The simple banquet at the Twins concluded with the removal of the grease-stained platters, leaving the air heavy with the scent of roasted meat and the sharp tang of Arbor Red. Without a moment's delay, the two men retreated to the solar of the River Tower to begin the true business of the day: the cold, arithmetic exchange of souls.
Whether it was the Iron Throne, currently the most powerful seat in Westeros, or the North, a kingdom fractured by invasion and betrayal, time had become the most expensive commodity of all. Every hour spent bickering over copper was an hour lost in the race against winter. Tyrion wanted to leave this unsettling fortress and return to the relative safety of King's Landing. Eddard wanted to secure the resources necessary to allow the North and the Riverlands to breathe, giving him the space to eventually crush the Ironborn and the Boltons.
And beyond the human wars, Eddard knew the clock was ticking. According to the timeline he carried in his head, tens of thousands of Wildlings were already gathering to strike the Wall. The Others, the true winter were no longer a bedtime story. Unless this autumn proved to be a multi-year anomaly, the world was about to run out of daylight.
Inside the study, under the flicker of high-quality tallow candles, Eddard and Tyrion spoke of lords and knights as if they were nothing more than sacks of grain or bolts of silk.
The two argued with a vehemence that saw spit flying across the table. They debated the value of each "good" to the extreme, citing ancient precedents and obscure chronicles. At one point, Eddard claimed that Jaime Lannister had once joked at a tourney that a knight's life was worth three hundred gold dragons. Tyrion immediately countered with a passage from Fire and Blood, proving that during the Targaryen regencies, even a prince with the blood of the dragon wasn't valued at such an exorbitant rate.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the darkness of the river-lands pressed against the windows, the skeleton of a deal finally emerged.
Tyrion's primary goal was to ransom the captured lords of the Westerlands and the Reach, along with their household knights. He needed them back in their halls, providing the taxes and pikes required to stabilize the realm and repel Stannis Baratheon's sudden invasion of the Reach.
Eddard's goal was simpler: he wanted his own men back. But since Robb Stark remained undefeated on the field, the "Hostage Math" was heavily in Eddard's favor. He had hundreds of high-born prisoners; the Lannisters had only a handful of Northern lords.
"Count for count, knight for knight," Eddard said, his voice raspy from hours of talking. "For the remaining names on your list, I do not want gold. I want grain. I want livestock, cattle, sheep, and salt-pork. I want ten thousand sets of heavy wool quilts and five hundred command-grade tents."
Tyrion drained his cup and cleared his throat, his mismatched eyes squinting in the candlelight. "Lord Eddard, you must understand... King's Landing has half a million mouths to feed. The Blackwater is a sieve. I cannot pay you in bread and beef. My father will let me pay you in gold. More gold than your Karhold ancestors have seen in three centuries. Take the coin."
Tyrion knew the value of things. Gold was easy to transport. A few ships could carry a million dragons. But the supplies Eddard demanded thousands of wagons or a massive fleet of merchant cogs would take months to coordinate. In a world where the seasons were turning, gold was a luxury; grain was life.
"Lord Lannister," Eddard replied, his expression flat. "King's Landing might be hungry, but the Reach, Dorne, and the Vale have enjoyed a decade-long summer. Their granaries are bursting. Are they not loyal allies of the Lion? Will they sit idly by while their brothers-in-arms rot in my cells for the sake of a few bushels of wheat?"
Eddard's logic was ironclad. For the North and the ravaged Riverlands, hard currency couldn't fill a stomach during a blizzard.
Tyrion feigned a look of puzzled innocence. "The Vale? How is the Vale an ally of the Iron Throne? Lady Lysa has closed the Bloody Gate to everyone."
He was probing, trying to see if Eddard had ears in the capital. The secret relationship between Petyr Baelish and Lysa Tully was a closely guarded secret of the Small Council.
Eddard slammed his wine cup onto the table, the sound echoing like a hammer blow. "Enough, Tyrion. I went out to meet you in the mud. I fed you my best wine. Your brother killed mine at the Whispering Wood, yet I treat you with the respect of an envoy. And yet, you persist in treating me like a fool."
His eyes turned into chips of blue ice. "If you wish to become a bargaining chip yourself, keep lying. I imagine Tywin would be happy to send a more... honest negotiator to take your place."
The threat was naked and cold. Tyrion raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but his heart felt as if it had been dunked in the Green Fork. He knows, Tyrion realized. There is a spy in the Council. Is it Pycelle? The Spider? Or is Littlefinger playing both sides again?
"Alright, alright," Tyrion stammered, wiping sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. "Your terms for the minor lords are accepted. I will write to my father and advise him to agree. Now... let us discuss the high-tier trades. Sansa Stark and the sword Ice."
Tyrion pointedly did not mention Arya. The news of the younger Stark girl's disappearance from the Red Keep was the Lannisters' most shameful secret. He didn't want to find out what the "Winter Wizard" would do if he learned they had lost his future King's sister.
"What do you offer for a Princess and a Valyrian blade?" Eddard asked.
"My uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister," Tyrion said. "And preferential treatment for my brother, Jaime."
"I refuse," Eddard said instantly. "Sansa Stark and Ice are worth Ser Kevan. Nothing more."
"Lord Eddard, please-"
"Stop calling me 'Lord', Tyrion. It sounds like an insult coming from you. Call me Eddard. Or Karstark."
Tyrion nodded, his sincerity showing for the first time. "Eddard, then. My father told me specifically not to care about Jaime's fate. He considers a Kingsguard to be a spent asset. But he is my brother. I cannot leave him to decay in a hole for a decade. Name a price for his comfort. Not his freedom, just his dignity."
Eddard's mouth twitched. He almost felt for the dwarf. "Your brother killed mine, Tyrion. He is lucky to have a head."
"Ten thousand gold dragons," Tyrion pressed. "On top of all the grain and livestock. Ten thousand dragons just to give him a room with a window, three meals with meat, and clean bedding."
Eddard leaned back, a strange thought occurring to him. He needed more Soul Power, and he needed items of power. "Fifty thousand gold dragons. And I want the head of the Black Dread."
Tyrion froze. "Balerion's skull? The one from the cellars?"
"Thirty thousand gold, and the dragon's head. Anything less, and Jaime stays in the dark."
"Deal!" Tyrion shouted, before Eddard could change his mind. He didn't know why a Karstark wanted a dusty old dragon bone, but for Jaime's sake, it was a bargain.
"I will discuss it with King Robb," Eddard added. "The final word is his."
Eddard stood up, signaling the end of the session. "I'll have Bennett prepare the parchment for your letters. You'll stay in the East Tower. Don't wander at night; the Twins has a strict curfew, and my guards aren't as polite as I am. If they see a Lannister in the shadows, they might decide to collect a trophy for their Lord."
Tyrion rose, his short legs stiff from the long meeting. "Understood. I shall be the model of a quiet guest. Oh, and one last thing... a personal suggestion from my father."
"Speak."
"He asks if you would consider a marriage to my sister, the Queen Regent Cersei. She is still the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, fertile, and-"
"I refuse," Eddard said, not even slowing his pace as he walked toward the door. "I've seen your sister's 'loyalty,' Tyrion. I'd rather not have my helmet stained green. I'll stick with Sansa; at least she's still a virgin."
Tyrion watched him go, a wry smile touching his lips. He poured himself one last glass of wine. Neither man had mentioned "peace." They both knew this was merely a pause, a moment to reload their scorpions and sharpen their axes.
Soon, the ravens took flight, carrying the terms of the "Lion and the Sun" to the ends of the continent. While he waited for the replies, Eddard began drafting the plans for a new military academy on the west bank. If the Lannisters were going to give him gold and dragon bones, he was going to use them to build an army that would make the Great Lion weep.
[System Notification: Negotiation Phase 1 Complete.]
[Agreement Reached: The 'Balerion's Debt' protocol.]
[Unique Item Acquired (Pending): Skull of Balerion the Black Dread.]
[Soul Power Potential: Immense.]
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