Chapter 18: The Right to Share the Spoils

"My Lord, General, merciful Young Master."

Ba'er Lan Nizes changed his address three times in a row, then said, "Please, you must… you must restrain your brave warriors and not harm the guards who have already discarded their weapons, and also… also the women and children."

As he spoke, his white hair seemed to tremble slightly with his body, and his light green eyes looked at the courtyard full of helmeted and armored soldiers, his face filled with tension.

In the corner to the left of the main gate, twenty or thirty guards who had dropped their weapons and removed their armor were squatting.

They held their hands over their heads, having completely given up resistance, and were firmly guarded by a dozen Northern soldiers armed with longswords and crossbows.

In the corner to the right of the main gate, a group of the elderly, women, and children were huddled together—family members and servants who had been driven out of the rooms.

Among them were also many young and beautiful girls.

They were tightly surrounded by their own people, afraid their beauty would attract the covetous gaze of these Northern warriors.

Eddard sat casually on the courtyard steps, his face expressionless. "Alright, I keep my word. Since you have opened the gate and surrendered, no one's life will be harmed."

It was only because this man's surname was Lan Nizes—a distant relative of the Lannisters. If he had been a true Lannister, Eddard might have sent their entire family to his cheap old man to make up for those five vacant slots.

Ba'er stood by, smiling ingratiatingly. "That's good, that's good, you see…"

He thought this young man seemed easy to talk to, and prepared to continue—but he was cut off with one cold sentence:

"That's enough."

After Eddard spoke, he waved his hand, and two hundred wolf-like soldiers rushed into the courtyard like a gust of wind.

Smashing, crying, begging, cursing, and screaming.

Those hiding in corners or secret rooms stood no chance.

Soon, soldiers carried out over a dozen boxes from the lavish manor.

The smallest box contained glittering gold dragons—at a glance, there were several hundred.

Larger boxes contained tens of thousands of silver stags. Though bulkier, their total value nearly matched the smaller box.

Abel gently placed a decorated box before Eddard, filled with gold and silver jewelry inlaid with gems—some still stained with blood.

Eddard looked at the wealth and thought, "Even distant Lannister relatives are this rich?"

In the North, one gold dragon could buy a decent warhorse. A full set of high-quality chainmail cost five dragons. A full set of weapons? Just one.

With enough time, this loot could fund two hundred elite cavalry!

Maybe there was a gold mine beneath Ox Town?

No matter—there wouldn't be time to dig it.

Just then, Earl Rickard Karstark arrived on horseback with several attendants.

Seeing the surrendered captives, intact soldiers, and glittering loot, a rare smile crossed the normally stoic lord's face.

He had just returned from Robb Stark's camp. Last night, he and his son each killed a Lannister.

But there had been a tense exchange between him and the King, with the Greatjon fanning the flames.

Still, Rickard had remained silent and left properly. He wouldn't hesitate to do the same again, if needed.

He had learned that Eddard had attacked the toughest stronghold in the town and rushed over immediately.

He didn't expect it to be captured so swiftly—and nearly all the spoils already secured.

Rickard sat beside Eddard, smiling. "Son, you've done well—not just here, but in many things. What do you plan to do with these spoils?"

How to divide them?

Eddard hesitated. Though he had led the charge, he wasn't the head of the family. The right to divide spoils belonged to his father.

Plus, he hadn't received any training on Northern traditions regarding war spoils.

Rickard noticed his son's confusion, smiled, and pointed at the boxes.

"One-third goes to Winterfell. That is the liege lord's due for leading the war.

One-third goes to the soldiers. Their bravery deserves fair reward—based on merit, not favoritism.

The final third goes to House Karstark. I have full control over that. Anyone who objects will be punished like winter's cold."

"Understood?"

Eddard nodded. This mirrored the "one-third" rule from medieval times he was familiar with.

If Karstark soldiers obtained spoils themselves, they'd still surrender a third to their House—just as Dita Kalander had previously.

"Since you understand, go do it."

Rickard handed the task to Eddard and left to offer the Lannister heads to the gods.

There was no weirwood in Ox Town. The Lan Nizes family followed the Seven Gods. A sept existed—but no godswood.

"Father, take this with you."

Eddard handed over a golden sword. By morning light, he'd noticed the engravings:

"Hear Me Roar" on one side.

"A Lannister Always Pays His Debts" on the other.

A lion crest adorned the hilt.

A Lannister trophy, no doubt.

"Hmm, very good," Rickard said, taking the sword and leaving with his attendants.

"Alright, men! Time to divide the spoils!"

Eddard waved his hand and began counting the coins.

Those who stood guard on the walls and saw little action received less.

Cavalrymen who helped suppress the wall defenses got more.

And the few brave souls who battered down the gate earned the most.

Less than three hundred cavalrymen divided one-third of the spoils, and everyone walked away with heavy pockets and wide smiles.

Kings fight for honor or politics.

Lords for land or loyalty.

But soldiers? They fight for a better life. And this gold meant a better life.

Eddard also ordered men to carry House Karstark's silver stags in their own pouches—no time for wagons.

They were conducting a rapid campaign to lure Tywin out of Harrenhal and intercept him on the Golden Road.

Carrying chests would slow them down.

"Abel, bring a few men. We're delivering the King's share."

After all this, Eddard intended to fulfill his duty, eat a feast, and sleep.

He had ridden all night, fought into dawn, and even used [Magic Armor] during the battle—he was exhausted.

"What spoils are so valuable that my Hand of the King must deliver them himself?"

Robb Stark rode up on his tall horse, cheerful.

Last night's success had lifted the Young Wolf's spirits.

Behind him came Ser Brynden, Jon Umber of Last Hearth, Maege Mormont of Bear Island, Earl Titus of Raventree Hall, Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte, and several knights and heirs.

They needed a meeting space to plan their next move.

Eddard removed his helmet and smiled. "Your Majesty, congratulations on your magnificent victory."

"It's your victory too, Eddard Karstark. Your idea worked perfectly. Earl Titus intercepted at least two thousand enemies—future battles will be much easier."

Robb ignored the coins, focusing only on Eddard.

"It was my duty, Your Majesty."

"Alright, alright."

Greatjon approached, attempting to throw an arm over Eddard, but the younger man dodged.

Greatjon chuckled. "Eddard Karstark, get that… that guy to give us a big room and some food. We've got work to do."

Robb nodded in agreement.

Eddard looked back at Abel, who quickly left to prepare a meal.

"Please, Your Majesty."

"Hmm."

The group entered and found the Banquet Hall on the first floor—the only place large enough.

"Now, we've completed the first step—eliminating ten thousand fresh recruits with minimal losses. The question is: will Tywin leave Harrenhal to chase us into the Westerlands?"

Robb smiled as he opened the meeting.

His growing prestige among the Northern and Riverlands lords gave weight to his words.

Most remained quiet, waiting for him to lead.

"Your Majesty," Jon Umber rose. "Taking out green recruits won't rattle Tywin. We need to hit gold mines—Castamere, Nun's Head, Pendric Hills. We destroy their wealth, someone will beg him to come back."

The suggestion drew nods of interest.

"Earl Jon," Ser Brynden interjected, "mines take too long. This kind of campaign needs speed. Abandon that plan."

Greatjon looked furious but held back.

Brynden continued: "Before the war, I scouted Casterly Rock, Feastfires, Corn City—their garrisons are thin. We can take them quickly. Castle losses will force Tywin's hand."

"Forget it," Maege Mormont said. "We're deep in enemy land with limited troops. The villages are fat with livestock—raiding them will hurt the enemy more."

"We should send out all cavalry," Earl Titus said coldly. "Burn every house and field. Kill every man who can hold a weapon. Use the women and children for labor."

His ruthlessness caught everyone's attention.

But no one objected.

Raventree Hall had suffered such horrors—repaying in kind was understandable.