Karl's sudden request caught everyone off guard.
Even Marquis Walder Frey, who had been quietly calculating how much more profit he could squeeze from the situation, froze for a moment. He had been preparing to reap the benefits of the war—and was even considering whether he could raise his price again—yet Karl's words disrupted all of that.
The hall fell into a brief silence.
After lengthy discussion and careful deliberation, King Robert Baratheon and Duke Eddard Stark finally approved Karl's proposal.
For them, the plan carried only advantages.
As Karl himself had argued, this expedition did not weaken the Northern army. On the contrary, it bought them something they desperately needed—time and information.
Still, Robert's final order was clear.
"Karl," the king said gruffly, "you will head south as a vanguard. Don't rush into battle. I want to know what that old lion, Tywin Lannister, is doing—and what condition Riverrun is in."
The Riverlands had effectively become an island of war.
Information flowed in poorly, and what little intelligence reached them was usually nothing more than desperate pleas for aid. Such messages were useless for strategic planning.
Robert and Eddard did not expect Karl to clash head-on with the Westerlands' forces.
There was no need.
The Northern army did not require immediate victory—it required clarity.
Karl's willingness to step forward, combined with his recent string of impressive achievements, his maturity, and his proven courage, ultimately convinced both men.
Still, Eddard Stark was unwilling to gamble with Karl's life.
Before departure, the Duke personally assigned two hundred elite Stark cavalry, soldiers directly loyal to House Stark, placing them under Karl's command.
This alone showed how much faith Eddard had placed in him.
In addition to Karl's own Black Stone Mercenary Group, the expedition also included Jon Snow.
---
The Farewell
South of Riverrun, the column assembled.
King Robert Baratheon himself came to see them off.
"Listen carefully, boy," Robert said, jabbing a finger toward Karl. "Your task is to observe. That's all. Don't underestimate the battlefield—and don't try to play the hero for me!"
Then, as if something else had suddenly occurred to him, Robert slapped his own belly and cursed loudly.
"Damn it! If I were a bit thinner, I wouldn't let you steal all the glory!"
He stared at Karl—encased in thick plate armor, standing tall and unmoving like a tower of iron. For a moment, Robert's eyes softened, filled with memory.
"And gods, that helmet of yours is ugly."
Before Karl could respond, Robert reached out, snatched the helmet from his hands, examined it briefly, and then tossed it into the arms of a Stark vassal behind him.
"Someone!" Robert bellowed. "Bring me my helmet!"
"No—bring me everything! My helmet, my crowned stag surcoat, my banner! All of it!"
The surrounding nobles stared in astonishment.
Even Eddard Stark, who had been speaking quietly with Jon Snow nearby, turned his head in surprise.
Within moments, members of the royal retinue—those who had been sidelined since Queen Cersei's death but not imprisoned—hurried forward.
They returned carrying Robert's personal war gear.
The massive antlered helmet, untouched for nearly a year, gleamed faintly in the light. Robert accepted it with visible nostalgia, brushing his hand over the polished metal as if greeting an old friend.
Then he smiled.
Without ceremony, Robert placed the helmet directly onto Karl's head.
Through the narrow eye slits, Karl looked at the king, his emotions tangled.
Robert stepped back, crossed his arms, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Now that looks right."
"Men ought to look imposing!"
For a brief moment, it was as if Robert saw his younger self standing before him.
But then his gaze drifted downward—and froze.
"I remember you saying you used a two-handed warhammer," Robert said suspiciously. "So why are you wearing a sword women favor at your waist?"
"And if I'm not mistaken… that's the Kingslayer's sword, isn't it?"
Robert scowled. "Why in the seven hells are you carrying that piece of junk?"
Karl simply patted the sword at his waist.
"I intended to return it to Tyrion," he replied calmly. "But he said its rightful place was the battlefield."
"As for the hammer…"
Karl stepped aside.
Behind him stood Fox, his chestnut warhorse, stamping the ground impatiently.
Hanging beside the saddle was a monstrous two-handed warhammer, its size alone enough to intimidate any man.
Robert stared.
Even the king was speechless.
"That thing…" Robert muttered. "That's your hammer?"
Karl did not elaborate.
Robert burst into laughter.
"Fine! As long as you can lift it!"
Next, Robert draped the golden surcoat—embroidered front and back with the crowned stag—over Karl's armor, fastening it with a gem-studded belt.
When Karl finished adjusting it, silence fell.
Not only Robert—but even Eddard Stark—was stunned.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time itself had twisted.
The clang of steel.
The roar of battle.
Blood spraying across riverbanks.
And in the end—
A king seated upon the Iron Throne.
"You've got at least three parts of my old handsomeness," Robert said hoarsely.
Then, without another word, he turned and marched back toward the Frey castle.
---
Father and Son
Eddard Stark lingered.
His expression was complicated—quiet, heavy, touched with regret.
He inhaled the damp, fish-scented air and turned toward Jon Snow.
"Jon," he said softly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "stay close to Karl. And be careful."
Jon's excitement flared.
"I will, Fa—ther."
Eddard froze for the briefest moment.
Jon, flustered by his own words, turned quickly and walked toward Karl.
"Jon," Eddard called suddenly.
The boy turned back.
"If you become a knight," Eddard said after a long pause, "I will tell you who your mother is."
With those words, Eddard turned away.
Jon stood frozen—stunned, bewildered, and overwhelmingly excited.
"I'll become a knight!" he shouted after him. "I promise!"
---
Departure
Lady Maege Mormont approached Karl before leaving, her gaze thoughtful.
As she departed, her daughter stepped forward and handed Karl a thick bundle of brown bear fur.
"For you," Daisy Mormont said with a faint smile. "You'll need it."
Then she turned and followed her mother.
Karl watched her go, momentarily distracted, until a voice called out—
"Captain, we're ready."
It was Jory Cassel, leading a horse with extra reins.
"Then let's go," Karl said.
The expedition rode south.
War loomed ahead.
And destiny rode with them.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)