Eddard shoved Ser Lyman forward, a sharp, mocking smile on his face. "Lord Walder, there's one thing I've been dying to ask: Why the rush to kill me?"
"Even if I suggested Robb break the engagement, even if I turned down your daughter, why move so fast? You've been a polite host for weeks, paying my gold, providing scouts. Why spring the trap now?"
Walder Frey, seeing his intentions laid bare, dropped the facade of the doddering old man. His eyes turned feral. "You kidnapped my heir, Karstark. You walked into my hall in plate armor with blood on your boots. You're asking for an explanation? I should be asking you, where did the leak come from?"
Walder was genuinely frustrated. He thought he'd played it perfectly. He'd used the bandits to lure Eddard out, and when that failed, he'd used the Faceless Man. Both should have been untraceable. And yet, Eddard had returned as if he'd known the punchline to every joke.
Eddard didn't answer. He couldn't exactly tell the old weasel that he'd read the script of the world or that the System flagged traitors in red text.
"How I know doesn't matter, Walder," Eddard said, his voice echoing through the silent hall. "What matters is that I know you've crawled into bed with the Lion. But I wonder... are you worried about the consequences? Robb has twenty thousand men at Riverrun. Your sons are in his camp. If I die here, they die there. Is the Lannister gold worth the extinction of your house?"
"Consequences?" Walder slammed his hand on the table.
Thirty armored Frey guards surged from behind the tapestries, brandishing long-handled axes. On the gallery above, the musicians dropped their lutes and picked up heavy crossbows.
"What consequences?" Walder spat. "A King who's lost half his crown is no King at all. You think I'm afraid of a wolf cub whose home is currently being burned by the Ironborn?"
Eddard's eyes narrowed. The Ironborn. So the fleet has hit the Stony Shore.
"You're clever, kid," Walder continued, standing up for the first time, his voice a triumphant wheeze. "But you're too late. The Tyrells have joined the Lion. Fifty thousand men. And even as we speak, Randyll Tarly is leading ten thousand soldiers across the Ruby Ford. Do you want to know why he crossed so easily? Because Roose Bolton wants to be Warden of the North, and he's already opened the door."
Walder leaned over the table, his toothless mouth twisting into a grin. "Surrender, Aed. Give me back my son. Stand with us, and you can keep the Golden Tooth. Following a Lion is better than following a dead Wolf."
Walder was smug. He had the pincer closed. He had the North cut off, the Ironborn at their backs, and a massive army coming from the south. He thought he had won.
Then, the first sound of screaming reached the hall.
It started as a faint clamor from the courtyard, but within seconds, it grew into the unmistakable roar of steel on steel. The sound of wood splintering, the wet thuds of bodies falling from the battlements, and the Karstark war cry: "THE WINTER SUN!"
"Old man," Eddard said, his voice dropping into a deadly register. "It seems I don't need to give you an answer."
"You think I came here empty-handed? The moment I rode back into the Twins, I started preparing for a war. My men aren't just garrisoning your bridge, they're taking it."
Walder's face went purple with rage. "KILL THEM! Capture the boy alive, but slaughter the rest!"
The crossbowmen on the gallery fired.
THUD. THUD. THUD.THUD.
Abel and the Wolfguards reacted with inhuman speed. They kicked over the heavy oak tables, diving behind them as the bolts hissed through the air. Paine and McKen reached into their cloaks, pulling out short, steel-tipped javelins.
But Eddard didn't dive for cover. He held Lyman Frey as a shield with his left hand and raised his right toward the gallery.
Ozone filled the air. A crackling, blue-white light began to dance between Eddard's fingers, coiling like a nest of vipers. In the blink of an eye, the sparks converged into a blinding sphere of pure energy.
[Intermediate Magic: Thunderbolt cast.]
CRACK-BOOM!
A bolt of explosive lightning tore through the hall, striking the center of the gallery. The second wave of archers didn't even have time to scream. The wood disintegrated, and the men were flung backward, their hair standing on end as the electricity cooked them in their mail.
The sound was deafening. The smell of charred meat and scorched stone filled the room.
"WITCHCRAFT!" Walder Frey shrieked, falling back into his chair, his eyes wide with a terror he hadn't felt in ninety years. "He's a sorcerer! KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!"
The guards hesitated, their axes trembling. They had come to fight a lordling, not a god of storms.
Eddard stepped forward, the blue light still flickering in his eyes. "Who's next?"