As the sun dipped toward the horizon, thousands of tents of every shape and size had sprung up like mushrooms after a summer rain, forming a vast encampment outside Horn Hill. Soldiers were already settling in, their horses tethered, armor removed, and simple rations consumed. Many fell asleep immediately, their bodies weary from the long march, though a portion remained alert, preparing for the evening patrols that would stretch through the latter half of the night.
Several bonfires flared along the fortress's sole passage, casting long, flickering shadows across the surrounding terrain. Common folk, rounded up from the villages under Horn Hill's dominion, had been pressed into service by Kalas and his men. With axes and saws, they felled trees and cleared the area, their sweat and labor transforming the landscape into a rough staging ground for the impending siege.
Eddard, sitting cross-legged beside one of the bonfires with a steaming bowl of meat broth in hand, observed the activity around him. Beside him, several village elders mirrored his posture, though uneasily. They had never seen such a mass of well-fed warhorses, nor soldiers so brightly armored and disciplined. The young Lord of the Crossing, barely out of his teens, calmly allowed his subordinates to serve him, yet the authority in his quiet gaze silenced any hint of doubt or defiance.
"Approximately how many people are inside the castle?" Eddard asked, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.
One of the elders, white-haired and bearded, furrowed his brow. "Probably about two hundred, my lord. Most of the village's strongest young men have already been called to defend it."
An elderly man missing several teeth immediately countered, "Two hundred? No! I saw Lord Turner and Lord Bert's banners enter the castle, each accompanied by dozens of armed men. There were arrows and other supplies—more than two hundred, for certain!"
Another, his face marred with age spots, chimed in, "I saw them bring food too. They even snatched a few sheep and chickens from our village—not by Lord Bark's requisition team, but by their own soldiers." Realizing his wording might offend, he quickly added, "Not bastards, my lord, I meant noble lords."
Eddard merely nodded, taking in the information without comment. From his calculations, Horn Hill's defenders were most likely no more than four hundred soldiers in total. Not all of them were trained knights; most were militia—village men with some combat experience, led by a handful of veterans. Even with the two massive crossbows stationed on the walls, their ability to hold out against a determined siege was limited.
Outside Twin River City, Eddard had detained fewer than a hundred of House Bark's men, yet their concealment efforts were meticulous. Turner and Bert had each brought dozens of men inside the fortress, and combined with Bark's own household, they planned to hold Horn Hill long enough to negotiate favorable terms or await some unforeseen opportunity. They were not seeking death—they were playing for time.
Eddard's gaze swept over the city walls once more. In the dim firelight, he saw a narrow crack open in the iron-studded gate. A rider emerged, bearing House Bark's banner, and cautiously made his way down the gentle slope toward the encampment. Dozens of arrows were leveled at him, but he pressed on, shouting:
"I am Land. Bark, son of Ser Harlan, heir to Horn Hill! I hope Lord Marquis will grant mercy and hear me speak!"
Eddard, unmoved, sipped his meat broth, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. After several repeated shouts, he finally said to Kalas, "Go. Bring him here. I want to hear what these people are thinking."
Within minutes, Kalas returned, leading a young man. His hazel eyes flickered with what seemed like genuine respect, and his clean-shaven face betrayed neither fear nor arrogance. Despite his noble lineage, his tone was deferential, almost ingratiating.
"Lord Marquis, thank you for granting me this audience," Land said as he approached, kneeling low before the fire. "My father drew his sword against your orders. This was his mistake, and House Bark will not deny it. I have emptied the family treasury, offering over five hundred gold dragons and thirty warhorses in recompense. My father is prepared to don the black robes and go to The Wall to atone. Will you grant us mercy?"
Eddard remained silent, evaluating the young man. In Westeros, such offers were common; lords frequently spared offending vassals in exchange for money and loyalty. Robert Baratheon himself might have resolved the matter with a cordial meeting, perhaps over a drink, allowing both sides to save face. But Eddard was not Robert.
"If you are finished," Eddard finally said, voice flat, "leave. I am too lazy to kill you now. Your presence is not worth tarnishing my reputation."
Kalas stepped forward, preparing to roughly escort Land away.
"My Lord," Land Bark protested, "the Baratheon civil war is about to begin. King Robb still faces threats from the Ironborn and the rebellious Roose Bolton. At a moment like this, would you risk your troops on a minor rebellion such as ours?"
Eddard frowned briefly, recalling the rumors he had heard: Stannis had sent ravens exposing Joffrey's illegitimacy, and tensions across the kingdom were escalating. Civil war was indeed brewing. Yet internal distractions were not a reason for him to yield.
Kalas gripped Land by the arm, roughly shoving him forward. "Let him go," Eddard murmured to himself. "He'll learn soon enough that mercy can be earned—but not demanded."
As Land was hoisted by a rope, Eddard turned to the camp behind him. The common folk were already hard at work, felling trees and dismantling Bunnell's carriages, their efforts guided by the young lord himself. Siege preparations were underway.
By morning, Land Bark had been suspended for nearly twenty hours. The scorching sun beat down on him, and his throat parched for water. Kalas eventually shoved a water skin into his mouth, forcing him to swallow in quick, painful gulps.
Eddard approached him quietly, speaking in a low tone. "Good luck."
Land blinked, confused, only to see a massive battering ram being wheeled into position. It was constructed from Bunnell's carriage, reinforced with iron and wooden beams, and topped with a suspended log. Planks covered the top to protect the men who would push it, and the front bore crude iron hammers.
Eddard gestured to Karas Snow, who helped lower Land to the front of the battering ram. "Your life may persuade the city's defenders," Eddard said quietly, "but their loyalty will not bend easily."
Land Bark's face turned pale, realization dawning. He had prepared countless arguments for negotiation, yet now he saw them all crushed beneath the relentless efficiency of Eddard's preparations.
Archers formed two horizontal lines and advanced slowly, nocking arrows in unison. Ladders were distributed among teams of villagers, ready to surround the fortress. Eddard gripped Heartbreaker tightly, the firelight reflecting off its polished steel.
"My warriors!" he shouted, voice carrying across the encampment. "Attack the city!"
The siege of Horn Hill had begun.
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