The Twins. The Great Banquet Hall was a pressure cooker of unspoken resentment and flickering torchlight.
Eddard sat on the ebony chair, his gaze cool and analytical as he watched the twenty-eight landed knights. On the surface, they were a picture of noble submission, well-dressed, cautious, and eating the food provided by their new liege. But beneath the veneer of silk and steel, the atmosphere was thick with a rebellion that hadn't yet found its voice.
Eddard thought of the North. He remembered Greatjon Umber's legendary defiance, how the man had mocked Robb Stark to his face, calling him a "green boy who probably pees grass-green," only to have two fingers bitten off by a direwolf. The Greatjon was a brute, yes, but he was a man of his word. Once beaten, he became the King's most loyal hound.
The nobles of the Riverlands, however, were a different breed. They weren't as volatile as the Northerners, but they were twice as slippery. They didn't draw swords in a fit of rage; they used silence and bureaucracy as a shield.
Ser Leslyn Haigh of Golden Grain Village stood up again, his expression solemn and practiced. He had spent the last several minutes whispering with his neighbors, and now he was the self-appointed voice of the "ignorant."
"Lord Eddard," Ser Leslyn began, his voice smooth. "I wish to carry out your command. Truly, I do. But as a man of honor, I cannot provide you with false data. My troops and I have been in the field for months. I have not stepped foot in my own hall since the Red Fork. I do not know the current state of my granaries or the exact count of my smallfolk. I humbly request time - a week, perhaps two to return home and audit my lands personally."
It was a clever tactic. A "delaying action" in political form. If Eddard allowed them to leave, they would go home, fortify their keeps, and start sending ravens to Aemon Frey or the Lannisters. Once they were behind their own walls, "auditing" would take months, and the data they eventually provided would be whatever lies suited their survival.
Eddard looked at the man. In his vision, the red box over Ser Leslyn's head vibrated with malice: [Loyalty: Extremely Poor. Reason: Frey Zealot.]
Eddard didn't argue. He simply pointed to another man. "Ser Niel Emford. You are the Lord of Heron Keep. Your daughter was Walder Frey's eighth wife. Tell me, do you also suffer from this sudden bout of memory loss?"
Ser Niel stood up, his face stiff with a defiance that he didn't bother to hide. "I don't know either," he said bluntly, before sitting back down with a heavy thud.
A ripple of low-frequency murmuring swept through the hall. Encouraged by the defiance of their peers, the other knights began to find their voices.
"That's right!" one shouted. "We've been fighting! We aren't accountants!" "You have to let us go home first!"
Eddard watched the chaos with a faint, predatory smile. He picked up his wooden gavel and struck the table three times. Clack. Clack. Clack.
The hall fell silent, but it was the silence of a coiled spring.
"Are you all senile?" Eddard asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Or are you trying to play me for a three-year-old child? You are the controllers of the land. Your income, your swords, and your very lives depend on those numbers. If you truly know nothing, then I must conclude that you are incompetent. And why should I allow incompetent men to rule the lands I have granted to them?"
He leaned forward, the torchlight reflecting off his black plate. "Since you have all admitted that you don't know how to manage your own territories, I have decided to help you. You will remain here in the Twins. You will spend your time in intensive study, learning the proper methods of Karstark administration."
The outrage was instantaneous.
"This is house arrest!" Ser Leslyn roared, his "honorable" mask finally cracking. "We are not captives! I have shed blood for the King! This is a violation of our rights!"
"I'm going to Winterfell!" Niel Emford shouted, his hand going to his sword hilt. "I'll tell Robb Stark that he's traded a weasel for a tyrant!"
The hall erupted into a cacophony of angry shouts. Three or four knights, perhaps emboldened by the Frey blood in their veins or simply too proud to be caged, drew their swords. The metallic shing of steel echoed through the room like a death knell.
In a normal world, this would be the start of a massacre. But Eddard wasn't living in a normal world.
SLAM.
The massive oak doors were kicked open. Karas Snow burst in, leading a squad of twenty [Bloodthirsty Wolfguards]. They were a terrifying sight - men in heavy, dark-enameled plate, carrying massive tower shields and pre-loaded heavy crossbows. Despite their weight, they moved with a supernatural speed, a blur of steel that surrounded the hall in seconds.
The crossbows were aimed at the chests of the rebellious lords. The click of twenty triggers being cocked simultaneously cut through the shouting like a cold wind.
The Banquet Hall went dead silent.
"Lord Eddard," Ser Leslyn hissed, his voice trembling. "Are you going to violate guest right? Are you going to slaughter your own vassals in your own hall?"
"I have no such intention," Eddard said, reaching down to draw Heartbreaker from its sheath beside his chair. He held the Valyrian steel up, the dark ripples in the metal seeming to smoke in the firelight. "These men are here for my protection. You, on the other hand, have drawn steel against your sworn liege lord during a peaceful feast. In the North, that is a capital offense. Is the law different here in the Riverlands?"
The knights who had drawn their swords looked at the glowing Valyrian steel, then at the twenty crossbows pointed at their hearts. Their hands began to shake. The reality of their situation and the sheer power gap between them and the Karstark elite hit them like a physical weight.
One by one, the longswords clattered to the floor. The knights fell to their knees, their faces pale.
"No... no, My Lord. Forgive us," one stammered. "An unintentional mistake... the heat of the moment..." "We are your loyal servants!"
"Shut up," Eddard roared, the sound silencing the pleas. "I have no reason to forgive you, and I am certainly not in the mood for mercy."
He turned to Karas. "Karas, take the men who drew their steel. Put them in the Black Cells. Send ravens to their families. Tell them their lords have committed treason and that they are invited to the Twins to... negotiate the price of their lives. As for the rest?"
Eddard looked at the remaining twenty-four knights. "Take them to the East Tower. They will remain under strict guard. Each of you has until tomorrow afternoon to provide me with a name - a steward, a son, or a brother who will manage your lands in your absence. If I receive no name, the territory is forfeited to House Karstark."
Karas and the Wolfguards moved in, binding the "guests" with heavy hemp ropes. The lords were led out in a mournful procession of clinking mail and muffled curses.
Scholar Bennett, who had been standing in the shadows behind the dais, stepped forward. His chubby face was covered in a cold sweat.
"My Lord," Bennett whispered, his silver chain clinking. "Are you not afraid? This method... it is incredibly crude. You are turning every minor house in the region against you in a single night. If they unite, they can muster two thousand men."
Eddard sheathed Heartbreaker and poured himself a final cup of Arbor Gold. He offered the flagon to the Maester.
"Scholar, you think I am being brutal because I am angry. I am being brutal because I am efficient," Eddard said. "Ser Leslyn is a Frey loyalist. Bligh Hill is a drunkard who shares a bed with the Frey cousins. Niel Emford is Walder's in-law. These people don't hate me because I'm a tyrant; they hate me because I ended their meal ticket. If I try to win their hearts with marriage and gold, it will take ten years. I don't have ten years. Winter is coming, and I need this bridge secured before the first snow hits."
He took a long sip of the wine. "Violence and mercy are just tools, Bennett. Suitability is what matters. Right now, I need hostages more than I need friends."
He looked at the empty hall, feeling the weight of the "Dominion Management" system hum in the back of his mind. He had 312 Soul Power left. He needed to find a way to use it to stabilize the newly acquired territories.
"And Bennett," Eddard added, "if those two thousand men actually unite and march on my gate? I'll thank them. It saves me the trouble of finding a reason to execute them later."
The Maester shuddered, realizing that the "Winter Wizard" didn't view rebellion as a threat, but as a harvest.
"Write the letter to Winterfell," Eddard commanded. "Tell Robb that the Crossing is secure. My father will lead the main infantry North in two days. Tell the King to send a cavalry escort to meet them at Moat Cailin. We don't want the Boltons getting any ideas while the 'Sun of Winter' is on the road."
"I'll get to it immediately, My Lord," Bennett said, bowing low.
Eddard stood up, signaling for Rollger and Theodore. He felt a strange pull toward the dungeons. He had one "guest" left who hadn't been to the feast, a man whose mind was as sharp as the sword Eddard had taken from him.
"Let's go see the Great Hunter," Eddard said. "I want to see if Randyll Tarly is ready to talk yet."
[System Notification: Vassal Suppression complete.]
[Loyalty levels locked at 'Fearful'.]
[Territory Stability: 45% (Rising).]
[Soul Power Gained: 100 SP.]
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