Eddard Karstark sat atop his warhorse, his black plate armor still bearing the dried, rust-colored stains of the banquet hall massacre. He looked at the ragtag group standing in the center of the dense woods, the late-afternoon shadows stretching between the trees like skeletal fingers.
He knew these men. Or rather, he knew the legends they would become. In the original history of this world, the Brotherhood Without Banners was a beacon of desperate hope for the smallfolk and a persistent thorn in the side of every high lord. But seeing them now, in the flesh, the reality was far more grimy and desperate than the songs suggested.
Beric Dondarrion, the Lord of Blackhaven, stood at the center. He was a man who looked like he had been put back together by a blind mason. His left eye was a sunken pit of scar tissue, and a patch of his golden-red hair was missing, revealing a sickening indentation in his skull, the mark of a mace or an axe that should have ended him months ago. His clothes were little more than high-quality rags held together by grit and a dented iron breastplate.
Standing beside him was Thoros of Myr. The Red Priest's face was haggard, his skin like yellowed parchment, yet his eyes burned with a fervent, almost feverish devotion to his god, R'hllor.
"Gentlemen," Eddard said, his voice flat and unfriendly. He reached up to stroke Black Feather, the raven perched on his shoulder. "I'm here. Now, release my men, ask your questions, and then give me a single good reason why I shouldn't have my cavalry sweep this forest until there isn't a beggar or a 'champion' left breathing."
"Die! Die!" Black Feather shrieked, its voice raspy and startlingly clear.
After Eddard had established several connections with the bird using his [Animal Friend] skill, the raven had become strangely bonded to him. It followed him everywhere, and lately, it had begun to mimic human speech with unnerving accuracy. Even Scholar Bennett, who spent his life studying ravens, couldn't explain how a bird could learn so much in so little time. To Eddard, it was just another perk of the rising magic tide.
Thoros of Myr offered a small, weary smile. "Respected Lord Eddard, may the Lord of Light bless your kindness. Please, stay your anger. Our situation is... unique. We must take certain precautions when inviting a man of your stature to talk. The common ways of the court do not serve us here."
Eddard knew what Thoros had been doing. Over the last day and night, the priest had been picking the brains of McKen and the other three Karstark riders. Northmen were notoriously blunt; a few insults or a well-placed question about their master's honor was all it took for them to spill every detail of Eddard's recent victories.
In Thoros's mind, Eddard was no longer just a Northern noble. He was the Hand of the King who had slain a Lannister commander at Riverrun, decimated the Mountain's men at the Red Fork, and most importantly, personally ended the reign of Gregor Clegane.
"Save your blessings for someone who believes in them, Priest," Eddard said, frowning. "I'm a busy man. Tarly is marching up the King's Road with ten thousand men, and you've wasted half my day. Get to the point."
Eddard's patience was paper-thin. When he'd first heard his envoys had been snatched, his first instinct had been to lead a three-pronged charge to wipe the forest clean. Only the memory of Beric's potential utility and the mysterious power of R'hllor had stayed his hand.
Beric Dondarrion stepped forward, his one good eye fixed on Eddard. "Lord Eddard, they say you killed Gregor Clegane. They say you took his head in the shallows of the Red Fork. If you answer my questions, if you prove to me that the beast is truly dead then the Brotherhood Without Banners will help you hold the Twins."
He spoke with a desperate intensity. The Mountain had been Beric's white whale since Ned Stark had sent him out from the Iron Throne.
"We know Tarly is coming," Beric continued. "An army that size needs a massive supply train. We know these woods better than any man alive. We can hit his wagons, harass his scouts, and turn his march into a nightmare. We can buy you the time you need."
Eddard tilted his head, his anger cooling into calculation. He checked the [System] for Beric's stats, but the man was "unaligned," showing only a high combat level and a "flickering" soul status.
"A hundred men?" Eddard asked, his voice softening slightly. "Thirty riders and seventy infantry? That's what you're offering?"
"Even a mosquito's leg provides meat when you're starving, Lord Eddard," Beric retorted. "Where are the Mountain's bones? I want to see them."
Eddard let out a short, sharp laugh. "If you want to see the corpse, you'll have to ride to Sunspear. I gave the Mountain to the Martells as a gift. It's been weeks, Lord Beric. I don't carry rotting giant bones in my saddlebags for sentimental value. Have a bit of common sense."
Beric's brow furrowed. Without the physical proof, he was hesitant. Gregor had escaped him so many times that he had begun to think the man was immortal.
Eddard's sharp hearing, further enhanced by the [Lord-Vassal Unity] bonus from his elite guards caught the whispered exchange between Beric and Thoros as they stepped aside.
"Beric, we should agree," Thoros whispered. "Look at his men. They don't just follow him; they revere him. He stopped the plundering at the Twins, I've never heard of a lord doing that for smallfolk who weren't his own. He is a man of his word."
"We'd be walking into a cage, Thoros," Beric argued.
"We are already in a cage," Thoros countered. "Our boots are falling apart, our swords are rusted, and the men haven't had a full meal in three days. The Twins has walls, gold, and grain. We can rest there, refit, and fight a real enemy instead of starving in the brush."
There was a long silence. Finally, Beric turned back to Eddard. "Alright. Thoros trusts his instincts, and I trust Thoros. We will accept your invitation. But we are allies, not servants. We wish to be treated as equals."
Eddard smiled, a genuine one this time. "I have no interest in cannon fodder. You'll be fed, re-armed, and paid the same bounty as my own men. If you fight well, you can take your gold and go home when the war is over. I'm a generous man when it comes to those who bleed for me."
Eddard thought of the Frey treasury sitting in the River Tower. He had enough gold to buy the loyalty of every mercenary in the Riverlands; spending some on the Brotherhood was an easy choice.
Thoros gave an exaggerated, theatrical bow. "Thank you, benevolent Lord Eddard. We shall report to the Twins by nightfall. We just need time to gather our things and... apologize to your men."
He snapped his fingers, and from behind the ancient oaks, the thirteen hidden BWB members emerged, leading McKen and the other three Karstark riders. They also brought forward the surviving Karstark mounts.
McKen, his face flushed with shame, immediately dropped to one knee before Eddard. "My Lord! I have failed you! We were careless... the tripwires--"
"Stand up, McKen," Eddard interrupted, reaching down to pull the veteran to his feet. "It was an ambush by experts. No one died, and you're back in the saddle. That's what matters."
A good leader knows when to be a "nanny" and when to be a "judge." Blaming McKen for being outmaneuvered by Beric Dondarrion would only damage the man's [Loyalty], which currently sat at a solid [Excellent].
"Theodore brought spare horses and supplies," Eddard continued. "Take an hour to eat and rest. Then, you head to Seagard. Lord Mallister needs to know the Twins have fallen into the right hands before Tarly gets there. This time, don't let anyone get close enough to pull a rope."
"By the Old Gods, My Lord," McKen swore, his eyes burning with renewed purpose. "We won't fail again."
Beric walked over as Eddard prepared to depart. "Two of your horses broke their legs in the fall, Lord Eddard. I put them out of their misery myself. I will see that Blackhaven compensates you for the loss."
"I'll hold you to that, Lord Beric," Eddard said, mounting his horse. "Now, get your men to the bridge. The Storm is coming, and I want everyone behind a wall before the first bolt hits!"
With a sharp whistle to Black Feather, Eddard kicked his horse into a gallop, heading back toward the Twins with the weight of a new, strange army added to his shoulders.