Eddard had long anticipated the true purpose behind Stannis Baratheon's journey to Harrenhal. He did not believe for a second that the stubborn King had endured the nausea of a coronation for a "rebel" out of some burgeoning friendship. Stannis was a man of iron and duty; if he was holding his nose and sitting at a Karstark table, it was because the fires of the Reach were burning too hot to ignore.
Eddard glanced at Sansa, who was managing the lingering lords with a grace that made his heart swell with a quiet pride. "I'll leave the festivities to you, my Queen," he whispered. After receiving an affirmative nod, he rose and gestured for the Southern delegation to follow.
The study in the Kingspyre Tower was a refuge of cold stone and flickering tallow. Once Stannis, Davos, and Melisandre were seated, the pleasantries evaporated.
"Lord Eddard, time is a luxury the Reach no longer possesses," Davos began, his voice weary. "The Iron Fleet has moved beyond their familiar rocks. They are ravaging the Mander. Highgarden has officially sought the protection of the Iron Throne. This is the moment for our two houses to coordinate and extinguish the 'Crow's Eye' for good."
"An excellent sentiment, Lord Davos," Eddard replied, leaning back in his chair. He studied the Onion Knight. In a world of vipers, Davos was a rare find—a man of genuine gratitude and unshakeable loyalty. "But the North does not bleed for the Reach for free. I assume Highgarden has offered more than just a 'thank you' for the King's intervention?"
Eddard turned his gaze to Stannis. "They've offered submission, haven't they?"
"Yes," Stannis replied, his jaw set. He loathed the necessity of the admission, but he loathed lying even more. To Stannis, a lie was a stain on the soul. "Mace Tyrell has acknowledged my claim. He seeks to trade his daughter's future for his family's survival."
"Then congratulations are in order, Your Grace," Eddard said with a mocking tilt of his head. "You gain a kingdom without a single siege. So... you want my ships to help clear your new subjects' waters?"
"I do," Stannis said. "What is your price?"
Eddard leaned forward, interlocking his fingers. "Two conditions. First, the White Harbor fleet will assist the Reach in exchange for a massive grain endowment. Not just a gift, but a permanent right to purchase grain at a fixed, fair price. Lord Manderly will handle the specifics with Lord Tyrell. The North will not endure another winter of 'Wolf Pack' mercs fleeing to Essos because their children are starving."
Eddard knew the history: in lean years, Northern veterans would form suicide squads to fight in the Free Cities just to leave one less mouth to feed at home. He would not let that history repeat.
"Agreed," Davos said, patting his chest. "I will ensure Mace Tyrell understands that grain is the price of his life."
"Second," Eddard continued, his eyes narrowing, "the Alchemists' Guild. I need them."
Davos blinked in surprise. "The pyromancers? Hallyne came to me recently, boasting of the power of Wildfire. It's an unstable, treacherous substance, My Lord. Why would you want those madmen?"
Eddard's mouth twitched into a cold smile. "Because Tyrion Lannister left me a very interesting piece of intelligence. It seems there are thousands of jars of Wildfire hidden beneath the Dragonpit, the Red Keep, and even the Great Sept. Cersei intended to use them against you if the blockade held. Now, that city is sitting on a tinderbox that could turn King's Landing into a crater the moment a candle falls."
The blood drained from Davos's face. Even Stannis's deep blue eyes widened with a rare, visceral shock.
"Find them," Stannis commanded, his voice a vibrating growl of fury. "Every jar. Every drop. And then, pack the pyromancers and their filth onto a ship. Send them to the Wall. I want that substance out of my city and in the hands of the Night's Watch. Let them use it on the dead."
Eddard nodded, satisfied. He had just cleared a major threat from the capital while providing Jon Snow with a "tactical nuke" for the Others.
"When can the White Harbor fleet weigh anchor?" Stannis pressed.
"I've already sent the raven to White Harbor and Winterfell," Eddard grinned. "If the wind is fair, they are likely already rounding the Fingers. They wait only for my word."
Stannis stared at Eddard, realization dawning. The "Winter Wizard" had pre-calculated the entire negotiation.
"Lord Eddard," Melisandre interrupted, her voice like silk and flame. "I see the darkness is exceptionally active Beyond the Wall. The Lord of Light tells me our paths are destined to merge in the frost."
"As long as you're happy, My Lady," Eddard replied indifferently. He had no interest in her prophecies. He issued strict laws against religious persecution in his lands—anyone starting a holy war in the Riverlands was destined for a short drop and a sudden stop.
The meeting concluded shortly after. As the Sun and the Stag prepared to part, the mood was one of cold, professional respect. Eddard escorted the Baratheon party to the city gates, watching as the Crowned Stag banners disappeared into the southern mist.
As he turned his horse back toward the keep, he saw Sansa walking toward the gate. She wasn't alone. Beside her was a short figure in a ragged grey cloak, with hair shorn close to the scalp.
Eddard's smile vanished. He spurred his horse forward, dismounting before the beast had even stopped.
"Arya?" he asked, looking at the traveler.
The short-haired youth looked up. It was a long face, startlingly similar to the late Lord Eddard Stark's. Her grey eyes were flat, distant, and held a chilling lack of emotion. A slender blade—Needle—hung at her waist.
"It's me," she said.
She didn't look like a high-born lady; she looked like a street urchin who had graduated from the school of death. Eddard saw the change in her instantly. She had the "No One" aura of a Braavosi assassin.
"Welcome home, Arya," Eddard said softly. "Your brother, Jon Snow, is here. He's the Lord Commander now."
Arya's indifference flickered. A spark of genuine, childhood love returned to her eyes, and her steps quickened.
Jon Snow was in the courtyard, inspecting a shipment of black wool, when he saw her. The shock was enough to make the Lord Commander drop his ledger. Soon, the "Crow" and the "Wolf" were locked in an embrace that shook with years of suppressed grief.
"I looked for you in Braavos," Jon choked out through his tears. "My men found nothing."
"I saw them," Arya smiled, her voice a rasp. "They were looking for a little girl. I wasn't her anymore."
Eddard watched from the side, holding Sansa's hand. The Stark family was finally beginning to stitch itself back together, even if the threads were made of iron and shadow.
[System Notification: High-Value Character Returned: Arya Stark (Faceless Trainee).]
[Reputation with House Stark: Max (Restoration).]
"Timely," Eddard whispered. "Very timely."
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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