"What… are you kidding me?!"
Cersei Lannister's voice trembled, a mixture of disbelief and rising fury, as Karl finished speaking. Jaime barely had a moment to process Karl's words before his sister's outrage spilled over.
For a fleeting second, Cersei froze, stunned by what she had just heard. Then, as though a raw nerve had been struck, she rose to her full height, her expression twisting into one of anger and defiance. Her hands clenched into fists, and she opened her mouth to unleash a tirade of accusations, her words sharp enough to cut steel.
"This… how is this possible? You—"
But before she could finish, she caught herself. The awareness of her own peril restrained her venomous tongue. Swearing silently at her predicament, she struggled for the right words, pointing at Karl as though sheer force of will could undo the truth he had just laid bare.
Karl, however, remained unperturbed. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk played across his lips, one of supreme confidence and calculated malice. He could see it clearly—the panic, the vulnerability, the thin veil of control crumbling before him. And he decided not to waste time with preambles.
"Joffrey Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon, and Myrcella Baratheon," he stated simply, each name like a hammer striking the foundations of their carefully constructed lies.
Cersei's eyes widened, and Jaime's jaw tightened. The names hung in the air like jagged shards, each one exposing the secret that had been kept in the shadows, whispered in hushed tones behind closed doors.
"Your Majesty," Karl continued, voice unwavering, "are you implying that I—a bastard, an illegitimate son—am unworthy?"
At that, both Lannisters' expressions shifted at once. Shock, fear, disbelief—every emotion flickered across their faces simultaneously. Jaime opened his mouth, but no words came.
"Wait… you—, you—" Cersei stammered, her carefully cultivated poise unraveling under the weight of Karl's revelation.
But Karl did not pause. His voice was calm, deliberate, precise. He stepped closer, eyes glinting with cold certainty, as if reading their every reaction and laying bare their vulnerability.
"Yes. I know," he said simply. "And I am not the only one who knows this, Your Majesties."
His words cut deep. They were not accusations made in ignorance; they were confirmations of the unthinkable. Karl's presence alone magnified their guilt, and the revelation seemed to widen the space around them, filling the room with an oppressive tension.
"Never underestimate others," he continued, gaze sweeping over the two of them, "Your Majesty the Queen, and Your Majesty the Kingslayer. There are far more eyes upon this palace than you can imagine."
Karl's tone softened slightly, almost reflective, but the words carried the weight of inevitability. "And Jon Arryn's death… is connected to you, though you did not strike the final blow yourself."
Cersei's rage faltered, replaced by a flicker of apprehension. Jaime's hand instinctively tightened on his sword hilt, though his mind was already racing, attempting to grasp the full implications of Karl's words.
Karl's smile vanished. Gone was the sardonic amusement; in its place was a grim solemnity that seemed to darken the very room. The air grew thick with the weight of truths too dangerous to speak aloud.
"Kingslayer, Cersei," Karl said, his voice low but cutting, "I could end your lives here and now. And truly, I have no obligation to spare them, for I am neither king nor judge. But survival comes at a price."
He paused, letting the words sink into their minds, and then delivered the final blow: "Go, and tell Robert yourself. Tell him that his three golden children—Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella—are not his. That they are the fruit of your… incestuous relationship."
Cersei's face contorted, blood rushing to her temples, her eyes glistening with fury and disbelief. "No—no, that's impossible! You… you wretched bastard! How dare you say such things?!"
She sputtered curses, each one more vicious than the last, yet her hand trembled as she pointed at Karl. For a moment, it seemed she was trying to ward off the truth itself, as if anger could shield her from the inevitable exposure of her deepest secrets.
Karl, unshaken, observed her with the detached patience of a hunter watching prey ensnared. And then, a voice unlike hers—calm, measured, sharp as winter frost—cut through the chaos.
"Sir Carl Stone… do you understand what this could mean?" Jaime asked, his tone deliberate, trying to buy time, trying to gauge the intentions of the man who dared to confront both Lannisters with such dangerous knowledge.
Karl's eyes met Jaime's, and his answer was chilling in its clarity. "War," he said. "Endless war. And humiliation that can only be cleansed in blood."
Jaime's brow furrowed. His mind wrestled with disbelief, but Karl continued, seeing through the hesitation.
"Do you still naively believe that keeping this secret buried will prevent the storm from coming?" Karl's voice rose with conviction. "Since Jon Arryn's death, Westeros teeters on the brink of chaos. Especially under the watchful eyes of wolves driven by ambition."
Jaime's grip on his sword tightened. He had known intrigue, betrayal, and whispers in the dark, but Karl's words painted a portrait of the realm more fragile than he had imagined.
"The Lion of the West, the court sycophants, the king's own brother, the incestuous queen—all of them have their eyes on power," Karl continued. "When the pillar falls, the valley is spied upon, roses long removed from the court attempt to reenter the fray. Shadows conceal countless schemes, and the moment a crack appears, the ambitious peer through it, seeking to exploit weakness for their gain."
He stepped closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial hush. "Jon Arryn's death was merely a catalyst. The web of plots and counterplots stretches far wider than you imagine, Kingslayer. Those who move in the shadows do not act randomly—they have foreseen opportunity, and opportunity will breed disaster."
Jaime's mind reeled. He realized then that the danger extended far beyond personal shame or exposure. Karl's words hinted at a greater, more insidious threat: the very collapse of order in Westeros.
Even Cersei's fury began to waver, her curses trailing off as she grappled with the enormity of the revelation. The weight of consequences, the inevitability of chaos, pressed upon them both.
"Someone seeks to disrupt the balance," Karl continued, voice steady despite the storm of emotions in the room. "To use disorder as a ladder to ascend. Perhaps, if action is taken swiftly, the worst can be mitigated, but hesitation will be fatal. The forces aligned against you are already in motion."
Karl paused, letting silence settle, heavy and suffocating. Then, with the calm authority of someone who has weathered storms and survived, he added, almost gently, "Ser Jaime… winter is nearly here. As the old saying goes in this land: Winter is coming. And it waits for no one—not kings, not queens, not bastards."
The words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the relentless passage of time and the inevitability of change. Jaime and Cersei exchanged a glance, the weight of realization mirrored in their eyes. Their carefully built world, founded on lies and secrets, trembled on the edge of ruin.
Outside, the wind howled against the walls of Winterfell, carrying with it the scent of frost and the distant promise of snow. Inside, silence reigned for a moment, punctuated only by the shallow breathing of two people confronted with the impossible truth.
Karl Stone, ever composed, finally stepped back. His work was done, the truth spoken. He had revealed what many feared to acknowledge, yet he remained calm, a figure of stark contrast against the chaos he had incited.
Cersei's hands shook, her mind racing for a strategy, an escape, any semblance of control. Jaime, ever the Kingslayer, felt a cold knot in his chest. He had slain, deceived, and schemed, yet now he stood powerless before the inevitability Karl had outlined.
The room seemed to shrink around them, as if the walls themselves acknowledged the coming storm. Outside, the skies darkened, the first hints of snow swirling in the wind—a whisper of the winter that would soon consume all.
Karl turned toward the door, his final words leaving an echo in the minds of those left behind. "Remember this: power is fleeting, secrets are fragile, and winter… is coming."
With that, he departed, leaving Jaime and Cersei in silence. The lies had been exposed, the truth laid bare, and the game of thrones had entered a new, far more perilous stage.
The winter was coming—and there was no turning back.
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