The hall gradually emptied, the last murmurs fading into silence. Robb Stark, now unburdened of the weight of judgment, casually tossed his crown onto the table. It clattered against the wood like a heavy, unwelcome hat that had grown unbearable the moment it was worn. The faint gleam of torchlight reflected off its sword-shaped edges, but Robb did not glance at it again.
He descended the platform slowly, each step deliberate, and took a seat opposite Eddard Karstark. A servant approached with a decanter of white wine, and Robb poured himself a cup, swirling it thoughtfully before taking a sip. His eyes, normally sharp and commanding, now seemed distant, clouded with thoughts he could not articulate.
There were many questions nagging at him, yet he did not know where to begin. After several long moments of hesitation, he finally forced a smile and spoke in a tone that masked his uncertainty with courtesy:
"Eddard, you've worked tirelessly these past days. If you hadn't seen through the enemy's plots and secured Twin River City, I truly wouldn't know what I would have done next."
Eddard raised his own cup, lips brushing the rim, and allowed a thoughtful sip before answering. His mind, however, raced with practical concerns. Enough flattery—give me something I can actually use. You can't take me with you back to the North; I have responsibilities here. And what about the system changes when I become lord?
"I—It was just… luck," Eddard replied finally. "Perhaps the gods have protected House Stark."
Robb shook his head, his expression earnest. "No, it was not luck. You must have discovered something—otherwise, you would never have insisted on taking over Herman Tallhart's duties to guard Twin River City. Tell me, Eddard—what was the reason?"
Eddard allowed himself a small smile, blinking slowly. "When I suggested you marry Margaery of House Tyrell, and it was rejected, I realized something. I couldn't say it directly at the time—you still had the marriage contract with House Frey—but the road through Twin River City was not safe. Lord Walder's reputation, 'Walder the Late,' was a warning in itself. I had no choice but to secure the rear myself."
Robb nodded, a faint look of dejection crossing his youthful face. The thought came unbidden: If I had listened, with House Tyrell's fifty thousand troops, neither the Lannisters nor the Baratheons would have dared oppose me. Perhaps I could have claimed the Iron Throne outright.
He shook his head, bitterly amused by the foolishness of his own inexperience. Instead, I nearly died in a trap like a wild boar. Yet Eddard—everything he does turns out correct. The Ironborn invasion, Frey's rebellion, the shift in alliances after Tyrell's support—all foreseen. Why did I not listen?
A wry smile spread across his face. "Eddard, you always think of more than I can. Without you, I cannot imagine how this war would have unfolded."
Eddard tilted his head, puzzled. "Why so sentimental, Your Grace?"
Robb waved a hand, dismissing the thought. "It's more than sentiment. It's reality. You've saved countless lives and prevented disaster. Luck or gods aside, your foresight is unmatched."
He raised his wine glass once more and drained it in three long gulps, the flush of wine warming his cheeks. "My father once said, 'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' I must return to the North immediately, to find Bran and Rickon, and to confront both Bolton's rebellion and the Ironborn invasion. Yet my thoughts remain here, on the Riverlands."
Eddard, nodding slowly, understood the gravity in Robb's tone. The Riverlands were treacherous, their loyalty uncertain. "Before leaving Riverrun, I appointed Ser Brynden as Grand Marshal of the South. But even that may not be enough. The lords' allegiances are as fragile as a campfire in a cold wind. I cannot know their thoughts, and even if I could, I would not always know what to do with them."
Robb leaned back, his gaze distant and hazy, almost sorrowful. "I once thought battles were the hardest challenge. I was wrong. Grasping the hearts of people—making them act as one—that is harder."
He fixed Eddard with a direct stare, unwavering despite the wine coursing through his veins. "You, however, are capable. You think far more than I. That is why I plan to leave Twin River City in your hands—to hold the rear, to deter other lords, and to stabilize the region."
Eddard's mind raced as he assessed the proposal. Twin River City—safe, well-positioned, rich in resources, surrounded by rivers, plains, and forests, densely populated, and with great development potential. No gold mines, perhaps, but the bridges alone could yield substantial wealth. This is… an excellent position.
"I see," Eddard said finally, nodding. "Very well. Leave it to me."
Robb's voice lowered slightly, casual but resolute. "Time presses. There will be no grand enfeoffment ceremony. Once I return to Winterfell, I will send ravens to announce this across the realm."
Then, in a voice that made Eddard start in surprise, Robb added: "I plan to marry Sansa to you. She enjoys music, poetry, and dancing. The Riverlands suit her far better than the harsh North."
The words struck Eddard like a thunderclap. His head instinctively tilted back, and he struggled to process them. Marry… Sansa? The girl obsessed with appearance, lost in romance, and completely in love with a world of dreams? Could he refuse? Would refusal cost him Twin River City? This was suddenly more complicated than any battlefield he had faced.
Robb, seemingly unaware of Eddard's inner turmoil, continued: "When I return to the North, I will make a will. If anything happens to me, Sansa shall inherit the title of King of the Trident, and you will serve as Regent to guide the Riverlands lords. Bran will inherit the North, but at eight years old, he will require guidance, and that too I leave in your hands."
Eddard could only nod, realizing that Robb had thought through every contingency. The North's challenges—Ironborn raids, Bolton's rebellion, ambiguous loyalties—were mounting. Leaving a capable vassal in the Riverlands was essential.
He hesitated, then asked cautiously, "Will the lords accept this? And my lady… will Catelyn consent?"
Robb waved his hand, dismissive yet firm. "The Northern lords will accept the decision of their King. As for the Riverlands lords, they seek strength, not titles. Whether the strong leader is me or you matters little. Rickon is too young; someone must be entrusted with control, and that person is you."
Eddard's mind worked rapidly, considering the implications. Riverlands were a battleground where survival often required pragmatism. Loyalty could shift with the wind, and only a strong leader could maintain stability. Robb's plan made sense strategically.
"And my mother?" Eddard pressed, concerned.
Robb's expression softened slightly, eyes dimming with thought. "She will remain in Riverrun, aiding my uncle in managing the territory. She does not intend to return to the North immediately. She acted to secure the safety of Sansa and Arya, even releasing Jaime Lannister. The consequences of her actions were secondary to the safety of her daughters."
Eddard nodded, absorbing the magnitude of responsibility. The arrangement, though politically astute, carried great personal implications. His own reflection in the river of thought reminded him of his youth: a young man of Stark lineage, ordinary in appearance, not comparable to a dashing knight. Would Sansa even agree? Yet he had no choice—the position, the title, and the stability of the region depended on it.
Robb shook his head decisively. "No need for Sansa's approval. As head of the family, I decide the arrangements. You will accept this duty."
Eddard, with a mixture of resignation and pragmatism, bowed slightly. "So be it. My father will be pleased to hear this news."
Robb's gaze softened as he leaned back, hazy from drink but resolute. "Tywin sent a letter by raven before I departed Riverrun. A false sense of security, a trap to ensnare me. But all of it—foreseen. I will now respond, instructing Lannister envoys to come to Twin River City if they wish to negotiate."
Eddard felt the weight settle heavily on his shoulders. All of this… left to me to manage. For the first time, the role of the Hand—responsible for diplomacy, war, and loyalty—pressed down fully. Yet in Robb's eyes, there was unwavering trust.
"Yes," Robb said firmly, eyes unsteady but voice certain, "I know you can handle it."
Eddard drew a deep breath. The burden was immense, but the trust placed upon him was clear. Twin River City was no longer just a city—it was the heart of the Riverlands' stability, and its guardian would be Eddard Karstark.
He nodded, resolute. "I will not fail you, Your Grace."
Robb smiled faintly, lifting his cup in acknowledgment, before standing. "Then we depart at first light. The North calls, and the battles are far from over."
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