By the time the fighting ended, the outcome had become unmistakably clear.
What had once been a loose band of so-called "straggling soldiers" had, through iron discipline and ruthless efficiency, been completely subdued. More than that, they had been reshaped.
Karl Stone had not merely defeated them—he had absorbed them.
In truth, calling them prisoners would no longer be accurate. Nor were they mere mercenaries bound by coin. These men had crossed a far more meaningful threshold. Through bloodshed, fear, and opportunity, they had become Karl's people—his personal guards, his core followers, men who stood halfway between retainers and vassals.
If Karl Stone were to one day raise his own banner, establish a family, or build a castle of his own, then these men would form its foundation. They would be the first stones laid beneath his future.
Yet Karl himself was fully aware that his path differed from that of Jon Snow.
He did not name them squires. He did not speak of knighthood or future oaths sworn before the Seven. He offered no lofty ideals or chivalric promises.
And still, Kesi and the others understood perfectly.
In the Riverlands, opportunity was rarer than gold. Birth decided nearly everything, and men like them—soldiers without land, lineage, or patrons—were fated to live and die unnoticed.
But Karl Stone was different.
He was a knight personally favored by the King. He carried authority without arrogance, decisiveness without cruelty, and ambition without recklessness. To follow him meant a chance—perhaps the only chance—they would ever have to rise above the lives they had been born into.
To become something more than nameless swords.
That alone was reason enough.
Thus, without ceremony or parchment, loyalty was sworn—not with words, but with survival. From that moment onward, Karl possessed a small but unwavering core of men who would follow him without hesitation.
That night, the cavalry did not reach Stone Hill as originally planned.
Instead, they made camp in a battered village that had only narrowly avoided total destruction. Half its homes stood in ruins, the other half scarred by fire and looting. The villagers watched in silence as Karl's men settled in, their eyes hollow but wary.
In the end, Karl made a decision.
They would not resupply here.
After suffering the ravages of the Lannister army, the village had little left to give. Taking more would serve no purpose beyond deepening resentment and misery.
But that was not the only reason.
Karl had already begun to form a new plan.
Two days later, north of Riverrun, the Riverlands lay under a heavy sky. Mud splashed beneath the hooves of a small but spirited cavalry unit as it galloped across broken terrain, rainwater clinging stubbornly to cloaks and armor.
Their destination was clear.
Crowtree.
Home of House Brackwood, Crowtree stood within a fertile valley blessed with rich soil and wide forests. Once, it had been a symbol of quiet strength and ancient pride.
Now, it was something else entirely.
From a hidden vantage point among the thick branches of a towering oak, Hall peered down into the valley below. His sharp eyes scanned every detail with practiced care.
"My lord," he said quietly, shading his eyes with one hand. "At least a thousand men."
Below them, Crowtree Castle loomed under occupation.
The banner of House Brackwood—black shield, red field, crows circling a dead weirwood—had been torn down. What remained of it now crackled within a bonfire near the gate, reduced to kindling used to roast a fat lamb.
In its place flew the golden lion of House Lannister.
The castle gates were flanked by two massive square towers, both reinforced and heavily guarded. Soldiers moved in organized shifts, armor glinting dully beneath the overcast sky.
"It matches what that prisoner said," Kesi muttered from beneath the tree. Though he spoke calmly, the memory of interrogating that Lannister soldier still lingered in his mind.
Karl nodded.
"All right. Come down."
Hall descended with swift, economical movements, barely disturbing the branches as he landed. His agility was impressive—more proof that Karl's instincts in choosing his men had been sound.
Kesi steadied him as he dropped to the ground, then turned toward Karl, who sat silently atop a large stone behind them.
"So… what now?" Kesi asked, catching himself halfway. "Karl—my lord."
Karl shook his head without answering. He rose from the stone and stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the valley.
"Let's return first," he said calmly. "I've memorized the terrain."
With the tip of his boot, he erased several rough lines and markings he had carved into the dirt—maps, angles, routes of approach.
At his command, the three men withdrew quietly into the forest.
But worry lingered in their eyes.
By the time they reached their hidden camp—a temporary encampment concealed within the woods beyond a narrow valley—another hour had passed.
Karl immediately summoned the squad leaders.
Gathered in a tight circle, they listened as Karl relayed everything he had observed: the number of troops, the condition of the castle, the movement patterns, and the troubling possibility that scattered Lannister forces could return to Crowtree at any moment.
"There are too many Lannisters here."
"And this is only after they've already dispersed nearly two thousand men elsewhere."
"This castle is being used as a base. Reinforcements could arrive at any time."
Murmurs spread through the group.
"Should we retreat?"
"A frontal assault is impossible."
"We're cavalry—two hundred men at most."
The discussion grew animated as officers spoke in turn, weighing risks and options. Though chaotic, each voice contributed something valuable.
Still, the tone was unmistakably grim.
Two hundred cavalry attacking a fortified castle defended by over a thousand men was madness. No amount of courage or surprise could bridge that gap.
The situation beyond the valley was equally dire. Lannister forces had swept through much of the Riverlands. Even north of the Red Fork, resistance was crumbling.
Jory Cassel finally spoke.
"Captain Karl," he said carefully, "we should consider aborting the mission—for now. Retreat slightly and send word back."
He elaborated steadily, laying out his reasoning.
"Riverrun is under full siege. Tywin Lannister no longer needs to focus his forces there."
"He's free to tighten his grip on the rest of the Riverlands."
"Without strongholds like Riverrun, these lands can't resist."
"If we push deeper now, we'll be discovered—and surrounded."
Silence followed.
Heads nodded.
Jory was right.
Yet throughout the entire discussion, Karl had not spoken.
He stood apart, gazing upward.
As if listening to something no one else could hear.
At last, he raised his hand, spreading his fingers against the wind, eyes narrowing slightly as he felt the air move across his skin.
"How long," he asked suddenly, "has this summer lasted?"
The question caught everyone off guard.
Jon Snow, who stood nearby, thought for a moment before answering.
"Nearly ten years," he said. "Lord Eddard often spoke of it. Bran's never known winter."
Karl smiled faintly and lowered his hand.
"Yes. Nearly ten years."
He looked up at the sky, where thick clouds pressed low, heavy with moisture.
"Autumn will come eventually," Karl continued. "And after that… winter."
A chill seemed to settle over the group.
Winter.
A word Northerners never took lightly.
Jory frowned. "So… what are your orders, my lord?"
Karl finally lowered his gaze.
"Summer rains," he said softly, "always come quickly. Suddenly. Without warning."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
And in Karl Stone's eyes, the shape of a dangerous plan began to form.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)