It had risen with him, and now it fell with him.
A great power that had endured for thousands of years in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to draw its curtain in a manner almost absurd.
With the Lannisters' greatest advantage in King's Landing gone, the balance of the war collapsed in an instant.
Tywin Lannister had wagered everything. He had burned his bridges, cleared his path, and stepped forward to claim a decisive seat at the table. He had prepared his hand, confident that when the moment came, he would reveal his strength and crush his opponents.
Yet before he could sit firmly in his chair and lay down his cards—
The table overturned.
The game had not even begun, and already he had lost everything.
One miscalculation. One overlooked factor.
A small, seemingly insignificant accident.
And in that moment, every chip he possessed was swept away.
The Lannisters—so recently ascendant—now stood stripped of advantage.
And the cause?
A king's bastard.
Karl Stone.
A man once considered irrelevant to the grand design of power.
Yet Karl did not acknowledge Kevan Lannister's accusation.
With a calm gesture, he signaled Bronn and Timett to lower their blades. The two warriors reluctantly withdrew their weapons from Kevan's throat and stepped aside, though their hostility did not fade.
Instead, their eyes burned toward Petyr Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle.
Littlefinger swallowed carefully. Pycelle shuffled awkwardly. Both drifted closer to Varys, as if proximity to the eunuch offered protection.
Varys merely smiled.
Karl ignored them all.
He stepped closer to Kevan Lannister.
"Ser Kevan," Karl said lightly, a faint smile touching his lips, "do you truly believe this is all because of me?"
Kevan's green eyes met his without hesitation.
"Whether you admit it or not is irrelevant," Kevan replied evenly. "Believe me, the scholars will record tonight in detail. They will examine you closely—your preferences, your alliances, the women you've taken to bed, every whispered rumor."
He allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
"They will catalogue you."
Karl shook his head slightly.
"You misunderstand me. I do not deny that I played a role in your downfall. What I deny is that I alone caused it."
He stepped past Kevan and began walking toward the Iron Throne.
"House Lannister reached this point because you brought it upon yourselves."
The hall was ablaze with torchlight and braziers, bright as day despite the late hour. At the far end stood the Iron Throne—black, twisted, cold. A monstrous seat forged of blades.
Karl gazed at it as he spoke.
"Your father, Lord Tytos Lannister, was mocked as the Laughing Lion. Too kind. Too weak. His bannermen defied him. Debtors refused repayment. The authority of Casterly Rock eroded."
His voice echoed through the hall.
"Then Tywin seized control. He demanded repayment. Hostages were taken. Rebels were crushed. The Reynes and Tarbecks were annihilated. Castamere drowned in blood."
"The Lion Awakened."
There was no mockery in Karl's tone—only quiet acknowledgment.
"Tywin restored your house through iron will. He valued honor, prestige, and dominance above all."
Karl paused.
"But when Robert rose against the Targaryens, what did Tywin do?"
He turned slightly.
"He waited."
"Casterly Rock remained still while others bled. Only when the outcome was clear did Tywin move—to claim the fruit of victory."
His voice sharpened.
"So tell me, Ser Kevan—why were your preparations for this war so abundant? Why were you so ready?"
"Is it not because the ambition of House Lannister was always present?"
Kevan did not answer immediately.
Instead, memory flickered behind his eyes.
"You know him well," Kevan murmured at last. "He was named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at twenty. The youngest in history. He served for twenty years."
There was admiration in his voice.
Then he turned fully toward Karl.
"But what of you, Ser Karl?"
Karl narrowed his eyes.
"I do not understand."
Kevan continued steadily.
"You are Warden of the East. Symbolic, perhaps—but no one denies your strength."
The members of the small council listened closely now.
"We always watched the Vale," Kevan admitted. "It is a crucial piece in any great design. But no one expected Robert to grant you that title. Nor that you would unite the Vale so swiftly."
He studied Karl carefully.
"You created a miracle."
Karl's gaze flicked briefly toward Littlefinger. Then Varys.
So.
The Lannisters had also watched the Vale.
He masked his thoughts.
"If I succeeded," Karl replied calmly, "it was by the King's grace and the Prime Minister's guidance. Do you truly think a bastard raised in the Vale could bend its lords to his will?"
Kevan smiled faintly.
"History will decide."
He lifted his hand and pointed toward the Iron Throne.
"After this war, everyone has seen your brilliance. Tell me, Karl Stone—have you never considered claiming more?"
The hall seemed to hold its breath.
"Have you never imagined changing your name?"
"Karl Baratheon," Kevan said softly. "It has a fine ring to it."
His hands clapped lightly in the vast chamber, the sound echoing.
Silence followed.
"That is a matter for the King," Karl answered after a pause.
Neither denial nor acceptance.
Kevan pressed on.
"You built an army. You marched on King's Landing. You speak of Lannister ambition—yet you are a bastard, too. Did Cersei not call you mongrel?"
He stepped forward.
"If you had no ambition, why not choose a surname? Why not design your own sigil after Robert knighted you?"
"The name Stone is a reminder. A reminder to a king without heirs."
Each word struck like a hammer.
Kevan gestured toward the others present.
"Whose heart here is free of ambition? Was the attempt on your life in the Vale truly madness? Or something more?"
He pointed southward.
"To the great houses. To the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. To Robert's own brothers."
"Ambition drives them all."
His expression hardened.
"Only ours was visible."
The hall grew still.
Karl no longer bothered with pretense.
Kevan was right.
Ambition was not unique to the Lannisters.
The difference lay in success.
"Then you failed," Karl said coldly. "History is written by the victors."
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Kevan did not retreat.
Instead, he lifted his chin, exposing his throat.
His expression held defiance.
"No," he said firmly. "The Lannisters should not fall like this."
"Karl Stone—what happened was unforeseen."
His eyes burned.
"But do not mistake yourself for a victor."
"Go on," he challenged. "Cut off my head. Mount it on a spear."
The wind hissed through the tall windows. Flames crackled.
For a moment, power hung suspended in the air.
Kevan Lannister had made his choice.
Not surrender.
Not bargaining.
But sacrifice.
He would not beg.
If the Lannisters were to fall, then he would fall standing tall—forcing Karl to reveal what he truly was.
A conqueror.
Or merely another ambitious player at the table.
Steel whispered faintly as Karl's fingers tightened around the hilt.
The throne loomed above them both.
And history waited.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)