As the newly appointed Minister of Finance, Karl Stone stood confidently within the Small Council chamber, calmly outlining his ambitious proposal.
He spoke without hesitation, as if every detail had long been prepared in his mind.
When the term "Martial Games" left his lips, the chamber fell into a brief silence.
Eddard Stark, Varys, and Ser Barristan exchanged glances.
Then—almost simultaneously—they nodded.
After all, it was merely a name.
As long as there was a reasonable explanation behind it, no one would object. And since Karl was the one proposing the concept, it was only natural that he had the right to name it.
"Karl… perhaps you are right," Eddard Stark said slowly, a faint smile forming on his face. "Proceed as you see fit. If things truly unfold as you described… then perhaps we will never again have to worry about the treasury running dry."
His gaze toward Karl was filled with approval.
As a lord who had governed the North for many years, Eddard understood the importance of commerce and taxation better than most.
"Ser Karl, you are truly a genius," Varys added with a soft clap, his tone full of admiration.
Ser Barristan, standing silently beside them, gave a slight nod in agreement. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he refrained from speaking too deeply on political matters, but his stance was clear.
Karl, however, did not grow arrogant from their praise.
Instead, he smiled modestly and seized the opportunity.
"I will do my utmost to handle this matter properly," he said. "However, I will require your support. Without it, even the best plans will falter."
"Of course," Eddard replied immediately. "Whatever you need, we will cooperate fully."
With that, the matter was settled.
Eddard straightened slightly and tapped the table.
"Very well. Time is limited, and there are still many matters to discuss. Karl's appointment and proposal will be reported to the King."
"Let us move on."
The War Council
Eddard quickly shifted his focus.
Despite Karl's impressive proposal, it remained, for now, only a vision—something that still needed time and effort to take shape.
But the war…
The war demanded immediate attention.
"At Harrenhal, Tywin Lannister has chosen to surrender," Eddard began, flipping through documents before him. "His Grace has accepted this gesture of goodwill."
"However, the war is far from over."
His voice grew heavier.
"What are your thoughts regarding Dragonstone… and Casterly Rock?"
The room grew serious.
Karl spoke first.
"The Iron Islands fleet must withdraw," he said firmly. "And they must return everything they have taken."
Having spent time in King's Landing, Karl was already familiar with the naval conflict between the Ironborn and the fleets of the Reach.
Back then, he lacked the authority to intervene.
Now, things were different.
"And House Tyrell," Karl continued, "must also withdraw from Casterly Rock. All plunder taken during the war must be returned."
His tone was righteous, leaving no room for ambiguity.
Varys smiled faintly, his plump cheeks trembling slightly.
"That… may not be so simple," he said.
Eddard sighed, tapping the table lightly.
He understood the difficulty.
But in the end, he spoke firmly.
"This is not their rightful spoils of war. I will convey the will of the Iron Throne. If they refuse…"
His eyes hardened.
"…then we will not hesitate to fight again."
The others fell silent.
They all understood.
The Iron Throne had just emerged victorious.
Its strength had grown, not weakened.
No rational lord would choose to provoke it now.
"Then we turn to Dragonstone," Ser Barristan said, smoothly guiding the discussion forward. "And the mercenaries along the Stormlands coast."
Karl's News
Karl raised a hand slightly.
"I have… good news regarding this matter."
All eyes turned to him again.
"Do you remember," Karl said slowly, "that I sent Jon Snow to Dorne… with a gift?"
The others exchanged glances.
Of course they remembered.
The gift had been… unforgettable.
The head of Gregor Clegane.
"A most… thoughtful gesture," Varys said with a faint smile.
Karl shrugged casually.
"As expected, it has yielded results."
"The Dornish fleet will assist us."
"At the very least, lifting the siege of Dragonstone should not be a problem."
Ser Barristan nodded.
"That is indeed good news."
Karl continued.
"Jon has also resolved the standoff between Renly Baratheon's forces and the Dornish army."
"Dorne has withdrawn its troops."
"That means the Stormlands can now focus on clearing the remaining mercenaries along their coasts."
Eddard listened carefully, but his expression gradually became more complex.
"And one more thing," Karl added.
"Prince Oberyn Martell will soon arrive in King's Landing—with Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn."
"They may first arrive at Dragonstone… and possibly travel here alongside Stannis Baratheon."
The room fell silent again.
Eddard frowned.
"Jon… and House Martell?"
Karl nodded, not sensing anything unusual.
But Varys, watching closely, raised an eyebrow.
"For clarity," he added, "Ser Karl personally knighted Jon Snow… before sending him to Dorne."
Karl glanced at him briefly.
"He earned it," Karl said calmly. "Everything he has done is worthy of knighthood."
Eddard forced a faint smile.
"Yes… I am aware."
"And I thank you for your guidance."
But the concern in his eyes did not fade.
Meeting Adjourned
After a brief pause, Eddard stood.
"For now, the situation appears to be stabilizing."
"Karl… you have my thanks."
"Though perhaps His Grace should say that himself."
He looked around the room.
"There are still many matters to address. We will adjourn for today."
"I will inform you when the next meeting is called."
The others rose, slightly surprised by the abrupt ending, but they offered respectful bows.
Eddard nodded and left without another word.
After the Meeting
The room fell quiet.
Karl exchanged glances with the others.
Ser Barristan yawned openly.
"I must excuse myself," he said. "I have not slept in nearly two days."
"You have our respect, Ser Barristan," Karl replied lightly.
Barristan chuckled, then stepped closer.
"You killed three of my sworn brothers," he said, his tone half-joking. "And refused a place in the Kingsguard."
"Should I take that as an insult?"
Karl blinked, then smiled.
"I will be waiting for you at the Martial Games."
"And the title of 'Queen of Love and Beauty'… will be preserved."
Barristan laughed.
"Very well. I accept your challenge."
With that, he left.
Varys rose next.
"My duties call," he said with a polite smile.
Karl smirked.
"Perhaps I should request a salary increase from the King. After all, I am the Minister of Finance."
Varys nearly lost his composure.
"Heh… perhaps you should discuss that with yourself."
With a bow, he departed.
Alone in the Council Chamber
At last, only Karl remained.
The smile on his face slowly faded.
He waved lightly.
The two Gold Cloaks at the door withdrew without question.
Over time, the City Watch had quietly come under his control.
Those who resisted had been removed.
Those who obeyed remained.
Even the mountain clans he had brought into the city had been integrated—carefully.
Karl turned toward the window.
From here, King's Landing stretched out before him.
For a moment, he simply watched.
Then, his lips curled slightly.
Becoming Minister of Finance…
Even he had not expected it.
The Tyrells had struggled for years to gain such influence.
And yet, for him—
It had come with a single word from Robert.
Effortless.
In a kingdom where the king neglected governance, and Eddard Stark carried the burden of rule…
Power had opened its doors to him.
Fully.
Completely.
What he had said earlier—
The Martial Games.
The economic reforms.
The grand vision—
All of it…
Was only part of the truth.
A convenient story.
A useful illusion.
Because in this world, information traveled slowly.
People were limited.
Control came not from ideas—
But from influence.
From loyalty.
Karl's gaze sharpened.
In his previous life, there had been a saying—
"Disciples of the Son of Heaven."
Those who rose through his system…
Those who gained glory through the games…
Would naturally become his supporters.
Perhaps not openly.
But certainly…
Not his enemies.
And that—
Was more than enough.
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