The three walked down the deserted streets of Twin River City. Night deepened, bringing a chilling wind that stripped away what little warmth remained. The silence of the city was broken only by the crunch of boots on cobblestone.
Rollger glanced occasionally at Eddard Karstark walking ahead. Too young, he thought. Yet this young lord had already begun to consolidate power with unmatched precision. Using his background, intelligence, and decisiveness, he had secured the loyalty of three to four thousand soldiers returning from the campaign. The men had fallen into line almost effortlessly, acknowledging the authority of their new lord.
Earlier, Eddard had found a trivial pretext to place knights from border regions under house arrest. This included even Ser Brynn Hill, Eddard's own lord. Rollger, familiar with Water Mill Town and the Hill family, knew that Ser Brynn's eldest son, Ryan Hill, would obediently ride to Twin River City, kneel in submission, admit his mistakes, and provide an accurate report of his territory. Only then would he, with a beaming smile, regain the privilege to manage it.
In the Riverlands, sons—particularly eldest sons—were reluctant to endure what had happened to House Frey. Lord Walder had lived to ninety, and his eldest, Stevron, waited in vain to inherit River Crossing, dying still an heir with no real authority. It was a lifelong joke, a cruel one at that.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the night. "Who's there?"
A patrol emerged, clad in blue-black armor, carrying torches, long spears, and short swords. Rollger recognized the familiar figure at the head: Abel Qashtak. Once Lord Eddard's personal guard, Abel was now Commander of the Twin River City Guard, commanding over three hundred men tasked with maintaining order across the city and surrounding villages.
"Lord?" Abel's face brightened. "Do you need an escort?"
He had been entrusted with this responsibility only half a month prior, having stabilized his subordinates through a mixture of authority, wealth, and connections—a strategy learned directly from Eddard. It was remarkably effective. Abel even planned, inspired by tales of Daemon Targaryen, to give his brothers black cloaks emblazoned with a golden sun, instilling pride and purpose in their service—a lesson borrowed from Scholar Bennet's stories.
Eddard patted Abel's shoulder with a faint smile. "No need. Go do your duty. I only plan to visit the Black Cells; I'll be there shortly."
"Understood, my lord." Abel waved, preparing to continue the patrol. Passing Rollger and Theodore, he quietly added, "Protect the Lord. If anything happens, shout. Help will come quickly."
Theodore chuckled. "Got it, you're long-winded as always."
Rollger, more reserved as a newcomer to the North, whispered, "I understand, Lord."
The patrol left, and Rollger noticed a familiar figure wink at him—it was Jack, a recruit from the Banquet Hall now serving in the city guard. He had abandoned farming for this life, and Eddard had approved his choice.
"Let's go," Eddard said, smiling faintly. Abel's performance had impressed him, and he intended to reward him with a proper castle within his fief once matters were formalized.
About fifteen minutes later, they reached the Black Cells. The two guards at the entrance recognized Eddard immediately and raised no objection. Lando, their officer, came forward.
During the recent battle against the Reach army, Eddard had suffered almost no casualties. Lando, however, had been struck by an arrow. The wound did not pierce bone but left a large gash on his arm, now bandaged and in a sling. Despite his injury, he insisted on remaining at his post, managing the prison personally. The job was simple, the pay generous, and with Eddard's backing, none dared challenge him.
"Lord? Who do you wish to see? I'll fetch him," Lando asked eagerly.
"No need. Where is Jaime Lannister? Take me to him."
Eddard's smile was faint but approving. Lando was perfect for the task—patient, able to endure isolation, and capable of handling dangerous prisoners.
"Right this way," Lando said, lifting an oil lamp from the wall. The flickering light illuminated the damp stone stairwell as they descended two flights. The Black Cells were constructed of thick stone and iron, designed to isolate prisoners completely. Even in the lamp's glow, darkness clung to the corners.
At last, they reached Jaime Lannister's cell. A dark silhouette leaned against the wall. The prisoner raised an arm to shield his face from the light and then spoke.
"So, it's the Karstark boy. Planning to avenge your brother? Then hurry up—I tire of moving from cell to cell." His voice was hoarse, yet his green eyes gleamed mischievously in the light. Despite his tattered clothes and unkempt beard, Jaime Lannister mocked his captivity with fearless bravado.
Eddard's expression remained neutral. "I'm curious. Last time I passed Riverrun, your conditions weren't as dire as they are now. What changed?"
Jaime's eyes sparkled. "Want to know? I'll need a jug of wine—preferably Arbor vintage—to tell a proper story."
Eddard shook his head. "No wine. But I can guess. Lady Catelyn intended to release you, escorted by Brienne, to exchange for her daughters and broker a truce between Stark and Lannister. But the plan failed, and you were caught before leaving Riverrun, correct?"
"By the Seven Gods, you know everything! Why ask then?" Jaime laughed. "Fine. Lady Stark came at night, forcing me to swear oaths and release her. But I ran into that two-meter-tall fool. Edmure blamed me for bewitching his sister. And your new king? He claims I tried to escape dishonorably. Should I have stayed in the tower and rotted?"
"And no wine?" he asked with mock indignation.
"No." Eddard shook his head and prepared to leave. He had come only to verify Catelyn Tully's intentions after the Ironborn attack on the North. Even if her sons survived, they were vulnerable to further assault.
Jaime called after him. "Leaving already? Not planning to avenge your brother? Northerners have no tradition of blood for blood? Or are you a monster with no concept of family?"
Eddard stopped, his grey-blue eyes mocking. "Jaime Lannister, you fear nothing because your life lacks meaning. Honor is worthless to you. Responsibility? You know nothing of it." He raised the lamp, illuminating the Kingslayer completely. "Aside from meeting your sister in secret and producing three bastards, have you done anything proper?"
"That's a rumor! And you—defeated foe—have no right to judge me! I was fifteen, the youngest Kingsguard in Westeros. Give me a sword!"
Jaime lunged against his chains, the iron clanging. Eddard's smile remained warm but resolute. "You have no secrets from me."
Shock crossed Jaime's face. How does he know?
"I know you threw Bran from the tower. I know about you and your sister—the first time in a squalid inn in Eel Alley. I know how you deceived Tyrion and humiliated Tessa unjustly."
Even his beard could not hide his astonishment. His mind raced, unable to formulate a rebuttal.
"Perhaps you think killing Aerys made you a hero. You're merely impulsive, arrogant, and skilled only in killing. A white-haired old man? You could not control him, only kill. Your bravery is misplaced, your schemes shallow. You cannot manipulate me."
Jaime stood silently, his spine slumping against the damp wall.
"Why do you know these things?" he whispered, horrified.
Eddard's reply was calm but cutting. "Dragons exist in this world, so there are other powers beyond a sword. Your skill, your life, your fate—they mean nothing to me. Even as a tourney champion and Kingsguard, you are a fool without mercy or honor. I am Eddard Karstark, Lord of River Crossing, Lord of Twin River City."
Jaime's green eyes flickered with ruthlessness, bloodlust, astonishment, and fear. Finally, he released the bars and retreated into darkness, speechless.
Eddard laughed softly. Provoke me, and you will run the moment you see me.
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