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GOT Chapter 85: Burden of Command
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 02:43:59 +0000 UTC“That’s the hammer you were talking about?” Robert gaped at the weapon, which was at least three times the size of the one he himself had on
“That’s the hammer you were talking about?”
Robert gaped at the weapon, which was at least three times the size of the one he himself had once wielded. Even he was struck speechless.
And if Robert was stunned, the others were utterly dumbfounded.
Kal offered no explanation.
“Well, fine. If you think you can handle it, that’s all that matters.”
Robert shrugged, unable to see Kal’s expression through the helm. Then he reached back and took the golden surcoat from an attendant—the garment embroidered front and back with a great crowned stag rearing high. He handed it to Kal.
Kal accepted it, slipping it over his plate armor before tightening it with a gem-studded belt.
When he stood fully arrayed, not only Robert but even Eddard Stark beside him was struck dumb.
In that moment, time seemed like a rope: if one only tugged at it, they could be drawn back to their own youth in an instant.
It was a tourney. It was a blood-soaked battle upon the riverbank.
Weapons clashed with ringing steel, cries of slaughter and screams of agony rising and falling in waves.
Blood sprayed into the air, bodies fell lifeless into the dust.
And in the end, all of it became a king seated upon the Iron Throne.
“Good—now you’ve got at least a third of the swagger I once had!”
Robert’s pupils trembled as he looked at Kal Stone, his eyes damp with moisture. The king could no longer bear to linger in the great winds blowing across the riverside.
After praising Kal Stone once more, he turned abruptly and led his men back toward the Frey castle.
Watching Robert leave, Eddard Stark slowly returned to himself, still staring at the figure before him in a daze.
His face was silent, his expression a tangle of complexity tinged with sorrow.
Drawing in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the river’s metallic stench, he turned toward Jon Snow.
Looking at the boy before him, Lord Eddard—unsure what more he could say—placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder.
“Jon, keep yourself safe. Stay close to Kal.”
Hearing Eddard’s words, Jon’s excitement mixed with an even stronger resolve.
He lifted his head to look at the man before him—about thirty-five years of age, with a long face, dark brown hair, gray eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard already streaked with gray.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jon finally spoke. “I will, fa—ther.”
At that word, a flicker of blankness crossed Eddard’s face.
But Jon did not notice. Mustering his courage to call him father, he immediately turned away in fluster, hurrying toward Kal.
Yet he had only taken two steps when Lord Eddard Stark, his eyes filled with hesitation and struggle, as if mustering all his courage, raised his hand to call him back.
Jon turned his head in confusion.
“Jon, if you can become a knight, then I will tell you who your mother is.”
Having made this promise to his bastard son, Lord Eddard seemed to have spent all the strength within him.
Then, imitating the king, he turned abruptly, leading his men back into the Twins.
Left standing there in a daze, the bastard boy looked on, torn between bewilderment and uncontainable excitement, staring hard at his father’s retreating back.
Then he waved his hand, shouting like a child: “I will become a knight, Father!”
“I’ll be waiting for you to give me the answer!”
Once the main figures had departed, the northern nobles who found Kal Stone intriguing—such as Lady Maege Mormont—also came forward to exchange a few words before leaving.
But when Lady Maege had gone, one last girl remained. In her hands she carried a thick bundle, something like a cloak of brown bear fur, which she held out toward him.
“This is for you. I think you’ll need it.”
Kal, a little stunned, accepted it blankly. The tall, slender girl gave him a small smile, then turned to follow her mother.
Kal recognized her—Dacey Mormont, whose weapon was a morningstar. A true Bear Island warrior, no weaker than any man!
“Captain, we should be setting out!”
As Kal watched Dacey Mormont’s departing figure, briefly wondering if her gesture meant she wanted to lie with him, a less tactful man stepped up.
He held the reins of a horse, with two more trailing behind.
Because of the nature of this mission, each of the two hundred men had been outfitted with at least three warhorses.
The one who had spoken was Jory Cassel, son of Ser Rodrik Cassel—the captain of Lord Eddard Stark’s guard at Winterfell.
“Then let’s move out.”
...
This was Kal’s first time leading a host of this size, so once the column set out, it was inevitable that small problems arose along the march.
Fortunately, none of these were serious troubles, and they were easily resolved.
To Kal, that alone was cause for satisfaction.
For it meant that, despite having no prior experience, he was learning much about leading a cavalry force in this age of cold steel—especially about the art of marching, and of forced marches in particular.
The thought stirred a deep sense of reflection within him.
And though the cavalry under his command was not large in number, and their pace was not the thundering charge of battle, still—more than two hundred riders galloping together was a sight of undeniable might, one that left no small impression upon the villages and towns they passed through.
Yet the smallfolk of the Riverlands, well aware of the wars that had recently engulfed the Seven Kingdoms, did not panic at the sight of armed riders under banners.
They only prayed silently to the Seven that the fighting might end soon.
Kal’s mission, after all, was to reach Riverrun and survey the state of the war, while also discerning the movements of Tywin Lannister’s host.
Thus, in planning his route, he led his force first toward Seagard, intending to resupply there before pressing south.
The reason for this was simple: for cavalry seeking to reach Riverrun, skirting around the Blue Fork was the most direct path.
By taking this course, they could cut away nearly half the journey.
And now, time itself was as precious as life.
But to skirt the Blue Fork meant they would need to pass through Sevenstreams and the Witch’s Bog, a mire of swamps and broken roads.
This region marked the river’s source, where the Blue Fork split into countless streams and channels before finally converging again to surge southward.
Seagard, for its part, stood not far from this source, higher upstream and close to the coast—making Kal’s choice a convenient one.
At Seagard, Kal stayed only a single night, resting and resupplying, before leading his men onward at dawn.
The pace of pure cavalry was, of course, nothing like that of an army on foot.
So, after skirting the Blue Fork, in just a single day’s ride they reached Oldstones.
Kal raised his eyes toward it: the ruin lay upon a small hill beside the Blue Fork, the remains of an ancient wall circling the slope.
But now, all that met the eye were shattered remnants of stone. Its true name had long been forgotten; “Oldstones” was but the name given to it by the local folk.
“Tonight we’ll rest here again. Tomorrow, we’ll need to find a nearby village for supplies,” Kal said after consulting with Jory Cassel as they gazed at the hill.
Jory voiced no objection.
Kal then asked casually, “Do you happen to know of any villages nearby that might be able to provide for our men?”
From the Twins to Oldstones, including their detour around the Blue Fork, Kal and his host had made the journey in only four days.
Their pace was exceedingly swift.
But given the nature of their mission, along with the heavy strain of feeding both men and horses—and the fact that Kal and his force could not carry ample provisions for the march—supply was naturally an issue they had to face. At best, a single round of foraging could sustain them for only three to five days.
Thus, for safety’s sake, Kal decided they would secure fresh supplies every two days, finding suitable locations along the way.
After all, he could not be certain whether Tywin Lannister’s military strategy in the Riverlands was still the same as it had been before the War of the Five Kings—scorched earth and empty fields.
Although for now, the flames of war had not yet spread fully to the region they were in, it did no harm to prepare in advance.
As for Kal’s questions, Jory Cassel—being a man of the North who had scarcely ever left it—naturally knew little of the Riverlands.
So Kal’s inquiry ended without result.
