The next morning, the storm of the entire night had passed, the sky was gray, and the air was biting cold. Karstark's seven prisoners had already been hanged from the high walls of Riverrun, their bodies swaying in the wind on long ropes.
The Godswood of Riverrun was crowded with people: lords and servants from the Riverlands and the North, knights, Sellswords, blacksmiths, merchants, camp followers, all stood in the grove to watch the execution.
Greatjon's soldiers escorted Lord Rickard, who was bound with ropes, to the execution platform beneath the heart tree.
King Robb took the executioner's long-handled great axe and stood beside Lord Rickard, saying, "Rickard Karstark, I have sentenced you to death. According to Northern tradition, I will carry it out myself."
Rickard wore a black wool cloak embroidered with the Karstark sunburst sigil. He stiffly raised his head and said, "For this, I thank you. For the rest, I hate you."
He looked directly at Robb: "Boy, remember this: the blood of the Direwolf flows not only in you, but in me as well. I was named Rickard to honor your grandfather. I fought for your father and King Aerys (Mad King), and I opposed King Joffrey for you. In the Westerlands, in the Riverlands, I fought alongside you! By the Trident River, I helped your father fight to the last. Stark and Karstark, we are kin, inseparable by blood."
A thousand years ago, the youngest son of Winterfell, Karlon Stark, led an army to quell a rebellion and was granted land for his bravery in battle. He named his castle Karlon's Hold, which over time became Karhold. The Stark of Karhold also came to be known as Karstark.
King Robb said coldly: "You are my kin, yet you still betrayed me. Blood cannot save you. Kneel, Rickard Karstark."
Rickard's lips split: "the new gods and the Old Gods will forever curse kinslayers."
King Robb repeated coldly: "Do you want me to have you forced onto the platform? Kneel, traitor."
Lord Rickard knelt, placing his head on the execution platform as he said, "You judge me, and the gods will judge you."
"Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, in the sight of gods and men, I, Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident, sentence you to death for murder and treason, and I will execute it myself."
King Robb, following the tradition of the First Men, said to Lord Rickard, "Do you have any last words?"
Lord Rickard's voice was filled with hatred: "Kill me quickly, and accept the curse. You are no longer My King, boy."
The axe rose and fell, heavy and precise. Blood splattered, and Lord Rickard's head separated from his body.
Pitter-patter, the heavy rain came suddenly.
...
In the distance, Tyrion wiped the rain from his face and said, "A very just young man, but such a person is not suited for the game of thrones."
The rain grew heavier. Bronn didn't hear clearly: "My Lord, what did you say?"
Tyrion's short legs quickened their pace, and he casually said, "I said Lord Tywin will love this young man to death."
His vision blurred by the heavy rain, Bronn still didn't hear clearly but no longer pressed the matter. He also quickened his pace slightly.
Inside the inn, Tyrion threw a towel to a young attendant. He held a wine glass and walked to the window, taking a delightful sip of wine.
Bronn ran his fingers through his hair, leaning against the window, and said, "My Lord, you seem to be in a bad mood."
Tyrion looked at the pouring rain outside, took a sip of wine, and said, "A terrible world needs just people, but truly just people often don't win the game of thrones."
Bronn scratched his cheek with his index finger and said, "My Lord, to earn your reward, I really want to flatter you, but honestly, this Sellsword in front of you didn't quite understand what you said."
He pinched his chin, then continued: "You seem to be… regretting for that Stark King?"
After a pause, he added: "Or, do you think his handling of the situation was problematic?"
Tyrion tilted his head and sized up Bronn, saying, "Sellsword, has anyone ever told you that you're a bit too clever?"
Bronn shrugged and said, "As a Sellsword, I can misunderstand my employer's words, but I must understand his preferences. This determines how much reward I receive."
Tyrion tilted his head and said, "That's a rather unsettling answer."
Bronn stared at the money pouch hanging from Tyrion's waist, grinning, "My noble lord, I am forever yours."
The Lannister Lion took off the money pouch and tossed it, saying, "Lisa again?"
Bronn bowed slightly and said, "Lisa, indeed."
He revealed a lewd smile: "She makes me feel the value of a golden dragon."
He elegantly bowed again: "Still, thank you for your reward. Her skills are excellent."
Tyrion pinched his chin, suspiciously saying, "It seems she really likes golden dragons. Why don't I know that?"
Bronn's smile became even more lewd: "Perhaps she knows you can give her more."
Tyrion immediately chuckled: "I warn you, don't ask her about my size, Bronn."
He grinned: "I'm afraid you'll be depressed from then on."
While they were still joking, Robb's captain of the guard, Reynald Westerling, arrived in the rain.
He said, "Lannister envoy, the King of the North and the Trident will summon you to the main castle hall tomorrow morning."
Tyrion sized up the heir to the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, and said with a smile, "I am deeply honored, and please convey my thanks to Stark King."
Ser Reynald lowered his chin and turned to leave. As he was about to reach the door, Tyrion suddenly called out to him.
Ser Reynald turned to look, and Tyrion's voice was filled with doubt: "Ser, did the Westerling family decide to move to the icy Winterfell because the Westerlands are too hot?"
Ser Reynald's face flushed, and he said, "In nine days, my sister will have a grand wedding with King Robb. Westerling is the Queen's family, Lannister."
With a cold snort, he pushed the door open and left.
Tyrion looked at Bronn, who stood beside him, and spread his hands, saying, "It's really easy to find out a secret here."
Bronn grinned: "It won't be a secret for long, My Lord."
After a pause, Tyrion sighed: "My kind father is truly lucky. pray is too partial."
He leaned back in his chair, took a sip of wine, and said, "I'm actually very curious why that Stark King didn't make his relative take the black. Is pray really protecting the Old Lion?"
"...I won't think about it anymore. Perhaps when I meet that Stark King, I will know the answer." Tyrion walked towards a room with his hands behind his back.
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