The sun was a dying ember, bleeding its last red light across the churning waters of the Green Fork.
On the battlements of the Twins, Black Walder Frey stared into the distance. His hands were white-knuckled on the stone. He had expected to see a handful of broken Karstark survivors stumbling back, or perhaps no one at all. Instead, he saw a disciplined column of forty riders, their black sunburst banner snapping defiantly in the wind.
The plan had been foolproof. He had equipped over a hundred bandits with Frey steel and sent them to a forest where they had every advantage. Three-to-one odds. And yet, Eddard Karstark was riding back with a mountain of trophies.
"How?" Black Walder hissed, watching the riders approach. Through the crimson haze of the sunset, he could see the "lanterns", the severed heads of his mercenaries dangling from every saddle.
The Karstarks had lost one man. One.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prick at his chest. If Eddard knew this was a Frey setup and Eddard was far too smart not to know, the "Young Wolf" would hear about it. And Robb Stark was not a man who took attempts on his Hand's life lightly.
He scrambled down the stairs, heading straight for his great-grandfather's solar. They needed a new lie. They needed it fast.
Eddard felt the tension the moment his horse's hooves hit the drawbridge.
The Twins felt like a cage. He looked up and saw his own men patrolling the walls, their presence the only reason he hadn't ordered a full-scale retreat the moment he saw Black Walder's "welcoming" face. Walder Frey was many things, but he wasn't suicidal enough to start a civil war while the Northern army was still undefeated.
"Congratulations, Young Master Aed!" Black Walder called out as they rode into the courtyard. His smile was a jagged, ugly thing. "A great victory! My great-grandfather is so impressed he's ordered a banquet. He wants to toast the 'Brave Hunter' and his men tonight."
A banquet. The "Hongmen Feast."
Eddard felt the irony like a physical weight. "I'll be there, Black Walder. But first, my men need to tend to the wounded, and I need to wash the blood of your 'bandits' off my face. Tell the Lord we'll join him after dark."
Black Walder nodded eagerly, looking relieved that Eddard had accepted the bait, and galloped off to deliver the news.
Inside his tent, Eddard didn't relax. He sat on a camp stool, his armor still splattered with the gore of the forest.
"Abel," he called out. "Have Doren come in. Tell him I need him to polish my plate for the feast."
A moment later, Doren entered. He was a veteran, a man whose family had served the Karstarks for generations. He moved with a quiet efficiency, setting down a basin of water and a linen cloth. He was a shadow in the corner, a man no one would ever suspect of having an agenda.
But Eddard was looking at the System.
[Unit: Doren (Northern Soldier)]
[Loyalty: Extremely Poor]
[Motivation: Threatened / Bribed. Current Order: Assassinate Eddard Karstark during the banquet.]
[Sender: Roose Bolton.]
The air in the tent felt thin. Eddard watched Doren scrub a bloodstain off the breastplate. The man's hands were shaking, just a fraction.
"Doren," Eddard said softly. "I remember your family. Your grandfather was a mason at Karhold, wasn't he?"
Doren stopped scrubbing. He didn't look up. "Yes, My Lord. Three generations. My eldest brother still works the stone."
"And your daughters?" Eddard asked. "The twelve-year-old who serves my sister? The five-year-old who picks wheat in the fields? They're good girls, Doren. It would be a shame if they were the first to hang on the Karhold gallows."
The linen cloth dropped into the basin with a splash.
Doren didn't try to hide it anymore. He didn't have the training of a Faceless Man. He was just a desperate man caught between two monsters. He reached for the dagger at his belt, his face a mask of suicidal grief.
"HOW DO YOU KNOW?" Doren screamed, his voice breaking. "I never said a word! I never wrote a letter! How do you see into a man's soul?!"
Abel and Dita burst into the tent, swords drawn, pinning Doren against the tent pole before he could even unsheathe his blade.
Eddard stood up, his face as cold as the Wall. "I see because I have to, Doren. Now, tell me how Roose Bolton got a message to you inside the Twins. Tell me every word, or your entire bloodline ends tonight."
Doren collapsed to his knees, his forehead hitting the rug. "A traveler... a merchant who came with the Bolton grain shipment two days ago. He gave me a coin with a flayed man on it. He said... he said if I didn't kill you tonight, my wife and children would be flayed in front of the Karhold gates before the moon turned."
Eddard's eyes narrowed. The Bolton grain shipment. Roose wasn't just guarding the Ruby Ford; he was actively managing the logistics of the Twins. He and Walder Frey were already weaving the web.
"Abel, keep him here. Chain him to the post. If he makes a sound, cut his throat."
Eddard turned to the stand where his armor sat, now half-polished. The "Victory Banquet" was only an hour away.
"Dita," Eddard said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Tell the boys to skip the wine tonight. We're going to a party, and I think it's time we showed the Freys exactly what happens when you try to skin a Karstark."
He reached into the System, his eyes flashing. He had 142 Soul Power. It was time for an upgrade.
[System: Upgrade 10 units to 'Frost Guard'? (Cost: 100 SP)]
[Confirmed.]
A faint, blueish mist seemed to swirl around the ten men standing outside the tent. Their eyes turned a shade colder, and their grip on their spears tightened with unnatural strength.
Eddard donned his helmet. The "Young Wolf" wasn't here to save him, but he didn't need a King. He had magic, he had his Frost Guards, and he had a very long memory.
"Let's go," Eddard said. "I'm hungry."