The simple banquet concluded, and the two men turned their attention to the most critical matter: the exchange and ransom of prisoners.
Whether it was the Iron Throne, the seemingly unassailable power of the realm, or the North, currently reeling from war, time was far too precious to waste. Every moment spent in idle discussion was a risk. For Tyrion Lannister, the sooner this negotiation concluded, the sooner he could return to the relative safety of King's Landing. For Eddard Karstark, swift resolution meant the North and Riverlands could finally breathe, allowing him to turn his focus to the lingering threats of the Ironborn, Roose Bolton, and even the Wildlings.
Winter would arrive, and the Others would likely follow. By autumn, tens of thousands of Wildlings were expected to descend on the Wall, testing the northern defenses. And when the Others returned, there would be no time left for political games. Unless this autumn lasted unusually long—years, perhaps—both sides needed to act with precision.
Inside the study of Twin River City's tower, under the glow of bright lamplight, the discussion quickly descended into cold calculation. In the mouths of Eddard and Tyrion, no knight, no sworn sword, no lord was a living, breathing person. They were simply goods—currency for exchange, units of value to be bartered.
The two men argued vehemently, dissecting each name, citing jest, past deeds, and historical records to justify their valuations. Eddard insisted that Jaime Lannister, a knight of renown, was worth three hundred gold dragons based on a promise made at a tourney. Tyrion countered with a reference from Fire and Blood: History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, arguing that even a royal family member with Drogon's blood could not justify such a price. Eddard shot back with his own logic, and the debate stretched on, words sharp as arrows.
Time crept by. The sun rose, lingered high in the sky, and slowly descended. Daylight faded into twilight, and only then did the two men reach a tentative accord on most of the exchange terms.
Tyrion wanted to ransom the captured lords of the Westerlands and the Reach, along with their loyal retainers, to return them to their lands. Their service would strengthen the Iron Throne and help pacify the realm, keeping Stannis at bay. Eddard's priority was the captured Northern and Riverlands lords, though his numbers were fewer.
Beyond counting people, Eddard demanded grain, livestock, weapons, equipment, tents, and quilts. Winter was approaching, and the North could not afford to enter the season unprepared. Tyrion sipped his wine and considered his next move.
"Lord Eddard," he said, clearing his throat, "you know King's Landing has five hundred thousand mouths to feed. I cannot provide all this grain and supplies. Might I pay in gold instead?"
Gold was easier to move, easier to deliver, and far simpler to acquire than the vast stores of supplies the North required. A few ships could carry hundreds of thousands—or even millions—of gold dragons, while delivering grain, cotton, livestock, and weapons could take months, or a year, if the materials were scarce. If they had to be purchased from Essos, the costs would be astronomical.
Eddard sipped from his cup, expressionless. "I know King's Landing is not abundant in grain, but the Reach, Dorne, and the Vale have not suffered war. They have enjoyed long, prosperous summers and should have reserves aplenty. Are they not loyal allies? Will they idly watch while those who fought bravely languish in the black cells?"
The North had no use for gold in the coming months. Survival, provisions, and weapons mattered far more. Tyrion attempted to feign ignorance. "And the Vale—an ally of the Iron Throne?"
Eddard's lips curved in a faint, knowing smirk. "Lady Lysa Tully may not have sent troops against the Riverlands, but Petyr Baelish's intentions are ever difficult to predict. Don't you agree, Lord Lannister?"
Tyrion's heart sank. There was indeed a spy within the Red Keep. Could it be Pycelle? Or the bald spider himself? Or Littlefinger, ever hedging his bets? He could not tell. He continued to negotiate, masking his unease with politeness.
Eventually, discussion turned to the most delicate matter: Sansa Stark and her direwolf, Ice. Tyrion could not mention Arya; the girl's disappearance was already known in King's Landing, and Eddard's patience would not extend that far.
"What would you exchange her and Ice for?" Eddard asked. Beyond provisions and prisoners, he had one eye on leverage from King's Landing. Tyrion's mind raced.
"My uncle, Ser Kevan, and some measure of care for my brother Jaime," he said cautiously. He did not push further; the negotiation was already tilted against him.
Eddard shook his head. "Sansa Stark and Ice? That is worth only Ser Kevan. Nothing more."
Tyrion's discomfort grew. "Lord Karstark… may I call you Eddard?"
Eddard gave a curt nod, expression unchanged. "The terms remain the same. Sansa Stark and Ice for Ser Kevan alone. No other bargaining."
Tyrion offered gold to sweeten the deal, appealing to the Old and New Gods alike. "Ten thousand gold dragons. In addition to all supplies, let him have a proper room, meals, and clean bedding."
Eddard's response was merciless. "Fifty thousand gold dragons, plus the head of the Black Dread."
Tyrion blinked, stunned. Negotiation escalated quickly. They haggled briefly before settling: thirty thousand gold dragons plus the dragon's head, with Eddard agreeing to present the terms to the King. Tyrion exhaled in relief. Jaime's fate was secured.
Eddard put down his cup. "Next, letters must be sent to our kings for approval. Prepare the documentation, Scholar Bennett will assist you. Lodging will be arranged here. Do not wander the city at night. Twin River City enforces a curfew, and wandering guards are not lenient."
Tyrion nodded, understanding. He added, half in jest, "My father suggests you might consider marrying my sister, Queen Dowager Cersei. She is beautiful, fertile, and capable of bearing heirs."
Eddard's response was immediate. "I refuse." He shook his head and left the study without another glance.
Tyrion shook his head, pouring himself another glass of wine. The negotiation had been limited to prisoners, provisions, and temporary truces. There was no question of lasting peace—the North and Riverlands would not yield, and Tywin Lannister would never allow them to be independent.
Soon, ravens took flight, bearing letters to Winterfell and King's Landing. Tyrion stayed within the tower, keeping his men in check. Below, the soldiers of Twin River City were restrained only by the larger strategy; a moment's rashness could erupt in bloodshed.
Eddard Karstark, for the sake of the bigger picture, controlled himself. He also began planning a large camp west of Twin River City, capable of housing two thousand men, complete with training grounds for infantry, cavalry, and archers. The North was preparing for the inevitable.
Both sides knew it: today's negotiation was merely a pause between battles. The war would resume, and only the most brilliant strategies and cunning would decide the victor.
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