Everyone stopped what they were doing.
Greatjon Umber's large hand, ready to grab his wine cup again, paused mid-air.
Maege Mormont put down the roasted meat she was about to eat.
Even Wyman Manderly, who had been eating voraciously with his head down, lifted his greasy, fat face.
Dozens of eyes focused on Lynn.
Harvest Council?
Oh, right.
This seemed to be the main topic.
Although they all knew it was the superficial main topic.
"Winter is coming."
Lynn spoke.
These four words were the motto of House Stark.
Northerners knew better than any southerner what Winter truly meant.
"The Maesters of The Citadel say that what we are experiencing is the longest summer in Westeros's history."
"Many children of many houses were born in this long summer; they have already forgotten the cruel Winter."
Lynn's gaze slowly swept over everyone present, seeing the familiar solemnity on their faces.
"And after a long summer, there will inevitably be an even longer and more brutal Winter!"
"Long Night."
In the corner, Roose Bolton, who had been silent and seemed to blend into the shadows, uttered these two words in his uniquely soft voice.
These two words seemed to drop the temperature in the hall by several degrees, making everyone feel a bone-chilling cold.
"Yes, the Long Night."
Lynn nodded.
"A Long Night cold enough to freeze hell, making the living envy the dead."
"My people, those whom you call wildlings, they did not cross The Wall to raid."
"They are fleeing for their lives."
"They are fleeing a darkness and cold that could engulf the entire world."
A restless stir arose in the hall.
Wildlings?
When did these bloodthirsty bandits start fearing Winter?
Weren't they part of Winter already?
"king-beyond-the-wall,"
Rickard Karstark stood up.
He was a tall man with a thick beard and eyes as hard as the rocks of the North.
"Do you mean this Winter is different from previous ones?"
"Not just different, but worlds apart."
Lynn emphasized again.
"I united all the tribes beyond The Wall, not to conquer the South, but to survive."
"I made them put aside their hatred for each other and frantically stockpile supplies for Winter."
"We cut wood, collected raw materials, dug cellars... We made every possible preparation."
Lynn paused, his gaze sharpening.
"But we lack one crucial thing."
"Grain."
"I alone have hundreds of thousands of hungry wildling mouths, plus hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians in Astapor."
"Don't think that just because I have aid from Tyrell and Lannister, and merchant ships from Slavers Bay in Essos, I don't seem to lack grain now."
"But in the coming Long Night, I am not confident I can get more grain to feed them."
"Stones and iron ore cannot be eaten, nor can wood fill stomachs."
"Without grain, even if we can withstand the cold, we will simply starve to death."
Everyone fell silent.
This was the simplest, yet most intractable problem.
The North was too damn poor.
The land here was barren, the climate severe, and the population sparse.
Each year's harvest was barely enough to sustain themselves.
"Lord Stark has already promised to give half of Winterfell's stored grain as Winter provisions for the North."
Lynn continued.
Ned Stark nodded, confirming Lynn's words.
"Winterfell has been preparing for several years and is indeed wealthy, but this is still far from enough."
Lynn's gaze turned to the vassals present.
"Therefore, the North needs your help, needs you to provide the surplus grain from your respective castles."
As his words fell, an awkward silence filled the hall.
The vassals looked at each other, their faces showing troubled expressions.
It wasn't that they were unwilling, but that they truly couldn't provide it.
"Lord Lynn..."
The first to speak was Wyman Manderly, who was as fat as a mountain of flesh.
He laboriously shifted his corpulent body on the chair, forcing a kind smile on his face.
He was the wealthiest lord present and immediately set an example.
"White Harbor is the richest port in the North, and my granaries do have some reserves."
"I am willing to represent House Manderly and offer half of the grain in my granaries to support your cause."
"However..."
He changed his tone, and the smile on his face became somewhat bitter.
"Even so, it's just a drop in the bucket."
"To feed so many people and survive a Winter of unknown length... the amount of grain needed is simply astronomical."
"Lord Manderly is right."
Maege Mormont said in a deep voice.
"Bear Island's annual fish catch is barely enough to feed the island's people; we have no surplus grain to offer."
"House Mormont can only offer our loyalty and our battle axes."
Her words represented the feelings of most of the smaller lords present.
They could shed their last drop of blood for Stark, for the North.
But they truly had no grain.
"I understand your difficulties, so,"
Lynn's voice rang out again, drawing everyone's attention back.
"Relying on the North internally will never solve this problem."
Lynn walked to the center of the hall and had someone unroll a large map of Westeros.
He stretched out his hand and pointed to the South of the map.
A fertile land surrounded by rivers and plains.
"But there is one place that can."
"There is a place whose land is so fertile it oozes oil, and its annual harvest is enough to feed half a kingdom."
"That is the granary of Westeros."
Everyone's eyes followed his finger, landing on that familiar name.
The Riverlands.
"That's right, the The Riverlands."
"As long as we can get the support of the The Riverlands, let alone one Long Night, even if two or three more come, we will surely endure!"
Lynn's words instantly ignited hope in everyone's hearts.
Oh, right!
The The Riverlands!
House Tully was House Stark's most steadfast in-law, and Lady Catelyn came from Riverrun!
As long as Duke Ned spoke, how could Riverrun not support the North?
Direct support might not be realistic, but they could buy grain!
However, Lynn's next words completely extinguished the hope they had just ignited.
"But, now."
"This largest granary of Westeros has fallen into the hands of a bunch of lunatics and schemers!"
Lynn recounted Lysa Arryn's actions and her dirty dealings with Walder Frey, telling everyone present the unvarnished truth.
He did not exaggerate, merely stated objective facts.
But every fact was enough to enrage these straightforward Northerners.
"That madwoman! She actually killed her own father?"
"All for a Littlefinger who has been dead for ages?"
"And that Walder Frey! That old turtle who was late to the Battle of the Trident River! He actually dared to collude with that madwoman and usurp Riverrun?"
"What are they trying to do?"
"Fool! What else could it be? They are trying to cut off the North's throat!"
The hall erupted instantly.
Angry roars rose and fell.
They finally understood.
This was indeed Lynn's duel with the southerners.
But it was also a conspiracy against the entire North!
Lysa and House Frey controlling the The Riverlands meant controlling the North's southward passage, and even more, controlling the North's most urgent lifeline in the future!
They wanted the North to starve to death in this coming Long Night!
"Bang!"
With a loud crash, Greatjon Umber slammed his fist on the table.
The oak long table shook violently from his blow, and the plates and wine cups clattered.
"Goddammit!"
Greatjon's flushed face, red from drink, looked somewhat ferocious with anger.
"Those dogs! Who do they think they are?!"
"The North, the The Riverlands, and the Vale have always been allies; the three-way alliance must not be broken by a few schemers!"
"They dare to starve the North?!"
"Ned! Lynn! Give the order!"
He drew his greatsword from his waist and plunged it into the table, the blade sinking more than half a foot into the tabletop.
"My warriors of Last Hearth have long been impatient to march south and cut off the heads of those southerners!"
"That's right! Damn them!"
"Let them witness the North's fury!"
"For the North!"
"For survival!"
The crowd was furious.
Every Northern lord stood up, drawing their weapons.
The battle intent in their eyes was hotter than the flames in the hearth.
Before, they thought this was merely a war to avenge their ally, House Tully.
But now, they understood.
This was a war for themselves, for their families, for the survival of the entire North!
This was a war for survival!
Ned Stark looked at the roaring vassals before him, a surge of pride swelling in his heart.
He looked at Lynn, his eyes filled with approval and trust.
Lynn, in just a few short sentences, had perfectly combined everyone's interests, anger, and will to survive.
He had also made his cause everyone's cause, making everyone willing to fight for him.
"Everyone!"
Lynn raised his horn cup, signaling for silence.
The noisy hall returned to quiet, everyone looking at him with almost fanatical eyes.
"Lysa Arryn and Walder Frey, to celebrate their 'alliance,' are preparing a grand wedding in Riverrun."
"They plan to force Duke Edmure Tully to marry a Frey daughter, trampling the honor of the entire House Tully underfoot."
Lynn revealed a sinister smile.
"Tully is our most loyal ally; we absolutely cannot stand by and do nothing!"
"That is not a wedding."
"That is the funeral of House Tully, and the funeral of all hope for our North!"
"They are reveling in our death, celebrating our doom!"
Lynn raised his cup, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, his voice like the cold wind of the North.
"Now, I only ask you one thing."
"Are we going to sit here and wait to starve to death, or..."
"Are we going to go and turn that damn wedding upside down?!"
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