Eddard sat beside Sansa in the Great Hall of Winterfell, his thumb repeatedly rubbing the smooth, cool surface of a piece of dragonglass the size of a mahjong tile. His eyes were fixed on the crowded, noisy assembly of lords, but his mind was elsewhere.
He hadn't personally witnessed Joffrey Baratheon's coronation in the Great Sept of Baelor, but he felt certain it hadn't been as stark or as somber as this. There were no gilded bands, no flower-strewn aisles, and no cheering smallfolk. There was only the smell of wet fur, stale ale, and the rhythmic clatter of boots against stone as the lords of two kingdoms came forward, one by one, to kneel in the dim torchlight.
The heavy oak doors groaned open, and Ser Brynden Tully, the Grand Marshal of the South, walked in with a swirl of wind and goose-feather snow. He shook his cloak, his face flushed a deep red from the biting cold. For a man of the Riverlands, the Northern winter was a physical assault. The long summer, ten years, two months, and sixteen days, according to the Citadel had made everyone soft. Now, the world was reminding them of the price of warmth.
Eddard noticed the Blackfish glance at him before taking his seat. Two days ago, after the memorial service for Robb, they had spoken atop the battlements.
"The ravens say Robb gave the throne of the Trident to Sansa," Brynden had asked, his voice muffled by his heavy wool cloak. "Is it true? Or is this a Karstark play for the river?"
"My Lord, I know the Tullys find this hard to swallow," Eddard had replied, eyes fixed on the obsidian in his hand. "But the will was witnessed and sealed by Lords Glover and Umber, and Lady Maege. My seal isn't even on the parchment."
A faint, almost imperceptible blue light had pulsed within the dragonglass then. Eddard looked up at the Blackfish. "If you suspect a forgery, ask Bran or Sansa. But don't come to me looking for an apology."
Brynden had sighed, the steam of his breath vanishing into the wind. "There's no need for that tone, Ned. My sister Catelyn is raging in her chambers, yes, but I believe Robb's will is the only thing that keeps us from a total collapse."
"Is that so?" Eddard had asked, surprised by the old knight's pragmatism.
"Edmure is a good man," Brynden explained hoarsely. "But he is a 'Trout.' He is better at being a friend than a master. If the situation were stable, he'd keep the Riverlands quiet for decades. But these are the days of the Lion and the Kraken. If Bran's legs were strong enough to ride between Winterfell and Riverrun, he could wear two crowns. If Rickon were even five years older, I'd back him. But none of those things are true. Sansa is the only Stark left with a clear path to the Trident."
Eddard understood. The Riverlords hadn't knelt to Robb because they loved the North; they knelt because they needed a King who could win. Robb had saved them from the Lannisters when the Iron Throne had abandoned them. Now that Robb was gone, they were technically rebels with nowhere to turn.
"They won't want a Queen, Lord Brynden," Eddard noted.
"They won't," Brynden agreed. "To my knowledge, only Tytos Blackwood and Jason Mallister haven't complained. The others are grumbling into their cups. They don't want a woman on the throne, and they certainly don't want a Karstark 'Wizard' as her Regent. But they've seen the Twins. They know you have the gold and the pikes. They'll endure it... for now."
Back in the present, Eddard looked at the camp fires burning ten miles outside the castle walls.
"Whether they accept her or not comes down to power," Eddard said softly to the Blackfish, who now sat nearby. "There are thirty thousand Free Folk in those camps. If I arm them and feed them, ten thousand will follow me to the Trident. And two hundred giants will march with them."
"Wildlings?" Brynden chuckled, though his eyes were wary. "I spent years guarding the Bloody Gate against the mountain tribes. They only know how to rob. Are you sure you can tame them?"
"I won't tame them," Eddard said. "I'll settle them. The riverbanks east of the Green Fork were ravaged by the Lannisters. They're empty. I'll give that land to the Free Folk. If they farm, they thrive. If they raid... I'll block the Ruby Ford and trap them between my cavalry and the Neck."
Brynden rubbed his jaw. "Perhaps you should settle them at Harrenhal. Robb gave me the castle to manage, but not as a fief. If Sansa is Queen, she needs a seat that looks like a throne. Harrenhal is a King's castle."
Eddard considered the "cursed" ruins of Harrenhal. Between the Three-Eyed Raven in his dreams and the magic in his veins, he wasn't afraid of ghosts. "I've heard the Freys' hidden wealth, over six hundred thousand gold dragons would be enough to repair the towers."
Eddard agreed to the suggestion, and Sansa, resplendent in a gown of silver silk and a crown of wavy gold bands set with emeralds, offered a small nod of approval.
The ceremony reached its peak. Lord Tytos Blackwood stepped forward first.
[Unit: Tytos Blackwood.]
[Title: Lord of Raventree Hall.]
[Loyalty: Very Good.]
[Reason: 1. Dislikes female rulers, but values stability. 2. Respects your shared combat history in the West. 3. Recognizes the supernatural power you wield. 4. Loyal to House Stark's legacy.]
As Tytos knelt, Eddard felt the shift in the System's feedback.
[Identity Updated: Regent (Queen of the Trident).]
[Personal Guard Slots: 1000 / 2000.]
Next was Jonos Bracken, the Lord of Stone Hedge. His face was a mask of grim resentment, his brown eyes darting toward Eddard with a flicker of pure venom.
[Unit: Jonos Bracken.]
[Title: Lord of Stone Hedge.]
[Loyalty: Very Poor.]
[Reason: 1. Resents a female ruler. 2. Enraged by your rejection of the marriage proposal for his daughter, Alysanne. 3. Believes he is being marginalized in favor of the Blackwoods.]
Bracken had approached Eddard the previous night, offering his total support for Sansa if Bran were betrothed to his daughter. Eddard had refused instantly. To appease a Bracken was to alienate a Blackwood, and Tytos Blackwood had already proven his loyalty on the battlefield. Eddard chose the veteran over the schemer.
One by one, the others followed: Karyl Vance, the Mutons, the Mallisters, the Pipers, and the Smallwoods. Nearly a hundred lords and landed knights swore fealty to the "Queen of the Trident" and her Karstark Regent.
It was a dizzying influx of data. Eddard felt like he was back in his previous life, staying up all night playing grand strategy games, watching the rows of vassal portraits and map colors shift. Most were rated as "Average" loyalty, a result of the Tully influence and the sheer terror of Eddard's reputation. Edmure Tully had publicly pledged his support, and where the Trout swam, the Riverlords generally followed.
As the sun set on the final day of 299 AC, the coronation ceremony concluded. The year of the Five Kings was ending in blood and ice.
"It's finished," Sansa whispered, her hand finding Eddard's under the table. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm.
"No," Eddard replied, looking toward the dawn of 300 AC. "Tomorrow is our wedding. The real work is only just beginning."
[System Notification: Year 299 AC Concluded.]
[Status: Regent of the Trident / Lord of the Crossing.]
[Current Soul Power: 1,312 SP.]
[Dominion: Riverlands (Stabilizing).]
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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