A single word from the king was enough to stir a thousand waves.
The moment Robert Baratheon finished speaking, the entire banquet hall fell into stunned silence.
For a brief instant, it was as if time itself had frozen.
Then—
The silence shattered.
Cheers erupted like a tidal wave, crashing through the hall with overwhelming force. Nobles, knights, and lords alike raised their goblets, voices rising in unison as praise and celebration filled the air.
The feast continued deep into the night.
And beyond the revelry, something even more significant was quietly unfolding.
For some, this banquet was more than just indulgence—it was opportunity. Alliances were formed, favors exchanged, ambitions set into motion beneath the surface of laughter and wine.
For others, however, it was simply a rare moment of joy.
A time to forget war.
A time to celebrate survival.
But like all tides, even the most intense waves must eventually recede.
By the time the final echoes of celebration faded, the banquet had stretched into the early hours of the morning. One by one, the guests collapsed into drunken stupors, the grandeur of the night dissolving into quiet exhaustion.
And then—
Time passed.
When Karl next found himself stepping into a room that was not his own, it was already the third day.
The chamber was unfamiliar.
A long table dominated the center of the room, and seated beside it were two figures who had clearly arrived earlier.
Their gazes immediately settled on Karl as he entered.
Varys stood first.
His hands were tucked neatly into his sleeves, his face adorned with a warm, practiced smile.
"Ser Karl," he greeted with a slight nod.
The other man remained seated—for the moment.
This room was none other than the Small Council chamber within the Red Keep.
A place where kings and their most trusted advisors gathered to decide the fate of the realm.
Ever since Eddard Stark had arrived in King's Landing, Karl had relinquished all political responsibilities he had temporarily assumed.
And he had done so without hesitation.
After all—
Eddard Stark was the Hand of the King.
The rightful authority.
Karl had only stepped in during a time of chaos. Now that order was restored, it would have been inappropriate—perhaps even dangerous—to continue holding power that was no longer his.
Of course…
There was one exception.
The military forces within King's Landing.
Those, Karl had not fully released.
Not yet.
He intended to observe.
To see how Robert would respond.
To see how Eddard Stark would act.
Only then would he decide his next move.
As for why he was here—
Karl himself hadn't expected it.
Earlier, he had been enjoying a rare moment of leisure, idly brushing Fox's fur, when the Grand Steward delivered a summons.
The Hand of the King requested his presence.
So, after changing into formal attire, Karl made his way here.
The chamber itself was a display of wealth and power.
The floor was covered in fine Myrish carpets—far superior to the rough wool or reed mats commonly found elsewhere.
In one corner stood a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, intricately carved with vibrant birds and exotic beasts.
Karl's gaze lingered briefly.
Some of the creatures he didn't recognize.
Others…
He did.
And he knew, from experience, that some of them tasted quite good.
The walls were draped with tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys, each one telling stories of distant lands.
And near the entrance—
Two Valyrian sphinx statues stood guard.
Their black marble bodies gleamed under the light, while their garnet eyes seemed almost alive, silently observing all who entered.
For a fleeting moment, Karl felt as if he had stepped into the villa of a wealthy governor in the Free Cities.
The heat only reinforced that illusion.
Then—
A breeze passed through the chamber, entering from one window and leaving through another, carrying a hint of cool air.
Karl exhaled.
Right.
This was King's Landing.
"Good morning, my lords," Karl said with a smile.
His gaze shifted to the seated man.
White hair.
White beard.
White armor.
A white cloak draped across his shoulders.
A longsword rested beside him.
There was no mistaking it.
A Kingsguard.
More specifically—
Ser Barristan Selmy.
The Lord Commander.
"The Bold."
Karl inclined his head respectfully.
"Greetings, Ser Barristan Selmy. I grew up hearing tales of your deeds. It's an honor to meet you."
It wasn't flattery.
It was truth.
Though Karl currently held no official title, he effectively controlled the City Watch. In that sense, working alongside Barristan was inevitable.
Barristan studied him for a moment.
Then—
A warm, genuine smile appeared on his face.
"The honor is mine, Ser Karl Stone," he replied, his voice steady and strong.
"And as for those tales… I believe yours will one day surpass them."
He paused.
"In my eyes, you are a true knight."
"If you ever require assistance, you need only ask."
Karl blinked.
That… was unexpected.
He had killed three Kingsguard.
One of them had been Jaime Lannister—the Kingslayer himself.
And yet—
Barristan showed no hostility.
No resentment.
Only respect.
It was… unsettling.
Not because it was unpleasant.
But because it was sincere.
Are we… close? Karl wondered inwardly, faintly puzzled.
From Barristan's perspective, however, things were simple.
He knew what Karl had done.
He knew how the war had ended.
And he knew—
That without Karl, the situation in King's Landing could have become far worse.
Whether directly or indirectly, Karl had resolved a crisis.
More importantly—
He had saved lives.
To Barristan, that was enough.
"I agree with Ser Barristan," Varys added smoothly.
Karl could only nod.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm honored."
Then, as if remembering something, he asked casually:
"I thought you were escorting the king through the city. Were you summoned here as well?"
Barristan chuckled lightly.
"I've been on duty for over a day," he explained. "Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Preston Greenfield have taken over for now."
"I was returning to the White Sword Tower when I received the summons."
Karl nodded.
That made sense.
Before he could say anything further—
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Eddard Stark entered.
He looked… tired.
Deep lines marked his face, and his eyes carried the weight of responsibility.
For a moment, he seemed older than before.
Varys and Barristan stood.
Karl turned to face him.
Eddard waved his hand.
"No need for formalities," he said.
He stepped forward, his gaze briefly lingering on the long table.
This—
This was his first time presiding over a Small Council meeting.
Once, this seat had belonged to Jon Arryn.
Now—
It was his.
He took a slow breath.
Then straightened.
"We have important matters to discuss," he said.
"Let us begin."
He sat.
Varys and Barristan followed.
Karl remained standing.
There was no seat for him.
The imbalance was obvious.
Three seated.
One standing.
Eddard noticed almost immediately.
"…Ah," he said, rubbing his forehead.
"I'm sorry, Ser Karl. There's something I forgot to tell you."
He looked genuinely exhausted.
"It's been… busy. I barely sleep four hours a night."
Karl gave an awkward smile.
That's… partly my fault, he thought.
Eddard opened a heavy ledger and pulled out a small piece of parchment.
"This came from His Majesty," he said, pushing it forward.
Karl frowned.
"My appointment?"
He picked it up.
Varys smiled knowingly.
Barristan watched calmly.
Karl read.
And froze.
His eyes widened.
"What—"
He looked up.
Then back at the parchment.
Then up again.
"…I'm the Chancellor of the Exchequer?"
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