Karas Snow, a bastard from a fallen Northern noble family, had always considered his life destined for mediocrity. Born with a name but not the inheritance, he had long since abandoned any hope of honor or recognition. Instead, his days were a cycle of fleeting pleasures: when he had coin, he visited taverns to indulge in drink and the company of women; when he had leisure, he sought the same diversions; before a battle, he made sure to spend a last night of excess.
Training, combat, and missions were secondary to his true passions. Across the North and into the Riverlands, Karas had not quite "tasted" hundreds of women, but certainly his experiences numbered in the triple digits. Twin River City alone held three to five of his current lovers. For Karas, he had always felt like a master in matters of the bed, untouched by disease and unshaken by failure—at least until tonight.
"Splash!"
The bastard from the North plunged into the Green Fork River from a makeshift toilet chute, letting the cool water swallow him. He floated on the surface, moving his arms and legs in a practiced rhythm. After a brief warm-up, he surged forward, slicing through the water with frantic speed.
A curse left his lips. Damn the city guards! they had closed the gates for the night, claiming no one could enter or leave. Karas's mission had been urgent: deliver word to the House Karstark soldiers on the East Bank, ensuring they were prepared to control House Frey's troops after dark. Resisters were to be eliminated without mercy. But when he reached the inner city gate, it was shut tight, and the guards refused entry until morning.
Frustration boiling, Karas remembered an old lover in the city. Using her household's facilities as an escape route, he had entered the river with the intention of swimming to the opposite bank and finding another way into the city.
The Green Fork, hundreds of meters wide, was no challenge to him. The river's waters, calm after the rainy season, lapped gently at his body. Only the lingering odor—mud and decay—angered him as he pressed forward, keeping his head low. To avoid detection, he hugged the shadow of the bridge pillars, resting briefly against them when fatigue threatened, before plunging forward again. Every moment wasted could cost him dearly.
Finally, he reached the bank just as the last light of sunset faded from the western sky. Karas pulled on his boots, which had been tied to his body with thin cords, and sprinted toward the city gate. The riverbank was jagged and uneven; without footwear, he could barely take more than a few steps.
At the East Bank of Twin River City, the House Karstark officer on duty was Lando. Previously injured at Water Mill Town, Lando had been stationed here to command the two hundred men under his charge on Eddard's behalf.
"Open the gate! Quick, open the gate! It's Karas!" Karas called, waving frantically.
Lando was on patrol and squinted down at the shadowy figure in the darkness. A smile broke over his face. "What happened to you? Without a proper reason, the gate won't open so late at night!"
Standing beside Lando was Petyr, Old Frey's great-grandson, nicknamed "Pimple-face" for his unfortunate complexion. For any after-hours gate access, even officers like Lando needed Petyr's nod; otherwise, they had to seek Old Frey's approval.
Karas, knowing that House Frey soldiers still patrolled the walls, lied quickly. "Don't ask! Bloody unlucky night! I visited a girl, and her father locked me in! Hurry, open the gate—too cold to be out here!"
"If we survive this, let's go find girls together!" he added with a laugh.
The soldiers atop the walls burst into laughter at the absurdity, and even Petyr joined in. Socially, Petyr had little charm: married to a woman two decades older and involved in an affair with Black Ward, he relied on wealth to attract women. Seeing another make a fool of himself brightened his mood. "Open the gate. Let the hero in," he called.
Karas exhaled softly, watching the western sky fade to pale darkness, before darting across the drawbridge into the gatehouse. Once inside, he ran up the steps to the city walls, ready to meet Lando.
---
On the West Bank, Eddard Karstark prepared meticulously. He donned a fine linen long-sleeved shirt, followed by boiled leather armor and polished black chainmail, then the gleaming outer plate armor. A linen surcoat embroidered with a sunburst star, topped by a black cloak, completed the ensemble. Though it appeared ceremonial, it was battle-ready—a subtle warning to any who might underestimate him.
Outside the tent, five of his most trusted retainers waited: Dita Kalander, bright-eyed and graying at the temples; Paine, short and stocky with a straightforward face; McKen, lean, with a grizzled beard; and Matthew and Abel, recently returned from Dorne. Each was fully armored, double-layered chainmail beneath black cloaks, visored helmets in hand, and weapons—battle axes, javelins, and round shields—within reach.
These five had survived countless battles and had been upgraded to [Bloodthirsty Wolfguards], each boasting a 70% strength bonus and 30% physique enhancement. They were now far superior to ordinary Northern soldiers.
Others were elsewhere: Mam and Martin had died in combat; Lando and Karas held the East Bank; Doren, revealed as a traitor after Roose Bolton's orders, had been bound and gagged. Thirty more retainers who accompanied Eddard to suppress bandits remained at the camp, treating wounds and preparing weapons. Their orders were clear: once Eddard and his elite reached the House Frey Banquet Hall, the attack would commence.
Eddard had considered charging Old Frey immediately, but discretion was necessary. If a banquet were indeed a trap, feigning compliance would allow him to gain the upper hand while ensuring evidence and witnesses remained intact. He intended to stabilize Frey first, control his weaknesses, and only then proceed with decisive action.
"Let's go," Eddard said, taking a bright lantern from Abel, illuminating the sunburst emblem on his chest. Without waiting for an invitation, he led his five retainers toward the House Frey Banquet Hall.
The sun had set completely. Twin River City was quiet, the streets nearly deserted except for torches carried by House Frey soldiers. Recognizing the party as banquet guests, the soldiers guided them politely toward the hall. Eddard accepted their courtesy with a polite nod, all while hiding the deadly tension that coursed through the party.
The six men walked at a measured pace, turning corners until they saw the brightly lit hall. Sir Lyman, flanked by two leather-armored retainers, came quickly to meet them.
"Lord Eddard, I was about to send word to invite you from the military camp, but I did not expect you to come in person," Sir Lyman said with a practiced smile.
The torchlight revealed the emblem on Eddard's chest, but not the fully armed retainers behind him. As they approached, the guards' attention shifted to the party's armor. Sir Lyman's heart skipped; he attempted casual words, but a dagger pressed against his neck froze him in place.
Eddard's eyes were cold. "Don't shout. Don't resist. Lead me into the Banquet Hall, and you will live today."
Abel and Dita Kalander moved with precision. Their left hands gripped the men's throats while their daggers pierced hearts. Boiled leather armor offered no defense. The bodies were set aside—no effort to conceal them was needed, as a fight was imminent.
Sir Lyman's sweat poured, his breathing faltering. "I… understand. You… call the shots," he muttered, fear and resentment coiling within him. He hated Walder Frey, and even more, Eddard Karstark for dragging him into this deadly game. Any wrong move, and he would die.
Eddard embraced him theatrically, guiding him forward with a smile while his retainers followed closely. They ascended the stairs to the hall, where two Frey guards hesitated, unsure of the fully armed visitors. Sir Lyman barked, "Open the door for Lord Eddard! Do you wish to be whipped for wasting time?"
The guards, exchanging glances, complied. Eddard, holding Lyman hostage, entered the hall.
Lord Walder sat atop the high platform, hunched in his ebony chair, surrounded by Black Ward, Raymond, Edwyn, and other Freys. Scholar Bennet attended to them, while long wooden tables, laden with food, stretched below. Stone walls and narrow windows were lit by torches, and musicians played softly.
The hall appeared grand, yet the main door suddenly rattled and closed behind them, chains clinking ominously.
The trap had begun.
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