After instructing Cersei on what to do, Jaime gazed at his beloved with a mix of concern and longing. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed to the ground, clutching the clothes in her arms, silent and broken. Seeing her grief, Jaime closed his eyes, fighting the ache in his chest. He then lifted his gilded sword, preparing to confront the danger looming over them.
In this harsh North, Stark territory, even the King knew the consequences of three children dying at this moment. If someone had to step forward, it had to be him. All secrets would be buried with him, and only he could ensure Cersei's safety.
Jaime had made up his mind. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, gripping the sword tightly, and turned to leave—but the sight at the entrance froze him.
A tall figure, clad in dark brown leather armor and a heavy white cloak, stood at the top of the stairs. Shadows obscured most of his face, the dim light catching only the hand holding a long, gleaming sword. Jaime instinctively moved to shield Cersei and spoke cautiously.
"Karl—Shi Dong?!"
The figure stepped forward, half a smile on his lips. "It is I, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer," Karl said. Jaime, however, could see little of his expression through the shadows.
Karl advanced another half-step, placing his longsword horizontally across the stone floor, blocking the only stairwell. Light from the window illuminated half his face, but his gaze fell on the Li siblings as well.
"A very interesting story," Karl said calmly. "A very touching love story. It's just a pity that innocent people shouldn't pay for such absurd deeds."
Jaime said nothing, his lips pressing into a thin line. Words were futile now; the path was clear. He lifted his gilded sword, pointing it directly at Karl's chest.
"You're right, Sir Karl Stone," Jaime said, his voice tight. He paused, eyes flickering, then exhaled and continued, "But I can only apologize in advance."
Karl did not flinch. The wind blew through the dilapidated tower, tugging at his cloak and chilling the room. He looked at Jaime, calm as ever. Then, his deep voice cut through the tension.
"Tell me, Kingslayer, did you use this sword to slit the throat of the king you were protecting?"
Jaime's hand tightened on the hilt. He looked down at the gilded blade, memories of betrayal and duty flashing before him. His emerald eyes betrayed the conflict within him. Silence stretched as the wind howled around the ruined stones.
Finally, Jaime spoke. "Yes. That is what I did. But it will also strike the illegitimate child later!" His tone lacked the cold ruthlessness expected of a kingkiller, replaced by a suppressed anger, a slow-burning madness that radiated like decay rising from the earth.
Cersei, shivering from the cold, finally snapped out of her grief. Seizing the moment, she quietly moved to a corner and hastily covered herself, unnoticed by either knight. Karl did not pursue her; his focus remained entirely on Jaime.
Karl raised his longsword, stepping fully into the doorway he had blocked, and waited, vigilant yet calm. Jaime raised his gilded sword to meet him.
"You know," Karl said suddenly, "Jon mentioned he didn't know how to name his sword. I hadn't thought of it before either, but now…" His deep blue eyes locked on Jaime's bloodshot green ones. "Now, I think of a good name. It fits it perfectly."
"What is it?!" Jaime asked, curiosity sharpening his voice.
"Pale Justice," Karl declared, the words deliberate and resonant.
Jaime's pupils contracted. He let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. "A very nice name," he admitted, admiration mingling with surprise. "But if it is justice, why pale?"
Karl's calm voice explained, "Because justice, any stain on it changes its meaning. Justice is pale and humble, yet never powerless."
Jaime fell silent, reflecting on the truth in those words. Slowly, he lowered his sword and said, "I hope so."
The tension did not fully dissipate. Both knights sheathed their swords slightly but remained poised, aware that even a moment's lapse could be fatal. Jaime gave Karl a subtle nod of respect; he had witnessed firsthand the lethal efficiency of the man who had defeated two Kingsguard in a one-on-two without injury.
The memory of the Crossroads Inn battle came to Jaime: the trick Karl used, the swift execution, the fatal mistakes of the two sworn brothers. Unlike others, Jaime did not see them as foolish; experience and skill explained their deaths. Tyrion's tales of Karl's mercenary years across the Narrow Sea were evidently no exaggeration.
"I'm glad Tyrion has a friend like you," Jaime muttered, gripping his sword tighter. Karl's response was equally simple: "Me too."
In this moment between strong players, the room seemed to shrink, the piles of rubble and jagged stone framing the impending duel. Jaime and Karl faced each other in the ruined tower, the contrast of gold and black reflecting the tension and stakes.
Jaime raised his sword, elbows tucked, tip aimed at Karl. Karl mirrored him, raising his longsword in perfect unison. Then, with a clash of steel, the duel began.
Jaime struck first. Karl parried with a high backhand, deflecting the gilded blade. Jaime's expression shifted instantly; he recognized Karl's inhuman strength and agility in that brief exchange. Karl's movements were fluid, precise, and lightning-fast, swinging the sword tip upward in a reverse grip to aim at Jaime's face.
Jaime rolled back, narrowly avoiding the thrust, regaining his footing quickly. The clanging of swords echoed, a cold, sharp rhythm against the howling wind. Karl pressed the attack, half-step forward, his reach and height giving him a relentless advantage.
Jaime tested Karl with feints, but Karl anticipated each move, countering without hesitation. The fight escalated with a brutal grace, each strike a study in skill and experience. Karl's sword moved with unbridled aggression, then, in a swift, serpentine motion, "Pale Justice" flicked at Jaime's throat.
Jaime froze, a hair's breadth from disaster. He rolled to safety twice, regaining his stance. His hand instinctively touched his neck, the close call sending a shiver down his spine. Karl did not pursue further, instead observing, ready for the next exchange.
The duel was far from over. Jaime's mind raced, analyzing Karl's technique, recalling lessons from Tyrion and his own combat experience. He realized brute strength alone would not win this fight; precision, timing, and strategy were his only options.
Karl, in turn, assessed Jaime's every move, measuring, calculating. His calm demeanor masked lethal intent, the perfect composure of a man who had faced death countless times. The cold wind continued to sweep through the broken tower, carrying with it the tension of their confrontation.
And amid it all, Cersei watched from her corner, a silent witness to the deadly ballet of two of Westeros's greatest swordsmen. The stakes were more than life and death—they were honor, vengeance, and the fragile hope of justice.
Jaime adjusted his grip, eyes narrowing. Karl shifted slightly, the glint of "Pale Justice" reflecting the dim light. The room seemed suspended in a moment of silent anticipation. Then, in unison, the swords met again, steel ringing against steel in a symphony of violence and skill.
Each strike and counter revealed the depth of their training, the precision of their instincts. Jaime's gilded sword, forged in both gold and blood, clashed against Karl's pale and calculating blade. They moved like mirrors of each other, strong yet cautious, deadly yet disciplined.
The duel pressed on, each man aware that the smallest misstep could be fatal. But neither yielded. Karl's experience and Jaime's cunning met in a storm of clashing metal, the ruined tower a perfect arena for their confrontation.
And in that cold, wind-swept chamber, amidst the echo of steel, the fate of kings, queens, and the innocent alike balanced on the edge of a sword.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)