"My Lord, General, merciful Young Master…"
Ba'er Lan Nizes stumbled over his words, changing how he addressed Eddard three times in quick succession before finally managing a coherent plea. "Please… you must restrain your brave warriors. Do not harm the guards who have already discarded their weapons, and… and please spare the women and children as well."
His white hair trembled with his body's tension, and his light green eyes darted nervously across the courtyard, now filled with helmeted and armored Northern soldiers. The fear etched into his face was unmistakable.
In the corner to the left of the main gate, twenty or thirty surrendered guards squatted on the ground, hands held over their heads, completely giving up any hope of resistance. A dozen Northern soldiers, armed with longswords and crossbows, kept a firm watch over them.
To the right of the gate, families huddled together—elderly men and women, frail servants, and many young, beautiful girls. They pressed close to one another, hoping that by staying out of sight, their lives and modesty might be preserved from the lustful gaze of the Northern raiders.
Eddard Karstark, sitting casually on the courtyard steps, regarded them with an impassive expression. "Very well. I keep my word. Since you opened the gates and surrendered, no lives will be harmed."
He would have been far less merciful if the family had been true Lannisters. Then, he might have offered them to satisfy the grim quotas of wartime vengeance. But Ba'er Lan Nizes was only a distant relative, and for now, mercy prevailed.
Ba'er's lips curled into a relieved smile. "Thank you, my Lord. You… you truly are reasonable." He had intended to continue speaking, but Eddard interrupted with a single sentence.
"That's enough."
At his command, two hundred wolf-like soldiers surged into the courtyard like a violent wind. The sounds of smashing, screaming, crying, and begging echoed off the walls. Those still hiding in corners or secret chambers found no refuge—none could escape.
Soon, soldiers emerged carrying a dozen boxes of varying sizes from the richly decorated lord's house. The smallest contained glittering gold dragons—hundreds at a glance—while the larger boxes held silver stags in the tens of thousands. Curiously, the value of the silver did not surpass the gold; it was the gleam and rarity that mattered.
Abel gently set a richly decorated chest in front of Eddard. Inside lay gold and silver jewelry inlaid with jewels, some still stained with traces of blood—evidence of rough handling by the soldiers.
Eddard studied the glittering spoils and marveled. "Even distant Lannister relatives are this wealthy?"
In the North, a single gold dragon could purchase a fine warhorse, and a full set of high-quality chainmail with helmet, greaves, gorget, and gauntlets cost no more than five gold dragons. Weapons were even cheaper. These coins alone could easily fund two hundred elite cavalrymen. Perhaps Ox Town sat atop a gold mine—but there was no time to investigate.
At that moment, Earl Rickard, head of House Karstark, arrived on horseback with his attendants. Seeing the surrendered captives, the unharmed soldiers, and the courtyard piled with wealth, a rare smile appeared on his otherwise composed face.
He had returned from Robb Stark's camp, where he and his son had each slain a Lannister in the raid. Satisfying as it had been, a certain tension had lingered between lord and vassal. Greatjon Umber had not helped matters, constantly fanning the flames. Yet Rickard, heeding the king's subtle counsel, had remained silent and disciplined.
Upon learning that Eddard had captured the lord's fortified house immediately upon entering Ox Town and had already seized most of the spoils, Earl Rickard was impressed. He settled beside Eddard with a relieved smile. "Son, you've done exceptionally well. Not only here, but in every task you've undertaken. Now… what are your plans for these spoils of war?"
Eddard hesitated. He had led the troops and acquired the treasure, but he was not the head of House Karstark. By Northern custom, the distribution of spoils still technically belonged to the lord of the family. Eddard had never received formal instruction in this regard and was unsure of the proper procedure.
Earl Rickard observed his son's uncertainty and smiled. He gestured toward the boxes. "One-third of this goes to Winterfell, the share owed to your liege lord for leading the army to victory. Another third is for the soldiers, a reward for their bravery. Distribute it according to merit, giving more to those who earned it, never less. The final third belongs to House Karstark. As head of the family, I claim it entirely. Anyone who questions this shall feel the cold winds of winter's justice. Understood, Eddard?"
"Understood," Eddard replied, nodding. It mirrored the medieval "one-third" rule he had heard of before. Soldiers and vassals would hand over part of their spoils to the family, just as Dita Kalander had done previously.
"Then go and do it." Earl Rickard entrusted Eddard with the task of distribution while he sought a quiet spot to offer two Lannister heads as a sacrifice to Toren. South of the Neck, Ox Town had no godswood; the family worshiped the Seven, so the ritual would be simple.
Eddard handed over the golden Lannister sword to his father. The morning sunlight revealed the engravings clearly: one side bore "Hear Me Roar," the other "A Lannister Always Pays His Debts," and the hilt ended with a lion emblem. A clear trophy of victory.
"Very good," Rickard said, taking it with satisfaction before leaving to conduct his ritual.
Eddard turned to the task at hand. He counted the coins carefully, distributing them according to merit. Soldiers who had guarded walls received modest sums. Those who fired arrows and repelled defenders received more. The men who rammed the gate, performing the riskiest task, received the largest share. Fewer than three hundred cavalrymen shared the soldiers' third, yet everyone's pouches were heavy and faces beamed with joy.
Kings waged war for vengeance, politics, or expansion. Lords fought for duty, honor, or status. Soldiers fought for a better life. Tonight, gold and silver would translate into warm beds, hearty meals, and prospects for advancement—the fruits of courage and skill.
Eddard had the soldiers also carry House Karstark's share. Their goal was swift—a lightning strike to lure Tywin Lannister from Harrenhal and intercept the Westerlands army along the Golden Road. Wagons laden with treasure would slow them down; speed mattered more than accumulation.
"Abel, gather a few men and deliver the King's share," Eddard ordered. His mind also sought rest. The night's ride, battle, and clandestine use of his magical armor against Martin Lannister left him fatigued.
Just then, Robb Stark appeared, riding tall and confident. His voice carried across the courtyard even before he entered. Last night's success had lifted the King's spirits. He was followed by Ser Brynden, Earl Jon of Last Hearth, Lady Maege of Bear Island, Earl Tai Tuo Si of Raventree Hall, Earl Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte, and other knights and heirs. News had reached them, and they sought a meeting to plan the next phase.
Eddard removed his helmet and greeted the King. "Your Majesty, congratulations on the battle. The victory is as much yours as mine."
"Indeed," Robb replied warmly, eyes fixed on Eddard. "Your counsel was excellent. Earl Tai Tuo Si intercepted over two thousand enemies—our next battles will be far easier thanks to you."
Greatjon tried to grab Eddard in camaraderie, but Eddard deftly dodged, smiling. "Prepare a spacious room and food," he said. "There is still much to do." Robb nodded, and Abel hurried off to organize the meal.
The group entered the house, settling in a banquet hall large enough for twenty or thirty people. Robb opened the meeting. "We've eliminated ten thousand enemy recruits with minimal losses. Next, we must see if Tywin Lannister will abandon Harrenhal and return to the Westerlands to settle accounts."
Jon Umber rose, outlining his plan: capturing gold mines in the Westerlands—Castamere, Nun's Head, Pendric Hills—to lure Tywin back. Many nobles showed interest, though Ser Brynden cautioned that excavation was slow and impractical under enemy observation.
Instead, he proposed striking under-defended strongholds like Casterly Rock, Feastfires, and Corn City—fast victories that would pressure Tywin strategically. Lady Maege added, "We should send cavalry to burn villages, kill able men, and conscript women and children for logistics."
Tai Tuo Si's harsh and ruthless strategy drew attention. The North had known suffering, and vengeance was a language everyone understood. None dared to object, understanding that the survival and success of the army sometimes required cruelty.
The council's discussions set the stage for the next chapter in their campaign. The North had seized victory, divided spoils, and now, with both strategy and wealth in hand, was poised to continue the fight for dominance in the Westerlands.
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