Once Karl made his decision, he wasted no time lingering in Maidenpool.
He did not even spare a moment to visit the legendary Jonquil's Pool—the very spring where, according to song and tale, Ser Florent first glimpsed Jonquil and her sisters bathing beneath the trees. The waters were said to possess miraculous healing properties, though Karl neither believed nor cared to test the claim.
Centuries ago, House Mooton had constructed a grand stone bathhouse around the spring, giving Maidenpool its name. In later years, it had been maintained by devout women of the Faith of the Seven, calling themselves the Sacred Sisters. No men were permitted entry.
Perhaps that was what made it more tempting.
But temptation had no place in war.
After concluding his meeting with the Vale lords, Karl granted himself only a single day for preparation.
This campaign would commit nearly all the forces of the Vale to the Riverlands, joining what would likely become the final decisive battle. Only five hundred elite cavalry—directly loyal to House Arryn of the Eyrie—would remain stationed in Maidenpool.
Their duties were twofold.
First, they would guard the supply lines and serve as a strategic reserve. Second, they would protect young Lord Robert Arryn.
If good news came from King's Landing, Robert would be escorted safely there under heavy guard. If the war turned ill, the boy would be protected and swiftly returned to the Vale.
It was a cautious, practical arrangement.
Before departing on the third morning, Karl once again left two bottles of potion for young Robert Arryn.
He hoped the medicine would help strengthen the boy's fragile body and temper his unstable nerves. Since drinking the potion after the incident in the Bright Moon Mountains, Robert's seizures had not returned. More than a month had passed without relapse, and the boy's complexion had improved noticeably.
That alone had earned Karl further trust from Brynden Tully and Bronze Yohn Royce.
Trust was as valuable as swords.
With preparations complete, Karl gathered the wildlings he had recently led out of the mountains.
They were loud. Excited. Unrefined.
Armed now with newly acquired weapons, they chattered and laughed like boys handed their first blades.
From Maidenpool to King's Landing, there were two main routes—one passing through Duskendale, the other along the coast. The road through Duskendale and Rosby was faster than cutting directly across country.
And now, time was everything.
Time was coin.
Time was fate.
Karl could not afford to waste a single hour.
Outfitting his force, however, had been no easy matter.
These two thousand tribal warriors had arrived with rusted swords, crude spears, and even hardened bone clubs. In a single day, Karl had practically robbed Lord Willem Mooton of Maidenpool of surplus arms and armor. Then, swallowing pride, he had appealed to wealthier Vale lords such as Yohn Royce.
The result was barely sufficient.
Most men now carried serviceable steel weapons instead of scrap. A handful of elite fighters received hardened leather armor that was not completely worn through.
Plate and chainmail could have been provided—Karl possessed far greater resources than anyone knew.
But revealing that secret now would be foolish.
Rearmament would come gradually.
As they marched from Maidenpool, Karl listened to the rising and falling noise behind him. His newly equipped force marched with enthusiasm—but little discipline.
The stares from passing villagers were not filled with reverence.
They were filled with astonishment.
Curiosity.
Some even laughed.
Karl felt heat creep into his face.
He had once commanded Stark cavalry—disciplined northern riders who moved like wolves across the battlefield. Later, he led elite knights of the Vale—men whose mere presence commanded respect.
Now he rode at the head of two thousand mountain warriors who looked more like raiders than soldiers.
It was… embarrassing.
He found himself wishing he could simply appear at King's Landing in an instant and hammer the Lannisters into the ground.
Blood would be easier to endure than humiliation.
When this was over, he would reform them properly.
They would train. Drill. Learn discipline.
He would not tolerate ridicule again.
Three miles outside Maidenpool, Karl's attention was drawn to a small group resting by the roadside—thirty, perhaps fifty mercenaries.
Among them stood one man in particular.
Lean. Sharp-eyed. Black-haired with stubble lining his jaw. He sang loudly while leaning against a stone.
"By the spring pool, ah—six maidens, ah—"
The song was familiar. Six Maidens in the Pool. A bawdy ballad tied to the legends of Maidenpool.
Karl slowed his horse and halted five paces away.
"Who are you," Karl called calmly, "and why do you wait here?"
Though he addressed the group, his gaze fixed on the singer.
The man stopped mid-verse and stood, brushing grass from his worn leather armor. He offered an exaggerated bow.
"This morning, I heard birds singing," he said with a crooked smile. "I took it as a sign from the Seven that today would be fortunate."
"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Warden of the East."
Karl's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You know me?"
The mercenary smiled.
"My name is Bronn. A small name. As small as roadside grass."
Karl recognized the name only after a brief pause.
Bronn.
Of course.
Appearance meant little in this world compared to the tales he once knew—but the name carried weight.
"A few months ago," Karl replied coolly, "I was a mercenary as well."
Bronn's eyes widened theatrically.
"Ser Karl Stone," he corrected enthusiastically. "The man whose deeds are sung from tavern to tavern."
He stepped forward, voice lowering conspiratorially.
"At the Crossroads Inn, you defended your honor in trial by combat."
"You defeated two Kingsguard."
"You exposed Lannister treachery in Winterfell."
"You charged with only hundreds of cavalry and broke the Lannister advance in the Riverlands."
"You forced Tywin Lannister to retreat to Harrenhal."
"Singers call you Karl the Just. Protector of the Realm. The King's True Son. Even—the True Heir to the Iron Throne."
Karl nearly laughed.
Flattery poured from the man like cheap wine.
"You should be careful," Karl said softly. "Careless words can cost tongues."
Bronn leaned closer.
"Are you worried about the Prince of Dragonstone," he whispered, "or the Lord of Storm's End?"
Karl's lips curved faintly.
"You are not foolish."
Bronn shrugged.
"And you are sharper than you pretend, my lord."
Karl straightened in the saddle.
"I do not have time for riddles. You wait here for a reason. Speak plainly."
Bronn patted his sword hilt.
"Food. Shelter. Coin. I am a simple man."
Honesty.
Or something close to it.
Karl nodded once.
"Gather your men. Arm yourselves. Mount up."
"From this moment, what you earn will depend on what you dare."
Bronn bowed deeply.
"It is an honor."
To Karl, the recruitment was merely a small addition.
He was not Tyrion Lannister, desperate and cornered. Bronn would receive opportunity—nothing more.
If he survived and proved capable, he would rise.
If not, he would fall like any other sword-for-hire.
War was unforgiving.
The march continued.
Karl could not afford the luxury of three horses per rider as he once had in the Reach. Even securing one mount per man had required borrowing and bargaining.
They passed through Duskendale without pause.
At Rosby, they rested briefly to resupply before riding again at dawn.
Three miles from King's Landing, Karl finally ordered a halt.
The city loomed ahead, its walls vast and imposing. Smoke curled from countless chimneys. Even at distance, the capital felt alive.
"Prepare a meal," Karl ordered.
The men dismounted.
He surveyed the Dragon Gate in the distance.
"We will strike from there," he said evenly.
"It is an advantage few are granted."
Silence settled among his captains.
"This battle," Karl continued, "will decide the fate of the kingdom."
The wind shifted, carrying faint echoes from the city.
Somewhere beyond those walls sat the Iron Throne.
And the lions who believed themselves secure.
Karl rested his hand lightly on the hammer at his side.
"Eat well," he said quietly.
"Tomorrow, we knock on the gates."
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)