The group of three walked down the deserted street of the West District. Night was gradually deepening, and the temperature had plummeted with the arrival of the autumn rains. A chilly, damp wind whipped across the stone bridges, carrying the sharp, muddy scent of the swollen Green Fork and taking away what little warmth remained in the torches.
Rollger occasionally looked up, his eyes darting to the broad shoulders of Eddard Karstark walking ahead. The young man moved with a grace that didn't belong to a soldier, but his presence was as heavy as a mountain.
Too young, Rollger thought, not for the first time. Yet, this youth had achieved what men twice his age couldn't dream of. He had used a mix of terrifying magical power, a powerful Northern background, and a cold, administrative ruthlessness to swallow the Twins whole. Three to four thousand Frey soldiers had returned from the South, and within a fortnight, they had bent the knee to House Karstark without so much as a whisper of mutiny.
Even the border knights, men like Ser Brynn Hill of Water Mill Town had been neutralized. By placing the fathers under house arrest, Eddard had effectively invited the sons to rule. Rollger knew the Hill family well; Ser Brynn's eldest son, Ryan, was likely already preparing a ledger and a horse to ride to the Twins. No heir wanted to remain a "second-in-command" until their hair turned white, as Stevron Frey had done. The "Wizard-Lord" of Karhold was offering them a shortcut to power in exchange for their books and their swords.
"Who goes there?"
A stern challenge rang out from the shadows of a narrow alley. Rollger looked up to see a patrol of the Twins Guard men in blue-black enameled armor, carrying flickering torches and long pikes.
In the center of the squad stood Abel Qashtak. He was no longer just a personal retainer; he was now the Commander of the Twins Guard, with three hundred men under his direct command. He had used Eddard's gold and the prestige of the Karstark name to forge a disciplined force out of the city's survivors.
"My Lord?" Abel's face showed genuine surprise. He hurried forward, his boots clicking on the damp cobblestones. "Do you need an escort? The night is dark, and we're still clearing out the last of the Frey sympathizers."
He had been working day and night to stabilize the city, using a "carrot and stick" method he'd learned from Eddard. He had even mentioned to Scholar Bennett that he wanted to get his men black cloaks with a golden sun, mimicking the stories of Daemon Targaryen's Gold Cloaks. Abel was a man who understood the value of branding.
Eddard patted Abel's shoulder, a faint smile on his lips. "No need, Abel. Go on with your duties. I'm heading to the Black Cells. I'll be back in the tower soon."
"Yes, My Lord." Abel bowed, then turned to Rollger and Theodore. "Watch his back. If a mouse squeaks, I want to hear your voices from the battlements."
"We've got it, Abel. Stop being such an old woman," Theodore retorted with the casual ease of an old war buddy.
They continued their walk, passing a guard named Jack, a recruit from the Banquet Hall who winked at Rollger as they went by. The city was finally starting to feel like a Karstark possession. Eddard was satisfied with Abel's progress; he was already mentally selecting a keep in the outlying territories to grant the boy. A contract of vassalage was being drafted in his head, loyalty for land, the oldest trade in the world.
Fifteen minutes later, they reached the iron doors of the Black Cells. The two sentries stood aside the moment they saw the sunburst on Eddard's chest. They didn't even ask for a pass; they just called for their officer.
Lando appeared a moment later, his left arm held in a sling. He had been wounded by a Reach arrow during the final skirmish at the Ruby Ford, a deep gash that had required Maester Bennett's stitches. Eddard had offered him a room in the tower to recover, but Lando had refused. He preferred the "honest" damp of the dungeon to the "soft" beds of the nobility.
"Lord Eddard," Lando said, stepping into the torchlight. "Who do you wish to see? The Tarlys? Or the Lion?"
"The Lion," Eddard said. "Take me to Jaime Lannister."
"This way." Lando took a heavy oil lamp from the wall and led them down two flights of winding, narrow stairs.
The air grew thick with the smell of mildew, stagnant water, and the copper-tang of rust. The Black Cells were deeper than the standard dungeon, designed to break a man's spirit through isolation and darkness. Lando stopped in front of a cell built of massive granite blocks and iron bars as thick as a man's thumb.
Eddard took the lamp from Lando and gestured for the guards to wait at the end of the hall. He stepped to the bars, the golden light of the lamp cutting a jagged path into the pitch-black interior.
A dark silhouette was slumped against the back wall. As the light hit him, the figure raised a shackled arm to shield his eyes. A voice, hoarse from disuse but still carrying a razor-sharp edge of arrogance, drifted out.
"So... the Karstark prodigy. What's the matter, boy? Did you run out of peasants to hang? Or have you finally come to avenge your brother?" Jaime Lannister looked like a ghost. His once-glorious golden hair was a matted, filthy mess, and a thick beard covered his face. His clothes were rags, yet his emerald eyes still burned with a defiant, mocking light.
Eddard looked at the Kingslayer, his expression as flat as the stone walls. "I'm curious, Ser Jaime. The last time I saw you at Riverrun, Edmure Tully was treating you with the dignity of a high lord. Sunlight, three meals, silk sheets. What happened in between to land you in a hole like this?"
Jaime let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Want the story? I'll need a jug of Arbor Gold to moisten the pipes. The cheap swill your guards give me tastes like horse piss and regret."
"I have no wine for you," Eddard said. "But I have a guess. Lady Catelyn Stark came to you in the night, didn't she? She wanted her daughters back. She had you swear a dozen useless oaths and sent you off with that giant girl from Tarth. But the Young Wolf's luck is better than his mother's brains. You were caught before you even cleared the Whispering Wood's shadow."
Jaime's eyes widened in the lamplight. He stared at Eddard with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Seven Gods... it's like you were in the room. If you already know the play, why come to the theater?"
"I needed to confirm that Catelyn is still the same impulsive, short-sighted woman I remember," Eddard muttered to himself. It was troubling. The woman was about to become his mother-in-law, and her "epic mistakes" were a liability he had to account for.
Eddard turned to leave, but Jaime shouted after him, the chains clanking violently. "Leaving so soon? What about Toren? Your brother died in the mud because of me! Doesn't Karhold have a tradition of blood-for-blood? Or are you just a cold-blooded monster who cares more for maps than family?"
Eddard stopped. He turned back, his grey-blue eyes full of a mockery that eclipsed Jaime's own.
"Jaime Lannister," Eddard said, his voice quiet but echoing in the hall. "I know you aren't afraid of death. You welcome it because your life has become a joke you can't stop telling. Honor is excrement to you, and responsibility is a word you can't even spell."
He raised the lamp, bathing Jaime in a blinding white-gold light. "Aside from producing three royal bastards with your own sister, have you ever done a single thing worth remembering?"
"That's a rumor!" Jaime spat, jumping to his feet like a cornered cat. "What right do you have to judge me? I won my first tourney at fifteen. I was the youngest Kingsguard in history! Give me a sword, Karstark, and I'll show you what a 'joke' looks like!"
"Is it a rumor, Jaime?" Eddard asked, his voice dripping with a terrifying certainty. "I know you threw five-year-old Bran Stark from the Broken Tower. I know you did it because he saw you 'wrestling' with the Queen."
Jaime went perfectly still. The color drained from his face, leaving it the color of grey ash. "Who told you? The girl? Brienne?"
"I know your first time with Cersei was in a dilapidated inn in Eel Alley," Eddard continued, ignoring the question. "She was dressed as a tavern wench. You were a fresh knight. You thought you were being clever. I also know what you did to your brother, Tyrion. I know about Tysha. She wasn't a whore, Jaime. She was a girl who loved your brother, and you helped your father break her for a cruel lesson. Do you still sleep well knowing you destroyed the only happiness Tyrion ever had?"
Jaime staggered back, his spine hitting the stone wall. He looked at Eddard as if he were staring at a demon. "How... how do you know these things? No one was there. No one!"
"You think you're a hero because you killed Aerys," Eddard said, leaning closer to the bars. "You think you saved King's Landing. But you're just an arrogant fool who can only solve problems with a blade. Was controlling a mad old man harder than gutting him? No. You killed him because you wanted to feel powerful for once in your pathetic, gilded life."
Jaime's breath came in ragged, hysterical gasps. He gripped the bars with both hands, his knuckles white, his eyes flickering with a mix of bloodlust and absolute, soul-deep terror. "Who are you?! What are you?!"
"I am Eddard Karstark," Eddard replied, his voice cold and final. "Lord of River Crossing. A man who sees the world as it is, not as a storybook. To me, you aren't a legendary knight or a Kingslayer. You are just a fool without mercy, without chastity, and without a future. Your skill with a sword is meaningless in a world where dragons are hatching and the storm is coming."
Eddard put out the lamp's light slightly, letting the shadows reclaim the cell.
"Provoke me again, Jaime. I'll make sure the rest of your life is spent in this darkness, wondering how many more of your secrets I'm going to tell the world."
Eddard turned and walked away, his boots echoing with a steady, rhythmic thud. Behind him, he heard a low, broken sound, the sound of a Lion realizing its cage was made of more than just iron.
[System Notification: Psychological Break successful.]
[Target: Jaime Lannister (Hostage Status: Broken).]
[Reputation with House Lannister: -100 (Hated/Feared).]
[Soul Power Gained: 150 SP.]
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