From the moment he became King, Robb Stark swore to himself that he would be a different ruler from many who had come before. He would value honor as his father did, but he would also temper it with strength, justice, and wisdom.
He would remain loyal to his friends, fight his enemies bravely, and care gently for his family. Above all, he would do everything in his power to rescue his sister and return to the North with her—and with his father's remains.
As for that nauseating King Joffrey and the pretentious Queen, they were matters for House Baratheon alone. The North and the Riverlands would govern themselves, no longer bowing to any throne or king. That had been his promise, and it was a promise that his vassals eagerly awaited.
A faint sense of relief flickered in Robb's eyes as he thought of these ideals.
Eddard Karstark, standing nearby, did not respond to the notion that the war might soon be over. Over? he thought. My young King, you've witnessed your father's brutal death; how can you be so naive? Even if this plan unfolds smoothly, the game of thrones is far from concluded. The North must wear its crown cautiously, and tread carefully among these warring kings.
Robb, however, was undeterred. "Eddard," he said, a spark of gratitude in his voice, "your advice has dispelled all my hesitation. Inviting you to help craft the plan was the right choice." He reached out, resting a hand on Eddard's shoulder to emphasize his trust. "From now on, I will need you by my side at all times to discuss our battle plans."
He recalled praying in the Godswood, asking the Old Gods for guidance, yet they had offered no answer. No one in history had ever claimed to receive divine revelation. But now, Robb felt that discovering Eddard's talent was its own kind of answer—a gift from the gods. In the North, someone with such meticulous strategic thinking was rare.
Eddard nodded lightly. Young people often misunderstood the art of managing subordinates. A true leader does more than assign tasks; they provide incentives, visions, and promises of honor. And immediately, a thought struck him: instead of waiting for recognition, he might as well ask for it himself.
"Your Grace," he said, meeting Robb's gaze. "In that case, might you grant me a suitable title? One that allows me, in times of crisis, to come before you and offer advice without hesitation."
He framed it as a courtesy, but in truth, Eddard's motive was far more practical: he wanted to see if his Identity could be elevated from merely "Son of a Count" to a more significant position, and whether this change would affect his Troop Slots.
Robb's curiosity flickered. "Karstark, what title do you wish for?"
Eddard paused, considering briefly before replying, "Since my main role is advising on military matters, a title of Military Advisor should suffice."
Robb smiled. "Very well, Karstark. From today, you shall be my Military Advisor. If you wish, I can also grant you a position at my side with a monthly salary of one gold dragon."
Titles naturally carried prestige and practical benefits. Eddard had no land of his own in the North; he was Rickard's son, yet not formally a vassal under Winterfell. Land was not available, so money and recognition were the next best thing.
"Your Grace," Ser Brynden, the "Blackfish," interjected from the side, "the Karstark boy should be Hand of the King."
The title sounded far grander than Military Advisor. It indicated service to the King personally, not just a general military position.
Robb waved a hand decisively. "Then let it be Hand of the King. So be it."
Eddard bowed in gratitude. In that moment, a small notification appeared before his eyes:
[Identity change detected: currently Hand of the King.]
[Troop Slots: 5 / 10]
Excellent. He had gained five additional troop slots, enough to command five more cavalry. This would prove invaluable in the battles to come.
"Let's end here for today," Robb said, concern flickering in his eyes. "If all goes well, we depart soon. Eddard, take some time to see your father. Lord Rickard has been deep in thought in the Godswood."
Eddard nodded politely, but instead of heading to the Godswood, he walked toward the inner castle gate. Time was short, and the tasks ahead were many.
The Starks were about to face two critical events that could shape the course of the war. The first was Lady Catelyn's journey to the Stormlands to secure an alliance with House Baratheon. Both families shared a common enemy: House Lannister. Unfortunately, Lady Catelyn's mission would end in failure. She would witness Renly Baratheon's death and return with Brienne of Tarth, empty-handed.
The second event involved Theon Greyjoy's trip to the Iron Islands, seeking aid. King Balon, unconcerned with the Stark cause, brazenly sent his fleet to raid the North instead. Theon, a reckless and scheming youth, would open Winterfell, kill the stand-ins for Bran and Rickon, and spread false news.
While the first event held no practical opportunity for Eddard, the second did. Theon was foolish, perverse, and riddled with petty schemes—exactly the sort of person one could manipulate. As Eddard pondered how best to handle him, a dark figure suddenly blocked his path.
It was Daisy Mormont.
"Anything else?" Eddard asked irritably. This marked the third time in as many days she had stopped him.
"My mother wants to invite you for a drink," Daisy replied, forcing a smile that barely concealed her impatience.
"Where?"
"Qingteng Tavern," she said.
Eddard shrugged and followed her. About ten minutes later, he entered a familiar private room. Lady Maege Mormont sat on a polished wooden bench, her chainmail gleaming in the dim light. Her grey-black eyes fixed on him, her calm expression betraying the slightest edge of annoyance. She wished to be polite, yet her words were sharp and to the point.
"Karstark boy, how do you know Jorah Mormont is alive in Essos?"
Eddard had intended to sit, but upon hearing the question, he remained standing. He countered lightly, "Lady Maege, I heard your five daughters were all born with a bear. Even in the North, that seems remarkable. I am curious how it was done."
The question deflected Maege's query, her smile vanishing instantly. Yet she did not show anger; she replied flatly, "Boy, that is none of your business."
Eddard repeated, "Yes, Lady Maege, that is none of my business," and paused.
Only after a few seconds did Maege realize the meaning of his words. Her lips twitched, but she continued. "Then I'll ask another question: do you know Jorah's exact location?"
Eddard thought carefully. No recent movements in the skies indicated his knowledge. The Red Comet had either not appeared yet or had already appeared, unnoticed. The silver-haired girl of great renown had faced constant turmoil. If Jorah had departed White Harbor by ship, locating his small group in the vast Red Waste would be impossible. Waiting in Qarth seemed far more reasonable.
After a few moments, he answered with a smile, "Lady Maege, I can deduce Jorah's location, but there is no reason for me to reveal it just yet."
Daisy Mormont, standing beside her mother, remained silent, though her grip on her sword tightened and loosened nervously. Abel and Dita Kalander did likewise.
"What do you want then? Gold dragons? Weapons?" Lady Maege pressed, her patience thinning.
"No," Eddard said firmly. "Karhold may not be as wealthy as White Harbor, and I am not the heir of my house. I am not easily swayed by money. What I ask is simple: apologize to a father who has lost his son for past insults. If you agree, I will tell you Jorah's whereabouts immediately."
For Maege, this demand was harder to accept than money, yet she finally nodded. "Very well, I agree."
Eddard sat down, poured a glass of Arbor golden wine, and began recounting Jorah's journey: leaving the North with his wife, traveling to Lys, surviving as a mercenary, and eventually joining a nomadic tribe in Essos. His detailed account dispelled any doubts Maege had.
"You should wait in Yunkai or Meereen," he advised. "They will remain there for some time. Send skilled fighters and plenty of gold dragons, or you may end up as slaves yourselves."
Maege wanted to ask the source of his knowledge, but Eddard's earlier phrase, "None of your business," silenced her curiosity. She resolved to apologize to Rickard Stark that night.
Eddard rose, taking Abel and Dita with him, leaving the tavern. Outside, Abel pointed to the sky.
"Look!"
Eddard gazed upward to see a magnificent red comet carving a bloody streak across the azure sky, as if the gods themselves had wounded the heavens.
[Magic fluctuation detected. New function loading.]
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