Carl's voice resonated through the hollow ruins of the old tower, deep and steady, yet carrying a softness that made it sound like a story being told by a gentle elder.
As his words cut through the silence, an uneasy quiet settled over the room, broken only by the sharp, whistling wind clawing through the cracks in the stone walls. The air was cold and biting, curling around the Lannister twins' skin, draining the color from their faces. Both Jaime and Cersei felt a creeping, chilling awareness: if Carl Stone was correct, the Seven Kingdoms were on the brink of a storm far beyond a simple battle—blood and iron would baptize the land, and no throne would be spared.
Jaime Lannister, usually quick to assess threats, tried to reason with himself. Could this be why Robert is so desperate to head north for Eddard Stark's aid? He frowned, unwilling to give full credence to Carl's words, though they gnawed at the edges of his rational mind. Despite his doubt, he remained silent, choosing caution over confrontation.
Cersei, however, had no such restraint. Her thoughts twisted like a snake in the pit of her stomach. Her face, already pale and beautiful, began to harden into a grimace. Fear mingled with anger, and as the realization of her helplessness settled in, her rage turned toward Carl.
"Lies! Fraud!" she screamed, her voice shattering the cold air. "A greedy conspiracy! A shameless, vicious deception!" Her slender fingers, with knuckles standing out like carved ivory, pointed accusingly at him. "You vile bastard! You'll never fool me with your filth!"
Cersei's eyes, once wide with fear and disbelief, blazed now with a ruthless fury. Her disheveled hair framed a face contorted with hysteria, her clothes hanging in disarray, and every word she spat carried the venom of a queen cornered. She accused him, cursed him, screamed at him for daring to challenge the kingdom, daring to expose her sins.
Karl stood unmoved. The contrast between her outward beauty and the ferocity of her words struck him momentarily, a bizarre testament to the absurdity of human nature. Yet he was not distracted. To Karl, Cersei's outburst was a futile defense—a woman flailing against the inevitability of her own consequences.
He spoke slowly, deliberately, each word sharp and measured. "Oh, really, Your Majesty?" His gaze never wavered from her. "You may think me despicable, but reality does not bend to the whims of fantasy. This is the North—not Casterly Rock, not the Red Keep. Here, the land answers to neither your cunning nor your tears. The mountains, the forests, the rivers—they follow no queen's command. This is wolf territory, not lion's. And they will not be fooled by theatrics."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. Cersei's face drained further of color. Perhaps it was fear; perhaps the queen realized the scope of what she could not control. Karl saw her tears as the last futile resistance of someone already losing.
"As the King's wife," Karl continued, his tone unflinching, "you should know what kind of man Robert truly is. You have brought him and the kingdom shame, and worse—you endangered your own children. Now, do you wish for the king to die, so that your true bastard son—born of your incestuous affair—may claim the Iron Throne?"
Silence fell again, heavier than the stones surrounding them. Jaime, the Kingslayer, gritted his teeth. His voice, when it came, carried desperation. "Is there no other way? I would give my life to save Cersei," he said, pleading with Karl through a gaze that betrayed both loyalty and hopelessness.
But Karl's stare was cold and unyielding. "Lannisters," he said, voice calm yet scathing, "your blood is no nobler than anyone else's. You murdered a child—the heir to Winterfell—simply for uncovering your incest. Seven years old. And now you beg me, a lowly bastard, to pay for your crimes? Do you not see how ridiculous that is?"
Jaime fell silent. Carl's words struck home with brutal clarity. His body trembled not from fear, but from shame—shame for his choices, for the family he had loved, and the misdeeds he had covered in service of that love. He let out a humorless laugh, the sound carrying both self-disdain and resignation.
Slowly, he turned his gaze toward Cersei, slumped against the cold stone wall, her beauty marred by fear and despair. The realization hit him: Karl Stone would not be swayed. There was no turning back.
A quiet sigh escaped Jaime's lips. He raised his head to Karl, voice soft yet resolute. "I understand."
He spoke not as a penitent man, but as a knight accepting the inevitable. "Sir Carl Stone, you are a true knight. It is an honor to know you. It is a pity, however, that we cannot be friends."
Jaime's hands gripped the hilt of his gilded sword. He stood, tall and unbowed, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Karl. A wistful smile touched his lips, tinged with nostalgia. "I once thought to be like you," he said softly. "But when did that boy, the one who dreamed of honor, die? When he wore white robes? When Iris's throat was slit? That boy wanted to be Arthur Dayne. And yet, somehow, life twisted him into… the Smiling Knight."
Karl studied him silently, noting the layered complexity of his words. There was confession here, yes, but also a strange, melancholic pride.
"You are your own knight," Karl said finally, his tone steady, "and you are not alone. Many have received your favors and guidance without knowing it, yet have spoken against you behind your backs. You are, in truth, a knight of your own soul—a Kingsguard with honor, not merely a Kingslayer."
Jaime's smile faltered, replaced by a stunned, almost disbelieving expression. He knew the truth of Karl's words. But how did Karl Stone know so much about him—about the burdens he had hidden for decades?
Then Jaime laughed again. This time, it was lighter, filled with relief rather than mockery. "It was the white robe that tainted me," he admitted, voice almost tender. "Nothing else."
Karl shook his head. "No. Your principles were always intact. It was the torment, the guilt, that led you astray."
The Kingslayer nodded slowly. "If that is so, I am prepared to pay the price."
Raising his longsword, he leveled it at Karl—not with hostility, but with solemn purpose. This was the knight Karl had glimpsed in him: weary, burdened, yet unbroken. This man, who had been a cynic, a killer, and a survivor, was now willing to face judgment with courage and clarity.
Cersei, meanwhile, had fallen silent. Her fury had been spent, her defenses pierced, leaving her trembling, a queen stripped of illusions. She watched as Jaime stood, a mixture of resignation and pride in his stance. She realized then that the man beside her—the one she had loved, despised, and depended upon—had found a path she could not dictate.
Carl Stone observed them both with an unspoken understanding. Power and blood, love and hate, guilt and honor—they were the forces that shaped kingdoms, yet they were also the forces that could break men and women alike. And in that ruined tower, amidst the cold wind and the echoes of history, these three souls faced the weight of inevitability.
Jaime's eyes met Carl's once more. The challenge, the confession, and the acknowledgment of truth had passed between them. "I understand," he repeated, softer now, almost reverently. "I understand what it means to be a knight, truly. And perhaps, in another life… we could have walked this path together."
Karl's expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained firm. "Another life," he echoed. "But this one is enough to prove your honor."
Jaime sheathed his sword, finally free of pretense, his shoulders heavy but straight. "Then let the consequences come," he said, voice steady. "I will meet them as a knight should."
In the cold shadow of the tower, the wind carrying whispers of fate, the Lannister twins and Carl Stone stood in silence. The kingdom outside was unaware of the reckoning that had begun within these walls, yet the threads of destiny had been woven anew.
This day would be remembered, not as one of conquest, or betrayal, or triumph, but as the day the Knights of Atonement—willing or not—faced the truth of their souls. And in that truth lay a power far greater than swords, crowns, or kingdoms: the power to confront oneself, even amid the ruins of the world.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)