As expected, the news of Robb Stark's ascension as King of the North spread swiftly the next day, carried by riders, messengers, and even birds, flowing through the Riverlands, the North, and across all of Westeros. The joy of a new king's rise temporarily dispelled the lingering sorrow of war, though not everyone shared in the celebrations.
With the temporary cessation of hostilities and nearly twenty thousand troops assembled in Riverrun, people began converging from all directions. Laborers, blacksmiths, tanners, camp followers, and women of every sort flooded the castle town. Some had marched with their lords, while others arrived from distant lands, drawn by the promise of trade, safety, and the fleeting peace after war. The bustling town now teemed with life, laughter, and the clamor of rebuilding.
Eddard Stark watched Riverrun from his vantage point outside the castle walls, the town more lively than he had ever seen it, and shook his head. Robb's claim to kingship had fractured the alliance between the Wolf and Trout houses. Neither Renly nor Stannis would tolerate a divided Iron Throne if they sought to sit upon it. Each would pursue their ambitions ruthlessly, indifferent to Robert's legacy, to the point of disregarding the legitimacy of Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella.
Eddard barely had time to ponder these broader political intrigues. He had been busy since arriving in Riverrun, often interrupted even while trying to sleep. In theory, someone of his rank should not be so overworked, but with Earl Rickard staying indoors after entering Riverrun, Eddard had assumed command of many duties.
Repairing armor, sharpening weapons, shoeing horses, recording the names and origins of the fallen, and arranging pensions for widows and orphans—all these tasks could be delegated, but they still required his oversight. Disputes over spoils, arguments over unfinished military actions, and quarrels caused by camp women stealing from soldiers also fell under his purview. Justice was rarely fair, and his status dictated many decisions.
For example, soldiers who had fought over the Lannister spoils were redirected to pursue the remaining enemy forces. The move satisfied both Eddard and the soldiers—they were active, motivated, and had new targets for their efforts. Likewise, thieves found stealing from the camp had their fingers chopped off, a lesson in deterrence that in the North might have led them to the Wall to endure the cold.
Eddard's loyal subordinates remained at his side. Abel and Dita. Kalander had taken on specific tasks he had assigned, while Lando still recovered from his injuries; his left arm and leg would need at least ten more days to heal properly. Karas Snow nursed a less severe injury, bandaging his leg before limping into Riverrun to spend some of the spoils.
The recent battle had rewarded all of Eddard's companions handsomely: silver stags and gold dragons, horses, and fine equipment. Dita. Kalander's skill in scavenging was particularly notable, ensuring that the group's gains were maximized. Yet Eddard noticed an unsettling development: within a few days, the system's rationale for their monetary rewards—[receiving money rewards]—had vanished.
Ancient generals had understood that loyalty and morale derived from monetary incentives could evaporate quickly if not continually reinforced. Nevertheless, Eddard's companions' loyalty persisted, strengthened by a new justification: [You led them to shine in the camp raid battle and gain significant spoils]. He felt certain that their overall morale had grown rather than diminished.
On that bright morning, a gentle breeze blew across Riverrun. Crows wheeled in the sky, drawn by the scent of blood, seeking corpses to scavenge. Outside his tent, Eddard met six more cavalrymen, sent by Rickard to replace Mam, who had fallen in battle. These elite riders would serve as additional protection for Eddard during future engagements.
Though he could only officially recruit five soldiers into the system, Eddard decided to take this opportunity to practice leadership. In the future, if he commanded hundreds or thousands of men, he would need experience managing both official and unofficial soldiers. Observing performance under identical treatment might reveal interesting differences.
He addressed the new arrivals. "Gentlemen, introduce yourselves."
One by one, the men spoke. Konn, slender, clever, and handsome. Paine, short and stocky, a stammerer with a simple face, father of three. Matthew and Martin, young brothers and skilled horse archers, nearly identical in appearance. McKen, a grizzled, strong man over forty, his voice booming like a drum. And Doren, silent, sturdy, with a weather-beaten face. Most were commoners from around Karhold, though some had inherited modest wealth or crafts. Military service offered a path to social mobility.
As Eddard reviewed their details, his eyes froze on Doren's profile.
[Doren]
[Loyalty: Very Poor]
[Reasons: 1. Sent by his father to protect you. 2. Long service to House Karstark. 3. Bribed by Roose Bolton with promise of land.]
[Soldier Rank: None]
Eddard's brow furrowed. Roose Bolton had planted a spy within House Karstark's ranks. Dreadfort and Karhold were separated only by the Weeping Water. Though adjacent territories were vast, it was common for treacherous lords to target loyal vassals early. The discovery angered him, but he maintained composure.
Perhaps it was wiser to keep Doren close for counter-surveillance, to observe how he moved and communicated. If the Bolton agent revealed his true intentions, Eddard could eliminate him later. For now, Doren's sturdy, silent demeanor could serve a useful purpose.
"Gentlemen," Eddard said, his voice steady, "the battle has ended, and many tasks require attention. Since my father sent you here, I expect discipline and dedication."
Eddard assigned Doren to assist Maester Reed in attending to the wounded—a tedious, emotionally draining job. The others were given minor but necessary tasks, ensuring they remained occupied and compliant. The men nodded and departed, some silently questioning the lack of a promised fifty silver stag reward, but none voiced it aloud.
Eddard donned his armor, picked up his battle-axe, and began training. Strength, speed, and reflexes bestowed by the system allowed him to strike and maneuver with precision far beyond his natural ability. Even a brief half-hour of practice left him breathless but exhilarated.
His training was interrupted by Abel, who arrived on horseback from Riverrun. "Young master, there's movement in the city. We should investigate."
Eddard raised an eyebrow. "Lead the way."
They rode together, Karstark banners fluttering in the wind. The bridge over the river had been repaired after Lannister sabotage, and caravans of goods and farmers passed frequently. The castle had returned to a state of busy normalcy.
Following Abel through the bustling streets, they slipped into a small alley and approached a guarded wooden door. Inside, Eddard was met by a sensory overload: the melodic sound of a flute, laughter, gasps, clinking cups, and a faint, decadent aroma of wine and perfume. Lavishly decorated screens from Myr adorned the hall, sunlight glinting off colored glass, illuminating dancing maidens and the Dornish wine in their hands.
Eddard's eyes widened. This was a brothel, a place where women were trained and displayed for clients. His attendant, Dita. Kalander, had anticipated his question.
"Young master," she explained quietly, "this is the Qingteng Tavern. Booking a private room allows you to choose the gentlest, most beautiful girls. Karas saw the booking and assumed you might not attend personally. He joined in, not knowing the actual purpose."
Eddard realized what had happened. Abel and Dita had completed a task in the private room; Karas Snow had stumbled upon them and assumed he was invited for entertainment. He suppressed a grimace, accustomed to misinterpretations of intentions.
"Understood," Eddard said dryly. Then, addressing the two still engaged on the couch, he barked, "Enough! Get out now!"
Karas Snow complied, tossing silver stags to the girls, limping out with a remark, "I won't disturb your fun, young master." The door closed behind him, leaving the room quiet except for Eddard and his subordinates.
"Alright," he said, turning to Abel and Dita, "tell me exactly what's going on."
The truth of the situation would soon reveal itself, and Eddard's sharp mind was already piecing together the possibilities. Spies, bribes, and shifting loyalties threatened House Karstark, and every decision he made could tip the scales of survival, power, and honor.
Eddard took a deep breath, steeling himself. The web of intrigue had begun to tighten, and the game of spies had already begun.
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