The twenty-plus House Frey soldiers, armed with long-handled axes, stared in disbelief at their comrades convulsing on the ground, electricity crackling across their bodies. Their hearts thumped violently in their chests, and for the first time, courage fled them completely.
"Charge! Move! Don't let that kid use it again!" someone shouted, trying to rally them.
Fierce expressions twisted their faces, but their feet remained rooted to the ground. For these ordinary soldiers, even those normally brimming with bravado, the strange, deadly power they were witnessing inspired terror.
Black Ward, one of the more audacious Frey men, could not stand idle. He strode down from the platform, snatched a heavy axe from a trembling comrade, and bellowed, "He's only one person! Follow me!"
Raising his axe high, he charged straight at Eddard. The sight galvanized some of the soldiers, two of whom tried to outpace Black Ward, but their bravery was short-lived. Paine and McKen, with unerring precision, hurled javelins that impaled them through the chest before they could reach the front lines.
Eddard's lips curved into a grin. The enemies were charging, foolishly confident, and he was ready. He grabbed Lyman Frey by the shoulder with his left hand and his ample waist with his right, lifting the nearly two-hundred-pound man effortlessly.
"To hell with you!" he roared, hurling Sir Lyman through the air. The fat man crashed into a cluster of soldiers, flattening Black Ward beneath his weight. Despite his own strength, Black Ward could not free himself from the crushing blow, struggling for breath while pinned to the floor.
The remaining soldiers, emboldened by the absence of lightning strikes, surged forward with axes raised. Their dense formation resembled a wall of iron, eyes glittering with deadly intent.
Eddard bared his teeth in response and summoned two massive lightning spheres, crackling with blue energy. They shot into the ranks of Frey soldiers, electrocuting seven or eight men instantly. Screams echoed through the hall, punctuated by the stench of scorched flesh.
Without pause, he grabbed a three-meter-long table, lifting it like a mere plank. With a forceful "Ha!", he swung it through the crowded ranks. "Bang!" The wooden table struck three enemies, snapping bones with each strike. Steps forward, another swing, and three or four more soldiers fell. Finally, a heave sent the table crashing into several more, leaving only seven or eight Freys standing.
The remaining men froze, paralyzed by indecision. That hesitation was all Abel, Dita Kalander, and Matthew needed. They surged forward with shields and weapons, cutting down the hesitant soldiers.
Meanwhile, McKen hurled a javelin toward the platform, striking an archer in mid-aim, while Paine pinned the second crossbowman. The remaining crossbowmen, terrified, refused to expose themselves again.
Eddard moved lightly, stepping over the fallen, casually pulling a tablecloth from a nearby table. Wine pots, cups, and plates tumbled to the floor with a crisp crash. The scent of spilled wine and roast meat mingled with blood and dust, creating a nauseating yet strangely intoxicating aroma.
He wiped blood from his armor, then looked up at Old Walder Frey, who gaped at him in shock. "How about it, Marquis Walder?" Eddard asked calmly. "Do you surrender? If you do, I can ensure you face trial rather than immediate death."
He picked up a long-handled axe, polished the blade on his tunic, and smiled at the remaining Freys. "What are you waiting for? Stop him!"
The old man's confusion melted into horror. His body went limp, as if all strength had been drained. He collapsed onto a table, helpless, teeth bared, gasping for breath. Regret consumed him. He had underestimated this "wizard" of House Karstark, relying on deception and timing that now proved fatal.
Several braver Frey men exchanged glances, then rushed forward. In less than two minutes, they were cut down. Hosteen Frey was split by a great axe, Tai Tuo Si Frey's head was struck by a fatal blow, and Raymond Frey's body fell next to his severed head.
The survivors, trembling, discarded their weapons and armor, signaling surrender.
Outside, the battle continued to rage. The heavy wooden doors of the banquet hall were shoved open with great force, banging against the walls. Blood-soaked soldiers from House Karstark streamed in, their chests emblazoned with the sunburst star.
The leader glanced at the carnage inside and approached Eddard, concern in his eyes. "Young Master, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Eddard replied, nodding. "How's the battle outside?"
The veteran soldier, Freya, stroked his gray beard, smiling cruelly. "Young Master, everything went smoothly. We caught the enemy unprepared. Some surrendered before they even realized what was happening. Casualties were light: a dozen wounded, five dead. Over two hundred Freys have been captured or killed."
Eddard nodded, satisfied with the efficiency. "And House Frey's remaining forces?"
Freya hesitated briefly, then said, "Roughly a hundred killed or wounded. The rest surrendered."
These Northern lords excelled in combat, but bureaucratic tasks—like counting casualties—were often beyond them. Eddard made a mental note to teach basic accounting to his officers later.
"Take a team to the East Bank," he ordered. "Check for trouble. Report directly to me."
"Yes, Young Master." Freya gathered a small contingent and hurried off. Eddard thought briefly of suggesting horseback for speed but decided it unnecessary.
Turning back, he commanded, "Secure all Freys in the hall—except Walder. Remove the dead and dispose of them properly."
Lyman Frey, still groaning on the floor, protested, "I am a knight, the heir to Twin River City! I demand noble treatment!"
Eddard ignored him. Dita Kalander stepped forward, delivering a hard kick to Lyman, eliciting a pained cry. "This is rebellion," she warned. "Even in the North, this crime is punishable by death. Do you still demand noble treatment?"
She tied him firmly with rope, leaving him immobilized. The others were treated similarly, tied up and dragged from the hall. Abel oversaw the clearing of corpses, leaving only blood and the stench of death.
Eddard then turned his attention to Walder Frey. He picked up a wine pot from one side of the table and a roasted lamb leg from the other, handing them to Scholar Bennett, who stood pale-faced nearby. Knowledge, even in Westeros, was a rare commodity. Scholars like Bennett were versed in healing, poisons, and craft, serving noble houses across the realm.
Eddard intended to test the scholar first—both to avoid potential poison and to initiate a conversation about the next steps. At the same time, it was a demonstration: House Frey's defeat was complete, and no trickery would be tolerated.
The banquet hall was now quiet, save for the groans of the wounded and the occasional clang of armor. Eddard's calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the chaos of moments before. Twin River City had been captured, the Freys neutralized, and the Northern forces firmly in control.
The war for this key Riverlands stronghold had begun—and Eddard Karstark had decisively won the first round.
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