The autumn breeze ruffled the banners atop the gargantuan walls of Harrenhal. The black sunburst of Karstark and the golden sun of the Crossing now flew where the Lannister lion had once prowled. Below, a cacophony of the Common Tongue and the harsh, guttural syllables of the Old Tongue rose from the base of the fortifications.
Carriages flowed through the massive gates in a continuous stream. They entered empty and left laden with enormous blocks of black stone, hauling the debris toward the burgeoning military camp outside the city. When Tywin Lannister had occupied the fortress, he had built a temporary camp to house twenty thousand Westerlands troops. After the "Blackfish" took the castle, he had reinforced it, but Eddard had more permanent plans.
Eddard stood on the ramparts, watching the orderly chaos below. His idea was simple: he was renovating the outer camp into a proper stone-walled garrison. The materials were being harvested from the castle itself. Harrenhal's five spires, towers so tall they once pierced the clouds were mostly ruins, their upper reaches melted by dragonfire centuries ago.
To Eddard's practical mind, these towers were a liability. The Dreadfort, Crying Tower, Widow's Tower, and Wailing Tower served little purpose other than to look imposing. Their cost of maintenance was staggering, and they were inefficient for defense. He had ordered the giants and the Free Folk to dismantle them from the top down.
Keeping only the central King's Tower as a command hub, he planned to equip its summit with four brass telescopes, a bell system, and heavy ballistas. It would be the finest watchtower in the Seven Kingdoms.
Inside the city, the Free Folk women and children were busy cleaning. Every cobweb, bat roost, and nest of vermin was being cleared out of the dark corners. Meanwhile, the men and the two hundred giants labored on the scaffolding, moving stones that would have required a hundred horses to budge.
"Ned, a letter from White Harbor. Cregan sent it," Sansa Stark said as she approached him.
The Riverlands climate was much kinder than the North's. Sansa wore a gown of fine silk that accentuated her graceful figure. Her chestnut-red hair was unbound, falling to her waist. Without a crown, she looked less like a Queen and more like the serene Northern maiden he had first met. Behind her stood her handmaidens and Brienne of Tarth, whose blue-enameled plate caught the pale sunlight.
Eddard took the letter, breaking the sunburst seal. He scanned the lines and let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Tywin is moving his pieces," Eddard said, turning to his wife. "He sent Tyrion to the Wall with three hundred soldiers, ostensibly to 'supervise' the Free Folk there. But it's a distraction. He's preparing to restart the war in the South."
Sansa's face turned pale. "War? What did Cregan say?"
"Petyr Baelish has summoned the Lords of the Vale in Robert Arryn's name," Eddard explained. "They're preparing to march on King's Landing to support the Iron Throne against Stannis. Lord Royce, 'Bronze Yohn' leaked the news to Cregan. He doesn't want to fight for the Lion."
Eddard smiled. Royce was a clever old noble. He couldn't defy a direct command from his liege, but he knew that if Stannis heard the news, the Dragonstone fleet would blockade Gulltown, preventing the Vale from ever reaching the capital.
Sansa's hands began to tremble as she held the parchment. "Why would Aunt Lysa do this? She knows the Lannisters are our enemies. She knows they killed my father!"
Eddard stepped forward and pulled Sansa into a steadying embrace, patting her back. "Lysa is a Tully in name only, Sansa. She is being steered by Littlefinger. I told you before: the Arryns are not our friends. We can only rely on our own steel."
Under his comfort, Sansa's breathing slowed. "Will the Riverlands be in danger?"
"Always," Eddard replied. "If Tywin wants to crush Stannis, he has to keep us pinned down. He'll try to reclaim the Golden Tooth first."
He turned to Dita Calandre, who was waiting nearby. "Go. Find Lando. Tell him I need him immediately."
Watching Dita depart, he looked back at Sansa. "Write to the Blackfish at the Golden Tooth. Tell him to double the watch and expect a Westerlands probe. Tywin won't leave that gold mine in our hands for long."
"Should I summon the Riverlords to Harrenhal?" Sansa asked.
"Not yet. They need to harvest their crops. An extra month of grain is worth more than a thousand tired soldiers right now. We let them rest while we build our strength here."
Eddard's plan for Harrenhal was ambitious. He had requested every blacksmith in the Crossing to report to the fortress and purchased massive quantities of steel from Saltpans and Seagard. He had five thousand Free Folk soldiers to arm. While they weren't as disciplined as the Lannister veterans, they were excellent light infantry, vicious in a skirmish and terrifying in a pursuit.
More importantly, there were the giants.
Eddard was designing custom armor for the two hundred behemoths, heavy iron plates to protect their throats, chests, and thighs, paired with massive iron-clad shields. He didn't want them carrying swords; a thirty-pound shield swung by a giant was more effective than any blade.
He was also spending time with Styr and "Strong Marga," the giant leader, trying to learn the Old Tongue. He found that his transmigrated mind was remarkably sharp at picking up languages. Once he could communicate, he could finally integrate the giants into the System.
Dita and Lando arrived on the wall. Eddard met them with a serious expression.
"Dita, Lando. Take your cavalry. I want hidden outposts every ten kilometers along the Golden Road. Watch King's Landing. If a single Gold Cloak marches, I want to know before they clear the city gates."
"Yes, My Lord," they replied in unison.
As they left, Eddard stared south. He had to inform Stannis about the Vale's movement. The last exchange with the Baratheon king had been infuriating, Stannis had spent three pages demanding fealty and renunciation of crowns before even acknowledging the threat of the Others.
Stubborn man, Eddard thought. But we're on the same side of the wall, whether he likes it or not.
Eddard walked down from the ramparts, his mind already drafting the next letter. This wasn't just a war for a throne anymore; it was a war for survival.
[System Notification: Dominion 'Harrenhal' renovation progress: 15%.]
[Unit Training: 800 Personal Guards (Frost Guard tier) initiated.]
[New Strategic Intelligence: Vale Mobilization detected.]
[Soul Power Gained (Fortification): 150 SP.]
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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