King Robert's boar hunt had gone disastrously. Less than an hour after he and his hunting party of hundreds departed the gates, they were overtaken by cavalry from Winterfell. It was as if the skies themselves mirrored the chaos that now gripped the North—one moment clear and calm, the next, thunderclouds gathered and a storm raged without warning.
Inside Winterfell, the atmosphere was tense and charged, like a sailboat on Shipwreck Bay, floating quietly on the surface before the waves rose. King Robert Baratheon sat uneasily on the ancient throne of the North, a seat reserved for the Stark lords throughout generations. His face was ashen, his eyes hidden behind a mask of controlled fury, yet fixed on the two lifeless bodies displayed on the hall floor beneath him.
Karl Stone had just finished recounting the chain of events in precise detail. The hall fell into a silence so absolute it felt like the burial chamber of the Stark ancestors, cold and forbidding. Only a handful of people were present—those who could witness such horrors firsthand. Among them were King Robert, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and his wife, Catelyn Tully.
Others included Rodrik Cassel, the commander of Winterfell, and his son, Jory Cassel, captain of the Stark guards. Robb Stark, pale and shocked, watched everything unfold, while Benjen Stark's brow furrowed deeply, his expression heavy with unease. Theon Greyjoy's eyes gleamed with an unreadable light. Scholar Luwin stood silently, lost in thought, gazing at the corpses.
And, finally, there were Karl Stone, at the center of the storm, Jon Snow, standing near him, and young Bran Stark, clutched tightly by his mother, trembling in fear.
The lone Lannister present—Tyrion, the Imp—had been summoned under strange circumstances. His arrival, mournful and awkward, seemed almost an insult in a room filled with grief and tension. Here, the makeshift courtroom and council had assembled: a mixture of Stark family members, loyal retainers, and the king himself, confronting truths too shocking to ignore.
Karl Stone, composed as ever, had spoken calmly, recounting everything from Bran's peril to Jaime Lannister's heinous actions. He had witnessed Bran's fall from the tower, seen the treachery, and observed Jaime's final, desperate acts. Karl had told the truth—he had no desire to kill, only to expose the dark secrets of the Lannisters to the king.
Yet the horror of Jaime's final choice was unforgettable. After tricking Cersei into handing him a sword, he had severed his own right arm, pinned to the wall, and then, with his remaining left hand, strangled his lover. He had died in her arms, still clutching her, before taking his own life with the same sword, slicing his throat cleanly under the eyes of the Stark guards. Blood had gushed, staining the blade, until it finally fell to the ground, lifeless and cold.
As the hall absorbed this grim recounting, the remaining Winterfell guards acted under Karl's guidance and Catelyn Stark's orders. Those associated with the Lannisters were secured, while the king's bewildered courtiers could only watch as events unfolded.
Finally, King Robert's composure snapped. He rose from the throne, pointing a thick, angry finger at Karl. "Believe?!" he roared, voice echoing like thunder through the hall. "Damn it, Karl! What am I supposed to believe?! I was gone only a short while, and you've already killed two Lannisters!"
Karl Stone frowned but remained firm. "Your Majesty, I never intended to kill them," he muttered.
Robert's anger only deepened. "Are you implying I should thank you?!"
Seeing the murderous glare directed at him, Karl wisely fell silent. Robert, though seething, had not yet lost all reason. Only two Lannisters had died, and as shocking as that was, it was not the king himself who had committed the act. His fury turned instead to his trusted friend, Eddard Stark.
"Ned!" Robert shouted, "Tell me he's lying! Tell me I can reclaim that damned knighthood from his head and send him to the Wall in a black robe!"
Eddard Stark, though simmering with his own anger, kept his voice measured. "Your Majesty, we all know Karl did not lie," he said coldly. "Catelyn informed me that Jon Snow was with Karl in Winterfell. And that arm…" he gestured toward the severed limb, "…is enough to explain the rest."
All eyes turned to the grisly evidence. The severed arm bore two dark red scratches, marks of desperate fingernails. Those who saw them understood immediately—the brutality and truth were undeniable.
Robert, recognizing the meaning of Eddard's words, sank back onto the Stark throne, the weight of reality pressing down on him. Though enraged, he understood: Jaime and Cersei were dead. The humiliation and treachery they embodied were now, at last, beyond their power.
Yet Robert's heart still burned with anger at the news. The Imp, Tyrion, lay over his brother's body, nearly weeping, and the sight only fueled the king's ire. Robert's head throbbed with frustration, rage, and disbelief.
"I don't want to hear more news that makes me want to kill!" he growled, red-eyed and tense.
Eddard Stark remained calm. He understood his friend well enough to endure the storm of his anger, knowing that the news he was about to deliver would make Robert's wrath flare anew.
"Two weeks ago," Eddard said, his voice low and strained, "Catelyn and I received a secret letter from her sister in the Vale. A warning letter. It said Jon Arryn had been murdered."
Robert's anger intensified, his jaw tightening. "Don't tell me… it was the Lannisters?"
Eddard's gaze shifted back to the corpses at their feet. "It was the Lannisters," he confirmed quietly. "The queen is already lying on the ground. Jaime too."
Robert's face twisted with disbelief, frustration, and fury. He could hardly comprehend the chain of betrayals, murders, and deceptions that had unfolded in the North while he had been away.
Eddard spoke further, recounting his own reluctance to leave Winterfell for court affairs. "I wanted to refuse your summons. I feared for my family, as you know what happened the last time the Starks went south."
Robert's laughter was bitter. "So you want to investigate Jon Arryn's death… as Hand of the King?"
Eddard remained silent, tacitly agreeing with the dangerous path ahead. Robert's cold smile only deepened. He rose from his throne once more, his gaze lingering on the lifeless bodies before him.
"Ned," he said finally, his voice low and commanding, "I demand that you gather your vassals and show your loyalty to your king!"
The hall remained silent. The storm of grief, rage, and tension had not yet passed, but the king's words demanded action. The North would answer, and the wheels of war and justice were already turning.
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