The raven that departed from Crow Tree City flew low across the sky, its wings cutting through the cold wind as it crossed the Blue Fork of the Trident. After hours of flight, it finally descended into the towers of Riverrun, where banners bearing the twin towers of House Frey fluttered lazily in the breeze.
A withered, oversized hand reached out from the shadows and deftly plucked the small bamboo tube tied to the raven's leg. The bird was rewarded with a mixture of crushed dried fish and grain before fluttering away to a perch.
The message within that tube had originated in Blackwood Vale. After passing through several hands and ravens, it finally arrived before the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
King Robert Baratheon read the letter slowly.
At first, his brows knitted together in anger. His thick fingers crumpled the parchment slightly as his jaw tightened. But as his eyes moved further down the page, the anger gradually faded. By the time he finished reading, the corners of his mouth had curled into a broad, unmistakably pleased grin.
"Hah."
Robert tossed the letter across the table toward Duke Eddard Stark, who stood beside him, then reached for the goblet of red wine a maid had just poured. He lifted it and drained the cup in a single long gulp.
Only after setting the goblet down with a heavy thud did he release a satisfied sigh.
"This kid," Robert said loudly, his voice booming through the hall, "really does have the same spirit I did back then."
"Burp—!" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ned, you're being too damned cautious. You should agree to what I just told you."
His voice thundered like a summer storm, shaking the beams above and making the servants flinch. However, because Walder Frey was present, Robert did not directly explain what "that matter" was.
Eddard Stark appeared not to hear him at all.
His eyes were fixed on the letter in his hands. He read it once, then again, and then a third time, carefully examining every word to ensure nothing had been missed. Only then did he finally look up.
"Your Majesty," Eddard said gravely, "we must act quickly."
"Karl Stone commands only two hundred men. The fact that he managed to take Crow Tree City with such a small force—and rescue House Blackwood—was already a miracle. It was… dangerous."
Robert's smile vanished.
"Karl Stone, Knight," Robert emphasized sharply.
Eddard stiffened.
Robert knew immediately that his old friend was displeased with the correction—but the dissatisfaction was muted, restrained by courtesy and by Robert's crown. In the past, Ned Stark would have rebuked him outright.
Times had changed.
Robert snorted. "Not a single one of the two hundred men you gave him died. Is that what you call reckless?"
He leaned forward, his massive arms resting on the table.
"If that's reckless, then when you, Jon Arryn, and I overthrew the Targaryens, should we have invented a new word for it?"
Eddard felt his temples ache.
Whenever Robert spoke of that boy—his bastard son—his pride became unbearable.
Walder Frey, seated nearby, chose this moment to interject with a wheezing chuckle.
"Duke Eddard Stark," the old man said smoothly, "you may rest assured. House Frey will give His Majesty—and you—our fullest support. I shall even have the heir of Riverrun accompany you onto the battlefield."
Eddard's headache worsened instantly.
He did not even glance at the bald old weasel.
Instead, his thoughts drifted elsewhere—to Winterfell, to Catelyn, to his children.
He had traded them.
Traded them for soldiers and timing.
When he returned to that chamber that always felt like a furnace, he could already imagine Catelyn's fury. She would surely kick him from the bed.
Initially, Walder Frey had demanded that Robb Stark marry one of his daughters in exchange for House Frey's support. Eddard had argued fiercely—more fiercely than he ever had in politics—and in the end, Walder Frey relented.
The marriage pact was altered.
Instead of Robb, it would be Bran.
The second son of Winterfell.
Even so, the bitterness remained.
Eddard despised such transactions. Marriage alliances were common, even beneficial—but to him, it felt like selling his children piece by piece.
Though Bran was still young and the matter could be postponed, Eddard knew the truth.
House Stark did not break its word.
Walder Frey noticed the darkening of Eddard's expression and smiled wider.
To an old fox like him, it made no difference whether the alliance came through the eldest son or the second. Even Eddard Stark himself would have sufficed.
The eldest heir would have been ideal—but circumstances had shifted.
Karl Stone's sudden appearance had disrupted his leverage, forcing him to settle for less.
Still, he had achieved his goal.
He had waited at Riverrun under Lord Hoster Tully's summons without moving a single soldier—and now, House Stark had paid the price.
Walder Frey lifted his cup and took a satisfied sip, letting out a soft, unpleasant chuckle.
Eddard Stark felt like spitting blood.
He rose abruptly, slammed the letter onto the table, and spoke with iron resolve.
"We cross the river tomorrow and march south. There will be no more delays."
Then he turned to leave.
"Ned."
Robert's voice stopped him.
Since when did the frozen North make you so impatient?"
Eddard turned back.
Robert set down his goblet and leaned forward, his tone lowering.
"What do you think of the Tyrells' statement from Highgarden?"
Walder Frey's smile faded slightly as he listened.
Eddard's brow furrowed.
Before he could respond, Robert continued.
"Varys warns that Dorne is stirring. Renly has returned to Storm's End. Stannis has mobilized on Dragonstone—though he's hardly worth mentioning."
Robert's eyes hardened.
"And the mercenary companies of Essos are moving."
"They've been contacted by Lannister envoys."
"The Golden Company?" Eddard asked quietly.
Robert shook his head.
"More than just them. The Lannisters are willing to pay any price."
Eddard's sense of urgency intensified.
"We must crush the Lannisters quickly," he said.
"Don't I know that?" Robert snapped.
He lifted his goblet again but paused.
"The Vale remains silent. The Tyrells stall. Renly gathers banners. Mercenaries sniff blood."
He stared at Eddard.
"Tell me, Ned—how should this war be fought?"
"…The Iron Islands," Eddard began.
"Balon Greyjoy?" Robert scoffed. "Can he be trusted?"
He stood.
"The Seven Kingdoms are full of hyenas. They don't want justice—they want flesh."
Walder Frey pretended not to hear.
Robert pressed on.
"We must act decisively."
"And that matter I mentioned before—now is the time."
Eddard understood.
He sighed.
Then bowed.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Robert smiled at last—and drank.
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