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The Twins.
The Great Banquet Hall was bathed in a light so fierce it seemed to challenge the rising sun outside. Dozens of torches flickered in their iron sconces, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. Since its construction six centuries ago, this hall had never seen such an extravagant display of fire. To the former masters of the Crossing, it would have been a shameful waste of oil; to the new Lord, it was a necessary declaration of presence.
Eddard Karstark sat on the high ebony chair on the dais. The twin-castle emblem carved into the back of the chair had been altered. A golden sun, forged from pure bullion taken from the Frey treasury, had been inlaid between the two towers. It was a radiant, heavy symbol of the new order.
Shining Sun in the Sky.
Ever since the raven carrying his formal appointment had arrived from Winterfell, Scholar Bennett had been pestering him about a new surname. Bennett had suggested "House Twin-Stark" or "House Crossing-Karhold," but Eddard had dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He saw no need to abandon the name Karstark. He was a son of the North, a descendant of the Sun of Winter. However, the sigil needed to reflect his own path.
The new emblem, the black background of the Karstark sunburst, the grey twin towers of the Crossing, and the golden sun rising above them implied a rise that would eventually illuminate the entire Trident. Eddard knew that no one got fat on a single bite, but he was prepared to devour the Riverlands one village at a time.
Eddard swirled the crimson liquid in his goblet, his left hand rubbing a dull ache in his temple. He was mentally reviewing the events of the past few days, checking for the inevitable omissions that plague new rulers.
The campaign against the retreating Reach army had been a masterclass in attrition. Count Matthus Rowan, having never faced the "Young Wolf" or the "Winter Wizard" in a direct confrontation, had underestimated the speed of the Northern infantry. Eddard had followed them south, not with a frantic charge, but with a slow, grinding persistence. He waited until the Reachmen reached the Ruby Ford, only to find the "Blackfish" waiting on the opposite bank.
Trapped between a flooded river and ten thousand vengeful Northmen, the Reach army had withered. They ran out of grain. They ran out of hope. When they began to eye their starving warhorses as a source of meat, Eddard struck. The battle was short and one-sided. Thousands of sets of fine Reach plate, tens of thousands of weapons, and over three thousand horses, many of them skeletal and weak had been seized.
The high-value targets, the landed knights and second sons, were currently sharing the damp hospitality of the Twins' dungeons with the Tarlys. The common soldiers had been divided like livestock. A third went to Harrenhal to rebuild its crumbling towers; a third went North with Lord Rickard Karstark to bolster the Night's Watch against the growing threat Beyond the Wall; and the final third remained at the Twins to repair the damage of the siege.
Just that afternoon, Eddard had presided over the distribution of the spoils. It had been a chaotic, undignified affair. These Northern nobles, terrified of the coming winter and the poverty of their frozen lands, had discarded their usual stoicism. They clamored over every rusted spade and every frayed tent. Eddard had eventually invoked Robb's name to silence the room, keeping a third of the best gear for himself and sending a third to Winterfell.
Let them complain to the King, Eddard thought. If they want more, they can see if their swords are sharper than 'Heartbreaker'.
He set his goblet down, his grey-blue eyes scanning the twenty-eight knights seated at the long tables below the dais. This was his second and perhaps more dangerous problem of the day.
The Northern victory had returned three thousand Frey soldiers to the Twins. About two thousand of them were common conscripts or sellswords. They were easy to manage. Eddard had paid them, fed them, and promised that their families wouldn't suffer for their former lord's treason. To a man who spends his life behind a plow, a Lord is just a name on a tax ledger. If the new Lord pays in gold instead of lashes, he is a god.
But the landed knights, the "mid-level management" of the Crossing were a different breed. These were men who ruled small keeps and villages like Morningside, Red Maple Fort, and Golden Grain. They were now Eddard's vassals.
As he watched them whisper among themselves, Eddard focused his mind, calling up the System interface that had evolved the moment he accepted the title.
[System Notification: Host has attained Rank: Feudal Lord.]
[Titles Recognized: Lord of River Crossing, Riverrun Marquis.]
[New Feature: Vassal Dominion Management unlocked.]
[Vassal Slots: 28/Unlimited.]
[Territories Controlled: 24 (Morningside, Toad Hamlet, Golden Grain, etc.).]
[Personal Guard Corps: 368/1000.]
Eddard noted with a grimace that his previous soldiers, his "Ice Warriors" had been shifted into the [Personal Guard Corps]. Overnight, their magically enhanced physical attributes had normalized to standard human levels. He felt a bit "lighter" without their collective strength backing him up, but the System assured him that as he bound his new vassals in [Absolute Loyalty], his own power would return and eventually surpass its previous limits.
He picked up the wooden gavel on the table and struck it thrice. Clack. Clack. Clack.
The hall fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Eddard stood up, his black plate armor reflecting the torchlight. "Gentlemen," he began, his voice booming in the rafters. "I imagine many of you are wondering why you haven't been sent home to your wives and your harvests. The war in the Riverlands has shifted. Your liege is no longer a Frey. The Crossing belongs to House Karstark, and I do not rule in the old ways."
He scanned their faces, his eyes lingering on a man in the front row.
Ser Leslyn Haigh of Golden Grain Village stood up. He was an upright-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and firm, honest eyes. His badge, a black pitchfork on a gold and brown field marked him as one of the most powerful vassals in the region.
"My Lord," Ser Leslyn said, his voice smooth and respectful. "Please, tell us clearly. How may we serve House Karstark to your satisfaction? We are eager to return to our duties."
On the surface, he was a model of knightly virtue. But in Eddard's vision, a red box hovered over the man's head.
[Unit: Ser Leslyn Haigh.]
[Loyalty: Extremely Poor.]
[Status: Frey Zealot.]
[Reason: Fiercely loyal to the memory of Walder Frey. Deeply resents the Karstark 'usurpation'. Plans to coordinate with Aemon Frey and the Lannisters.]
Eddard felt a cold amusement. In this world, a man could hide behind a mask of honor for decades. To Eddard, the mask was transparent.
"Ser Leslyn," Eddard said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "I did not give you permission to speak. Sit down."
The knight's face flushed a deep crimson. He hesitated for a heartbeat, his hand twitching toward his belt, before he felt the weight of a hundred Karstark "Wolfguard" eyes from the shadows of the hall. He sat down in silence.
"Starting today," Eddard continued, his gaze sweeping the room like a winter gale, "every one of you will provide a full and truthful accounting of your territories. I want the number of commoners, the tally of artisans, the acreage of your fields, and a precise list of your private soldiers and livestock. I will be sending my own men, led by Scholar Bennett to verify these claims."
A murmur of protest rose, but Eddard cut through it.
"Any concealment, any 'forgotten' grain silo, and any hidden spear will be treated as an act of open rebellion. I have no patience for vipers in my garden."
He leaned forward, his hands resting on the hilt of Heartbreaker, which leaned against the table. "We will begin with House Haigh. Ser Leslyn, you will be the first to open your books."
Eddard hadn't used a single spell today. He didn't need to. He had the bridge, he had the gold, and he had the vision to see exactly which heads needed to roll next. If anyone in this room thought they could play the "Game" with him, they were about to find out that the new Lord of the Crossing didn't play by the rules, he rewrote them.
"Abel," Eddard called out without looking away from Ser Leslyn. "Bring the parchment. Let's see if the knights of the Crossing can still write as well as they scheme."
[System Notification: Dominion Integration Phase 1: The Purge of the Pitchfork begins.]
[Objective: Neutralize House Haigh.]
[Reward: Territory Bonus 'Granary of the Crossing'.]
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