Although he didn't fully understand why Tyrion Lannister's fate had shifted so dramatically in this timeline, Eddard still sent an envoy to invite him to his tent for a conversation. As the son-in-law of House Stark and a Lord of the Crossing, he certainly couldn't send his soldiers to slaughter a Night's Watch recruitment team, even one led by a dwarf and a sellsword.
A reputation for upholding honor was still a currency Eddard intended to spend wisely. Only beasts like Amory Lorch or monsters like Gregor Clegane actively made trouble for the Night's Watch. However, this didn't mean he would remain indifferent and allow Tywin Lannister's northern gambit to succeed. Causing a bit of friction was always a sound tactical choice, and the key figure was Tyrion.
"Lord Eddard, you see, people's prejudice against Tyrion is always so strong," Tyrion said, letting out a heavy, wine-tinged sigh.
He sat across from Eddard, looking particularly small in the oversized Karstark camp chair. He had just finished a brief, bitter summary of his "trial" in King's Landing. "I clearly had no motive to murder my nephew, yet people were eager to see a Lannister half their height lose his head. I suppose the black cloak is better than the axe, though the climate is a bit of a downgrade."
Tyrion was being uncharacteristically cautious, taking only tiny sips from his wine glass to ensure he remained sharp in the presence of the "Winter Wizard."
"Most people hold a peculiar malice toward those who are different, Tyrion," Eddard replied, echoing the sentiment. He waved his hand, signaling a maid, borrowed from Sansa's retinue to refill Tyrion's glass the moment it touched the table. "But let us dispense with the titles. You are a brother of the Watch now; just call me Eddard."
"Alright, then I won't be polite, Eddard," Tyrion responded, accepting the refill. He knew Eddard was trying to loosen his tongue, but under the gaze of a thousand Free Folk and Karstark veterans, he didn't have much room to refuse.
"Come, another drink," Eddard said, draining his own cup. A faint flush touched his cheeks. "Once, at a tavern in White Harbor, I met a minstrel who claimed to have traveled through the Westerlands. For a few silver stags, he told me a poignant love story involving a Lannister. Tyrion, would you be interested in hearing it?"
Tyrion's heart skipped a beat. For some reason, the combination of his name and the word "love" felt like a cold finger touching his spine. He drained his cup in one gulp this time. "Of course."
"Then I shall make a fool of myself," Eddard smiled. "The story begins with a fourteen-year-old girl. She was a farmer's daughter, her father having died of fever, leaving her alone in the world. Misfortune followed her. As she tried to make a living on the streets, she was targeted by two beasts who intended to do her harm in broad daylight."
Tyrion stared blankly. "Is that so? What happened next?"
The opening was terrifyingly familiar. He glanced toward the corner of the tent where Bronn was feasting. The sellsword shook his head, indicating he had never shared the story of Tyrion's first wife.
"Next, the girl's fate turned," Eddard continued. "Two noble youths on tall horses saved her. One was brave and strong, the elder brother who drove away the ruffians. The other was gentle. The girl fell in love with him, and they were married by a drunken septon. They lived for a time in a small cottage by the sea. The floor was packed earth, but they were happy."
Eddard paused as the maid refilled the wine. "But a noble cannot marry a farmer's daughter. The local Lord found them. He forced the girl to admit she was a prostitute. He even had his guards... take turns with her. The price was one silver stag per person. I can't remember the details clearly, it's just a story, isn't it, Tyrion?"
Tyrion's face had gone the color of grey ash. Crimson wine dripped from his lip, soaking into his black satin doublet, but he didn't notice. This was the story of Tysha. But in Jaime's version, Tysha was a prostitute hired by Jaime to "make a man" out of Tyrion. In Eddard's story, the girl was innocent, and the confession was forced by the Lord.
"By the way, Eddard," Tyrion said, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. "Did that minstrel mention the girl's name?"
"He did," Eddard said. He had been waiting for the hook. He tapped his forehead. "I believe it was... Tysha?"
Tyrion's expression shattered. He stood up in a daze, his chair nearly flipping over. "Excuse me, Eddard. I'm... I'm a bit drunk. I must leave."
"No problem," Eddard said, watching the dwarf stumble toward the exit. "Have a good dream."
Tyrion's mind was a chaotic storm of truth and lies. If Eddard was lying, it was a masterstroke of psychological warfare meant to alienate him from Tywin. But how could he know about the cottage? Or the drunken septon? If Eddard was telling the truth, then Jaime, the only person Tyrion ever truly loved had participated in a lie that had broken his life.
Tyrion stopped at the tent flap and turned back, a fawning, desperate smile on his face. "Eddard, I haven't seen my brother in a long time. Our path to the Wall passes through Winterfell. Would you be willing to write a letter so that I might visit him?"
"No problem," Eddard smiled. "I'll have it delivered to you by dawn."
As Tyrion and Bronn left, Eddard's grin widened. He didn't know Tywin's exact plans for Tyrion at the Wall, but sowing this specific discord was better than any sword strike. Once Tyrion met Jaime and asked about Tysha, the "Lion's" internal unity would evaporate.
"Karas," Eddard commanded. "Tell the men to get ready. We move south toward the Trident tomorrow. We aren't going back to the Twins yet; we have a Queen to meet."
Stormlands. Storm's End.
Inside the Great Hall, the air was cold enough to turn breath into mist.
"Ser Davos, I ordered my maester to teach you to read for a reason," Stannis said, pointing a finger at a letter on the weirwood table. "Read it."
Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, squinted at the parchment. His pupils contracted as he processed the news. "Joffrey is dead?"
"The usurper is gone, just as Melisandre saw in the flames," Stannis added, his jaw set. "I suppose the court expects me to march into the city and thank them for the vacancy."
Melisandre, leaning against a stone pillar, laughed softly. "They will not, Your Majesty. Joffrey has a brother. They will crown Tommen and continue the lie in a child's name."
"Outrageous," Stannis growled, his fist slamming onto the table. "Tommen is a docile monster born of incest. Westeros needs a man, not a puppet in a gold crown."
"Your Grace," Melisandre tempted, her voice a purr. "Offer the blood of Robert's bastard, Edric Storm, and the stone dragon of Dragonstone will wake. King's Landing will be yours."
"Your Majesty!" Davos hurried forward, pulling another letter from his cloak. "There are twenty thousand men outside these walls. The fleet is ready. And now, we have a message from a potential ally. Why rely on blood when we have steel?"
Stannis looked at the letter with deep suspicion. "Allies?"
"Eddard Karstark, acting for House Stark," Davos explained, breaking the seal. "He writes that while dealing with the Wildlings at the Wall, he found evidence of Others, the ancient cold. He says they enslave the dead and that ordinary steel is useless against them."
Davos read on, "He says dragonglass is the only bane, and that Dragonstone has a mountain of it. He asks that you donate a few ships of it to the Night's Watch for the safety of the realm."
"Others?" Melisandre's eyes flared like embers. "The ancient adversary of the Lord of Light? The true war is beginning."
Stannis snatched the letter, his eyes scanning the signature. "The 'Queen Regent of the Trident'? What kind of title is this? After Robb died, these Northmen should have seen the truth and knelt to me. Instead, they crown more children."
"They don't claim the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace," Davos reminded him. "They want their home. If you show them the demeanor of a true King, they may yet fight for the name Baratheon. It is better than putting all your hope in a child like Edric."
Stannis looked at the hearth, the fire reflecting in his cold blue eyes. "Ser Davos... write a reply."
[System Notification: Narrative Pivot: The Dragon and the Stag.]
[Quest Updated: Procurement of Dragonglass (Status: Diplomatic Channel open).]
[Reputation with Stannis Baratheon: Wary Ally (Neutral).]
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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