The orcs—no, rather, the people of the High Mountain Clans—would never be slaves.
Tímei stood tall beneath the shadow of death. Even now, with steel and fate closing in around him, his back was straight, his chin lifted, and his expression calm. There was no fear in his remaining eye as he met Karl's gaze.
Watching him, Karl felt a sentence echo in his mind—words he had thought long forgotten.
"Even if it costs you your life?" Karl asked quietly.
Faced with the Warden of the East's question, Tímei gave no verbal reply. He merely closed his eye, lifted his chin higher, and exposed his throat.
Silence was his answer.
Karl turned his gaze away from him and toward the warriors of the Burning Tribe, who were completely surrounded by the knights of the Vale. Yet not one of them trembled. Hands tightened around spear and blade, eyes hard with resolve.
"I understand."
Karl nodded and dismounted from his warhorse.
Hall, Jon, and the others followed suit, dismounting one by one. Karl handed the reins to Jon and removed his gloves as he walked forward.
He passed Tímei without stopping.
The Burning Tribe chieftain opened his eye in surprise, only to see Karl squatting before a half-burned bonfire. The meal had long ended; all that remained were embers and blackened logs, still glowing with heat.
Firelight painted Karl's profile crimson.
Tímei frowned. He couldn't understand what this young Warden intended. He hadn't ordered an execution. He hadn't spoken again.
Then Karl drew a dagger from his waist.
Its hilt was carved from dragonbone, its blade forged of Valyrian steel—a royal gift from King Robert himself.
Holding the dagger loosely between three fingers, Karl flicked his wrist and used the blade to stir the embers, like a poker.
"Did you know," he said casually, "that I grew up in the Vale? In the Eyrie."
Tímei's eye narrowed. "Your name makes that obvious."
"I know quite a bit about you as well," Karl replied with a faint smile. "Your customs. The scar above your eye. The eye you lost."
"This is our glory," Tímei said coldly. "A tradition of the Burning Tribe."
"You said earlier that I didn't understand you," Karl continued, still stirring the fire. "That I should simply cut off your heads."
The Valyrian steel began to glow faintly red.
"I'm not as ignorant as you think."
Tímei noticed the meaning hidden in his words. He glanced toward Jon Snow and the others standing back, then stepped closer to Karl.
When he saw the blade glowing hotter with every breath, a strange smile crept onto his face.
"If you think you can conquer us like this," Tímei said, "you're dreaming."
Karl ignored him.
He lifted the dagger from the embers and examined it with quiet appreciation. As the temperature rose, faint Valyrian characters emerged along the blade—words Karl alone could read.
During his five years wandering the Free Cities, Karl had learned High Valyrian. He had even hired a scholar to teach him the ancient script.
Shifting his gaze from the dagger, Karl looked directly into Tímei's empty eye socket.
"I've heard that during your coming-of-age ceremony," Karl said calmly, "each warrior must burn part of their body. A finger. Flesh. Something offered to the fire."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Did you trade that eye for the title of Red Hand? For the right to lead your people?"
Tímei's posture straightened. Pride flashed through his gaze.
"It is the greatest honor of my life, Lord Warden."
Karl nodded once.
"You spoke of conquest," he said. "That reminds me of something interesting."
Without warning, Karl plunged his right hand—dagger and all—into the burning embers.
Gasps erupted from every direction.
Flames licked at his sleeve. Smoke rose instantly. Within seconds, the cuff of his brocade robe caught fire with a sharp poof.
Yet Karl's expression didn't change.
He remained crouched there, hand buried in fire, as though it were warm water instead of living flame.
Tímei stared, stunned.
"This isn't a trick," Karl said softly, his eyes fixed on Tímei. "I forgive your earlier offense. And I'll give you a fair chance."
The fire spread higher along his sleeve.
"This dagger was given to me by the King when he knighted me," Karl continued. "It represents my glory—just as your eye represents yours."
"If you can take it from my hand," he said, "it's yours. Along with my friendship."
"And I will leave."
Tímei swallowed.
Karl's voice dropped, smooth and dangerous.
"If you refuse… you die. And so do your people."
"I will march deeper into the Bright Moon Mountains and kill every tribe that refuses to kneel. You already know what I'm capable of."
The heat rolled across Tímei's face.
"…If I take your dagger, you'll let us go?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes," Karl replied. "If you fail, you surrender. Those are your choices."
Tímei turned to his people. Then he clenched his jaw and rolled up his sleeve.
The next second, he thrust his arm into the embers.
The pain hit instantly.
Flesh sizzled.
Tímei screamed, sweat bursting from his skin. His instincts begged him to withdraw—but he forced his arm deeper, pressing it down with his other hand.
He found the dagger.
But he couldn't pull it free.
Karl's hand closed over his.
Both men knelt there, hands locked together in fire.
"Surrender," Karl commanded.
"Never!" Tímei screamed.
"Surrender."
"No!"
His strength failed. His knees hit the ground. Blood seeped from between his teeth.
Karl's gaze hardened.
"Last chance."
He released him.
Tímei tore his arm free with a broken cry. Flesh was charred black. Bone showed through burned skin.
But the dagger remained in the fire.
Karl withdrew his hand as well.
Unlike Tímei's, it was only red—unbroken.
The embers crackled between them.
Silence fell.
At last, Karl picked up the dagger and stood.
"Your answer," he said. "All of you."
One by one, the warriors dropped their weapons.
They knelt.
And bowed.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)