The survival of the Hill family and the total, bloody demise of House Smo immediately formed a stark contrast that the remaining lords of the Crossing could not ignore. Within a few days, the tale of the trial by combat had become the sole topic of conversation in the taverns and barracks of the Twins. It was a heavy stone cast into the stagnant pond of Frey politics, and the ripples were turning into waves.
The landed knights who had been placed under house arrest in the towers wasted no time. Realizing that Eddard was quite literally prepared to harvest their titles if they resisted, they sent word to their keeps. Heirs arrived in a frantic procession, bringing carts of gifts - fine silks, salted meats, and crates of silver and proactively inviting Eddard to send his "inspectors" to their lands.
One gloomy morning, as dark clouds brewed a heavy rainstorm over the Green Fork, Eddard held a formal assembly in the Banquet Hall.
The torches on the walls sputtered and hissed, struggling against the damp draft. The heirs of the twenty-eight families sat upright at the long wooden tables, each facing a thick, high-quality parchment. These were the new loyalty contracts, written in a neat, clinical hand by Scholar Bennett.
Worton Brown of Grassfield squinted at the dense text. He was a man built for the saddle and the spear, but when confronted with rows of writing that looked like "crooked tadpoles," his mind went blank. He nudged Ryan Hill, who sat beside him.
"What does this actually say, Ryan?" Worton whispered. The two had raided the Westerlands together and shared many a campfire; they trusted each other far more than they trusted the man on the dais.
Ryan Hill, who had spent the last few days in a state of high-alert survival, whispered back, "It means a total overhaul, Worton. Clause one: thirty percent of all harvests - grain, timber, wool goes to the Marquis. Same for the incidental income: fishing rights, hunting tolls, and trade taxes."
"Thirty percent?!" Worton hissed, his eyes bulging. "We used to pay a fixed tribute to the Freys. If we give up a third of everything, how do we pay our own men? How do we keep the horses fed?"
"Stop your whining. Look at the fine print," Ryan retorted. "He's abolished the head tax on the commoners. He wants us to focus on population growth and clearing more land. If the output doubles, your remaining seventy percent will be worth more than the old hundred. He's thinking about the long game."
"And the second clause?" Worton pointed to a particularly long paragraph.
"Legislative power," Ryan said, his voice turning somber. "From the moment we sign, all laws in the Crossing are dictated by Eddard Karstark. We keep the power of judgment for minor squabbles, but any crime involving a life or a limb must be sent to the Twins for the Marquis to decide."
Ryan leaned in closer, his voice a ghost of a sound. "And he's specifically banned the 'Right of the First Night.' He knows your father still uses it as a way to squeeze 'gifts' out of the wealthy farmers. He said if he catches word of it, it will be considered an act of rebellion. Remember what happened to the Smo family, Worton. Do you want to see if your neck is tougher than Orell Smo's?"
Worton Brown went silent, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. He looked at the young Marquis sitting in the ebony chair on the high platform. Eddard looked utterly indifferent, swirling a glass of dark wine while his grey-blue eyes swept the room like a hawk's.
The third and final clause was the simplest, yet most absolute: Any noble who answers the summons must unconditionally accept the assignments of their liege. No more "delaying actions," no more "defending the home front" while the King marched.
One by one, the heirs picked up their quills. Some were expressionless, some were trembling with a mix of fear and helplessness, but they all signed. They stamped the wax with their family seals, the pitchforks, the hills, the trees and surrendered their autonomy to the Sunburst.
Eddard watched the process with a quiet satisfaction. He knew these men wouldn't follow his rules in their hearts, not yet. But the first step of centralization was establishing the rule of law on paper. Once the precedent was set, it would eventually become custom. And if strength was the only guarantee of the contract, Eddard intended to remain very, very strong.
"My Lord, they are all collected," Scholar Bennett said, presenting the stack of signed parchments. The Maester looked pale; the memories of the Smo trial still haunted his sleep. He felt like he was walking on a floor made of thin glass.
Eddard reviewed the signatures and nodded. "Good. Now, gentlemen," he called out to the room, "I will need you to stay in the Twins for a few days more. I have a play prepared, and I require an audience. Once the final act is over, you may return home to your duties."
He clapped his hands, and the doors opened. This time, it wasn't soldiers who entered, but servants carrying steaming platters. The aroma of roasted trout from the Green Fork, beef legs slathered in gold-priced spices, and soft white bread spread with thick honey filled the hall.
"I am not as stingy as Walder Frey," Eddard said, raising his glass. "Enjoy the feast. In the future, there will be many more days like this, as long as you are obedient."
He drank the wine in one gulp and walked out, leaving the heirs to eat their "mercy" in silence.
Outside, Karas Snow was waiting. "My Lord, Earl Rickard is in the study. He wishes to see you before the departure tomorrow."
Eddard nodded and made his way to the River Tower. The study was a room of obscene luxury, gold-inlaid inkwells, jeweled candelabras, and an axe hanging on the wall with a handle of carved gold and a blade of fine red-tinted steel.
Lord Rickard Karstark stood before the wall, admiring the axe. He looked refreshed, his white beard trimmed and his massive shoulders squared. The grief for Toren was still there, but the victory and the marriage alliance with the Starks had given him a new purpose.
"Father," Eddard said.
Rickard turned, a genuine smile of pride on his face. "Eddard. Have you eaten?"
"A little." Eddard poured two glasses of strong Dornish wine.
They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the rising river echoing outside.
"I'm leaving for the North at dawn," Rickard said. "Are you sure you don't need the Karhold infantry? I can leave you a thousand men to make sure these Riverlords don't find their spines."
"No," Eddard said firmly. "Robb needs those men more. Moat Cailin and the Dreadfort are bigger threats than a few disgruntled knights. I have the situation here under control."
Rickard nodded, satisfied. He had given Eddard four hundred elite veterans and their families, a massive transfer of wealth and power that effectively established Eddard's own branch of the house.
"One more thing," Rickard said, leaning forward. "Let's talk about Karas Snow. Do you plan to keep him as your shadow forever?"
"He's my best man, Father. I was thinking of granting him a keep once the Smo lands are redistributed."
Rickard took a slow sip of his wine. "Then you must plan carefully. Karas isn't just any bastard, Eddard. He is the son of William Dustin. I have the letter William left before he rode to the Tower of Joy. Galbart Glover can confirm it."
Eddard raised an eyebrow, his mind immediately calculating the political fallout. "William Dustin? The Lord of Barrowton? Does Lady Barbrey know?"
"Whether she knows is irrelevant," Rickard said, his voice heavy. "I am reminding you because Karas is a living claim to Barrowton. If you make him a lord, you are inviting the wrath of the Dustins and the Ryswells. Use him well, but use him wisely."
Rickard stood up, patting Eddard's shoulder with a hand that felt like a block of oak. "I never thought I'd see the day our house produced another Lord south of the Neck. You've surpassed me, Ned. Come back to Karhold when the snows settle. Your sister misses you."
"I will, Father."
Eddard watched as Rickard walked out, his heart feeling a rare moment of warmth. But the revelation about Karas Snow lingered. He had a potential Lord of Barrowton serving as his bodyguard. In the Game of Thrones, that wasn't just a secret, it was a weapon.
[System Notification: Vassal Contracts signed.]
[Territory Control: Secured.]
[Secret Unlocked: The Heritage of Karas Snow.]
[Reputation with Lord Rickard: Max (Paternal Pride).]
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