Karl found Tyrion's explanation—that King Robert had stopped simply to hunt wild bulls—almost laughably absurd. On the surface, the dwarf's words were reasonable. Hunting was exactly the kind of thing Robert Baratheon would do. No one could deny it fit his reckless, indulgent character.
But the timing was wrong.
Very wrong.
A restless Robert Baratheon was unusual enough. The man was normally too lazy to bother with anything beyond feasting, drinking, womanizing, and the occasional brawl or hunt. Yet this Robert—this uncharacteristically unsettled Robert—felt… unfamiliar. Wrong-footed. Almost like he was forcing himself to play a part.
And that was precisely what bothered Karl.
Now was not the time for Robert to act on whims. Which meant this entire situation smelled like something else—a scheme, a push, a subtle intervention. The kind of deviation that only happened when someone wanted the plot to shift.
Karl couldn't help thinking that perhaps someone, somewhere, had finally lost patience.
Or worse…
Perhaps some butterfly had begun flapping its wings because he himself existed here.
The thought tightened like a knot in his chest.
Karl's mind spiraled into overanalysis. He silently went through the list of people who could have engineered such a deviation—those powerful, calculating beings lurking in the shadows of King's Landing. He mentally weighed each possibility, eliminating suspects one by one.
But no answer emerged.
The two true puppet masters of King's Landing—those who had secretly provided Karl with the map—had no reason to interfere like this. One of them valued stability above all, and chaos now would not serve him. His strategy depended on nothing happening. He needed the board to remain quiet.
The other—who thrived on controlled chaos—worked within the rules, nudging the game just enough to benefit himself. He wanted storms, yes, but storms he alone controlled. His ladder was chaos, but chaos woven in shadows, never in direct defiance of the king. And certainly not now, not when Robert's northern journey was beneficial to his long-term plans.
Both were already enacting their own private agendas.
One had successfully planted seeds of chaos.
The other was tirelessly sewing stability into the weakening realm.
Ned Stark heading south was good for both of them.
So neither the Spider nor the Mockingbird could be behind this.
Which left one more possibility.
Karl grimaced.
Could it really be… her?
The reckless, furious, golden-haired queen known for flipping tables and starting conflicts without a second thought?
Cersei Lannister had motive.
She always had motive.
Just as Karl's mind fell deeper into this possibility, Tyrion burst out laughing beside him. The dwarf's sharp, mocking laughter shattered Karl's tense thoughts like a pebble thrown into still water.
Karl blinked, snapped out of his spiraling theories.
"What are you laughing at?" he muttered, subconsciously lowering his gaze.
Tyrion didn't answer at first. He simply lifted his silver wine goblet and took a slow sip, watching Karl with that irritatingly clever expression that suggested he knew far more than he should.
At last he clicked his tongue. "Bastard, you're wondering why Robert chose to linger here, aren't you?"
Karl sighed. "Of course I am. Shouldn't we be traveling north as quickly as possible? Duke Stark might already be preparing a feast to welcome the king, and here we are… playing around."
His hands spread helplessly.
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Maybe he simply wants to visit one of his old 'glorious battlefields.'" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a meaningful drawl. "To relive past great achievements and… show off to certain people again."
Karl froze.
His expression went blank—not stupid, but deliberately unreadable. Tyrion's emphasis on the words "others" and "great achievements," combined with the dwarf's unmistakably mocking smirk, made the implication painfully clear.
Karl wasn't supposed to understand.
But he did.
He just maintained the mask of confusion, as if he had understood half—but not the whole.
Tyrion chuckled at Karl's expression, shook his head, and lifted his cup again.
"Oh, right! Almost forgot." He snapped his fingers dramatically. "Our generous king declared that anyone who can kill a wild bull alone will receive a reward of one hundred golden dragons!"
His ugly, oversized head and exaggerated expressions made him look like some mischievous goblin from a bard's tale. Karl couldn't help thinking he looked like a creature designed to scare children into sleeping at night.
Before Karl could voice this thought, Tyrion suddenly gasped theatrically and raised his shrill voice.
"Oh heavens! By the Seven! What a fortune! Even a humble half-man like myself is tempted!"
He paused for effect.
"But sadly, the offer is good for only one day. No exceptions!"
Tyrion gulped down more wine with a regretful sigh, as if he genuinely believed the king's reward belonged to him.
Karl rolled his eyes. He hated show-offs, whether in this life or his previous one.
He fired back coldly, "Is that because it would take you a full day just to climb onto a horse?"
His expression was dead serious, as if he was sincerely concerned about Tyrion's physical limitations.
Tyrion did not get angry.
Of course he didn't.
Instead, he smiled wider, set down his cup, and snapped his fingers.
A golden dragon coin appeared in his hand, glimmering in the faint light.
"No, dear Karl. I now have my High Stool Knight! With just one golden dragon, I can get on a 'horse' faster than a healthy man!"
Karl stared at him.
Then, without hesitation and with reflexes quick as lightning, he snatched the coin from Tyrion's fingers and slipped it into his own pocket.
Tyrion blinked. "Huh."
Karl turned his head casually, as if nothing had happened.
"King Robert is truly generous," he said smoothly. "I didn't expect it to be this extravagant. Wild bulls… I haven't seen them before. Maybe I should join the hunt as well."
He let a beat of silence pass.
"By the way—do you know who told the king there are wild bulls nearby?"
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