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GOT Chapter 2: Heading North
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 04:05:45 +0000 UTCThe royal procession heading north—composed of King Robert Baratheon I, Protector of the Realm, and his retinue—didn't linger long in King’s Landing.
Maybe the king was pressed for time, or maybe he simply couldn’t stand wasting his life on trivial matters. Either way, less than half an hour after Kal had sent young Ewing back home, the king gave the order to depart.
As part of the vanguard, Kal and his men naturally had to set out ahead of the main group to scout the road. Upon receiving the command, Kal didn’t hesitate—he gathered his team, mounted up, and hit the road without delay.
Kal had brought his entire band of mercenaries along for this mission, though 'band' might be overstating it. There were only fifteen of them in total.
A ragtag bunch—sparse, mismatched, and far from elite.
Still, it was what Kal had managed to piece together over the past six months since arriving in King’s Landing. Not exactly a proper company—more like a gathering of strays than a disciplined mercenary outfit.
After riding along the King’s Road for roughly an hour, Kal ordered his men to halt and take a short rest.
Compared to the massive force trailing behind them, Kal’s lightly equipped crew—unofficially named after him—moved far faster.
But being the vanguard didn’t mean riding blindly at full speed. Their mission didn’t require a forced march, and each rider had only a single horse, no pack animals or supplies slowing them down.
Perhaps King Robert wished to hasten the journey, but the queen—Cersei Lannister—and her young children were traveling in a royal wheelhouse that could only move so fast.
After all, the wheelhouse was a towering, double-decked carriage. Even on the King’s Road, the heavy wheels carved grooves into the dirt as it rumbled along.
Crafted from polished oak and inlaid with golden trim, the carriage was built to mimic the queen’s personal chambers back in the Red Keep, offering comfort and familiarity to her and the royal children.
That lavish, cumbersome palace-on-wheels required forty fine horses just to pull it forward.
So, after an hour of riding, Kal didn’t think there was anything wrong with giving his men—and their mounts—a short break. They needed to rest anyway, and the rear guard would need time to catch up.
Leading his horse, Fawkes, under a large tree, Kal casually tossed the reins over its back and let it roam free. He found a sizable rock nearby, sat down, and prepared to relax for a bit.
Just then, Kossi handed off his own horse to someone else and walked over with a waterskin in hand, making his way toward Kal again.
Kossi approached with a grin stretched across his face. His toothless smile—missing a front tooth—gave him a roguish look. Still wearing that cheeky expression, he nimbly pulled the stopper from the waterskin and handed it to Kal. Then, without warning, he blurted out a bit of gossip from who-knows-where.
“Boss, I heard the Queen doesn’t like you?”
Kal shot him a glare at that baseless nonsense, but he still took the waterskin from Kossi without hesitation.
Bringing it to his lips, he took a small sip. The cool water swirled in his mouth before he swallowed, a satisfied hiss slipping past his teeth. His gaze then wandered, almost absentmindedly, to the scene nearby.
A few young girls were gathered on a blue carpet spread across the grass, laughing and teasing each other in cheerful voices. They seemed to notice Kal’s group taking a break and occasionally glanced over, whispering among themselves, casting furtive glances his way.
Kal watched them with idle interest. It looked more like they were out having fun than doing anything of importance. A few teenage boys circled them like animals stirred by spring’s arrival, practically sniffing around them like pups catching a scent.
Kal, however, wasn’t like them. He had called the rest halt purely because the group needed a moment to regroup.
Still, his gaze didn’t shy away from the girls’ graceful figures. He lingered openly, eyes roaming as he took another slow sip of water, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.
With his gaze still locked on the same spot—where Kossi was also staring—Kal finally spoke in a flat, unaffected voice: “Where’d you hear that from? What do you mean the Queen doesn’t like me?”
“Don’t go spreading rumors. If someone with ill intent overhears, and it makes its way to the King’s ears, we could all lose our heads.”
“You should know the current Master-at-Arms doesn’t exactly have a sense of humor when it comes to loose tongues~”
As he spoke, Kal gave Kossi another look—sharp and deliberate—like a warning to a seasoned troublemaker who should’ve known better.
Kossi merely curled his lips in a subtle sneer, clearly unimpressed by the mention of the executioner. Still, being the sly old fox he was, he didn’t let that disdain show outright.
Instead, he quickly put on a show of alarm, shaking his head and nodding in quick succession like he’d been genuinely spooked by Kal’s words.
“That’s not what I meant, Boss… It’s just—I heard you’re on good terms with the Hand of the King…”
“You know how it is~!”
You’re a Stone—Kal Stone—not like us mud-caked commoners, Kossi muttered inwardly.
Kal's surname was Stone—and in Westeros, everyone knew that Stone was the bastards' name for the Vale.
Commoners weren’t entitled to surnames.
And ever since this young man arrived in King’s Landing, he had been living quite a colorful life. Add to that the obvious connection he seemed to have with the Hand of the King, and naturally, people began speculating about Kal’s origins.
Some said he was Jon Arryn’s bastard son. Others swore up and down that he couldn’t be.
Because if Jon Arryn did have such a bastard son, then surely the boy would bear the name Kal Arryn, not some pathetic alias like Kal Stone.
Even the common folk had a rough understanding of Jon Arryn’s situation. After all, aside from the king—who sat the throne and did next to nothing—it was Jon Arryn, the Hand, who actually ruled from the Iron Throne and listened to the voices of the people.
He would inquire after lost sheep and ask where they’d been sold. He would enforce justice against rapists and thieves in the king’s name.
The people loved him dearly.
Most of them also knew that the Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, had married three times in his life. The first two ended in tragedy, and even the heirs he had once named had died before him, one after another.
His first wife died in childbirth, delivering a stillborn child.
His second wife bore him no children, then died of a chill.
He even named his brother’s son as his heir, only for that boy to be executed by King Aerys II before the Rebellion.
For a man who had dedicated his entire life to the realm, the concept of heir seemed to be a cruel curse.
So if he truly had a bastard son—strong and capable like Kal—unless he’d been kicked in the head by a mule, he would’ve legitimized the boy already.
Even if only in name.
People also knew that by the time he entered into his third marriage, Jon Arryn was already so old he had lost half his teeth.
And his current son—his one sickly heir—was only born after Lysa Tully suffered several miscarriages.
Kal watched Kossi, who was staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, clearly holding something back.
With a scoff and a flash of irritation, Kal let out a cold snort and frowned.
“The former Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, is dead.”
“You know why we’re heading north right now?”
Noticing Kal’s displeasure, Kossi finally seemed to realize he’d stepped out of line. His expression turned sheepish and awkward.
Kal handed the waterskin—barely touched—back to him, and barked sharply with a tone like ice: “Don’t run your mouth again. If one of the bigwigs hears you, you might lose your tongue. Think real hard about how you lost that tooth.”
Even as he spoke, Kal’s eyes drifted past Kossi and landed on a group not far away—men who had been quietly watching from the sidelines. They were the ones Kal had recruited after Kossi, and they had heard every word.
