King Robert Baratheon, seemingly far more enthusiastic than Karl had expected, threw a heavy arm around his shoulders and led him toward the inn's main hall. Robert's steps were large, his laughter loud, and his mood—unexpectedly—radiant. Karl could only follow along, half-dragged by the king's boundless energy.
The moment they stepped inside, Karl noticed how empty the inn was. Whether by the king's order or by the staff's fear, not a single common guest remained. Only a few guards stood silently in the shadows of the corners, hands resting on their swords, while several servants stood waiting for the king's commands. In the center of the hall stood a long wooden table that seemed almost comically large for the space.
As soon as Karl entered, his eyes were drawn to it.
At some point—likely during Robert's return—this long table had been completely covered in food. Not arranged neatly, but piled in luxurious heaps as if someone had commanded, "Just bring everything you have." Roasted meats glistened with fat, the skin crisp and the aroma rich. Meat pies of different shapes were stacked on wooden plates. Stews, vegetables, cheeses, and dishes Karl couldn't even name were scattered across it all.
Even the bread had been placed lovingly into round wicker baskets, so full that the loaves threatened to spill out. Brightly colored fruits—red, green, golden—were wedged between plates as decorations, though they looked ripe enough to be eaten on the spot.
Karl took one breath of the mixed aromas—meat, bread, spices, and something sweet—and nearly stumbled. It hit him like a warm wave of comfort after a long march. His stomach growled loudly enough that he hoped no one heard it. But above all else, that scent reminded him of something important.
A gift.
His gift.
The bison.
Only then did Karl remember, with a jolt, that the enormous beast currently being tended to outside was meant as an offering to the king—a token he had promised himself not to forget.
And he had nearly forgotten it.
Karl quickly slipped out from Robert's grip, bowed respectfully, and spoke in a hurried tone.
"Your Majesty!"
Robert blinked, momentarily surprised by the sudden formality. Karl continued quickly:
"Please forgive my rudeness, but earlier today, when I went to the banks of the Trident River to pay homage to your glorious deeds, I was fortunate enough to encounter a herd of bison, by the grace of the Seven!"
He spoke earnestly, though his dramatic phrasing was deliberate.
"They had come to drink, and thanks to the gods' blessing, I managed to hunt down the strongest of them. I brought it back, and my companions are seeing to it now."
Karl raised his head, allowing sincerity to show in his expression.
"Thus, I wish to present this bison to Your Majesty, as a humble sign of my admiration for your unmatched martial prowess."
He timed the flattery perfectly.
Robert, who had just been wondering what Karl had broken away for, now froze in pleasant surprise. Even the nearby guards and servants seemed to respond to the warm shift in the king's mood—faces easing, smiles returning. Robert may not have needed a bison. In fact, as king, he lacked few things when it came to food or luxury.
But Karl hadn't simply brought him an animal.
He had linked the moment to the past—to Robert's legendary victory over the Targaryens, to the smashing of Rhaegar Targaryen and his precious rubies at the river they still stood near. It wasn't the bison that pleased Robert—it was being reminded of the peak of his glory, the moment when he had been more warrior than king, more man than monarch.
His joy surged almost instantly.
The things Robert Baratheon cared about in life were few: women, wine, and smashing things with his warhammer. These three accounted for most of his joy. The remaining part—perhaps even more precious—was reserved for the memory of killing Rhaegar Targaryen with his own hands.
Even the Iron Throne itself, which he won through that victory, often seemed like an afterthought—something he had accepted grudgingly, not passionately.
Karl's praise struck all the right places.
Robert burst into raucous laughter.
"Wonderful! Hahahaha!"
"Karl Stone, I've heard everything that happened!"
He slapped Karl's shoulder so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him.
"And it seems thanks to your 'luck' today, that overconfident fool Joffrey managed to keep his life!"
He praised Karl openly, grinned broadly—and then insulted his own heir in the same breath, without the slightest concern for propriety. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms, criticized in front of a bastard boy. Robert didn't care. Or perhaps he cared so little for Joffrey's pride that it didn't even cross his mind.
After praising Karl, Robert turned toward the door, where Jaime Lannister stood in his white Kingsguard cloak, silent as a statue.
The moment Robert saw him, the king's mood shifted from warm to thunderous irritation.
"Kingslayer!" Robert barked.
"Go tell the maester in charge of the ravens to send word to my Master of Coin. I want ten thousand gold dragons taken from the royal treasury—reward for our young warrior here!"
Karl blinked.
Ten… thousand?
Before he even processed the number, Robert continued shouting:
"Now get moving! Faster! What, are your damned legs numb? Or has the boredom rotted your bones?"
Jaime Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, received the orders in silence. He cast Karl a brief glance—neither hostile nor friendly—then nodded curtly and left the hall.
Karl stood there, stunned.
He had truly expected nothing close to this. A hundred gold dragons for the bison had already seemed generous beyond belief. But ten thousand? For what? For almost letting Joffrey die? For flattering the king? For reminding him of his youth?
Karl couldn't understand it.
It was not a reward for Joffrey's situation—that much was clear. Robert was rewarding him simply because he was in an exceptionally good mood.
Robert noticed Karl's shocked stare and frowned, as if displeased by the reaction.
"Ah—right," Robert said, waving a hand. "I'm afraid I can't hand you the gold directly right now. I can't exactly haul that much gold around with me!"
His expression soured, and he pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
"Especially with the queen's damned procession. The axle on that monstrosity breaks every other day. If it collapses again, I swear I'll make that woman walk beside it!"
His voice rose in irritation, and Karl wisely remained silent. Robert's dislike for the Lannisters was no secret, and the king rarely passed up an opportunity to curse them.
Karl bowed respectfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Robert sighed heavily, then shifted topics again with surprising speed.
"Anyway—you said your companions helped take care of the bison?"
Karl nodded.
Robert grinned.
"Then each of them will receive fifty gold dragons. I did bring that much with me!"
His smile broadened with satisfaction, clearly pleased by his own decision to use the situation as a way of rewarding Karl's men—and, by extension, showing favor to Karl himself.
Karl bowed once more.
"On behalf of those fools who know only how to fight and chase women, I thank His Majesty for his generosity."
"And I am even more grateful," Karl added smoothly, "for the honor His Majesty has shown me today."
Seeing Karl bow so quickly—and so sincerely—Robert roared with laughter again.
"Hah! You're honest about it, at least!"
Still chuckling, he clapped Karl on the back and pointed outward.
"In that case, tell the cook to roast your bison whole! Once it's ready, we'll share it with everyone. And make sure they know it's your hunt they're eating!"
He clicked his tongue in amusement.
"Well, I'll give Cersei this much—she certainly knows how to travel in style. At least she had the sense to bring a proper cook with her."
Karl's eyes lit up.
This was exactly what he'd planned for when he had Cauchy and the others prepare the bison. He would get gold, he would get the king's favor—and now he would get a feast too.
Money and meat.
Who could possibly complain?
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)