Having knighted Jon Snow, Kal had fulfilled his promise to Eddard Stark and to the one who had brought Jon forth.
As for Kal himself.
He felt some measure of satisfaction at having changed Jon's fate, which had once been only to join the Night's Watch and bear the burden of resisting the evils beyond the Wall.
Strictly speaking, Jon was the first true protagonist whose predetermined fate he had altered in this world, apart from killing Cersei and Jaime.
But that was that.
To punish Jon's recklessness, once the knighting was done, before Jon could even feel joy at becoming a knight, Kal handed him the head of the Mountain that he had just cut down.
"Shave off your beard, cut your hair, then have King's Landing's tailors make you a set of proper clothes. Then take the Mountain's head and drag yourself to Prince Oberyn Martell of House Martell. I want you to use his head to end the standoff between Dorne and House Baratheon."
"And if possible, I hope you can find love there."
Having granted him knighthood, Kal casually sent off this Stark bastard who now should be addressed as Ser.
As for the task he set, Kal did not give it much weight.
For House Martell, there was no gift more fitting on the surface than the head of Gregor Clegane, and as for Jon's identity, the moment he became a knight through martial merit, sending him to negotiate with the Martells—whose stance was still ambiguous—was indeed a good move.
Not to mention, his mother's ties with Dorne were tangled beyond measure.
Even simply being Eddard Stark's bastard was already better than most.
With the Mountain's head besides, the pressure from Dorne would surely be eased.
Though this matter should by rights be for the King and his Hand to trouble over, for now Kal held no title or office, yet truly controlled King's Landing in practice.
And precisely because of this, the tasks that must be done, he indeed had to shoulder.
At least Kevan Lannister had not spoken wrongly.
This war had risen because of him, and it would fall because of him.
And now that he had already obtained what he sought, he wished, if possible, to end this war swiftly.
Not to mention winter was coming soon; even without that, the civilians suffering from war weighed on Kal's heart.
That was why, once the King's Landing affair was settled, he was so eager to take up the burden without complaint.
As for the outcome of the war.
From the moment Kevan Lannister, seeing that nothing more could be done, chose decisively to give his own life to carry word of King's Landing to his elder brother Tywin Lannister,
Kal had already foreseen the course the Riverlands war would take.
For no matter the result, the Lannisters had no chance of reversal—unless Tywin Lannister could suddenly pull out two dragons.
As for sending Jon off to resolve the crisis with Dorne.
That could also free up the military strength of the Stormlands, to deal with the threats across the Narrow Sea.
But for now, this was all Kal could do.
After taking care of all the matters of the larger situation that he could interfere in, what remained was King's Landing, which he had just freed from war.
So, "laying down arms and returning to the fields," the outwardly dazzling Ser Kal Stone, after resolving King's Landing's crisis and by the way seizing the city's military power, smoothly and successfully shifted himself into the role of a drudge at a desk, every day either in meetings or buried in paperwork.
Looking at the documents on his desk, Kal raised a hand to rub at his brow.
He was now quite grateful that, back in the North, he had learned administration for a time under Eddard Stark.
And with Varys assisting—whether sincerely or not—the chaos in King's Landing was gradually calming and slowly recovering.
With Kevan Lannister's failure, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew this war was over.
But its aftershocks still had no small impact.
Public sentiment was one thing, but Kal could not yet spare attention for that.
What lay more pressing before him was still King's Landing's shortage of supplies and food, a truly troublesome matter.
As for the events in King's Landing, though Kevan Lannister had in the end destroyed all the ravens in the Red Keep, Kal still made use of the privately kept ravens of certain nobles to spread word in all directions and to the battlefield of the Riverlands.
Thinking of these matters, Kal wearily loosened the hand that had been rubbing his brow, stretched with a trace of fatigue in his expression, and downed in one gulp a cup of red wine from the table.
But just as he was about to rise, move about, and get some fresh air, the doors of this chamber he had requisitioned as his office were knocked upon.
"Come in!"
At hearing this death-summoning sound, Kal wanted badly to flee.
But he could not flee.
It made him for a moment confused as to whether it was freer to live as a wealthy knight at ease, or freer to pursue what he truly desired.
But before he could settle on an answer, the heavy bronze-inlaid doors were slowly pushed open, and in came a fat man wobbling, arms full of documents, scrolls, and the like, shoving the doors open with his broad back.
"Sam, have you grown used to the work of a clerk?"
Seeing Samwell Tarly, whom he had also dragged into drudgery, Kal's gloomy mood eased somewhat.
Struggling to set down what he carried, Sam panted heavily, lifted a sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, and on his round face there was a small smile.
"My lord, it's all right. At least doing this makes me feel I can be of use, not some worthless good-for-nothing."
Seeing that he could still smile, Kal laughed as well.
Then he patted the stack of documents Sam had already sorted and delivered, and nodded kindly.
"Good, that's well. Now go to the training ground—Bronn is waiting there for you."
"So I hope that the next time your father, Lord Randyll Tarly, sees you, he'll be surprised by your change."
Happiness does not vanish; it only shifts.
When Samwell left Kal's study with a bitter expression, Kal suddenly felt that life was not quite so hard.
After all, this was a road he had to walk sooner or later.
Since he had come into this world, how could he not seize the chance to look upon its heights?
After all, this world was far more fantastical than he had imagined.
Comforting himself, Kal filled his cup once more with red wine from the bottle, then settled down in peace to take up the documents Sam had just delivered and began to read.
...
The Riverlands, Harrenhal.
As a vast castle built before the War of Conquest, it stood on the northern shore of the Gods Eye, at the very heart of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms.
It was the largest fortress of the Seven Kingdoms, yet ever since the War of Conquest, it had remained a dark and ruined place.
For from the time of its completion, a curse had hung over this ill-omened castle.
As for now, it had long since become a military base of House Lannister.
Lady Whent of House Whent, obedient and without the slightest resistance, had given it up, taking her kin to flee to King's Landing.
The Kingspyre Tower, the tallest and largest tower of Harrenhal.
Its original name was lost with the death of Black Harren during the War of Conquest.
The current name came after Aegon I and his dragon Balerion burned Harren and his sons alive within it.
A name steeped in the uncanny, the terrifying, and the grim.
The dragonflame had even caused the tower's structure to lean to one side.
And the lord's chambers lay within this tower.
Tywin Lannister now sat alone in that chamber.
On the long table at his side, a plate of lamb stew rice with only a few bites taken, and a bowl of untouched fish soup, had long since gone cold.
A sheet of paper, somewhat wrinkled, lay crookedly on the table.
As for the Lord of Casterly Rock, for some reason he slumped wearily in his chair, head tilted back to stare at the blackened ceiling above.
His pale green eyes were bloodshot, and his thick golden whiskers at the temples were stained with drops of soup, appearing disheveled.
The wind from the Gods Eye blew in through the open window.
It swept the letter from the table onto the ground, where it gathered dust.
Yet the Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport did not move, as if none of it weighed on his heart.
Until who knows how much time had passed, and from outside came a knock—soft, yet carrying a trace of hesitation.
Tywin, hollow and dazed, slowly returned to himself, feeling the numbness in his body from long immobility and poor blood flow.
First he sat upright, then after a deep breath and a brief straightening of himself, he raised his head toward the door and said: "Enter."
At the command, the door—like a barrier between two worlds—was pushed open.
Into the room came 7 or 8 armored men, their faces and hair varied, though half of them bore golden hair.
As soon as they entered, they keenly noticed the untouched food upon the table before Tywin, and the letter fallen to the floor, left uncollected.
"My lord, you summoned us?"
A voice, carrying slight doubt, spoke among them.
None had expected that so soon, Tywin had sent his cupbearer to call them to council.
And why did the atmosphere in this room feel somewhat wrong?
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---