After leaving Saltpans with his unexpected "little companion," the escort of the so-called Lord of the Warden of the East increased from five men to six.
One day later, they entered the mountain road that led toward the Eyrie.
Samwell Tarly still rode the same warhorse he had brought with him when he left Horn Hill. The saddle was worn, the straps old, and the packs tied behind it were the same ones he had owned for years.
It was the final "gift" Lord Randyll Tarly had given his eldest son on his nameday.
It was also the only thing Samwell truly owned when he left his home.
But unlike before, his destination was no longer the frozen Wall at the far edge of the world.
Now, he was riding beside a bastard knight named Stone—following him toward the Vale, toward the Eyrie.
Of course, Samwell knew that the Eyrie was not the seat of this so-called Lord of the Warden of the East. That only made his confusion deeper.
He had no idea what awaited him next.
The mountain road ahead was narrow, winding, and cruel. Jagged stone jutted out from the ground, while towering peaks loomed on either side like silent judges. Dense forests clung to the slopes, their shadows stretching across the path like grasping fingers.
Samwell felt every jolt of the road through his saddle.
The horse beneath him snorted softly, steady and patient—far braver than its rider.
Riding beside Karl Stone, Samwell could not help but glance sideways from time to time at the man's calm profile. The bastard knight looked utterly untroubled, reins loose in his hands, eyes relaxed, as though the treacherous mountain road were nothing more than a pleasant stroll.
After a long silence, Samwell finally couldn't endure the turmoil in his heart any longer.
"I… I've read about the Vale in books," he began hesitantly.
"They say this place is called the Upward Road. It's… difficult to travel. And some books even say shadowcats can be seen here."
He spoke while pretending to admire the scenery ahead, as though his words were mere idle chatter.
Karl turned his head to look at him.
Samwell instantly shrank back, his neck drawing inward like a frightened turtle.
"Of course!" he hurriedly added. "This is already the safest route, my lord. I'm not complaining—really!"
His plump face flushed as he stole another cautious glance at Karl.
The reaction did not go unnoticed.
Karl felt an unexpected flicker of amusement. The long journey had been dull, and now at least there was something entertaining to observe.
He gently pulled the reins, slowing his horse.
This mount was not Fox—the warhorse that had accompanied him for years. After deciding to travel part of the journey by sea, Karl had left Fox with the northern army, trusting him to the care of experienced stablemasters.
The horse beneath him now was a gift from House Cox, provided for travel after leaving Saltpans.
Karl narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled.
"Samwell," he said casually, "you don't need to be afraid."
Then he paused.
"I'm not a good person."
He lifted his hand and tapped the gilded longsword at his waist, producing a crisp metallic sound that echoed faintly among the trees.
"And by the way," Karl continued, "I'm very pleased that you chose to join my team."
Samwell looked like he was about to cry.
Behind them, Jon Snow, Jory Cassel, Kennedy, and the others exchanged subtle glances.
After a brief, silent exchange, Kennedy shook his head slightly.
As a long-time member of the Black Stone Mercenary Group, he genuinely did not understand why his lord had stopped this fat heir of Horn Hill—who had volunteered to take the black—and forcibly added him to the group.
Karl had never done such a thing before.
None of them had asked out of courtesy.
But the question lingered.
Two days passed.
Two days of being abandoned by the Night's Watch recruiters.
Two days of confusion and resentment.
Finally, Samwell could no longer hold it in.
With watery eyes and a face full of pleading, he looked at Karl Stone.
"Ser Karl," he said, voice trembling, "I truly volunteered to become a man of the Night's Watch. I… I don't understand why you stopped me from joining them."
Karl did not even turn his head.
"I have a very good team," he replied calmly.
He paused deliberately.
The ears of everyone behind him pricked up.
"Unfortunately," Karl continued, "not many of them can read."
"So I thought you might be useful."
"At the very least," he added lazily, "it's better than freezing to death at the Wall."
"So you don't need to thank me."
The answer stunned everyone into silence.
Jon Snow blinked.
Jory frowned.
Kennedy nearly rolled his eyes.
That's it? they all thought.
Samwell looked even more miserable.
"But… but I have a reason!" he protested desperately. "I must go to Castle Black. I have to become a man of the Night's Watch!"
Karl's tone shifted slightly.
"And then?" he asked. "If you don't go, you'll die?"
The others looked at Samwell.
They were curious too.
Northmen knew the Wall well. They knew there was no glory there—only cold, hunger, and death.
Samwell fell silent.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"You could say that," he admitted quietly.
"I have a reason. I must go."
Karl turned his head, eyebrow raised.
"You give up the inheritance of Horn Hill," he said, "and place your fate in the hands of the gods?"
"Are you ready for that?"
Then his expression changed.
"Oh, wait," he said lightly. "Once you reach the North, most people worship the Old Gods."
"Will you pray to the weirwoods to keep you from freezing to death?"
"Or are you confident in your… fat?"
Samwell stiffened.
"Perhaps," Karl continued calmly, "the Others will split open your belly with ice blades."
"Let the wights feast on what spills out."
His voice remained steady.
Too steady.
"The cold beyond the Wall will freeze your fat solid in moments. The corpses won't mind. They used to be people too."
Jon Snow felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Karl went on.
"They will pull out your organs with broken fingers."
Samwell's face turned ghostly pale.
"And then," Karl said softly, "you will rise again."
"Blue eyes. No warmth. No Samwell Tarly."
"Just another corpse walking."
Silence fell.
Even the Northmen behind them were stunned.
Samwell looked seconds away from fainting.
"But… but the Others vanished thousands of years ago," he whispered.
"Oh?" Karl replied mildly.
Then he changed the subject.
"What you're really afraid of," Karl said, "is your father."
"If you don't take the black, you'll die in a 'hunting accident.'"
Samwell froze.
"You're afraid Lord Randyll will kill you."
The words fell like a hammer.
"You… how did you know?" Samwell whispered in horror.
"It wasn't hard to guess," Karl said simply.
Only then did Karl grow serious.
"You have courage, Samwell Tarly," he said firmly. "You simply don't know it."
"Follow me."
"I will help you find it."
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