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GOT Chapter 100: In the King’s Name
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 06:53:59 +0000 UTCSeeing Eddard’s restraint, Robert gave a small nod of his own.
“In that case—” the king said, turning his head toward Kal, “Ser Kal Stone.”
“Your Grace?!” Startled to hear his name, Kal rose at once and bowed in confusion.
Then Robert spoke in a flat, almost detached tone, without the faintest shift of emotion: “I want you to go to the Vale.”
“The Vale?” Kal was bewildered. What business had he there? The war was blazing all around them—why was he being sent away now?
“Yes,” Robert replied, his voice calm but his words heavy. “You will go in my name and demand of the lords of the Vale why they have yet to stir. Do they mean to betray their king? Do they mean to break away, to carve the Vale free of the Seven Kingdoms?”
Though his voice was even, the weight of his tone left no one at the table in doubt of the anger burning behind it.
But to Kal, this sudden command was a pounding headache.
Why him? True, he would be carrying the king’s authority—but questioning those mighty lords was the surest way to offend them. Why should such a task fall to him, when so many others sat around this very table?
“Your Grace, this…” Kal faltered. Faced with Robert’s reckless assignment, he could find no words.
His face showed his reluctance clear as day. He dared not take this thankless burden upon himself so hastily. After all, what sense was there in sending a newly made knight—a bastard at that—to chastise the proud lords of the Vale? Especially one who had been born and raised in the Vale, carrying the bastard name of Stone.
Even if Kal believed himself capable, in the eyes of those lords it would be nothing but an insult.
Which meant Robert’s choice was no accident—this was his way of showing his displeasure toward them.
For if the king truly wanted the matter handled with courtesy, were there not plenty of northern lords here with the rank and standing to do it?
Hardly worth sending a small knight like him.
Seeing Kal’s uneasy face—his reluctance plain, still not grasping the true purpose behind the order—Robert glanced sidelong at Eddard Stark, who sat silent at his side. The king’s eyes flicked in warning, and the corner of his mouth curled into a faint smile.
Catching that smile, Eddard understood at once. This was exactly what he and the king had agreed upon earlier: when the moment came, he was to stand in support of Kal Stone.
The northern lords, however, had no such understanding. At Robert’s words, they turned their heads in puzzlement, wondering what grievance the Vale’s lords had stirred in the king.
All across the Seven Kingdoms, houses were dragging their feet, waiting to see how the scales of advantage would tip—yet Robert had suddenly singled out the Vale for reproach.
Could it be he meant to use this rebuke of the Vale as a warning to the Reach or to Dorne? After all, the Vale was in some ways half his own blood. Such methods were hardly unknown among the highborn.
And Kal Stone’s exploits of late—his boldness on the battlefield, the victories he had won—were plain to all. At this stage of the war, he was the only one among them who had truly crossed swords with the Lannisters.
By comparison, their own hosts, marched down from the North at such cost, looked as if they had come for a mere excursion.
They had been on the brink of battle, eager to strike at Tywin’s army—only for the old lion to turn, march away, and mock them all.
The sudden reversal left many lords baffled, yet beneath their confusion lay a smoldering frustration.
And now, just as war seemed at hand and Kal Stone’s deeds stood unquestioned, Robert Baratheon looked set to pull him from the field.
Why? Kal Stone had hardly risen high enough to threaten his king.
Only moments before, Robert had seemed eager to heap honors upon his bastard son, to ensure him lands in due course. Why then this turn, this hint of mistrust?
Quietly, the northern lords traded glances, seeking answers in one another’s faces. None found them. Bewilderment settled over the hall, and they held their tongues, watching in silence as father and son faced each other.
“You wonder why I chose you?” Robert asked at last, a glimmer of amusement in his voice as he studied the perplexity on Kal’s face. “Surely it would make more sense to send some lord of reputation and renown.”
Hearing the king put the thought aloud, Kal quickly nodded.
“Yes, Your Grace. I fear I lack the honor to reproach lords who have given much for the realm. Perhaps their delays are due to matters within their own houses, ties and obligations that have slowed their steps.”
He tried to keep his words as tactful as he could—going so far as to speak on the Vale lords’ behalf.
Seeing the boy so quick-witted, grasping the meaning yet keeping his head bowed in silence, Eddard Stark’s face grew complicated.
His eyes drifted to Jon Snow, who was moving quietly through the hall, carrying tea and water for the lords. For the first time, Eddard felt a pang of regret—was it truly wise to let Jon stay so close to this slippery youth?
The little bastard had only just come of age, and yet where had he learned such practiced cunning?
No wonder, then, that within half a year in King’s Landing he had managed to raise a band of more than ten sellswords under his command.
These thoughts churned in Eddard’s mind.
But Robert heard the boy’s smooth words quite differently. His temper flared, and he burst out in a thunderous roar.
“Bullshit!”
“Those goat-buggering bastards—don’t think I don’t see through them!”
“They think Jon Arryn is dead, the warmth gone from his cup, and I’ve refused to grant Robert Arryn the title of ‘Warden of the East.’”
“But what use is that wailing babe, still sucking at his mother’s teat? How could he stand against threats from the East?”
“Am I to wait until one of his fits takes him, only to see the lords of the Vale march their armies against King’s Landing?!”
The more Robert thought on it, the angrier he grew, spitting curses, his words flecked with saliva.
Kal, seeing the spray fly, edged back a step.
And only now did the northern lords fully understand why Robert Baratheon had not bestowed the title of Warden of the East upon Jon Arryn’s only son.
Realizing this, they traded glances among themselves before all eyes fell at last upon their liege, Lord Eddard Stark.
Yet Eddard had quietly returned to his seat, eyes lowered, studying the map spread before him. To their surprise, he made no move to halt the king’s tirade.
Noticing this, men like Lord Roose Bolton suddenly began to sense what lay beneath.
And with the outburst spent, Robert’s fury at last eased, his chest rising and falling as the fire in him cooled.
Robert drew in several deep breaths. Noticing that the little bastard Kal had dared to edge away from him, his temper surged anew. He strode straight up to Kal.
One look at the king’s dark expression told Kal there was no escaping this wretched burden.
Robert jabbed a thick finger into his chest, his voice low, grating, and full of fury.
“Listen here—I don’t care what schemes these lords have in mind. You will go to them yourself and tell them this: their king commands them to wipe their arses clean, march their armies to the battlefield, and cut Tywin Lannister off before he slips away.”
“I don’t care whether that old lion means to flee or to fight. I demand only one thing—his head.”
“And as for the Warden of the East—ah…”
Robert’s angry expression shifted suddenly, as if a mask had been pulled away. He gave a cold snort, drew back his hand, and took half a step away. His face grew solemn as he fixed his gaze upon his son.
“Ser Kal Stone, in the name of the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—”
At that moment he paused, turning his head slightly toward his oldest friend.
Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, no longer feigned interest in the map before him. He rose and moved to the king’s side, meeting Robert’s eyes, his own expression grave as he looked upon the bastard standing before them. He said nothing.
Seeing his friend’s silent support, as they had agreed, Robert’s face finally broke into a satisfied smile.
“I name you Warden of the East—until the present Lord of the Eyrie, Robert Arryn, comes of age and takes the regency himself!”
