In Westeros—or more precisely, the Seven Kingdoms—the monetary system was surprisingly well-developed.
The most commonly used currencies were copper pennies, copper half-pennies, copper stars, silver stags, and gold dragons.
One gold dragon was worth approximately 210 silver stags, 1,740 copper stars, 11,760 copper half-pennies, or 23,520 copper pennies.
Naturally, purchasing power varied depending on region, local trade, and the ever-changing state of war or peace.
According to what Eddard remembered, Arya Stark—while hiding in King's Landing—once paid three copper pennies for a sweetcake with jam from a street vendor.
Of course, that wasn't a fixed standard.
With war on the rise, prices would soon soar to outrageous levels.
It wouldn't be long before the Imp—Tyrion Lannister, future named Hand of the King—was grumbling about coin shortages and famine.
At the height of the inflation in King's Landing, six copper pennies might buy a pumpkin. A single silver stag could fetch a modest pile of grain. One gold dragon? That could buy a side of beef—or maybe six scrawny piglets.
At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the city's poor started starving in the streets.
Each coin pouch in Eddard's hand contained fifty silver stags.
Not a fortune—at least not as a soldier's wage—but as a gesture of goodwill, or an impromptu reward, it was certainly generous.
Now he wanted to test a theory:
Would money change their loyalty?
If coin could influence loyalty, Eddard wanted to know the extent of that influence—and how long it would last.
These were questions that would have to be answered through careful testing and observation.
And this first meeting was the perfect opportunity.
"Gentlemen," Eddard said, his tone steady and formal, "from this day forward, you'll be fighting at my side. I've prepared a small gift—please, take it."
He handed each man a pouch in turn.
He didn't actually know any of them. Whether the original Eddard Karstark had or not didn't matter—his own approach was respectful, measured, and entirely appropriate for a commander addressing new subordinates.
Besides, based on what the system had shown him, even if the original Eddard had known them, they hadn't been particularly close.
Otherwise, the system would've displayed loyalty reasons like:[He grew up with you] or [He has known you for many years].
Most Northmen, in Eddard's opinion, were direct to the point of bluntness. Honest in speech, generous in action—yes—but not overly suspicious.
To put it less politely, they could be a bit slow to question things.
So when Eddard made his statement and offered the coin, Lando, Mam, and Karas Snow readily believed him. Grinning, they accepted the pouches without hesitation.
And when they opened them?
Their smiles only grew wider.
Who wouldn't be happy to receive unexpected wealth?
Only Dita Kalander, the Southerner among them, recognized this for what it truly was—a calculated gesture meant to win loyalty.
But why refuse free coin?
Whether the gift came or not, she was still bound to serve this young Karstark.
Still, Dita maintained impeccable manners. She bowed first, offered her thanks, and accepted the pouch with both hands. She didn't open it—instead, she tucked it neatly into her cloak, close to the chest.
Even without looking, she could guess the contents by weight.
It had to be silver stags—not silver moons, and certainly not copper stars.
Abel, on the other hand, stared at the pouch handed to him with wide-eyed surprise.
He was already Eddard Karstark's retainer—why was he receiving a gift too?
Eddard met his gaze and smiled.
"This is your reward—for standing with me on the battlefield."
In truth, Abel's inclusion was just another part of the experiment.
"Ah—" Abel blinked, then quickly bowed and accepted it with both hands. "Thank you, my lord."
Since the moment he'd taken that punch to the face, he'd been living in quiet dread. He'd never expected a reward—not now, not like this. The joy that bloomed in his chest far surpassed that of the others.
Looking at the five men—faces lit up with gratitude and pride—Eddard couldn't help but smile as well.
The experiment had worked.
The loyalty of all four new recruits had risen instantly to [Good], while Abel's had jumped straight to [Excellent].
A new loyalty reason appeared in the system for each of them: [Received a monetary reward]
So it was confirmed—giving money really was the most effective way to boost loyalty.
Feeling a faint warmth surging through his limbs—another benefit of the Lord-Vassal Unity effect—Eddard decided to do some light training, to test how the recent power boost translated into physical ability.
But first, he dismissed his men.
"Gentlemen, it's getting late. If there's nothing else, go and get some rest. We've a long day ahead tomorrow."
Originally, he had planned to spar lightly with one or two of them. Just enough to get a sense of how his enhanced strength played out in real combat.
But the timing wasn't ideal. It was already late, and everyone had just come off the battlefield. Pushing them into more exertion now would be tone-deaf, even for the North.
The experiment had served its purpose. Better to let them return to their tents and find sleep.
"Good night, my lord."
"See you tomorrow, Lord Eddard."
Being called out in the middle of the night, handed a hefty bag of silver, and then promptly dismissed without explanation—well, even by Northern standards, it was a bit… strange.
Shouldn't there have been some rousing speech? A few words about duty and honor? Maybe a task or two to justify the gathering?
Still, while some of them found it curious, no one voiced any complaints.
After all, they'd just been paid.
Fifty silver stags, just for showing up late at night!
If this became a regular thing, they'd be grinning in their sleep.
As the four newly appointed riders disappeared into the shadows, Eddard turned to Abel.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow—or the day after—we might be fighting again at Riverrun."
With that, he stepped back inside his tent, picked up his battle axe, and gave it a few testing swings.
The difference was immediate.
The axe felt lighter in his hands—faster, more responsive.
His movements had become more precise. Even in the cramped space of the tent, clad in partial armor, he handled the weapon with ease.
The blade spun cleanly through the air, yet didn't disturb a single object around him. Not a blanket. Not a tent pole.
After a short session, sweat beading lightly on his brow, Eddard set the weapon aside, stripped off his armor, and laid down on a sleeping roll made of animal hide.
He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.
But the mind was a wild thing—and his thoughts refused to settle.
Images, facts, and fragments of memory floated through the darkness behind his eyelids.
After the Battle of the Haunted Forest, Robb Stark would march south without delay, heading straight for Riverrun to rescue his grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully, and his uncle, Edmure—along with many captured Riverlords.
It would be the Young Wolf's second major engagement: The Battle of the Camps.
A dramatic name, to be sure.
But in truth, it was only the beginning.
In reality, no matter how anxious Robb Stark might be to move, he would still have to let his men rest—if only briefly.
Even if he intended to take only the cavalry, only the most elite troops, they would still need time.
If not the men, then the horses.Horses were more valuable than men in many ways—fragile, costly, and essential for mobility.
This pause would also give them time to send out scouts, gather intelligence, draft a proper battle plan, and call a war council with the other lords and key commanders.
He couldn't just storm off with his army, say nothing, and blindly charge into the Lannister camp, swinging swords and hoping for the best… right?
Granted, Robb was occasionally slow-witted—well, more than occasionally—but when it came to the battlefield, the Young Wolf had a natural brilliance.
It was as if the limited intelligence he did possess had been wholly dedicated to the art of war.
From the Haunted Forest to Riverrun, the distance wasn't far. For cavalry, a standard march would take a day or two. A forced march? Just a few hours.
So, by dawn at the earliest—or the day after tomorrow at the latest—they would be on the move again.
And by then, Eddard figured, he'd probably be killing people on the battlefield.