Did the two of them know each other?
Of course they did. During the chaotic, adrenaline-fueled nights before the Battle of the Whispering Wood, Eddard and Patrek Mallister had both served as part of Robb Stark's elite thirty-man personal guard. They hadn't been close friends, Eddard was a man of the North with a head full of tactical maps, while Patrek was a flamboyant son of the Trident but they had shared campfires.
In fact, on the long march south, the former "Eddard" had spent hours listening to Patrek boast about the legendary stamina of Riverlands women compared to the "frosty" maidens of the North. After the victory at Riverrun, their paths had diverged. Patrek had remained in the Riverlands, often seen trailing behind Edmure Tully in search of the next tavern or brothel, while Eddard had followed the main host into the rugged hills of the Westerlands.
They hadn't spoken since the war council at Pinkmaiden. Eddard had expected the Mallisters to be slow to move, Lord Jason was a cautious man, and the Ironborn threat was a heavy weight on Seagard's shoulders. To see five hundred Mallister blue-and-silver banners appearing on the horizon now was a shock that made Eddard's blood hum with renewed hope.
The heavy rains of the past two days had turned the roads into a muddy quagmire, but it seemed the Mallisters had pushed through regardless. Their arrival was the true reason Dickon Tarly had pulled back his skirmishers. Seeing fresh reinforcements navigate the marshes and arrive at the West Bank had spooked the Reach commanders; they didn't know if this was just a vanguard or the beginning of Robb Stark's entire army.
"ABEL!" Eddard roared, his voice echoing off the blood-stained stone of the gatehouse.
Abel, his armor splattered with the gore of the Dreadfort men he'd just finished off, ran over, his breath coming in heavy huffs. "My Lord?"
"Organize the men. Clean the parapets. I want every arrow collected and every shield-shelter repaired before the sun hits the horizon. Keep a dozen eyes on the Reach camp. If a single horse moves, I want to hear the bells."
"On it, My Lord." Abel nodded, quickly delegating tasks to Lando and Karas.
Eddard walked down the stone stairs, his knees popping from the strain of the morning's combat. He found a basin of rainwater in the courtyard and scrubbed the thickest of the blood from his face and gauntlets. Then, grabbing a fresh mount from the stables, he galloped across the bridge toward the West City to meet his guest.
The battle had lasted from dawn until the high sun of noon. Patrek Mallister sat atop a magnificent grey courser, his long brown hair windblown, his grey-blue eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination as he looked at Eddard.
"Gods, Aed," Patrek said, his handsome face twitching as he took in Eddard's dark-red, gore-encrusted plate armor. "Was the fighting that fierce? You look like you've been swimming in a slaughterhouse."
Eddard looked down at his breastplate, which had turned a dull, matte crimson. He offered a tired, indifferent smile. "It's mostly the enemy's. I didn't have time to change for your welcoming party, Patrek. Did Robb send you?"
"Robb?" Patrek shook his head, his silver eagle-crest shimmering. "The King sent a call to Seagard to join the march North, but my father is a busy man. He's been patrolling the Cape of Eagles day and night, looking for kraken sails. He sent me with five hundred, three hundred heavy infantry, two hundred longbows, and a handful of cavalry to serve as eyes. We were supposed to meet the main host, but we ran into your envoy first."
Patrek leaned forward, his expression shifting from soldierly concern to a gleeful, mischievous grin. "McKen, right? The grey-bearded fellow? He found us on the road. He told us some wild tales, Aed. He said you took down the entire Frey family in a single night. Said you took the Twins and declared them rebels. Is it true? Did you finally put that old weasel Walder in a cage?"
Eddard nodded. "It's true. They were bought by the Lannisters. If I hadn't acted, the Red Wedding would have been our funeral."
In the original timeline, the Riverlords had been hesitant, stay-at-home observers while Robb struggled. But Eddard realized that his own aggressive campaign in the West and his swift decapitation of House Frey had changed the "math" of the war. The Riverlords now saw a winner. They saw the Twins held by a man who had killed the Mountain and captured Randyll Tarly. Confidence was a more effective recruiter than honor.
"It really is true!" Patrek laughed, a bright, booming sound. "I've hated that old man since I could walk. Every time a merchant comes to Seagard from the Crossing, they complain about Frey greed. Being Walder's neighbor is like living next to a septic tank. Serves him right, the old scoundrel."
Patrek leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But tell me the important thing, Aed. Did you capture Roslin? Walder's youngest daughter? They say she's the only blossom in a field of weeds. Is she as beautiful as the singers claim?"
Eddard blinked, staring at Patrek. He had just finished repelling a ten-thousand-man assault. He was covered in brains and bile. And Patrek Mallister wanted to talk about the aesthetics of a prisoner.
"She's captured, Patrek. She's in the tower," Eddard said flatly.
"In a tower? What a waste!" Patrek's face filled with a mock-tragedy. "Listen, if you don't have a taste for her, why not let me 'guard' her? I'm sure I could find a way to improve her living conditions. Just name your price!"
Eddard shook his head, a look of mild disbelief in his eyes. Are you truly a seven-star whoremonger? he thought. The Reach is outside our door with pikes, and you're negotiating for a girl.
"Patrek, if it makes you happy, I'll move her to a guest chamber," Eddard said. "But what happens to the Freys is for Robb to decide. I'm not trading girls while Tarly's army is breathing down my neck."
Patrek clicked his tongue in mock-annoyance. "You Northerners are far too straight-laced. Fine, fine. I'll talk to the King when he arrives." Finally, he seemed to remember the tactical reality. "So, how's the fight? How many of the bastards are out there?"
"Let's talk as we walk. You and your men look hungry. I've already had my man Rollger prepare bread and soup for your units."
Eddard signaled Rollger, the young man from Water Mill Town who had become his shadow. Rollger bowed to the Mallisters and sprinted off to organize the billeting. Eddard liked the boy, he knew the local streets, he was grateful for the vengeance Eddard had provided, and he served as a vital bridge between the "foreign" Karstarks and the local residents.
As they walked through the inner gates, Eddard gave Patrek the highlights: the capture of Randyll Tarly, the acquisition of Heartbreaker, and the fact that they had just repelled a full-scale assault that cost the enemy a thousand men.
"You took Heartbreaker?" Patrek stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping.
Eddard drew the Valyrian steel greatsword, the smoke-patterned blade catching the sun. The air seemed to grow cold around the metal. Patrek reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched the pommel.
"A fine sword," Patrek whispered. He looked at Eddard with a new kind of respect. "Aed, my father was right. He talks about you every day, saying you're a lord-in-the-making before your twentieth name day. Me? He says I'm just good for rolling around on women's bellies and haven't even managed to sire a bastard yet."
Eddard didn't know how to respond to that, so he just sheathed the sword.
"I don't know much about holding a castle," Patrek admitted, turning to the knight following him. "My five hundred are yours to command, Aed. Just don't use them as fodder. Ser Maynard here will handle the details."
Ser Maynard was a man in his thirties, with long black hair and a winged helmet. His grey-brown eyes were sharp, professional, and devoid of Patrek's levity. He bowed deeply to Eddard. "Lord Karstark. It would be an honor to assist in the defense of the Crossing. My men are at your disposal."
"Thank you, Ser Maynard. Your archers are exactly what we need for the East Wall."
Eddard felt a surge of genuine gratitude. With eleven hundred men now under his command, the "math" of the siege had fundamentally shifted. He wasn't just holding on; he was dug in.
Patrek winked at Eddard, his blue-grey eyes flashing. "So, about that guest chamber for Roslin... where exactly will I be staying?"
Eddard laughed, the sound surprising even himself. "I'm a Lord, Patrek, not a madam. If you want to woo a Frey, that's your business. I won't stop you."
"That's all I needed to hear," Patrek grinned, looking more like a man on holiday than a man at war. "Aed, you truly are a friend."
If you're enjoying the story, consider dropping some Power Stones.