The bonfires and candlelight in the hall spread as if they cost nothing, filling the entire chamber, making it shine as bright as day even at night.
At the far end of his sight stood, upon the dais of the hall, that black, cold, hard throne bristling with spikes—the Iron Throne.
A deep voice slowly rumbled from Kal's throat, echoing through the vast hall.
"Your father, Lord Tytos Lannister, because of his kindness and weakness, was called the Laughing Lion. Everyone despised Lord Tytos."
"And there were families that borrowed from the Lannisters and never repaid. Even his own vassals often openly ignored his commands."
"It was for this reason that Tywin Lannister seized control of Casterly Rock before your father had even died. He began cleaning up the bad debts left by Lord Tytos, calling in the gold he had lent."
"If repayment was impossible, then hostages had to be sent to Casterly Rock until the debt was cleared."
"During this time he ordered you to lead knights to scour the Westerlands of bandits and brigands."
"When House Reyne and House Tarbeck refused to come and confess their crimes, they were deemed rebels, and he summoned his vassals to personally march on Castamere and Tarbeck Hall."
"He created the Rains of Castamere, and by it cemented his power and restored the authority of House Lannister."
"He was judged as 'the Lion has awoken.'"
Kal's gaze remained fixed on the Iron Throne, his back to everyone, speaking lightly of Tywin Lannister's true rise in life.
His voice was deep and resonant, echoing powerfully through the throne room, as if indeed telling the story of a hero.
But here Kal suddenly shifted his tone.
"Yet your brother lived his whole life putting family honor and prestige first, using iron and blood and an unyielding hand to pull the house back from the brink of collapse and restore its former glory."
"Yet in the war when the King was overthrown and House Targaryen fell, Tywin remained in Casterly Rock, supporting neither side. Only at the last moment, when the outcome was certain, did he step forth to pluck the ripest fruit of victory."
"So let us guess—why did he act so?"
"And why were you so thoroughly prepared for a war that came without warning?"
Kal's voice sharpened. He turned his body to look at Kevan.
"Answer me, Ser Kevan Lannister."
"Is it because the Lannisters' ambition was plain to all?!"
Yet as his words rang out, Kevan paid no heed to Kal's final questions.
With his back to Kal Stone, his head tilted slightly upward, there was in his unseen eyes a trace of memory of the past.
"You know him well, Ser Kal. A year later he was named Hand of the King by Aerys.
"Hand of the King at only 20 years old—the youngest in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. And he held that office for 20 years."
Faced with the pressing, time passed in silence before Kevan Lannister at last murmured words of admiration, as if savoring those years.
But immediately after, the corner of his mouth lifted, pulling himself back from memory.
He turned around, looking at Kal's lofty figure questioning him.
Shifting his tone, he countered in return.
"But are you not the same, Ser Kal?"
"Me?" Facing his question, Kal's eyes narrowed slightly. "Forgive me, Ser Kevan, I don't quite understand what you mean."
Their gazes once again locked together, this time as if sparks clashed in midair.
Kal's feigned deafness did not trouble Kevan.
"You are now Warden of the East. Though we all know that title carries more symbolic weight than practical meaning for you."
"Yet we cannot deny that you truly have the strength and wisdom to sit in that seat."
Kevan Lannister spoke clearly, enunciating each word.
Kal did not interrupt, listening quietly, his gaze calm.
At the mention of Warden of the East, Petyr Baelish and the others also stirred, each one's eyes glinting with hidden emotion as they watched in silence.
Kevan showed no restraint, continuing what he had not finished.
"In truth, we have always kept watch on the Vale, for to us it has indeed been the real key point determining whether our plans could succeed."
"Only no one had expected Robert to enfeoff you as Warden of the East, nor that you could so easily unite those Vale lords and, in the shortest time, settle all matters."
"Before that, we did not pay you much heed."
"But the undeniable fact is, you truly worked a miracle."
Kevan Lannister's words surprised Kal.
He had not expected Kevan to bring up the Vale, and in his words lay hints that the Lannisters had some hand in it as well.
Sensing this, his narrowed eyes shifted toward the small, thin, ordinary figure of Petyr Baelish standing aside.
Then lingered on Varys, who had intercepted him on the road and then put on a show of loyalty to the Iron Throne.
Yet, thinking of his suspicions about what he had encountered in the Vale, Kal did not voice them.
Instead he put on the look of one who had not understood Kevan Lannister's veiled meaning.
Kal said evenly, "If that is what you mean, then the credit can only go to the King and the Hand. Does Ser Kevan truly think that I, a bastard raised in the Vale, could sway the minds of those lords?"
"As for what you speak of in King's Landing—perhaps. Maybe the Seven stand on my side."
Kal still flatly denied, keeping the stance of one to whom nothing sticks.
Yet at Kal's evasions, Kevan's stern face softened into a kindly smile, and his gaze on Kal carried the appreciation one gives to a promising younger kin.
Kevan shook his head. "That has no meaning. It has already become a settled reality. Let the scholars trouble themselves with the exact truth."
"What I mean is—this!"
As he spoke, Kevan raised his hand, pointing at the Iron Throne standing solemn and still upon the high dais of the throne room.
That throne of spikes, sharp edges, and twisted metal.
"Through this event and war, everyone has seen your brilliance."
"Kal Stone, have you truly never thought of becoming heir to the Iron Throne, and changing your surname to Baratheon?"
"Kal Baratheon?! Hm—what a fine name!"
Kevan, as if struck by some happy thought, even clapped his hands.
In the vast hall, for a moment only his laughter and clapping echoed.
The night wind blew in from the tall, narrow windows in the wall, while the burning bonfires crackled with the sound of wood and resin consumed by flame.
With Kevan Lannister's unrestrained words, the throne room fell silent apart from his own voice.
"That is for the King to consider."
Kal was silent for two seconds, his answer neither rejection nor denial.
But Kevan Lannister pressed on relentlessly.
"So you built a power of your own, an army, and led them to take King's Landing, did you not?"
"Kal Stone, you speak of the Lannisters and the Iron Throne, but what of yourself—a bastard? I recall Cersei always called you mongrel, did she not?!"
"If not, then why, after Robert Baratheon knighted you, have you still never chosen a surname for yourself, never designed a sigil that belongs only to you?"
"After all, 'Stone' is a fine reminder to a certain King who knows he has no true heir."
Kevan Lannister's words fell, mercilessly tearing open that hidden thought in the bastard's heart.
And with this he struck back at Kal's questioning of the Lannisters' ambition.
Indeed, after saying this, he did not bother to watch Kal Stone's expression, but turned, pointing one finger after another.
"Of those present, who does not harbor an unspeakable ambition? Ser Kal Stone, do you truly believe that the assassination you faced in the Vale was merely the madness of some deranged woman?"
After pointing out each of the court ministers present, Kevan spoke in a cold voice.
Then, with a sweep of his hand, he pointed south and east.
"And those 2 great houses of the South, the Targaryen remnants across the Narrow Sea, even Robert's own brothers—can you guess why they too are so eager?!"
"Ambition, everyone has it. Only the Lannisters were placed out in the open."
As he said this, Kevan laughed coldly, a trace of bleakness in his expression.
Seeing Kevan Lannister speak so plainly, Kal, standing below the Iron Throne, could not be bothered to disguise himself any longer.
With a man about to die, there was no need for extra pretense.
Kevan was not wrong. Besides, once he truly reached that point, as he rose step by step and drew ever more attention—
These things would need no words from Kevan. People would naturally see them for themselves.
And whether his ambition could be realized, that would depend entirely on strength.
In the end, it is strength alone that speaks.
Tywin Lannister had done so, and he would be no exception.
Schemes and intrigues are always only branches beside the trunk when set before true strength.
So Kal no longer feigned.
He laid his cards on the table.
"So you have failed."
"History is written by the victors, is it not?"
Kal's gaze turned icy as his left hand rose to rest upon the gilded hilt of the longsword at his waist.
But facing Kal's impatience, Kevan Lannister lifted his neck high, offering his throat openly before him.
Yet the look on his face was nothing but scorn, contempt—
And a stubborn refusal to yield.
"No, the Lannisters should not lose like this!"
"Kal Stone, true, no one could have foreseen events would end this way."
"But I will make you understand, you are no victor either!"
"Come then—take my head and set it upon a spear!"
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