The events of this day had been nothing short of bewildering—twists upon twists, shocks piled upon shocks, each more unbelievable than the last. The onlookers who had followed the commotion from the very beginning were left completely dazed, unable to keep up with the relentless pace at which the situation changed.
At first, everyone thought the queen would naturally have her way. Cersei Lannister had stepped forward with confidence befitting a lioness, brandishing her accusation against Karl Stone with the certainty of a woman used to dominating every room she entered. And truly, most people believed that would be the end of it—after all, who could possibly oppose the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?
But then, as quickly as an afternoon storm, King Robert changed the direction of the wind entirely. In a booming voice, he overturned Cersei's stance, leaping into the fray like a warhammer-wielding peacemaker. He rejected the trial by combat she demanded and instead declared that he himself would preside over the matter, intending to settle it in a controlled, measured way.
That alone had startled the crowd.
Yet no one expected what happened next.
Karl Stone—this young man barely come of age, this common-born lad lifted hastily into knighthood—stood tall, refused the king's protection, and calmly insisted on reclaiming his own honor with his own hands.
It was a moment so unexpected, so audacious, that the previously confused crowd suddenly felt their confusion melt into admiration.
They might not have understood Karl's mind, but they could not deny what they saw: the presence of a true man.
And so, once it was determined that the matter would indeed be settled through trial by combat, the courtyard of the inn at the crossroads instantly erupted into motion. The crowd, already fired up from the tension, acted with the coordination of people who had seen many public fights before. Within moments, hundreds of hands worked to clear an open arena in the center of the cramped yard.
Karl had insisted the matter would be resolved today—not delayed, not dragged to Winterfell, not postponed for ceremony or convenience. The trial would be fought here, now, in front of the people who had witnessed everything from the beginning.
And the people loved it.
All sympathy they may have felt for Karl evaporated. After all, in this world, no one cared how many bowls of noodles a man ate—only how many bowls he could serve for others to watch. Spectacle ruled above all.
Hundreds of onlookers squeezed into the courtyard. The space, already small, now felt suffocatingly tight after an open circle had been carved out at the center.
In that cleared space stood the massive bison Karl had hunted earlier—still roasting over its charcoal pit, far too heavy to move. The four other campfires scattered around the courtyard crackled with flames, illuminating the night and setting the stage for the battle to come.
"Boss…!"
A frantic voice broke through the tension.
Kossi and the others—Karl's ragtag group of followers—pushed through the crowd with hurried, anxious expressions. In their hands, they carried pieces of armor: Karl's armor, stripped off the previous day. The moment they realized that Karl truly intended to face a trial by combat, they had rushed to retrieve it.
Karl blinked in surprise when he saw them. His gaze drifted over the familiar faces—men he had fought beside, eaten beside, slept beside; men who had wandered with him for half a year and had finally chosen to remain despite having every reason not to.
Their faces were filled with worry.
And for the first time that day, Karl's expression softened.
He rose from the wooden stump he had been sitting on and clapped Cauchy—who was visibly trembling—hard on the shoulder.
"You should have more faith in your boss, Cauchy," Karl said with a broad grin. "Don't forget—they call me the Wheel King."
With that, he laughed heartily and moved past the stunned group, heading straight for the arena.
His intention to fight without armor stunned the onlookers. Cauchy froze. The crowd froze. Even Tyrion Lannister, who had been sulking with his head down and shoulders slumped, snapped out of his gloom.
Seeing Karl walking unprotected into a life-or-death battle jolted the dwarf into motion.
"Seven hells, are you trying to die?!" Tyrion shouted, scrambling toward him. "If you really want to throw your life away, you could at least return the gold dragons you owe me first!"
His face twisted with a mixture of fear, anger, and genuine concern.
Karl's smile widened.
For a brief moment, warmth flickered in his heart. Perhaps he wasn't doing as badly in life as he thought.
He reached out, grabbed Tyrion by the collar like a stray kitten, and—without hesitation—passed him off to Hall, who caught him effortlessly.
"We'll sort out who owes whom after I get back," Karl said with a casual wave.
He didn't bother explaining that armor would only hinder him, not help him. Against one opponent—especially in a tight space—lightness, speed, and precision would win out over heavy plating. But explaining that to the crowd seemed pointless.
So Karl stepped into the center of the arena, raised his longsword, planted its tip into the dirt, rested both hands on the hilt, and fixed his gaze calmly on Queen Cersei.
He inclined his head politely to King Robert.
Then he smiled—sharp, taunting, and impossibly confident—and spoke clearly:
"Queen Cersei Lannister, accuser of Karl Stone, have you chosen your champion?"
He tilted his sword slightly, letting the steel catch the firelight.
"Because my sword…" Karl said, voice dropping into a low chuckle, "is incredibly thirsty."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. People leaned forward, breathless, eager.
Karl's challenge radiated pure, reckless bravado.
Cersei, seeing him standing there in nothing but a half-body leather harness, completely unarmored and boldly provoking her, let her smile bloom even wider. She didn't bother reacting to his insolence. She turned instead toward Jaime Lannister, who stood beside her in his pristine white Kingsguard armor.
The Kingslayer had remained silent throughout the confrontation. He stared blankly at Karl, his expression unreadable.
But when Karl's challenge echoed through the courtyard and Cersei's gaze burned into him in demand—
Jaime didn't move.
Marin Trant and Boros Blount exchanged confused looks from behind the queen.
Cersei's expression soured.
"Jaime? What are you doing?" she snapped sharply.
His hesitation only deepened. His eyes flicked to Karl, then to Tyrion—who was still grumbling while being restrained—and then back to Cersei.
Eventually, Jaime closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy breath.
"I'm sorry, Cersei," he said quietly. "I can't."
Gasps spread through the crowd.
Jaime opened his eyes, met Karl's gaze for a brief, conflicted moment, then turned toward his brother once more before finally lifting his white cloak and stepping away.
Without another word, he walked out of the courtyard.
The crowd erupted with shocked whispers.
Cersei's lips twisted in rage.
"You—!"
She tried to unleash her fury, but before she could spit out the insult, Marin Trant and Boros Blount, recognizing the chance to climb in favor and glory, immediately stepped forward.
"Your Majesty!" Marin declared, kneeling. "Allow me to serve as your champion!"
"Your Majesty!" Boros echoed, dropping beside him. "I am honored to fight for you and for the prince in this trial!"
The crowd roared with excitement at the sight of the two Kingsguards volunteering.
Cersei composed herself, pleased to see someone filling the vacancy Jaime left behind. She straightened her spine proudly.
Robert, however, frowned. His expression tightened, though he said nothing, merely turning his gaze toward Karl with an unreadable look.
Karl himself was slightly surprised by Jaime's withdrawal. He had fully expected to face the Kingslayer. He had even considered—momentarily—whether he might have to kill Jaime Lannister right there.
But Jaime had stepped away. And Karl was unexpectedly relieved. Killing Tyrion's brother would have felt… complicated. Uncomfortable. Wrong.
But now?
Now he had two other opponents.
And nothing holding him back.
Before Cersei could even choose which of the two champions she preferred, Karl lifted his sword, pointed it toward both Kingsguards, and spoke with utter contempt:
"No need to choose."
A hush fell instantly.
Karl smirked.
"You can both come at me together."
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