Chapter 593: The Great Steward of the North

Robb's choice of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold as the Chief Steward of the North was both expected and logical.

He had lived up to the teachings of his parents. Thankfully, he hadn't chosen Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor or the countess from Widow's Watch, located at the edge of the continent where even birds found it undesirable.

The Karstark family was distantly related to the Starks, and Lord Rickard himself had been one of Eddard's trusted generals. Entrusting the North to Rickard was the best choice.

"Robb chose Lord Rickard."

"That's a relief."

Both Eddard and Lady Catelyn sighed in relief.

The named Rickard Karstark, a burly man with long hair and a face covered in a gray beard, donned in bear fur and draped with a dark cloak, stood up with a rustling sound. He approached the dais, thumping his chest with one hand, producing a muffled sound, and then kneeled.

"Your Grace!"

"I am willing to govern the North for you," Lord Rickard's thundering voice announced.

"The 'Winter Sun'. The Lord of Karhold, is it?" King Viserys wasn't too surprised by Robb's nomination. The choices available to Robb were limited.

The Manderlys of White Harbor, though powerful and wealthy, weren't truly of the North. Their Andal ancestry and worship of the Seven Gods rather than the Old Gods had always set them apart from the other Northern houses. Lord Rickard, being a trusted Stark ally, was an anticipated choice.

"Very well," King Viserys nodded in agreement.

Robb's choice, though significant, still required the king's approval. And now, with the king's nod, it seemed everything was falling into place.

Lord Rickard then turned to Eddard and Robb, kneeling before them, "Lord Robb Stark, you've entrusted the North to me. I will not let you down."

"It's in your hands now, Rickard," said Eddard, his voice laced with weariness. He patted the arm of the towering Northerner.

On the other side, Robb, with his youthful ruddy hair and cheeks still bearing the soft fuzz of adolescence, replied, "I trust you, Lord Rickard Karstark!"

This was the most significant decision of his life, and he felt both the weight and excitement of it. Now, truly a part of the game of thrones, he would face political intrigues, battles, and many more pivotal decisions.

"Lord Robb Stark!"

"Lord Rickard Karstark!"

The hall buzzed with the voices of the Northern nobles. The trial of Eddard Stark, the former Warden of the North and Duke of Winterfell, was certainly a major event in King's Landing.

It was evident to the keen observers that some political compromise had been struck between House Stark and the royal house, ensuring Eddard Stark's life.

Back in a local tavern, tales of the trial mixed with salacious gossip. A drunkard claimed to have seen Lady Catelyn entering the king's chambers and the sounds that followed. His wild tales drew laughter from the patrons and eye rolls from the serving girls. Yet, as the raucous laughter continued, a figure in the corner, cloaked in white, took a sip from his cup. He grasped the hilt of his sword, irritated by the crude jokes.

Suddenly, the tavern doors burst open. Masked soldiers in black robes entered, their target being the gossiping drunkard.

"Spreading rumors about the royal family and defaming the nobility. That's a capital offense," declared the captain coldly. The drunkard was seized, hands and feet chained.

"Mercy! I won't do it again!" the drunkard pleaded, sobering up instantly at the sight of the feared Internal Affairs guards.

His pleas fell on deaf ears as he was gagged and dragged away. The captain's gaze then swept over the patrons, who averted their eyes in fear. His gaze finally settled on the man in the white cloak.

"You! Lift your head!" the captain commanded.