Karl had no intention of telling Tyrion what the name truly meant.
There were some things better left unsaid.
In this life, his name was already Karl, so he didn't bother overthinking it. "Karl El" sounded good enough to him. Simple. Memorable. And if he was being honest—
He quite liked the idea.
After all, who wouldn't want to be Superman?
When he was happy, he could be Superman.
When he was unhappy… he could still be Superman.
It was a comforting thought.
As for the house sigil Tyrion had asked about, Karl realized he would need to put some effort into it.
"I'll have the blacksmith forge me a new set of armor tomorrow," he had said casually. "I'll be participating in the jousting event at the Martial Games. I'll figure out the sigil before then."
Work had a way of making time disappear.
After seeing off the King's younger brother—whose intentions were far from pure—Karl had glanced down and noticed it was still bright outside. But by the time he looked up again, night had already fallen.
Eddard Stark's Burden
Elsewhere, Eddard Stark sat alone in his study.
The conversation with Stannis Baratheon lingered heavily in his mind.
Already exhausted from the day's duties, the discussion had only deepened his fatigue. Yet he could not deny that Stannis's words had been necessary.
Some truths could not be ignored.
No matter how much one wished otherwise.
"Robert was right to curse…" Eddard muttered under his breath. "As a king, he has become little more than a breeding stallion."
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He set aside a freshly processed document and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ease the growing headache.
Time passed slowly.
When he finally opened his eyes again, they were filled with exhaustion.
He reached for the unfinished goblet of summerwine on his desk and drained it in one go. The warmth spread through his chest, offering a fleeting sense of relief.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before Eddard could respond, it opened.
Jory Cassel stepped inside.
He wore his usual leather armor, a cloak draped over his shoulders, and a sword at his side. His heavy grey wool cloak, trimmed with white satin, looked dusty—as though he had just returned from outside.
Embroidered upon it was a silver hand, marking him as the Hand's personal guard.
"My lord," Jory said quietly.
Eddard straightened slightly.
He remembered the task he had assigned earlier—an investigation prompted by Stannis's visit.
"Well?" Eddard asked.
Jory shook his head.
"Nothing unusual."
He continued calmly.
"I had men inquire specifically. Princess Arianne Martell and her brother, Quentyn Martell, have had no contact with Stannis Baratheon since arriving in King's Landing."
"Arianne has mostly been meeting with various lords. She hasn't left her residence much."
"It appears Prince Doran is arranging her marriage and remains concerned about it."
"And Oberyn Martell?"
Jory hesitated slightly.
"He's… spending his time in brothels and taverns with his lover. However, his three bastard daughters have been visiting Jon Snow quite frequently."
Eddard frowned.
Then, slowly, his expression eased.
"I see."
He sighed softly.
"Very well. Get some rest."
Then, after a brief pause, he added:
"But keep watch on them. Quietly."
"Yes, my lord."
Jory nodded and left without further questions.
The door closed.
The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across Eddard's face.
His worries remained.
A Family Dinner
Another knock came soon after.
This time, it was Harwin.
"My lord, dinner is nearly ready."
Eddard blinked, pulled from his thoughts.
"Prepare a lighter outfit," he said. "And bring the vest as well."
King's Landing was unbearably hot.
Even inside the tower, the heat clung to him, heavy and suffocating.
For a moment, he considered escaping to the river with his family—cooling off, perhaps even holding a small feast beneath the open sky.
But such thoughts would have to wait.
Harwin retrieved the requested clothing—a lighter set, along with a vest bearing the grey direwolf of House Stark.
Eddard changed, feeling slightly more at ease in the dry garments.
As he finished, he glanced at the Hand's badge in his hand.
After a moment's thought, he set it down.
Tonight, he was not the Hand of the King.
Tonight—
He was a father.
The Stark Table
When Eddard entered the dining room, he found his family already gathered.
Catelyn sat at the head of the table, the children around her.
She rose immediately upon seeing him.
Eddard's stern expression softened into a rare smile.
"Sit," he said gently. "King's Landing keeps me busy. Thank you for waiting."
The meal began with chilled pumpkin soup—sweetened with honey and cooled with ice. It was refreshing, perfect for the oppressive heat.
As Eddard took his seat, a servant placed a bowl before him.
The children were visibly excited.
Sansa, Arya, and Bran all smiled brightly. Even little Rickon, barely four years old, looked up at his father with delight.
They had seen so little of him lately.
Tonight felt special.
For the first time in months, the family was complete.
Almost.
"Father…" Jon Snow said quietly, the last to greet him.
He sat slightly apart.
Though invited, he still felt like an outsider.
Catelyn said nothing.
Her displeasure was visible—but restrained.
Eddard nodded to Jon without comment.
For now, he pushed aside all burdens.
This moment—
Belonged to his family.
Laughter and Shadows
The meal progressed with warmth and laughter.
The children spoke freely.
Even Jon joined in occasionally, though he remained cautious.
Arya, lively as ever, suddenly leaned forward.
"Father! Will Karl Stone participate in the Martial Games?"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"I've heard so many stories about him! Even Syrio Forel says he's incredibly strong!"
She leaned closer.
"Who do you think would win if they fought?"
Eddard froze.
The question stirred memories.
He recalled the day Syrio Forel began training the children—the foreign swordmaster teaching techniques in a place once reserved for the Kingsguard.
And Arya—
Bold, reckless Arya—
Insisting on joining.
He had been furious.
A girl wielding a blade?
It defied everything he believed.
Yet somehow… it had been allowed.
Jon lowered his head slightly.
He remembered that day well.
And how Karl had intervened.
A Mother's Reprimand
Before Eddard could respond, Catelyn spoke sharply.
"Arya, mind your manners."
"Karl is no longer a mere acquaintance. He is a great lord. You must show respect."
"And stop speaking of fighting. Lady Mordane has instructed you better than this."
Arya pouted but fell silent.
Eddard sighed inwardly.
"Your mother is right," he said calmly.
Then, softening slightly:
"As for your question… it's not so simple. A battlefield and a tournament are very different."
"But who's stronger?" Arya pressed.
"I heard only the Sword of the Morning could fight like that before!"
That name—
It struck something deep within him.
Eddard's expression darkened.
The Shadow of the Past
For a brief moment, the room seemed to fade.
Steel clashed.
Voices screamed.
Blood and roses filled the air.
Eddard's gaze shifted—
To Jon.
Then back to Arya.
"…Enough!"
His voice rang out sharply.
The room fell silent.
Everyone stared at him.
Eddard froze.
What had he just done?
His hand trembled.
"I… apologize," he said quietly.
"You've spent too much time playing with swords. Lady Mordane will resume your lessons."
The words felt hollow.
The warmth of the evening vanished.
Catelyn quickly intervened.
"Your father is tired," she said gently. "He didn't mean it."
Then, more firmly:
"Arya will return to her proper studies."
Arya's Defiance
Arya stared at him.
Shock turned to anger.
Then—
Tears.
"No… you promised!"
Her voice broke.
"I hate you!"
She stood abruptly, knocking over her spoon, and ran from the room.
At the doorway, she stopped.
Turning back, her eyes blazing:
"I won't give up!"
"I hate sewing! The only needle I like is the one Jon gave me!"
Then she was gone.
Aftermath
"Arya!"
Jon stood immediately.
"I'll go after her," he said quickly.
Without waiting, he hurried out.
The room fell into silence once more.
Eddard sat motionless.
The warmth of family…
Had vanished.
And in its place—
Only shadows remained.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)