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Did the two of them know each other?
Of course. During the Battle of the Haunted Forest, Eddard and Patrick had both served as Robb Stark's personal bodyguards. Their relationship had never been particularly close, though they had met several times. In fact, Eddard's former self had once discussed, in what could only be called a crude comparison, the differences in women from the North versus the Riverlands.
After the Battle of Riverrun, Patrick had remained in the Riverlands, responding to the call to arms while stationed at Riverrun. Eddard, on the other hand, had followed the main army into the Westerlands. After that, their paths diverged. Even when Eddard passed through Riverrun on his way to Twin River City after defeating Tywin, he did not encounter Patrick. Rumor had it that Patrick had been out carousing with Edmure Knight during that time.
Now, unexpectedly, Patrick had returned from Seagard to lead his troops in support, arriving far sooner than Eddard had anticipated. He had assumed the reinforcements would reach Twin River City only by afternoon or perhaps even the following day. Presumably, the heavy rains of two days prior had not delayed their march.
Eddard also understood why Dickon Tarly had withdrawn most of his skirmishers. Observing the arrival of Patrick's reinforcements, Dickon could not know the true numbers and had prudently returned to confer on strategy.
Meanwhile, the shield formation of the heavy infantry slowly began to withdraw, no longer holding steady under the giant crossbow fire to protect the skirmishers.
"Abel!" Eddard roared, his voice carrying over the battlefield. His blood-soaked attendant sprinted to him, having just witnessed his lord personally cut down several enemies attempting to scale the ladders.
"My lord," Abel acknowledged.
"Arrange for people to clean up the battlefield," Eddard commanded. "Send men to keep watch over the Reach army's camp. Do you understand?"
"I understand." Abel called over Kalas, Lando, Matthew, Paine, and Freya, assigning tasks such as searching for the wounded, collecting spent arrows, and repairing arrow shields.
Eddard, meanwhile, descended from the city wall, found a basin of water, and scrubbed the blood from his face and hands. Donning a fresh coat of armor, he mounted a swift horse from the stables and rode toward the West City. The morning battle had raged from sunrise until noon, and now the sun blazed overhead with merciless intensity.
Patrick Mallister, his long brown hair gleaming in the sunlight, studied Eddard's bloodied appearance with grey-blue eyes full of surprise. "Was the battle so fierce?" he asked, concern and admiration mingling in his voice.
Eddard gave a faint shrug, indifferent. "It's nothing—entirely the enemy's doing. There was no time to clean up." He gazed down at his plate armor, now dark red with dried blood, and smiled faintly. Then he asked, "Patrick, did Robb send you?"
"No!" Patrick shook his head. "Robb issued a call to arms for Seagard to provide troops to march north with him. My father sent five hundred men—three hundred infantry, two hundred archers, and several dozen cavalry—under my command. But before we met our king, we encountered your soldiers here instead."
Eddard nodded thoughtfully, recalling the Riverlands' reluctance to support Robb directly. McKen had tried to contact Patrick's father in Seagard, but the elder had been patrolling the coastline relentlessly and rarely returned home. Now, Patrick's arrival meant that at least some Riverlands men were finally aiding the Northern effort.
Patrick's expression shifted, gleeful and eager. "I heard you wiped out all of House Frey and took Twin River City! Is it true?"
Eddard pondered for a moment. When Robb Stark had returned to the North, the Riverlands lords had offered little to no support. Using Northern soldiers to reclaim the North had been the only option. Thanks to his decisive victories against Tywin and the speed of the campaign, losses in the Riverlands had been minimized. Perhaps now, with success demonstrated, more Riverlanders were willing to follow Robb north.
Patrick's eyes shone with excitement. "It really is true! I've long disliked that old Walder Frey. Living near him is eight lifetimes of bad luck! Every day, he sends petty complaints to my father. Every merchant caravan passing through Twin River City complains about his greed. Serves him right!"
Patrick's face suddenly brightened with mischievous curiosity. He leaned close to Eddard and whispered, "Did you capture Roslin Frey? She's supposed to be Old Frey's most beautiful daughter."
Eddard's eyes narrowed slightly. "Captured. She's in the dungeon."
Patrick frowned dramatically. "Ah! What a shame. If you're not interested, how about giving her to me? Just tell me what you want in return."
Eddard raised an incredulous eyebrow. Blood, death, strategy—this was all irrelevant to Patrick. He was focused solely on women. Eddard shook his head. "Patrick, I can improve her living conditions and ensure she is kept in the tower. How to deal with her beyond that is Robb's business, not mine."
Patrick clicked his tongue and sighed. "Northerners are always so straightforward. Fine. I'll speak with Robb then." Then, his expression shifted as he remembered the ongoing battles. "How is the fight going? How many enemy troops remain? Which houses are they from?"
"Let's talk as we walk," Eddard replied. "You haven't eaten, have you? I'll have someone prepare lunch." He waved to Rollger, a young man from Water Mill Town, who had recently been recruited from House Frey prisoners. Loyal and intelligent, Rollger had been placed as a guard both to set an example for the Riverlands soldiers and to ease communication with locals. He ran off quickly to arrange food and lodging for the Seagard men.
As they entered Twin River City, Eddard briefed Patrick on the enemy's situation, the capture of the Earl of Horn Hill, and the seizure of the Tarly family's ancestral sword, "Heartbreaker." He recounted the morning's successful defense and estimated casualties on both sides, boosting Patrick's confidence.
Patrick's eyes brightened as he examined "Heartbreaker," tracing the intricate dark patterns on its blade. "What a fine sword!" he exclaimed, then sheathed it and handed it back to Eddard. "Your name keeps reaching my ears. My father speaks of you constantly—young, promising, destined to become a lord before twenty. And me? I just roll around on women's bellies and can't even manage a bastard."
Eddard remained silent, unimpressed by Patrick's self-deprecation.
Patrick spread his hands. "I know little of battle. The troops I brought are yours to command. Please, don't throw them away as cannon fodder." Turning to his knight, he said seriously, "Ser Maynard, did you hear me?"
"My lord, I heard you," Ser Maynard replied. A fair man with long black hair beneath a winged helmet, clean-shaven, and eyes hinting at ferocity, he bowed with confidence. "Just give the order, Lord Eddard. I will assist you in defending Twin River City."
Eddard smiled. "Then I'll trouble you, Ser Maynard." He turned to Patrick. "Thank you for your trust. I didn't expect you to hand over your men without hesitation."
Patrick grinned, a spark of mischief and camaraderie in his eyes. "We're companions who've beaten up the Kingslayer together. Helping each other is only right. Now, where will I be staying?"
Eddard laughed. "I'm not a madam in a brothel. Figure it out yourself."
"That's good enough," Patrick said confidently, blinking his blue-grey eyes. "Eddard, you're a true friend!"
Füll bōøk àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)
If you purchase this book, I will send you a gift. You will receive access to all the stories on my page up to the Silver Tier for one month. Once you complete the purchase, I will email you a coupon."