Robb Stark paced back and forth outside Lynn's door.
The Snow under his boots crunched, and anxiety almost overflowed from his body.
He had already endured his mother's murderous gaze and explained for a long time, gritting his teeth.
After being scorned by his sister Arya with an 'you're such a blockhead' look for a long time, he finally found an opportunity to escape.
"Lynn!"
Robb couldn't hold back anymore, pushing open the door, forgetting even the courtesy of knocking.
Lynn was sitting in front of the fireplace, with a delicate Princess Myrcella on his lap, and didn't even lift his head at the sound.
"The door wasn't locked, but next time I still recommend you knock, what if I was working hard for the next generation?"
"I just got news, that kid Theon really ran away!"
Robb had no mind to deal with his teasing, rushing a few steps to Lynn's front.
Myrcella discreetly tidied her disheveled top, bowed to the two, and then pushed the door open and left.
"I sent people to search everywhere a few days ago, turned the castle inside out, and the area around Winterfell too, but he just vanished into thin air."
The letter in his hand was crumpled.
The letter came from Deepwood Motte.
It confirmed that Theon Greyjoy had left the Northern Watch and ridden alone towards the west coast.
"He must have gone to the Iron Islands, Balon definitely plans to attack the North!"
Robb's worry was palpable.
He understood Theon, and he understood Theon's father, Balon.
House Greyjoy's ambition had never extinguished; they had always been waiting for an opportunity.
"That bastard!"
"Father treated him like a son, I treated him like a brother, and he betrays us at this time!"
Robb's fists were clenched tight, veins bulging on the back of his hands.
"He must have returned to Pyke!"
"I'm worried... I'm worried that old bastard Balon Greyjoy will stab us in the back while we're marching south!"
"The Ironborn's navy..."
"Look at you, all flustered, I thought it was something serious."
Lynn finally looked up.
He looked at the anxious Robb, his face showing no surprise or panic, only a smile that saw through everything.
"If he ran, he ran."
"What do you mean, 'if he ran, he ran'?!"
Robb could hardly believe his ears.
"Lynn, this is no small matter!"
"Once the Ironborn land in the Moat Cailin, the North's west coastline will be completely exposed to them! We'll be attacked from front and back..."
"So what?" Lynn interrupted him.
"What do you plan to do?"
"Send people to chase him back now? Or immediately divide our forces to guard the west coast?"
Robb was stumped by the question.
Chase?
Yes, Theon had long since disappeared to who knows where.
Divide forces?
The North was already vast and sparsely populated, with stretched military resources; dividing forces to defend the long coastline would be like trying to put out a fire with a cup of water.
"Those pirates from the Iron Islands are not capable of much."
Lynn stood up and walked to the window, looking at Winterfell where the wind and Snow were growing heavier outside.
"Their biggest advantage is their navy."
"But once they land, their combat effectiveness is even worse than common bandits."
"Balon Greyjoy is an ambitious but brainless fool."
"He always thinks he can recreate the glory of the 'Old Way,' but he forgets that times have long since changed."
"But..."
Robb still wanted to say something.
"There are no 'buts'."
Lynn turned around and looked at Robb.
"Remember, the most taboo thing in war is to be led by the nose by the enemy."
Robb looked into Lynn's calm eyes, and the anxiety in his heart unknowingly subsided a lot.
"Then... we do nothing?"
"Who said we do nothing?"
Lynn smiled.
"I just said we don't have to do it ourselves."
"There are suitable people to do it for us."
Lynn clapped his hands lightly.
A dark figure silently appeared in the shadows outside the door.
Robb was startled, instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
It was Jaqen Hghar.
Since returning, he had been by Lynn's side.
Jaqen slowly spoke in his unique, seemingly foreign-accented tone.
"A certain person will go to the Iron Islands."
Lynn explained to Robb.
"He will bring back a head and a person."
Robb's pupils suddenly contracted.
"A head... Balon Greyjoy's?"
"A family, if it loses its leader, will fall into chaos."
Lynn's tone sounded completely in control.
"Especially a family like House Greyjoy that speaks with its fists."
"Once Balon dies, his brothers, Euron, his third brother Victarion, and his ambitious daughter, will fight like dogs over who will inherit the'Seastone Chair'."
It's worth mentioning that Victarion and Euron have a grudge.
Euron once committed adultery with Victarion's'salt wife'.
To maintain his honor, Victarion had no choice but to kill the woman with his own hands, and from then on, he harbored a deep hatred for Euron and remained unmarried.
"They will have no energy, and no ability to bother the North again."
"As for that person..."
Lynn's gaze became a little playful.
"Theon Greyjoy, he will return."
"In a way he would never expect."
"Believe me, a 'kinslaying' traitor, a hostage who has lost his inheritance rights, he will become completely docile after returning to Winterfell."
Robb felt a chill down his spine.
He looked at Lynn, feeling for the first time.
The methods of this Lynn were so... ruthless.
Directly assassinate Balon?
He wouldn't even dare to think of such a thing.
But Lynn said it as simply as eating and drinking.
"Don't worry, Robb."
Lynn patted his shoulder.
"War has already begun."
"From now on, put away your unnecessary kindness and chivalry."
"The more merciful you are to your enemies, the crueler you are to yourself."
"You still have much to learn."
...Three days later, Winterfell experienced a bustle it hadn't seen in a long time.
The wolves of the North, responding to the call of the Direwolf, gathered from all directions.
Outside the castle, countless tents sprang up, forming a spectacular camp.
Banners of different houses flapped in the cold wind.
The neighing of horses, the shouts of men, and the clanging of armor were incessant.
Ned Stark, with Robb and Lynn, stood personally at the castle gate, welcoming the vassals who came to attend the "Harvest Council."
"Roar—! Ned!"
"You old man went to King's Landing and still didn't die!"
"That's awesome!"
A thunderous roar came from afar, making people's eardrums hum.
A giant of a man, riding a colossal horse a head taller than a normal warhorse, charged at the front.
He wore only a heavy bearskin cloak, revealing knotted, iron-like muscles underneath, completely ignoring the harsh cold of the North.
It was the Lord of Last Hearth, "Greatjon" Umber.
He dismounted, each step seemingly making the ground tremble slightly.
He walked up to Ned, and his fan-like hand slapped heavily on Ned's shoulder, making a dull thud.
"I heard you took a lot of crap from those southerners in King's Landing?"
"I told you long ago, that place is no good!"
"Look at you, you've gotten thin!"
Ned staggered from the slap, but a helpless yet warm smile appeared on his face.
Thin?
Ever since Lynn returned to King's Landing, he had been eating and drinking well, with Lynn handling everything; he had actually gained several pounds.
Last night, Catelyn had even complimented the feel of his belly by his bed.
This was called thin?
"I'm fine, Jon."
"Don't worry, you're not dead yet, how could I bear to die?"
Greatjon didn't give Ned a chance to retort, his gaze immediately falling on Lynn.
His large, bell-like eyes scrutinized him up and down, full of undisguised curiosity and assessment.
"You're the lad who united the wildlings beyond the Wall?"
"You don't look so strange after all!"
"Lord Umber."
Lynn bowed slightly, neither servile nor overbearing.
"Don't call me 'Lord,' we Northmen don't play those hypocritical games of the southerners, just call me Greatjon!"
"And you're the king-beyond-the-wall, strictly speaking, I should be calling you 'Lord'."
Greatjon grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.
Distance is always unconsciously shortened by an easygoing personality.
At least Lynn's first impression of him was not bad.
"Lad, my men all say you're quite capable. Last time you flew over my Last Hearth on your damned dragon, causing a huge ruckus, almost blowing the war horns!"
"Tonight, dare to have a drinking contest with me?"
"If you can drink me under the table, then if we really go to war with those southerners, my army from Last Hearth will follow your command!"
The Umber soldiers behind him let out a burst of good-natured laughter.
"Father!"
A similarly tall young man followed from behind, pulling Greatjon's arm somewhat helplessly, stopping Greatjon's rambling.
This was Lord Ned's home turf.
Although they all knew who this war was being fought for.
But after all, Lynn was the king-beyond-the-wall, not the King in the North.
According to custom, he had no right to directly interfere in the North's affairs; it would at least have to go through the Warden of the North, Lord Ned, first.
What kind of thing was it to pledge direct allegiance to Lynn?
It was only because Ned had a good temper; if it were some petty lord, he would have been dealt with long ago!
This was his son, "Smalljon" Umber.
But Greatjon was unconcerned; in his view, both statements were the same to him. Allies and enemies were consistent, and that would never change.
Following closely behind was a distinctive group.
At the very front of the group was a woman who was not particularly tall, but exceptionally sturdy.
Her hair was silver, her face was weathered, and her eyes were as sharp as a bear's.
It was the Lady of Bear Island, Maege Mormont, the "She-Bear."
Behind her followed her daughters.
They were all dressed in chainmail, with battle-axes at their waists, looking valiant and spirited.
"Lord Stark."
Maege Mormont's voice was steady.
She dismounted and nodded at Ned, which served as a greeting.
Her gaze lingered on Lynn for a moment.
"king-beyond-the-wall."
"Lady Mormont." Lynn returned the greeting.
"Is my nephew Jorah doing well in Essos?" Maege suddenly asked.
"He is well, and is now one of my most trusted advisors," Lynn replied candidly.
Maege Mormont's face showed no discernible expression, she merely nodded again, then hurried into the castle with her daughters.
The little bear girl, Lyanna, looked curiously at the unfamiliar Lynn as she entered the city gate.
Clearly, she had already heard about Lynn having a dragon.
In this era, dragons were like luxury cars in modern times, regardless of gender, everyone would take a second look at who the dragon's owner was, and whether he had three heads and six arms.
Maege's brother was Jeor Mormont.
Jeor's only child, the former Lord of Bear Island, was Jorah Mormont.
Ever since Jorah fled to the Free Cities to escape punishment for slave trading, Maege had taken on the heavy responsibility of House Mormont, becoming the head of House Mormont and the de facto ruler of all of Bear Island.
Afterward, Maege dedicated herself to restoring the family's honor and cleaning up the impoverished mess Jorah had left behind after his flight.
Today, Bear Island is respectable, much better than it was during Jorah's time.
She was truly an iron-willed, strong woman.
Maege had five daughters.
Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle, Lyanna, and her eldest daughter and heir, Dacey.
It is worth mentioning that Maege had no sons.
No one knew who the fathers of Maege's daughters were, nor did anyone know if she was married.
There were rumors that she had slept with a bear, and his daughter Alysane had made similar claims.
She claimed that the women of House Mormont were Wargs who could transform into bears and seek companions in the forest.
All of Maege's daughters bore the surname "Mormont," and none were considered bastards.
Therefore, Maege's husband might have come from a noble family lower than House Mormont or from commoners.
In such a situation, Maege preferred to keep her own surname for herself and her children, rather than her husband's.
Just then.
"Hehehe... make way, make way, these old bones can't handle the bumps..."
A man as fat as a ball, sitting in a huge sedan chair carried by eight strong men, was brought from the back of the procession.
It was the Lord of White Harbor, Earl Wyman Manderly, nicknamed "Lord Lamprey."
House Manderly was originally a family from the Reach, displaced by exile, and was taken in by House Stark less than nine hundred years ago.
Stark granted them White Harbor as their fief.
This kindness in a time of need was a crucial cornerstone of House Manderly's generations of loyalty to House Stark.
It is worth noting that they are one of the few families in the North who worship the Seven, rather than the Old Gods commonly worshipped in the North, and their lineage and customs belong to the Andals.
It was also for this reason that, compared to Ned, he was not very familiar with the other lords.
Unlike Maege, who was boisterous and treated Winterfell like her own home, he seemed a bit reserved.
He was about sixty years old, extremely obese, and often needed a sedan chair to move around; his plump face was full of kind smiles, and his small eyes were narrowed into slits, making him look like a harmless rich old man.
"Lord Stark, Lord Lynn,"
He leaned halfway out of the sedan chair, his voice a little breathless due to his obesity.
"White Harbor has prepared some small gifts for this council."
"Dornish red wine, and some spices brought from the South Sea, I hope they can add some flavor to the banquet."
"That's very thoughtful." Ned also replied politely.
Wyman Manderly's gaze turned to Lynn, his smile growing even more fervent.
"Lord Lynn, I've heard of your deeds, you are truly the pride of our North!"
"I heard you stirred up trouble in King's Landing and even won Princess Myrcella's heart, truly enviable... hehehe..."
Seeing Ned's expression turn somewhat dangerous, he "realized" it belatedly!
He "suddenly realized" that Ned also seemed to intend to marry his daughter to Lynn, and he seemed to have "accidentally" said the wrong thing, so he quickly tried to gloss over it.
The old fox is acting again!
Any disguise was useless in front of Lynn.
Even if Lynn didn't have Greensight, he knew all the characters well and knew what kind of person Wyman Manderly was.
Wyman Manderly was a typical "great wisdom hidden in foolishness" character.
He used his plump, seemingly harmless appearance and his frequent misstatements and foolish behavior as a disguise.
However, after House Stark suffered a catastrophe, he endured humiliation, maneuvering among his enemies with superb acting skills.
He was cunning and plotted in secret.
Ultimately, he not only successfully avenged his enemies but also did his utmost to prepare for the restoration of House Stark's rule.
He never forgot who took them in during their time of crisis.
It can be said that he was a prominent representative of the loyal nobles of the North.
Moreover, this old fox had long ago proposed a plan to rebuild the Northern navy to Winterfell and secretly built warships in White Harbor, hiding the ships in the Weeping Water.
Subsequently, Rickard Karstark of Karhold.
Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte.
Harrion Tallhart of Torrhen's Square and other vassals also arrived one after another.
They were all the strongest forces in the North, and their families had been loyal to House Stark for generations.
The last to arrive was a group with a somewhat eerie atmosphere.
On their banner was a flayed man.
It was Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort.
He rode a black horse, quietly in the middle of the procession.
He wore black leather armor with a pink cloak over it.
His face was so pale it had no trace of color, and his light, almost transparent eyes made people uncomfortable with just one look.
He was not as boisterous as Greatjon, nor as hypocritical as Wyman Manderly.
He was very quiet.
Like a leech lurking under water plants, waiting for an opportunity to suck blood.
"Lord Stark."
Roose Bolton's voice was very soft, making him seem like a polite noble.
Ned nodded impassively.
Roose Bolton's gaze finally fell on Lynn.
Their eyes met.
Lynn could feel that those light eyes were dissecting him, evaluating him.
And Lynn was also looking at him.
He knew what this man would do in the future.
A smile slowly appeared on Lynn's face.
There was no hostility, no threat in that smile.
Only a kind of... playfulness... like a cat seeing a mouse?
Roose Bolton narrowed his eyes slightly.
He hid that trace of surprise back in his heart.
Then he nodded at Lynn and silently led his people into Winterfell.
As for the Little Bastard, Lynn didn't see him.
Indeed, with the status of Ramsay Bolton, or rather Ramsay Snow, he was not important enough to attend a meeting of this caliber.
His presence would only bring shame and embarrassment to Roose.
Night fell.
The great hall of Winterfell's main keep was brightly lit.
The long tables were laden with roasted meats, bread, and ale.
The wolves of the North gathered together.
They ate meat heartily and drank ale from large tankards.
The noise almost shook the roof.
Greatjon Umber was already red-faced from drinking, pulling Lynn, insisting on arm-wrestling him.
Lynn advised him not to humiliate himself, but he was stubborn and insisted on trying with Lynn, who finally granted his "wish."
Wyman Manderly sat there harmlessly, continuously stuffing food into his mouth, while chatting cheerfully with the nobles around him.
Ned Stark sat at the head of the table.
Unlike the previous royal banquet which made him feel constrained, this gathering of Northern lords made him feel incredibly comfortable.
Looking at this familiar scene, the gloom in his heart vanished.
This was his North.
Rugged, unrestrained, yet incredibly united.
Lynn easily pressed Greatjon's arm onto the table, drawing cheers and whistles.
Then Lynn stood up, raising the horn cup full of ale in front of him.
The noisy hall instantly fell silent.
Everyone's gaze was focused on the young king-beyond-the-wall.
Lynn surveyed everyone present.
His gaze swept from Greatjon, to Maege Mormont, and then to Roose Bolton, quietly drinking in the corner.
"I know many of you are very curious about me."
"But that's not important."
"Next, let's talk about the Harvest Council."
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