TitoVillar
patreon
GOT Chapter 115: The Lords of the Vale Convene
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 20:53:05 +0000 UTCInside a warm firelit chamber of the Eyrie, Kal attended a meeting with the Vale lords, held in his capacity as Warden of the East, though without the presence of the Lord of the Eyrie.
The nobles of the Vale had formed an alliance in place of the Arryn family’s authority.
They swore their oaths before the Old Gods, and Kal acknowledged them.
Before this meeting, in the presence of Robert Arryn and the gathered lords of the Vale, Kal had eaten the salt and bread that signified a guest’s rights.
This meant that for the duration of his stay at the Eyrie, neither side could bring harm to the other.
Because of this, the lords of the Vale were willing to set aside their fears and share the same room with him.
After all, the inhuman strength he had displayed yesterday was truly terrifying, yet it was precisely that which allowed them to calm themselves and act with prudence.
The chamber was not large. A fireplace had been built against one wall, its logs burning with a bright flame.
A few small windows were set high above, keeping out the cold winds from outside.
On the wall hung the banner of House Arryn—sky-blue field, a sky-blue falcon soaring above a white crescent moon.
White stone bricks reflected the daylight streaming through the windows, so that only a few candles were needed to light the room.
Out of respect for this meeting, Kal had dressed in proper formal attire.
He wore a thigh-length tunic cut from black velvet, a golden belt set with emeralds clasped at his waist.
The hem of the tunic was embroidered with faint golden patterns—subtle, yet giving the garment a rigid dignity.
Simple strips of red silk adorned the shoulders and sleeves, flashing briefly whenever Kal moved his arms.
The inner lining of the robe was entirely red silk, patterned with intricate designs.
So with each step Kal took, a ripple of red would flare out like waves before sinking back again.
This was formalwear he had commissioned long ago in the Free Cities, custom-tailored to his frame. Normally, he never bothered to wear such garments, keeping them tucked away in his chambers within the game world.
He owned dozens more of these robes, each designed for different climates and occasions.
Yet wearing such a garment now, in such a setting, still left him feeling somewhat uncomfortable.
For he preferred looser, more relaxed clothing.
At the chamber door, Kal adjusted the gilded longsword at his hip—once the weapon of the Kingslayer. Then, lowering his head slightly, he stepped slowly inside.
He made his way to his seat, looked up, swept his gaze around the room, and gave a brief nod to those present.
“Ser Kal Stone, do you not bear a family crest of your own?”
It was Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks who spoke. Ever observant, she had noticed that though Kal was formally dressed, there was no emblem or device upon him to mark the arms of his house.
Lady Anya was advanced in years. As she spoke to Kal, her face showed a kind smile, and in her eyes lingered a hint of curiosity.
“The time since King Robert knighted me has been short. And with all these events unfolding, I haven’t yet had the chance to name a house of my own.”
Facing Lady Anya’s kindness, Kal nodded to her, giving a simple explanation.
No one else reacted much to this. After all, it was only natural.
Everyone present knew that the bastard before them—Kal Stone—would, once the war ended, surely be granted lands by King Robert. He would rise from landed knight to true noble, so there was no real need for him to rush.
Compared to the tense clash of swords in the great hall yesterday, the atmosphere in the warm chamber now was clearly far more relaxed. The lords present even seemed to be showing Kal goodwill.
Noticing this, Kal shifted the gilded longsword at his waist a little farther back.
He knew well where this respect came from.
And he was grateful to Ser Vardis Egen for stepping forward on his behalf—without that, it would have been much harder to command the respect of these powerful nobles in so short a time, and with such ease.
“If you should ever have the thought, there is still plenty of unclaimed land in the Vale. Runestone would welcome you as a neighbor.”
No sooner had Kal finished speaking than the Lord of Runestone—Lord Yohn Royce—unexpectedly spoke up.
At this sudden gesture of goodwill from the elder lord, Kal was somewhat surprised.
Compared to polite words, such a tangible offer of benefit was far more striking.
So, with gratitude, Kal inclined his head to Lord Yohn Royce, then smiled and said, “It would be my honor.”
Bronze Yohn responded with a brief dip of his chin, then fell silent. He turned, exchanged glances with the other Vale lords, and only then looked back toward Kal.
Sensing that the leading nobles were ready to discuss serious matters, Jon Snow and Jory Cassel—whom Kal had deliberately stationed at the door—hurried to close the wooden chamber doors.
As the sound of the door shutting mingled with the crackle of burning logs, Kal nodded once more to those gathered and began: “Since all of you are here, let us begin the meeting.”
At Kal Stone’s words, the nobles straightened, their expressions turning solemn. Their eyes fixed upon this bastard boy, not yet twenty years old, who now bore the title of Warden of the East.
Feeling the weight of every gaze upon him, Kal’s voice sank into gravity: “First, I want to know—why has the Vale remained quietly within its mountains, refusing to answer the Iron Throne’s call to war?”
On this question, Kal deliberately hardened his expression, adopting the air of one speaking official business.
That Kal Stone would open with this demand made the lords of the Vale glance at one another once again.
“We did answer the king’s call,” came a reply at last. “It’s just that we have not yet marched to the battlefield.”
Kal turned his head toward the speaker and saw it was Lord Horton Redfort of Redfort.
His gaze was sharp, as though displeased with Kal’s questioning.
“Then why?” Kal pressed. “The king has not seen a single man or horse from you, nor has he found so much as one letter from the Vale upon his or the Hand’s table.”
At these words, everyone present froze for a moment, their expressions shifting as they instinctively glanced toward the door.
Lord Horton Redfort only curled his lip and raised his brow.
But before he could explain further, Lord Yohn Royce seized the chance to speak.
“The Vale cannot muster troops as easily as those broad, open lands elsewhere. Gathering our men and supplies takes far more time, and we need ships to move them as well."
"After all, while the Mountains of the Moon are the Vale’s natural fortress—easy to defend and hard to attack—they are also a barrier when we try to march outward.”
Bronze Yohn’s expression was somewhat complicated as he explained.
Noticing the nobles’ guilty looks, Kal felt a flicker of suspicion.
As for Yohn Royce’s explanation, Kal was not about to accept it. He was no fool.
So his tone hardened, and he spoke bluntly: “That is no excuse. Neither the king nor the Hand has seen any sign of your intent.”
Seeing they could not brush this off, yet unwilling to air all the Vale’s troubles, Yohn Royce glanced at several great lords, then finally admitted: “The Vale’s host has only just gathered. At present they are stationed at Runestone and Gulltown, making their final preparations."
"If you command it, Ser Kal Stone, we can embark at once!”
But even now, Royce had not spoken the full truth.
Kal’s brow furrowed deeper. A growing unease gnawed at him.
He fell silent, fixing Royce with a steady, penetrating gaze.
Under such a stare, Yohn Royce’s mouth twitched several times, but he clenched his teeth and said no more.
Seeing his hesitation, and unwilling to let this rare chance at reconciliation with the Iron Throne slip away, Lady Anya finally interjected.
With utmost courtesy, she inclined her head toward Kal. “Warden of the East, we do not wish to conceal anything from you or from King Robert. In truth, the Vale’s crisis does not come only from the disturbances caused by the Lannisters."
"For when the war began, across the Narrow Sea, the Free Cities too fell into turmoil."
"And as we assembled our armies to answer the king’s summons, we noted not only unusual movements among the great mercenary companies, but also a greater threat still."
"Just recently, a khalasar of the Dothraki gathered in Pentos. The merchant-princes there received them warmly, striking great bargains with them.”
“I’ve heard of this,” Kal frowned. “But what has it to do with what we speak of now?"
"The sea is poison to the Dothraki. They will not cross it, nor could they possibly threaten the Seven Kingdoms.”
At Lady Anya’s words, Kal’s brows drew tight.
For as one who had lived and schemed in the Free Cities for five long years, he knew full well the truth of matters across the Narrow Sea. Fooling him would not be so easy.
Kal knew very well what had happened in Pentos.
After all, in the original course of events, the marriage of the Khal and Daenerys Targaryen was a turning point, another origin of the story itself. Of course, Kal was aware of it.
He also remembered what had happened before, when in the wild lands of the First Men, Robert had dragged Eddard Stark out of his tent before dawn under the pretense of “seeing the view.”
Jon had been curious then, wondering why the king and his father were quarreling, while Kal had taught him the first lesson of a guard: how to keep his mouth shut.
