The Tower of the Burning King.
Inside the solar, the air was warm and smelled of old parchment and fresh ink. Eddard Karstark sat at a heavy weirwood desk, his thumb tracing the seal on a letter from Iron Oaks.
"Abel, I've arranged a marriage for you," Eddard said, looking up with a faint, brotherly smile. "You'll be wed to the youngest daughter of House Waynwood."
Abel Qashtak, currently the acting Lord of the Twins and Commander of the Crossing Guard, stood perfectly still. He blinked, his face a map of genuine shock. "A Waynwood? From the Vale? My Lord, they are one of the oldest houses in the Seven Kingdoms. I'm just a Karstark cousin. Why would Lady Anya agree to such a match?"
"For the sake of her ledgers, Abel," Eddard replied, leaning back. "Iron Oaks has been drowning in debt since the Rebellion. Petyr Baelish intended to use that debt to buy their loyalty. I simply got there first with a few chests of Frey gold and the promise of a stable alliance. To the Waynwoods, you aren't just a cousin; you're the man holding the keys to the most profitable bridge in the world."
Eddard had been busy. While the world focused on the death of Kings, he was focused on the consolidation of the Vale. He had already secured a marriage between his sister Alys and the heir of Runestone, Andar Royce. By wedding Abel to a Waynwood, he was effectively surrounding Littlefinger with enemies.
"I understand," Abel said, bowing low. "I will treat her with the honor she deserves. When do I return to the Twins?"
"Immediately. The harvest is in, and the Lannisters won't stay quiet for long. Keep the bridge tight, Abel. I need the rear secure while I handle the giants."
The Godswood of Harrenhal was no longer a place of silent prayer. It was a factory of war.
The rhythmic clack-clack of hammers and the guttural shouts of the Free Folk echoed off the melted stone of the towers. Gendry, the bull-headed blacksmith Eddard had "hired" from the road, stood on a wooden scaffold. He was measuring a giant who stood three meters tall.
"Spread your arms! I can't forge a gorget if you keep hunching!" Gendry shouted.
Ygritte, her belly now noticeably round, shouted the command in the Old Tongue. The giant scratched his matted fur and obediently held his arms out.
Eddard walked into the clearing, the Karstark guards and Free Folk bowing as he passed.
"How is the progress, Gendry?" Eddard asked.
"Slow, My Lord," Gendry replied, wiping soot from his brow. "Steel this thick takes an age to heat and even longer to shape. We've managed thirty sets of plate-and-chain for the giants. It's not pretty, but it'll turn a ballista bolt."
Eddard nodded. He looked at Ygritte. "Still restless?"
"I'm a spearwife, not a seamstress," she spat, though she softened when she touched her belly. "When do I go back to Jon? He's a Crow, but he's my Crow."
"Soon," Eddard prevaricated. "But Jon is at the Wall, and the Wall is about to become the coldest place on earth. You're safer in Harrenhal."
Eddard walked toward the center of the plaza where Mag the Mighty—Marga—was training. The giant was a walking steel statue, clad in heavy plates that protected his throat, chest, and thighs. He carried a massive oak shield reinforced with iron strips, featuring a golden sun painted over the center.
"Marga! Is the weight a burden?" Eddard called out in the Old Tongue.
The giant turned, his movements rumbly and heavy. "Not heavy, Eddard. Strong. I feel like a mountain that walks."
Towyn, the son of a giant-slayer, translated the more complex nuances of the giant's speech. Eddard smiled. The [System] was already showing the results.
[Unit: Mag 'Marga' the Mighty.][Rank: Giant Soldier.][Stats: Intelligence +30%.][Trait: Mobile Fortress (Can ignore knockback from heavy cavalry).]
By increasing their intelligence, Eddard was making the giants more than just blunt instruments. They were learning tactical positioning and the discipline of the shield-wall. He had named them the "Sun-Glow Giant Corps"—a unit that answered only to him.
"Left! Right! Left!"
A few hundred yards away, a phalanx of Free Folk was attempting a basic march. It was messy; some were tripping over their own spears, while others refused to stop talking. Eddard watched them with the patience of a man who had seen enough "college-style" military drills to know that repetition was the only cure for chaos.
"If they want the gold and the grain, they learn the step," Eddard muttered.
Dita Calandre hurried to his side, her face grim. "My Lord, the scouts have returned. Movement from the capital."
Eddard's eyes sharpened. "Tywin?"
"No," Dita replied. "Randyll Tarly. He's been ransomed and given a fresh host. Ten thousand men—Lannister veterans and Reach spears. They've reached the God's Eye. They're less than two days' march from these walls."
Eddard let out a short, sharp laugh. "The Great Hunter is back for a second round? Good. I was wondering when I'd get to test my new toys."
He looked at the thirty armored giants and his growing Frost Guard.
"Tell the men to sharpen their axes," Eddard commanded. "The Sun is rising over Harrenhal, and I think it's time we burned a few more roses."
[System Notification: Main Quest Active: The Defense of Harrenhal.][Target: Randyll Tarly's Punitive Host.][Status: Preparing for Siege/Field Engagement.][Soul Power: 612 SP.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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