My dad's tent sat right in the middle of the camp. Unlike most of the southern lords who loved their silk and fancy patterns, his was made of thick, heavy black canvas. It looked simple, tough, and ready for a blizzard the architectural equivalent of a "Keep Out" sign.
The second I stepped inside, the Earl put down the letter he was reading. He looked at me, and I could tell he was trying to read my face. I was exhausted, and I knew I looked it.
"How was your time off?" he asked, his voice low. "Get some rest?"
He didn't sound convinced. I probably didn't look like a guy who'd just spent three days in a brothel. I looked like a guy who'd just tracked a man a hundred miles to cut his throat. The "killing intent" was probably still leaking out of my eyes.
"Thanks for checking in, Dad," I said, keeping my head down. "Yeah, I'm good."
A heavy silence followed. My dad wasn't the "let's talk about our feelings" type, and I was busy wondering if he knew. The guys I'd taken with me were Karstark lifers their families had been at Karhold for generations. If one of them had sent word to the old man, I was in a lot of trouble.
If he asks, I'll just say Theon pissed me off in the last fight and I handled it, I thought. He's a Karstark; he'd probably just nod and tell me to wash the blood off.
But he didn't ask. Instead, he broke the silence with something else. "So, I heard Robb Stark made you 'Hand of the King.' That true?"
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah. It's true."
"He asked for some advice on the invasion plans. I gave it to him, he liked what he heard, and he gave me the title. I think it's partly a way to make up for... you know. Toren."
My dad nodded. He'd heard the Blackfish was singing my praises, calling me one of the few guys in the North who actually used his brain for more than a hat rack. But my dad had other concerns.
"Eddard," he said, and his voice went cold. "I don't care what titles Robb gives you. Don't forget that your brother's body isn't even in the ground yet. When we hit the Westerlands, I don't want to see any mercy. You see a Lannister? You kill a Lannister. Avenge Toren. Do to them what you did to Forley Prester."
Oh, so that's what he's worried about. I felt a wave of relief. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm on it. I've been looking into Stafford Lannister's new recruits. He's got Martyn Lannister with him Kevan's kid. When the fighting starts, you take Stafford. I'll hunt down the kid. We aren't taking prisoners."
If we let them live, Robb would just use them for a trade. Or Catelyn would talk everyone's ear off until we handed them over to get her daughters back. If we wanted real revenge, they had to die on the battlefield. No honor, no negotiations. Just blood.
My dad's haggard face actually softened a bit. He looked relieved that I hadn't gone "soft" after getting a fancy title. "Good. You look like you haven't eaten. Stay. Eat with me."
"Sure," I said, pulling up a chair.
A few minutes later, the attendants brought in a spread that was pure North: a roasted leg of lamb coated with honey and cloves, a heavy venison pie stuffed with carrots and bacon, and a small keg of beer with a thick head of foam.
I was starving. I tore off a chunk of lamb and shoved it in my mouth, followed by half the pie. I washed it down with a long pull of beer. It was sweet definitely mixed with honey. It wasn't exactly five-star dining, but it hit the spot.
My dad barely ate. He just watched me clean the table, a small smile on his face. "Get some sleep tonight," he said. "We move out in two days. We're the vanguard. Robb wants us on reconnaissance near the Golden Tooth."
"I'll be ready," I said, finishing the beer.
"Do well, Eddard," my dad said as I stood to leave. "You must do well. You understand?"
He said it with a weird amount of weight. I wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but I just nodded and bowed. "I understand."
Two days later, the sun was just starting to burn through the mist outside Riverrun.
I was on my horse, decked out in my trophy gear. I'd taken Forley Prester's plate armor the "silver" suit and had the blacksmith adjust it to fit. I'd had the whole thing painted matte black with a massive white sunburst on the chest. It looked intimidating as hell.
I was watching the Karstark cavalry ride out when Smalljon Umber showed up to tell me the King wanted a word. I sighed, watching my squad ride off without me, and turned my horse back toward the front of the column.
Robb was there, looking like a King but sounding like a terrified kid. He leaned in so only I and the Blackfish could hear.
"Eddard... Theon's dead."
I played my part perfectly. I widened my eyes, letting out a sharp breath. "Theon? The Ironborn? How? When?"
"Jason Mallister sent a raven," Robb whispered. "He confirmed it. It looks like he was jumped by Lannister deserters near Fairmarket. They burned him to a crisp, Eddard. They didn't even leave a face."
I nodded slowly. The "deserter" story was the perfect cover. Nobody would suspect that a Karstark would head north to kill a Greyjoy when we were supposed to be invading the south.
"That's... that's insane," I said. "Deserters? At Fairmarket? They must have realized who he was and decided to take a shot at the King's friend."
Robb sighed, looking completely lost. "I was thinking... should I write to his father? Balon Greyjoy? Maybe tell him what happened and still try for the alliance?"
I almost fell off my horse. Are you kidding me? How can a King be this dumb?
"Your Majesty," I said, trying to keep the "are you serious?" out of my voice. "Theon was the only thing keeping Balon from attacking us. He's a Greyjoy they don't do 'allies.' They do 'plunder.' If you tell Balon his only son is dead on your watch, he's not going to sign a treaty. He's going to sail his fleet into the North and burn everything from Bear Island to White Harbor."
Robb went quiet. I could see the gears turning.
"Think about your brothers," I pushed. "Bran is hurt. Rickon is what, four? If the Ironborn invade while we're down here, they're sitting ducks. My advice? Don't write the letter. Don't tell anyone. Spread a rumor that Theon is on a 'secret mission.' Keep the world guessing for as long as possible. Every day Balon waits is a win for us."
Robb stared at me. He wasn't a politician, his dad hadn't been one either. He was just a kid trying to do the right thing. But my words about his brothers finally broke through.
"You're right," he said, his face hardening with determination. "I'll handle it. I'll send ravens back north to tell the garrisons to watch the coast, and we'll keep Theon's death a secret."
"Your Majesty is wise," I said, giving him a respectful nod.
I sat back in my saddle, feeling a massive sense of relief. I'd just saved the North from an immediate invasion and bought myself and the Starks some much-needed time. It was a good day's work for a Hand.