karl Stone."
Karl stiffened.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" he replied, rising quickly and bowing, confusion plain on his face.
"I want you to go to the Vale."
"The Vale?" Karl repeated before he could stop himself.
"Yes," Robert said firmly. "You will go in my name and demand an explanation."
His voice grew colder.
"Ask the Lords of the Vale why they have yet to move their armies. Ask them whether they intend to defy the Crown and make the Vale independent."
The weight behind the words sent a ripple through the chamber.
Karl felt a headache forming.
Why him?
What authority did he have to confront those proud and powerful nobles? Representing the King or not, he was still a bastard knight—worse, a Stone of the Vale.
This was not a mission. It was an insult wrapped in royal command.
"Your Majesty… this…" Karl hesitated, his expression strained.
He had no desire to become the lightning rod for Robert's anger.
Sending him—a recently knighted bastard raised in the Vale—to question the great lords there was tantamount to deliberate provocation.
Seeing Karl's reluctance, Robert shot a subtle glance toward Eddard Stark.
Eddard understood immediately.
This was their agreement.
The Northern lords exchanged puzzled looks, unsure of what the King intended.
Why target the Vale?
Was this a warning meant for the Reach or Dorne?
They all knew of Karl Stone's battlefield achievements. In truth, he was one of the few men present who had actually crossed blades with the Lannisters.
So why remove him from the war now?
As these thoughts swirled, Robert spoke again, amused.
"Wondering why I chose you?" he asked Karl. "Why not send some puffed-up lord dripping with honors?"
Karl nodded carefully.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I hardly believe I have the standing to criticize the Lords of the Vale. Perhaps circumstances delayed them."
Eddard's expression grew complicated.
This boy was far too smooth.
Robert, however, exploded.
"Nonsense!"
He slammed his fist down again.
"They're waiting because Jon Arryn is dead and the tea has gone cold!"
He sneered.
"They don't want a sickly child holding the title of Warden of the East."
Robert's anger boiled over.
"Do they expect me to wait until rebellion knocks at my door?"
Silence fell.
At last, Robert stepped forward, poked a finger into Karl's chest, and spoke with iron authority.
"You will go."
Then his tone changed.
"Ser Karl Stone…"
"In the name of Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men…"
Eddard Stark rose and stood beside him.
"I appoint you as Warden of the East, acting in regency until Robert Arryn comes of age."
The chamber froze.
History had just been rewritten.
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