The Twins.
The afternoon sun was no longer the scorching tyrant it had been in the height of summer. Instead, it cast a warm, honey-hued glow over the stone towers, a gentle herald of the approaching autumn. In the Great Hall, the scent of lavender and lye soap struggled to mask the lingering, metallic tang of the blood that had soaked into the floorboards only hours before.
Eddard sat in Walder Frey's favorite ebony chair, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings of the twin towers on the armrests. He looked down at the fifty men kneeling before him. They were the first wave, carefully winnowed from three hundred captives by Abel's sharp eyes and the System's unwavering judgment.
As Eddard had commanded, these were the men with no blood ties to the weasels of the Crossing. They were the muscle and the sweat of the Riverlands, men who had sold their spears for coin or were bound by land-taxes to a family they likely despised. More importantly, their wives, children, and parents lived within the shadow of these very walls.
The captives were uneasy. They huddled together, their mouths un-gagged but their voices silenced by a fear that bordered on the religious. Rumors had been flying through the alleys of the Twins like wildfire: the young Karstark lord was a sorcerer who could summon the wrath of the heavens and read a man's sins just by looking at his shadow.
Eddard tapped the table, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. "Gentlemen," he began, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "You have seen the blood. You have seen the fall of the men who thought they could play the North for fools. No one desires this slaughter, least of all me."
He was dressed simply today, a black robe with the Karstark sunburst, the battle-axe leaning against the chair. Beside him sat a lacquered black wooden box, its lid closed but its contents whispered about.
"I will be plain with you," Eddard continued. "The Freys tore up their oaths. They betrayed the King who fought for your lands. They chose the Lion's gold over the Wolf's honor. But the war is not over. Even as we speak, an army marches up the King's Road. They serve Randyll Tarly, and I assure you, they will not be as disciplined as my Northmen. If the gates fall to them, the looting and the burning will not distinguish between a Frey loyalist and a common miller."
He paused, letting the fear of the "Broken Men" and the Tarly host sink in.
"I need men to hold these walls. I need men who care about the lives of the people in this city."
With a sudden movement, Eddard flipped the lid of the black box. The sunlight hit the contents, sending a blinding golden shimmer across the faces of the captives. The collective gasp was audible.
"Walder Frey was a man who lived to count his pennies while his people starved," Eddard said. "I am not that man. If you stand with me, if you help me repel the enemy, I will grant you your freedom and five gold dragons. If you are wounded, the price is ten. If you fall, I swear by the Old Gods and the New that your family will receive fifteen dragons as a pension and a permanent home inside the safety of the Twins."
The hall erupted into a frantic murmur. Five gold dragons was more than a peasant might earn in ten years of backbreaking toil. It was the price of a small farm, a herd of cattle, a life of dignity.
Abel and Matthew stood behind Eddard, their hands on their hilts. A heavy chopping block and a wicker basket sat to the side, a silent reminder of what happened to those who chose the wrong path. Eddard waited, his eyes scanning the crowd, half-hoping for a "chicken" to step forward so he could make an example.
But the fear of the wizard was stronger than the defiance of the soldier. No one spoke until Eddard pointed to the tenth man in the front row - a lean, dark-complexioned youth with calloused hands.
The man stood up, his knees shaking but his gaze fixed on Eddard. He bowed low. "I am Rollger of Water Mill Town, My Lord. I am twenty-one. I don't know much about kings or alliances, but not long ago, you killed the bandits who murdered my sister. You avenged her when the Freys wouldn't even send a scout."
He took a shaky breath. "Even if it's just to pay back that debt, I'll fight for you."
[System Notification: Warrior 'Rollger' offers loyalty.][Recruit? Yes/No]
Eddard selected 'Yes'.
[Unit: Rollger][Loyalty: Average]
[Reason: 1. Captive status. 2. Avenge Sister (Ch 40). 3. Financial Incentive.]
[Riverlands Troop Tiers Unlocked: River Fisherman -> Riverlands Soldier -> Torrent Warrior -> Tideguard -> Ice Rain Retainer.]
Eddard noted the "Ice Rain Retainer" tier. It seemed the Riverlands units gained massive morale and agility bonuses when fighting in the damp, muddy conditions of the Trident.
"A debt of blood is the only one that truly matters, Rollger," Eddard said with a faint smile.
He signaled Abel, who stepped forward to cut Rollger's bonds. As the man rubbed his numbed wrists, Eddard tossed a gleaming gold dragon toward him. Rollger caught it with a look of pure shock.
"That is your advance," Eddard said. "Go to the Eastern barracks. You'll be fed and armed by sunset."
The sight of the gold acted like a spark in a hayloft. Within the hour, the "wizard's recruitment" had turned into a surge. Eddard spent the afternoon reviewing 128 men who met his criteria.
The System was ruthless. Whenever a man stood up with "Very Poor" loyalty, Eddard could see the red text: [Intent: Take the gold and desert at the first opportunity.] Those men were sent back to the cells.
Worse were the three men with "Extremely Poor" loyalty: [Intent: Sabotage the gates and lead Tarly's vanguard into the city.] These Frey loyalists weren't executed, Eddard was still avoiding unnecessary martyrdom but they were placed in heavy shackles and assigned to the most backbreaking labor on the walls. They would spend the siege moving heavy stones and boiling pitch under the watchful eyes of the Wolfguards, fed only enough to keep them from collapsing.
By dusk, the Twins had a new soul.
The Karstark garrison had nearly doubled. Eddard had spent the Frey's gold to buy the people's silence and the soldiers' lives. He had opened the warehouses, distributing salted fish and grain to the commoners, ensuring that they saw the change in leadership as a blessing, not a curse.
Night fell over the Green Fork, and the torches of the sentries began to twinkle along the battlements. Abel brought a bowl of thick, white fish soup and a plate of mutton sausages to the solar.
"The warehouses are full of bolts, My Lord," Abel reported between bites. "Walder was prepared for a long siege, even if he didn't expect it to be against his own walls. We have enough food for months, and enough crossbows to turn the bridge into a pincushion."
Eddard sipped the savory broth, the heat of the soup warming his bones. He looked out the window toward the South.
Randyll Tarly was coming. The man who had defeated Robert Baratheon was marching toward a bridge held by a "wizard" and 500 desperate men.
"Let him come," Eddard whispered to the dark. "I have more gold than he has patience, and I have magic he hasn't even begun to dream of."