I found a random chair, kicked it into the corner, and poured myself a glass of Dornish wine. It tasted like vinegar and regret, but it was better than water from the moat.
Dita Calandre looked at me, her mouth twitching with a mix of exhaustion and amusement. "Look, Boss, you told us to keep a tail on Theon Greyjoy. But that guy basically lives in this place unless he's glued to the King's side. Abel and I couldn't just sit in the hall all day looking like two lost souls waiting for a carriage that would never arrive."
"So you put it on my tab," I muttered.
"Exactly," Dita said. "We're in a brothel. If you aren't here for the girls or the booze, people start asking questions. We had to blend in."
I got it. In a place like The Ivy Vine, acting "normal" meant looking like a degenerate. If they just sat there staring at the door, someone would've pegged them as spies in five minutes. Abel probably didn't think that far ahead he was too busy blushing so this had to be Dita's play. Karas Snow joining in for a "bonus" session was just the icing on the cake.
"Fine," I said, leaning back. "What's the word? Why'd you call me down here?"
"Theon's making moves," Dita said, her voice dropping an octave. "He's been scouting for merchant caravans heading to Seagard. He finally found one he likes."
Abel piped up from the corner. "They're supposed to meet here this afternoon to talk details. We figured you'd want to see the guy for yourself."
"Good work," I said, finishing my wine. It was sour, spicy, and hard to swallow kind of like my life right now.
Abel refilled my cup while Dita cracked the door just enough for me to see the hallway.
I sat there, staring into the dark, thinking about my current situation. There was only one word for it: Nanny. I was the official babysitter for the Northern cause. Since I was a Karstark, I was tied to the Starks. If Robb went down, my house went down with him. I had to secure his crown just to keep my own head on my shoulders.
I'd thought about just grabbing a bag of gold and sailing to Essos to find Daenerys. I could try to charm the dragons and wait out the war. But that felt like a coward's move. Besides, she has dragons, but I have a literal HUD in my eyes. I'll build my own power base right here, thank you very much.
But man, these people were making it hard. Robb and Theon were currently concocting a plan that was straight-out-of-hell levels of stupid. Theon wanted to go back to the Iron Islands to ask his dad, Balon Greyjoy, for help.
Are you kidding me? Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark literally crushed Balon's rebellion years ago. They killed his first two sons. They took Theon as a hostage. And Robb thinks Balon is just going to "forgive and forget" because they're besties? The Ironborn pay the "iron price." They don't help people; they take from them. If Theon goes home, he's not bringing back a fleet he's bringing back an invasion force for our own backyard.
"Boss! He's here," Dita whispered.
I straightened up, peering through the gap. There he was. Theon Greyjoy, wearing that same arrogant, punchable smirk. He was walking with a fat, lavishly dressed merchant and a few guards.
"Dita," I signaled with my chin.
Dita nodded. She grabbed a wine glass, splashed a bit on her tunic, and stumbled out the door like a drunk looking for the bathroom. She was going to tail them to the second floor. Tracking and eavesdropping weren't jobs for an Earl's son it'd be way too awkward if I got caught. Better to let the "professionals" handle it.
Half an hour later, Dita slipped back in. The "drunk" act was gone.
"Smooth sailing," she said. "Theon wasn't even trying to be quiet. He's meeting with the owner of the Seven-Star Eel caravan. They're a local outfit that sells salted fish. Theon's telling them he's on a secret mission to Seagard and offered to 'protect' their caravan for a fee."
"Of course he is," I sighed. "Alright. Abel, Dita keep him in your sights. If he looks like he's actually packing his bags to leave Riverrun, I need to know five minutes ago."
I pulled a heavy gold dragon from my tunic and tossed it to Dita. "For expenses. Try not to spend it all on Karas's hobbies."
"You got it, Boss," she grinned, pocketing the coin.
I stood up, ready to head out, when I felt the door swing open. I almost reached for my axe, but stopped when I saw a familiar set of black armor.
Daisy Mormont was standing there, her face a mask of cold professionalism. "Eddard Karstark. Stop playing around. The King wants to see you. Now."
"Well, hello to you too, Daisy," I said with a grin. "Lead the way."
We headed into the inner castle of Riverrun. The city was coming back to life merchants were everywhere, and the smell of fresh bread was actually starting to beat out the smell of the sewers.
Daisy led me past the guards and up to a heavy oak door. She stopped Abel and Dita at the entrance. "Just him."
I walked into the room, and the door slammed shut behind me with a heavy thud.
Robb was standing at a table, looking every bit the King of the North. He was wearing a bronze crown with nine iron spikes dark, hard, and cold. It looked heavy. Too heavy for a fifteen-year-old kid.
Standing next to him was the Blackfish, Ser Brynden Tully. He looked like he'd just spent three days in a saddle and hadn't slept for a minute of it. He gave me a look that screamed "distrust."
"Your Majesty," I said, dropping to one knee. "Congrats on the new job."
I'd grown up with Robb. We'd sparred in the courtyard at Winterfell. We were cousins. But he was a King now, and teenage Kings are touchy. You have to play the game.
Robb's face softened, and he gave me a tired smile. "Rise, Eddard. We're family. Sit down."
He had a massive map of the Riverlands spread out on the table. I didn't even have to look twice to know what he was thinking.
"You're planning to hit the Westerlands," I said, pointing to the map. "You want to draw Tywin Lannister out of Harrenhal."
The Blackfish's eyes went wide. He looked at me like I'd just read his mind. Robb's smile grew.
"Exactly," Robb said. "Ever since we bagged the Kingslayer, Tywin's been holed up in Harrenhal like an old fox. He's sending raiding parties out to burn the Riverlands, hoping to bait us into a siege or split our forces."
"It's working," I noted. "I heard the Brackens and the Blackwoods already left to go 'defend' their own dirt. They're basically walking into the Mountain's jaws."
Honestly, it was a rookie mistake. Reclaiming burned land doesn't do anything but get your men killed by Gregor Clegane. But Robb knew that. He needed a move that changed the board.
"I wanted your take on it, Eddard," Robb said. "Your dad's been telling me how much of a tactical genius you've become since the last fight."
I glanced at the map. I knew what was coming the Battle of Oxcross. If I played this right, I could save a lot of lives and get myself a real seat at the table.