"Well then… thank you," said Yohn Royce at last. With the Warden of the East himself declaring his willingness to speak on behalf of the Vale, what more was there to say?
And following Kal's words, the looks the gathered lords gave him softened considerably.
In the end, it was easy enough to talk with someone reasonable. Though he bore the name Stone, a bastard, he was still a child of the Vale, was he not?
"Very well. I'm glad this misunderstanding with the Iron Throne is resolved, and I thank you, Ser Kal Stone, for your understanding."
Seeing the tension ease, Lady Anya also rose with a smile.
After all, when even the Warden of the East proved so approachable—and considering that the whole matter had really been a farce caused by the Vale itself—Lady Anya was relieved to see it smoothed over.
As for the string of disgraceful troubles stirred up by Lysa Tully, everyone tacitly agreed to pretend they had never happened, and just as tacitly agreed not to bring them to the table.
And as a gesture of mutual respect, Lady Anya smoothly shifted the topic past those matters and onto the real business now that the misunderstanding had been settled.
"However, Ser Kal Stone, since King Robert summoned you here to the Vale, surely it was not merely to ask about our dispatch of troops."
"So regarding the development of the war, I would like to hear your opinion."
Seeing the Lady of Ironoaks so willing to give him face, Kal was no fool.
Looking around at those present, his smile remained as warm as a spring breeze.
"I've only just arrived at the Eyrie. I don't know any specific details, nor am I familiar with the defenses or troop numbers at Gulltown or Runestone."
"And I've no real experience to speak of—certainly nothing compared to you, my lords."
"So on that basis, I'd rather hear your thoughts. I'd also like to learn from you how to coordinate and manage matters. Who knows—perhaps King Robert really will enfeoff me with some fine lands one day."
Kal shrewdly avoided putting on airs before these magnates. After all, the last thing he wanted was to ruin the newly eased atmosphere by pointing fingers about things he didn't understand.
He knew well—if in his own affairs someone ignorant were to interfere after everything had been carefully arranged, he would likely want to smash their head in.
Kal had found his place. The title of Warden of the East was nothing more than that to him—a title. He had no desire to overstep.
Seeing the boy so tactful, even Lady Anya looked a little surprised.
For any young man, suddenly made a Warden and granted the most direct command over the nobility's forces, to remain this composed would be remarkable.
But precisely for that reason, Kal Stone's restraint was all the more precious.
Even with his unmatched martial strength, he was still humble, never arrogant or overbearing.
And even in the past few days of turmoil, he had managed to find his own role with uncanny precision, and to handle matters as he ought.
In the king's name, he showed neither servility nor arrogance.
In his own name, he showed clear self-awareness.
Seeing this, those present all broke into smiles, and for a moment the chamber filled with laughter and ease.
"Setting aside a portion of our forces, we do indeed need to send men to the Reach. The only reason we've delayed was circumstance."
"And besides, with Tywin Lannister fleeing eastward, we must find a way to intercept him."
Bronze Yohn gave his measured opinion.
"But what of our defenses across the Narrow Sea?" Kal pressed.
"That need not worry you, we—"
"Wait—who are you? What's that in your hands?!"
Just then, as Kal and the others spoke warmly together in the chamber, a shout from outside suddenly cut off Lord Yohn Royce's words.
...
"Stop right there! Who are you?!"
"What do you think you're doing?!"
From the corridor's corner, more than a dozen armored soldiers suddenly rushed out, weapons in hand. Jon Snow and Jory Cassel froze for a heartbeat before tensing, their instincts sharpening.
They quickly noticed that not only were these soldiers brandishing gleaming blades, but some of those behind them were carrying barrel-like objects.
With no idea who these men were or what they wanted, Jon and Jory immediately grew wary.
It was obvious from a glance that these newcomers came with hostile intent—there would be no words exchanged here.
And sure enough, when faced with their shouted challenge, the soldiers neither halted nor spoke. The moment they caught sight of Jon and Jory, they raised their weapons and charged.
No voices, no hesitation—only the relentless clang of armored bodies colliding with each stride echoed in the narrow corridor.
The enemy closed in fast, but Jon and Jory were no green boys. The instant the soldiers revealed their hostility, both had already reacted.
Without hesitation, there was a sharp clang as each of them drew the longsword from his belt, bracing for the assault.
Under the sacred protection of guest right, such an act was forbidden. But it was clear this was no ordinary moment.
For men to draw steel against them while they were under the Eyrie's roof meant that guest right itself had been shattered.
Yet, even with their quick response, as they looked at the dozen armored soldiers bearing down on them, Jon and Jory could not hide their paling faces. Clad only in hardened leather, they were badly outmatched.
The corridor was neither long nor short, and in just a few breaths, the men had already closed the distance.
There was no hesitation, no wasted words.
Cold steel arced down toward their throats without pause.
But the months of training and battlefield lessons under Kal Stone, together with the extra meals that had built Jon's strength, had not gone to waste.
Even in such a hasty, unprepared clash, Jon managed to raise his sword in time to block the downward slash aimed at his skull.
With a quick twist, he pressed down on the enemy's blade, forcing it aside. The longsword meant for his neck was diverted away in the nick of time.
In the same motion, Jon lifted his arm and drove his elbow hard into the enemy's face.
A sharp clang rang out. The strike only knocked the man's head to the side, the iron helm absorbing most of the blow.
Jon's eyes widened as he realized the instinctive counter had done little. His arm throbbed numb from the jarring impact.
Without thinking, he released his grip on the enemy's weapon, driven purely by reflex.
Jon twisted his longsword to the side, the pale blade sliding along the enemy's weapon in a burst of sparks. Taking advantage of the man's dazed state after Jon's elbow had snapped against his face, the sword's edge cut across his exposed neck.
The sharp blade slipped cleanly through the gap beneath the iron helm, slicing open the fragile artery and windpipe within.
As the steel passed, blood burst forth in a sudden spray, splattering across Jon's face.
Ignoring it, Jon drove his boot forward. With his back braced against the iron-banded wooden door behind him, he borrowed its strength to hurl the dying man away. The body slammed backward into the soldier rushing from behind, toppling him as well.
Seizing the brief gap, Jon shifted the sword to his left hand, shaking the numbness from his right arm. Only then did he have a moment to glance at Jory Cassel beside him.
Unlike Jon, Jory hadn't reacted as quickly. Worse still, the man facing him was larger and stronger than the one Jon had just felled.
The brute's heavy strokes left Jory only enough time to knock the enemy's weapon aside once before a meaty fist crashed into his face, sending his thoughts reeling.
As he staggered back, the enemy slammed a shoulder into his chest, driving him against the wooden door with a thud.
Jon's heart clenched at the sight. Jory, the companion he'd grown up alongside, was about to be cut down before his eyes.
There was no time to think. Jon lifted his blade again, plunging it without hesitation into the neck of the brute who had just drawn a dagger, aiming to gut Jory.
The sudden chill across his throat drained the man's strength in an instant.
He managed only to roll his eyes toward Jon in shock before collapsing lifeless to the floor.
That timely strike saved Jory from being slain in a single exchange.
Though barely catching his breath, Jory wasted no time. Ignoring the pain in his face and chest, he shoved the corpse off him and immediately raised his own blade, blocking a heavy saber that had been about to cleave into Jon.
The clash rang out sharp and loud. Following the force of it, Jon wrenched his sword free from the man he'd just stabbed and realized only then how close he'd come to death himself.
He didn't hesitate. At such close range, Jon slashed again, cutting down the foe whose strike Jory had just deflected.
In that brief, frantic flurry, the two of them together brought down three enemies.
The fallen corpses blocked part of the narrow corridor, buying them a moment's reprieve.
Both gasping for breath, Jon wiped the blood from his face, then hammered the pommel of his sword against the wooden door behind him.
And with all the force in his lungs, he roared: "Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Unknown assailants are upon us!"
Though Jon knew exactly who these men were, he still shouted as loudly as he could to warn those inside the room.
After pounding on the door, he switched the sword back from his left to his right hand.
Both hands tightened around the hilt as he fixed his gaze on the enemies pressing their attack.
With three fully armored soldiers already lying dead, Jon—coughing as he caught his breath—and Jory, who had just managed to raise his weapon again, had no choice but to press their backs against the wooden door behind them.
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