Military orders were as immovable as mountains, and in war, speed decided life and death.
Once Karl understood the severity of the situation unfolding in the Riverlands, he wasted no time. The wildling warriors he had brought south were gathered immediately, their brief rest cut short. After only a single night in Saltpans, the column set out again at first light, boarding boats and moving swiftly downstream toward Maidenpool.
Cold wind rushed across the deck as the river widened, carrying with it the scent of salt and iron. When Maidenpool finally appeared on the horizon, Karl felt a subtle easing of the tension in his chest.
Warships.
A dense cluster of them lay anchored in the outer harbor, their banners snapping sharply in the wind. The falcon and crescent of the Vale were unmistakable.
"So they've arrived," Karl muttered quietly.
The reinforcements from the Vale had beaten him here. That alone was good news—but it also meant that Maidenpool had already transformed from a bustling trade port into a frontline stronghold. Civilian ships were gone. Fishing boats had vanished. The harbor was sealed, guarded, and bristling with soldiers.
Beyond the docks rose the town itself, encircled by thick stone walls. At its highest point stood the castle of House Mooton, perched on a gentle hill overlooking the bay. Compared to Saltpans—little more than the holding of a landed knight—Maidenpool was a true noble seat, one of the major ports of Crackclaw Bay.
Yet its glory had faded.
Ever since House Mooton had chosen to support the Targaryens over House Tully during Robert's Rebellion, the family's influence had steadily declined. Though they retained their title, their political weight was a shadow of what it once had been.
That was precisely why William Mooton, Earl of Maidenpool, dared not resist when the lords of the Vale requisitioned his harbor and castle. Protest would have been meaningless—and dangerous.
As the ship approached the pier, Karl's eyes swept across the welcoming party waiting below. Several familiar banners were present, but his attention paused on one figure: a heavyset nobleman standing awkwardly among the Vale lords, his face shiny with sweat and his smile overly cautious.
Karl frowned slightly, then instinctively glanced sideways.
Samwell Tarly was standing beside him.
Soft flesh, pale skin, timid eyes. The resemblance—at least in build—was unfortunate.
For a brief, uncharitable moment, Karl wondered whether the fat man below was Sam's true father, rather than Lord Randyll Tarly.
"When we have time," Karl thought flatly, "you're training with Jon Snow."
Sam was doing nothing wrong—merely looking around with wide-eyed curiosity—yet somehow, a new and terrifying training plan had just appeared in his future.
His face visibly wilted.
"Yes, my lord," Sam muttered weakly, not daring to question it.
Jon Snow, overhearing the order, turned his head and assessed Sam carefully. His gaze traveled from Sam's rounded shoulders down to his soft belly.
Jon nodded solemnly.
"I'll take good care of him," he said earnestly. "You may rest assured, my lord."
Sam felt a chill run down his spine.
Before the ship had even fully docked, Karl leapt down onto the pier with practiced ease.
Yohn Royce immediately stepped forward to greet him. The old lord, though clearly burdened by command, moved with the confidence of a man long accustomed to war.
He raised a hand and gestured toward the heavyset nobleman Karl had noticed earlier.
"Lord Karl," Royce said, "this is William Mooton, Earl of Maidenpool."
Karl inclined his head politely.
"Earl Mooton. We've disturbed your lands—my apologies."
William Mooton bowed quickly, his voice deferential.
"Lord of the East's Guardian, your presence honors my house."
Before pleasantries could drag on, Yohn Royce cut in without hesitation.
"Lord Karl, you've finally arrived. How fares the Duke?"
His gaze flicked briefly toward the ship behind Karl, as though expecting Robert Arryn himself to appear.
Karl shrugged casually.
"Brynden watches over him. He's well—better than before, in fact."
That was all he intended to say.
Royce studied him for a moment, then nodded. He understood restraint when he saw it. These were dangerous times, and certain suspicions were better left unspoken.
"How long have you been here?" Karl asked instead.
"Less than two days," Royce replied.
Karl nodded once, then went straight to the heart of the matter.
"The war?"
Royce's expression tightened. He turned slightly as they began walking toward the castle.
"We know what has happened in King's Landing," Royce said carefully. "What we wish to know is this—what are the King's orders? What arrangements have been made?"
At Karl's answer, murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles.
"The King and the Prime Minister command us to relieve King's Landing."
The pier erupted.
"What kind of order is that?!"
"With what army?"
"Tywin Lannister is holding the city hostage!"
"That's not negotiation—it's blackmail!"
"Barristan Selmy left the city exposed!"
"Kevan Lannister seized the chance!"
"And Janos Slynt—traitor or fool?"
The accusations piled upon one another, anger and fear blending into chaos.
Yohn Royce turned sharply and silenced them with a single glare.
When calm returned, he faced Karl again.
"We will not fail the King's trust," Royce said firmly. "When do we march?"
Karl stopped walking.
He shook his head slowly.
"My view differs from yours, Lord Royce."
The pier fell quiet.
Royce frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Karl turned to face them all.
"Tell me," he asked calmly, "what matters more—saving King's Landing, or destroying Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands?"
No one answered.
Karl continued, his voice steady.
"What is Tywin truly seeking by doing this? Why would a man who values his house above all else gamble everything it has accumulated for thousands of years?"
"The Lannisters ruled the West long before the Conquest. Even after losing their crown, they remained powerful. Tywin is not a man who throws away his inheritance lightly."
"So ask yourselves—what convinced him this gamble was worth it?"
Silence deepened.
"King's Landing is important," Karl said at last. "More important than you think."
Understanding dawned slowly across their faces.
Tywin Lannister had turned desperation into leverage.
And unless they understood why—
They would lose again.
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