When Eddard arrived at Twin River City, the weather was miserable. Heavy rain fell in relentless sheets, whipped into stinging sprays by strong gusts of wind. The roar of the swollen river beside the city was deafening, a monstrous accompaniment to the storm. Its width had swollen dramatically, nearly doubling, and the four hundred soldiers following him were soaked to the bone, looking like a group of bedraggled, dripping rats trudging through mud.
Despite the rain, the black sunburst banner flying above the group demanded attention. Guards on the city walls reacted immediately. In moments, two men dashed from the gate, clad in gleaming grey chainmail under heavy black wool cloaks. Eddard instantly recognized one of them: Black Ward, a Frey of some renown—Lyman Frey's second son, Stevron Frey's grandson, and Walder Frey's great-grandson.
Damn it, thought Eddard, Walder Frey's grandsons alone could field a dozen cavalry units if properly organized. And each of them had a temper as fiery as steel. Black Ward was no exception; quick to anger and strong, he seemed ready to threaten anyone at the slightest provocation.
"Why are House Karstark's men here?" Black Ward bellowed as they approached, his black beard dripping with rain. "Don't want to fight anymore, sneaking back to the North? That's a crime punishable by hanging!"
Eddard said nothing at first, simply pulling back his hood to reveal his wet face. Black Ward's eyes widened as recognition dawned.
"Oh, it's Young Master Aed," he sneered. "I hear you're about to become the Earl of Golden Tooth. Why the leisure to visit our small city?"
Ever since defeating Tywin, Eddard had returned north with his father's army, leaving Walder Frey's family to conduct Stevron Frey's funeral. Rumors of his rise had reached Twin River City, and Black Ward's displeasure was obvious. House Frey had sent thousands to fight, and his own grandfather had died in the war, gaining little but loss, while this young northerner had risen quietly, without ceremony, to a lordship. To him, it was as absurd as a dragon mating with a sheep.
Eddard's response was cold and measured. "His Majesty has appointed me Commander of the River Crossing Legion, to assist Walder Frey in defending Twin River City, lest the enemy seize it during the war."
Black Ward's face twisted in anger. "You… are you defying the King's order? Or have you become Lord of Twin River City, speaking to me as an equal?"
Eddard's expression did not change. He had no need to ridicule Black Ward; his presence alone carried authority.
Black Ward's rage boiled in the rain, his lips moving wordlessly, yet he could not voice it. Finally, he gritted his teeth. "My apologies, Young Master Aed. My great-grandfather is in the city—please follow me."
He shot a glance at Eddard's men and added, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "Your men will remain outside until the arrangements are confirmed."
"No problem," Eddard murmured to Dita. Kalander, who rode beside him. "Set up camp, cook a good pot of meat soup with plenty of ginger and white pepper. It's cold, and Walder Frey likes to talk endlessly. This will keep our men warm during the wait."
"Leave it to me, my lord," Kalander replied, summoning several subordinates before riding off to organize the camp.
Eddard pulled his mount forward, calling out, "Black Ward, lead the way!"
Horses thundered across the muddy terrain, splashing water and dirt on several Frey men. Black Ward's anger deepened, yet he could only swallow his pride and follow, keeping pace toward the city gates. Eddard's longest-serving retainers trailed behind, among them Kalas Snow. Even men left at Riverrun had been recalled to strengthen his command.
Twin River City had long been House Frey's stronghold. Six centuries ago, they had seized the surrounding lands and constructed twin fortresses on the Green Fork River, connected by a bridge wide enough to accommodate tens of thousands of troops. High walls, deep moats, arrow towers, murder holes—every defensive measure had been accounted for. The bridge itself was a goldmine, patrolled and fortified with a guard tower at its center.
Eddard rode into the bridgehead. The orderly compound included stables, barracks, warehouses, courtyards, and a modest sept. Though not large, it was fully equipped.
Inside the dim hall, he found Walder Frey. The old lord sat at the highest point, draped in a fluffy mink robe over his knees, its black sheen glinting in the lamplight. His chair, made of black oak, bore the Frey sigil: a twin city connected by an arched bridge. Age and infirmity had ravaged him, and the storm outside seemed to make him particularly uncomfortable.
"Young Master Aed," Walder rasped, leaning forward with his few remaining teeth, "I hear you had a slight disagreement with my great-grandson. Don't worry… when the thing between the legs is too good, it produces brats with tempers like wild boars. Some crawl straight out of a woman's womb with fury."
Eddard concealed a smile. The old man reminded him of a weasel scheming to steal a chicken. "My lord, I harbor no ill will," he said. "I come under the King of the North's orders. Please examine this."
He placed a neatly wrapped letter on the table, addressed from King Robb himself.
Walder's watery eyes squinted at the letter. "Scholar Bennett, read this to me. My eyes are old; only women make them useful now."
Bennett whispered after reading, then nodded. "Understood, my lord."
Walder, irritated by Robb Stark's oversight, could do nothing. He had just allowed Roose Bolton to take four hundred men, and now another group had arrived under Karstark. The King's command was clear: obedience was mandatory.
"Very well," he muttered. "House Karstark may enter Twin River City, but the army must be split: two hundred men on the East Bank, two hundred on the West. Acceptable?"
"No problem," Eddard replied. His soldiers were veterans, loyal to the bone. The separation posed no threat to his command.
"Good," Walder muttered, seemingly satisfied, yet he probed further. "Young Master Aed… after Renly Baratheon's sudden death, I heard someone suggested the King break off the engagement with House Frey to marry Highgarden's Rose instead."
Eddard raised a brow, replying casually, "It's true, my lord, but King Robb possesses wisdom and loyalty. He refused the suggestion. There is no need for concern."
Though he sat within Frey territory, Eddard felt no fear. Once a commander of the River Crossing Legion, his authority was unquestionable. With fifty carefully recruited subordinates, including eighteen of 'Excellent' loyalty and thirty-one of 'Good' loyalty, his forces were formidable. Northmen were known for their physical prowess; under Eddard's command, they could face any enemy with confidence.
Walder, struggling to understand the young man before him, muttered under his breath. Even Roose Bolton's suspicions seemed misplaced; Eddard appeared calm, fearless, and untroubled by insinuations.
Changing the topic, the old lord asked, "Young Master Aed, soon to be Earl of Golden Tooth… would you like to choose a wife from here? We have many daughters, widows… even some suitable for a king."
Eddard shook his head firmly. "No, my marriage partner has already been chosen."
"Very well, then," Walder grumbled, his expression darkening at the rejection, sensing Karstark's slight toward House Frey. He rose stiffly, signaling the end of the audience.
"Do you require food or supplies? House Frey is stretched thin, but we can provide what we have," the old lord offered as a final gesture.
"No need, my lord. We can procure what we need from nearby villages."
Eddard departed without looking back. Behind him, a soft voice drifted on the wind. "Oh, what a polite child…"
Even as he left, the old man sought advantage. Eddard spat onto the wet ground, bitterly amused. The storm outside mirrored the turbulence of politics within—chaotic, unpredictable, yet manageable with the right resolve.
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