The words felt like a slap. They came from a gray-haired, stocky woman across the table, decked out in scale armor with a bear prowling through a green forest on her surcoat.
I didn't need a name tag to know who she was. Lady Maege Mormont, the big boss of Bear Island. And she was clearly not vibing with the Karstark "pout session." To her, skipping a meeting because you're sad about a dead son was basically flirting with desertion.
"Is your old man so wrecked he can't even show up?" she'd barked.
I didn't get mad. I just leaned back, giving her a look that was way too calm for a room full of people who wanted to kill each other.
"Yeah, Lady Maege, it's a real tragedy," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "But hey, I figured you'd be the one person in this room who'd actually get what it's like to have a family member let you down. I mean, when Jorah Mormont skipped the North because he got caught selling people into slavery, that must've been a real gut-punch, right?"
I let that sink in for a second, a small, sharp smile playing on my lips. "Or did the joy of inheriting Bear Island early help you get over the shame?"
The room went dead silent. You could've heard a pin drop on a fur rug.
Jorah "The Great Bear" Mormont was the family's biggest skeleton in the closet. If he'd just done the "honorable" thing gotten his wife pregnant and headed to the Wall the Mormonts would still have their pride. Instead, he'd run off to Essos with his tail between his legs. I knew where he was probably chasing Daenerys around the desert but to these guys, he was just a slaver who'd bailed.
Maege went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. Her face turned a bruised shade of purple.
"You little piece of trash," she roared, her voice vibrating the tent poles. "Say that again! I dare you!"
She grabbed a spiked mace leaning against her chair and stood up, her eyes burning like coals.
I didn't blink. I gripped the handle of my axe and stood up with a heavy thud, meeting her glare. "Lady, say it as many times as you want. Facts are facts. You want a piece of this? I'll tell you what since you're an elder and a woman, I'll even fight you one-handed."
I was feeling that thirty percent stat boost humming in my veins. I wasn't just talking trash; I was itching to see what I could actually do. I liked the Mormonts in the stories, but in this world, if you don't swing back, you're just a punching bag. If I let her talk trash about my dad, I'd be "Cowardly Karstark" before the sun went down.
"Enough!"
The tent flap snapped open, and Robb Stark walked in. He looked every bit the "Young Wolf" the stories talked about, followed by his personal guards. One of them, a tall woman in black armor saw the standoff and immediately went for her sword.
That was Dacey Mormont. She looked ready to take my head off, but Robb gave her a quick pat on the arm, and she backed off. Maege sat down, still huffing like a bull, while I dropped my axe back onto the table.
I'd won that round. Even the Greatjon looked a little impressed, muttering something about me having a "sharp tongue."
Robb didn't waste time. Lady Catelyn followed him in, unfolding a massive map of Riverrun.
Riverrun. I knew the layout. It was built where two rivers - the Red Fork and the Stone River met. They'd even dug an artificial moat on the third side. When the gates were open, the place was an island.
The Lannisters had been smart, though. They'd split their army into three separate camps, one on each side of the rivers, to keep the castle bottled up. That was their strength, but it was also a rare opportunity.
Robb started laying out the plan. Maege would take the scouts out. The Blackfish would lead the vanguard into the north camp. Robb and the Greatjon would hit the western camp.
Then Robb looked at me. He looked hesitant. He knew things were shaky with the Karstarks.
I stood up before he could even ask. "Lord Stark, I've got a thought," I said, pointing to the map. "Earl Brax is running the western camp. He's a hothead. When the Blackfish hits the north camp, Brax is going to panic and try to cross the river to help. Men get disorganized when they're crossing water. If we hit them while they're mid-stream, we'll turn that river red."
Robb's eyes lit up. He'd clearly been thinking the same thing, but hearing it from me seemed to take a huge weight off his shoulders. It meant the Karstarks were still in the game.
"Good call, Eddard. I'll make sure we time it right," Robb said, sounding a lot more like a commander.
Then he dropped the bomb. "What about Ser Forley Prester in the southern camp? He's cautious. Once he sees the other camps burning, he's going to pack up and retreat. I don't want them escaping."
He looked me dead in the eye. "I need the Karstark cavalry to pin them down. Hold them there until we finish the other two camps, then we'll move in and wipe them out."
I raised an eyebrow. Whoa, Robb. Getting a little greedy, aren't we?
In the stories, the North had about six thousand cavalry. The Lannisters had twelve thousand infantry. Even with a surprise attack, trying to "annihilate" them was a tall order. We only had three hundred Karstark riders. He wanted three hundred light cavalry to pin down four thousand veteran Lannister spearmen and archers?
That wasn't a mission; it was a suicide run.
"I'll tell my father," I said, keeping my face neutral. "He'll give you an answer soon."
Robb looked a little disappointed I didn't just scream "For the North!" and sign up on the spot, but he nodded. He was only fifteen, and the weight of his entire family was sitting on his shoulders. He didn't have time for a long chat.
"Meeting adjourned," he said. "We move out before dark."
As I walked out of the tent, a shadow fell over me. I stopped. Dacey Mormont was blocking my path. She was easily six feet tall, all lean muscle and attitude.
"Eddard," she said, her voice like ice. "You insulted my house. You insulted my mother."
I looked up at her and didn't say a word. I just reached out and pushed her aside.
The "Loyalty" buff was no joke. I felt like I was moving a piece of furniture. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock. She clearly didn't expect a "skinny" second son to have that kind of power.
"Your cousin Jorah is a slaver living in Essos," I said, my voice cold. "My brother Toren is a hero who died yesterday protecting Robb Stark from the Kingslayer."
I hefted my battle-axe, the silver blade catching the morning sun. "If your mom doesn't apologize to my father, I'm not taking back a single word."
I stepped closer. "Or what? You want to duel me on her behalf?"
Dacey didn't answer with words. With a metallic shing, she drew her longsword. She realized talking wasn't going to win this one.
She wanted to settle it with steel.