Eddard found a random chair and sat down, pouring himself a glass of Dornish wine.
Dita Kalander pulled at the corners of her mouth helplessly. "Young Master, you told us to keep an eye on Theon Greyjoy, but that Ironborn stays here every day unless he's with the King. Abel and I can't just sit in the hall all day."
"So we used your name to book this place."
Although Dita didn't explicitly state it, Eddard understood what she meant.
This was a tavern and brothel—a place where men came to seek pleasure. No decent person would sit in the hall all day, looking around without choosing a girl.
To carry out surveillance, their behavior would obviously seem strange to others.
This place was full of unsavory characters; if they acted oddly, someone might grow suspicious or cause trouble.
Abel wouldn't have considered all this. It had to be Dita Kalander's idea. As for Karas Snow, he was probably an unexpected addition.
"Good."
Eddard nodded. "What have they been up to?"
There had to be something going on if they called him here.
"Young Master, yes." Dita Kalander nodded. "They've been searching for merchant caravans heading to Seagard, and it looks like they've found something recently."
"Yes, Young Master," Abel added. "They're planning to discuss the specifics here this afternoon, so we thought you should come and see for yourself."
He didn't know why Eddard wanted Theon Greyjoy monitored, but he was determined to carry out the mission perfectly.
"Good. Then let's keep our eyes peeled and wait."
Eddard nodded and downed his cup of wine. It was sour, astringent, with a spicy kick—just like the current situation, hard to swallow.
Abel picked up the bottle and refilled his cup.
Dita Kalander quietly cracked open the wooden door.
From that angle, he could see most of the outside area. Clearly, this room was chosen on purpose.
Time passed slowly.
Eddard took advantage of the rare leisure to reflect on his current dilemma.
After much thought, only one word came to mind:
Nanny!
There was no other way. As a distant Stark relative and direct descendant of House Karstark, he had publicly sided with the Wolf in this war.
At the very least, he needed to help secure the Starks' hold on the North, which would indirectly solidify House Karstark's position in Karhold.
Only then could he use that as leverage to gain his own power base.
Territory, gold dragons, prestige, population—all of it had to come from the family and the North.
He'd even considered another path: abandoning everything, finding money, sailing to Essos, and competing with the Great Bear for Khaleesi's favor.
But that would be too humiliating.
He was a noble son—why would he abandon everything to follow a woman on a quest to free slaves? Even with three dragons, Eddard wasn't convinced it was the better option.
She had dragons, sure, but he had a golden finger. When the time came, he could recruit a thousand loyal soldiers and wouldn't need to scrounge for beef in Westeros.
Still, dealing with this situation was no easy task.
Stark's position was like walking a tightrope—one misstep, and everything could fall apart.
And now Theon was planning to return to the Iron Islands to negotiate reinforcing the North with his father.
Those two idiots cooked up this awful idea.
Robert and Eddard Stark had once personally led forces that defeated King Balon and killed the first and second heirs of the Iron Islands.
Could that deep grudge really be forgotten?
Did they think they were blood brothers?
And the Ironborn—those who paid the iron price—would they really ignore a defenseless North and go help Stark fight the Lannisters?
Lannisport had a naval fleet! Even if it was damaged during the Greyjoy Rebellion, the Lannisters were rich enough to rebuild it.
What were they thinking?
Eddard had people tailing Theon Greyjoy to shut this idea down before it went anywhere, and to protect Karhold from being plundered.
Revenge and sabotage were just added perks.
"Young Master!"
Dita Kalander's soft voice pulled Eddard from his thoughts. He sat upright, peering through the narrow gap at a familiar slender figure with a cynical smirk.
Theon Greyjoy.
He was accompanied by a pot-bellied, lavishly dressed man who was smiling and chatting, trailed by several attendants.
"Dita."
Eddard gave a subtle nod. The man understood instantly. He grabbed a wine glass, splashed himself with wine, opened the door, and staggered out, pretending to be drunk.
Surveillance and eavesdropping weren't appropriate tasks for someone of Eddard's status. If he were discovered, it would be very awkward.
Better to let his subordinates handle it. If something went wrong, he could always step in and smooth things over.
Even if Dita Kalander clashed directly with Theon—it didn't matter.
Half an hour later, Dita Kalander returned.
His drunken expression was gone. He closed the door behind him and whispered, "Young Master, it went smoothly. That Ironborn didn't even try to be discreet."
Eddard nodded.
Theon wasn't exactly a cautious man, and this whole scheme might've had the King of the North's blessing.
Plus, this was Riverrun—who would harm the King's foster brother?
"Hmm. Sit down and tell me. Who's the merchant, and what did they discuss?"
"Yes, Young Master."
Dita Kalander sat and reported. "The man with the Ironborn is the owner of the Seven-Star Eel caravan. They run a popular salted fish shop in the residential district."
"The Ironborn seems to have been assigned to follow the army to Seagard. He's been contacting caravans headed there, offering them protection for a price."
After summarizing, Dita Kalander drank a glass of wine to moisten his throat. He looked slightly embarrassed—he had a wife and kids. He'd never have come to a place like this if it weren't for the mission.
"Good. I understand."
Eddard nodded and gave new orders.
"Dita, Abel, take turns keeping a close eye on Theon Greyjoy. If he plans to leave, notify me immediately."
He pulled out a shimmering gold coin.
"This is for expenses."
As Count Rickard's son and with spoils from war, Eddard had some funds. Not enough to raise an army, but a few gold dragons wouldn't hurt.
"Understood." Abel nodded.
"Thank you, Young Master," said Dita Kalander, pocketing the coin with a smile. "We've already booked the room. Would you like a girl to help relieve some of your stress?"
Eddard raised an eyebrow in surprise, then stretched and nodded. "Sure, send someone in. I'll choose."
He was here already—might as well experience the local flavor of Westeros.
Dita pulled Abel out. After four or five minutes, seven graceful girls entered, lightly dressed and smiling.
Eddard frowned. Looking them over, he almost wanted to say, "Bring me a new batch."
In his past life, makeup and medical aesthetics had made women even more beautiful than natural Westerosi girls.
Original or not—they were truly stunning.
Never mind. His sword was too picky.
He waved dismissively, downed another drink, and left the room.
Leading the men out the back door, they mounted their horses and returned to the main street, planning to grab lunch and a few drinks.
Then, unexpectedly, they ran into Daisy Mormont, looking serious.
"Eddard Karstark, come with me. His Majesty wants to see you."
"Huh?"
Eddard blinked, then smiled. "Lead the way."
They headed toward Riverrun's inner castle. Abel and Dita Kalander exchanged glances and followed.
There was a buzz of conversation on the street, but they ignored it, walking through the castle gate and up into the halls.
At the door stood Jon Snow and a young man from House Norrey.
Eddard greeted Jon and nodded to the other.
"You can go in," said Daisy Mormont, blocking the two soldiers. "Not them."
"Of course."
Eddard nodded to Abel and Dita, then entered. The door shut behind him with a thud.
Grey Wind was nowhere in sight.
"Karstark."
The newly crowned King of the North—Robb Stark—stood at a table, dressed in black, wearing a bronze crown shaped with sword-like spikes.
Dark, simple, and heavy—like winter.
But perhaps too heavy for a fifteen-year-old.
Ser Brynden "Blackfish" Tully stood beside him, fully armored, dust still on his boots, eyes wary.
"Your Majesty," Eddard said, kneeling. "Congratulations on your coronation."
They were distant kin and had sparred in the yard a few times. But Robb was now King, and respect was essential.
Young people were sensitive. Best to show some deference early.
Robb's stern expression softened. "Rise, Karstark. We're family. You don't need to stand on ceremony."
He hadn't had time to greet all his bannermen—especially family.
Eddard stood and joined them at the table. On it lay a hand-drawn parchment map of the Riverlands and surrounding regions.
Had they already reached the Battle of Oxcross?
That felt fast.
"Karstark," Robb said, "I've called you here because I need your advice for the coming campaign."
Since the ambush, Lord Rickard Karstark had warmed to Robb, even praising his son's strategic mind.
Robb remembered.
And Eddard had proven himself in battle—especially in the raid.
Until now, only Robb and Ser Brynden had discussed strategy. Most other Northern lords were hotheads eager to throw men at Harrenhal.
"It is an honor, Your Majesty," Eddard said, eyeing the map. "I imagine this is for your next military move—heading west to force Lord Tywin to abandon Harrenhal?"
The Blackfish blinked, surprised by the quick insight.
Robb smiled.
"Yes. Lord Tywin's been raiding the Riverlands from Harrenhal. He wants to force a siege or split our forces."
"The old fox has a clever plan."
"Indeed," said Eddard. "I've noticed Lords Bracken, Darry, and Blackwood have taken their men to reclaim ancestral lands and fight off Lannister raiders."
Honestly, it was foolish. The Lannisters had already devastated those lands. Reclaiming them wouldn't do much.
And Gregor Clegane—the Mountain—was unmatched in such skirmishes.
For these Riverlords, it might as well be a death march.