Lynn released Lyanna's hand; Lyanna's palm was warm and slightly sweaty, and the short sword she held high gleamed with a cold light under the fire.
She wasn't acting; she truly wanted to chop off Frey's head!
The wildest blood of the North surged within this woman's body.
"For the glory of the North!"
Greatjon Umber grabbed the roasted whole lamb he had kicked off the table, then, with his large, fan-like hand, seized a goblet and poured a full measure of ale down his throat.
The drink streamed down his thick beard, soaking the leather armor on his chest.
"To Lord Lynn! To Lady Mormont!"
"To the King in the North!"
"Screw the southerners!"
Ned Stark stood at the head of the table, watching the almost chaotic scene before him, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
He glanced at his wife beside him.
Catelyn's face showed no surprise, but rather a calmness that suggested she had expected this.
Looking to the other side, Roose Bolton had silently returned to his seat.
He lowered his head, meticulously cutting the lamb on his plate with a small knife, as if everything that had just happened had nothing to do with him.
But Ned knew that the Lord of The Dreadfort's mood was far from as calm as he appeared.
He had also worried earlier that Roose Bolton's words would be like a venomous thorn, piercing the hearts of the lords.
Duty.
Yes, it was the natural duty of vassals to follow their lords into battle.
But duty could not feed them, nor could it keep soldiers alive.
A war that offered no visible benefit, only sacrifice and loss, was enough to drain the resources of even the most loyal houses and breed the most terrible resentment.
Roose Bolton had not said a single wrong word; he had merely, at the most opportune moment, voiced the calculations hidden in everyone's hearts.
Bolton's intention was crystal clear to Ned.
He wasn't genuinely opposing Lynn, but rather probing and testing.
He was reminding everyone present that this war to the south was not a summons from House Stark, but Lynn's "personal affair."
Duty and interest—this was an eternal topic among nobles.
No one wanted to fight a war without benefits.
Even when faced with a liege lord's command, feigning compliance while secretly disobeying was common among vassals, and even if the liege lord knew they weren't enthusiastic, as long as the vassals didn't make any outrageous moves, no one could do anything to them.
Roose Bolton had merely torn through that thin veil.
He had calculated that Lynn would either bribe them with gold dragons or appease them with empty promises.
Either way, it would greatly diminish Lynn's image in the hearts of the Northern vassals.
Using gold dragons would make it seem mercenary, turning this war into a purely transactional affair.
Using promises would seem hypocritical, as no one could predict the future.
But in all his calculations, he hadn't accounted for a ten-year-old Lyanna Mormont.
This little girl, with the purest and most fervent emotion, shattered the trap Roose Bolton had so carefully constructed.
Gratitude, survival, honor!
These three things moved the hearts of Northmen more than any gold dragons or promises.
Moreover, Lynn had bound his own interests with everyone present, which left no one wanting to argue further.
Lynn was far smarter than he had imagined.
He didn't rush to refute, but allowed public opinion to ferment, and then, through Lyanna's words, completely turned the tide.
Now, this war was no longer Lynn's private matter, but a common cause for the entire North, for survival and honor.
Roose Bolton not only failed to sway Lynn in the slightest, but instead became his best whetstone.
Forging the alliance between Lynn and the Northern lords in the fires of conflict, making it even stronger.
Ned Stark stood up.
He didn't look at Lynn, but cast his gaze upon every cheering vassal in the hall.
A great sense of satisfaction filled his chest.
As Warden of the North, nothing pleased him more than seeing the entire North united as one.
Ned raised his goblet high, his deep voice overpowering all the clamor in the hall.
"For the North!"
"For the North!"
The lords responded in unison, draining their cups.
The atmosphere was once again pushed to a climax.
Even the most taciturn squires in the corner had flushed faces, glowing with excitement.
Ned's gaze swept over familiar and unfamiliar faces, the great sense of satisfaction in his heart not yet fading, when Catelyn beside him gently nudged him with her elbow.
Ned turned his head, meeting his wife's blue eyes.
There were no words in her gaze, but it conveyed an unmistakably clear message.
It was time.
Ned's heart sank abruptly; the hot blood that had risen due to the North's unity instantly cooled by half.
He almost instinctively wanted to find an excuse to delay.
Perhaps to propose another toast, or simply pretend not to understand his wife's hint.
But Catelyn's gaze was firm, even carrying a hint of undeniable urgency.
She was right.
Now was the best time.
While Lynn had just, with an unrivaled demeanor, subdued Roose Bolton and won the hearts of all the lords.
While the fire of fighting for survival and honor burned brightest, announcing this marriage would undoubtedly be like pouring another ladle of boiling oil onto that raging fire.
This would not only completely bind Lynn to House Stark.
It would also declare to everyone.
Lynn's will, to a large extent, represented the will of Winterfell.
Ned understood all this in theory.
But at the thought of Arya, Ned's heart felt as if an invisible hand had squeezed it, aching and swelling.
His daughter… his little Arya.
The little girl who disliked sewing and embroidery, but always preferred to run around the courtyard with a wooden stick as a sword, chasing Bran and Rickon, getting herself covered in mud.
The little girl who would secretly throw the peas she didn't like to the Direwolf during dinner, then make a face at him.
Was she really going to get married?
Time truly flew.
Ned's gaze subconsciously drifted to the table where the children sat.
Robb was conversing in a low voice with Smalljon, while Bran and Rickon were squabbling over a honeycake.
Only Arya was staring intently at the spirited Lynn, her gaze practically glued to him.
It was obvious that her eyes were only on Lynn now.
A wave of helplessness, mixed with an indescribable bitterness, welled up in Ned's heart.
He looked at Lynn again.
The young man was composed, possessing both the sharpness of youth and a maturity far beyond his years.
He had just averted a crisis that could have split the North.
His wisdom and tact amazed even Ned himself.
Without a doubt, Lynn was one of the most promising young talents in the North, and indeed, in all Seven Kingdoms.
Marrying Arya to him would be nothing but beneficial for Arya and for House Stark.
But logic was one thing, and emotion was another.
Ned's mind was now filled with a crude but incredibly apt thought.
His carefully cultivated, fresh young cabbage, grown for so many years, was about to be devoured by a pig.
And this pig was one he himself had chosen; he even had to personally deliver the cabbage to the pig's mouth.
Initially, he had almost cut off his future son-in-law's head.
How unpredictable life was.
In a blink of an eye, this Nights Watch deserter was not only about to marry his daughter, but also had the right to speak to all the lords as an equal.
Ned's hand, holding the goblet, unconsciously tightened.
Catelyn nudged him again.
The force was a bit stronger, and her eyes held a hint of warning.
Ned took a deep breath.
He knew he couldn't delay any longer.
If he did, he would definitely suffer tonight.
"My lords!"
Ned spoke again, his voice much deeper than before, yet carrying an undeniable authority.
The noisy hall instantly fell silent, all the lords turning their gaze to Ned Stark at the high table.
They thought the Lord of Winterfell had some important military news to announce.
Greatjon Umber even put down the half-eaten leg of lamb back on his plate, wiped his greasy mouth, and prepared to listen with a serious expression.
Ned's gaze slowly swept over everyone present.
Roose Bolton still had his head lowered, but Ned could sense that his ears were certainly perked up.
"Today, we gather for the future of the North."
Ned's voice echoed in the spacious hall.
"Lynn has shown us the way, and Lady Lyanna Mormont has reminded us of the North's honor and courage."
He paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts.
But that brief silence made the atmosphere somewhat solemn.
"To make this unity even stronger, to make our alliance unbreakable..."
Ned felt his throat dry; the words that followed, each one, weighed a thousand pounds.
"I, the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, hereby announce."
His gaze finally fell upon Lynn.
His eyes were incredibly complex.
There was admiration, approval, and entrustment.
But even more, there was the warning look of an old father at his future son-in-law, a look that said, "If you dare treat my daughter badly, I'll kill you."
"My daughter, Arya Stark, shall be betrothed to Lynn, Lord of the Gift!"
As his words fell, the entire hall plunged into a deathly silence.
You could hear a pin drop.
Everyone was stunned by this sudden news.
The lords exchanged glances.
Their expressions shifted from shock, to bewilderment, and then to sudden understanding.
A marriage?
No, this was far more than just a marriage!
This was House Stark's clearest statement!
Who was Arya Stark?
She was Ned Stark's own daughter!
What did it mean to betroth her to Lynn?
It meant that Lynn was no longer an ally whose loyalty depended on interests and favors.
He would become a part of House Stark.
He would become Ned Stark's family!
This was a covenant of blood!
It was the highest level of trust and recognition!
Earlier, Roose Bolton had questioned whether Lynn's journey south was a "private matter"; now, Ned, with a marriage, drew Lynn into the Stark camp, loudly slapping the faces of all doubters.
Was there any clearer signal than this?
Lynn's affairs were now House Stark's affairs!
And House Stark's affairs were the affairs of the entire North.
As long as he went south, the entire North would be his staunchest backing!
After a brief, dead silence, the hall erupted in cheers more fervent than any before.
"For the North!"
"Congratulations, Lord Stark! Congratulations, Lord Lynn!"
The lords were ecstatic.
Their gazes towards Lynn had completely changed.
If before it was awe and conviction.
Now, it was accompanied by a genuine sense of closeness and acceptance.
He was no longer the mysterious and powerful Lord of the Gift.
Now, Lynn was one of the North's "own people."
Roose Bolton finally raised his pale face and looked at Lynn, his eyes deep and unreadable.
But his hands, placed beneath the table, were clenched tightly into fists.
Ned Stark's move was even more decisive than Lyanna Mormont's speech.
He directly, at the root, cut off all possibilities of division and suspicion.
Lynn stood up and bowed deeply in Ned's direction.
He had long wished to marry Arya, so he naturally wouldn't refuse.
He said nothing, but this gesture already conveyed his attitude.
Ned looked at him, his heart a mix of emotions.
The sorrow of giving away his daughter had not yet dissipated, but seeing the unprecedented enthusiasm of the lords and the unparalleled unity of the North, he felt a wave of relief.
He forcibly suppressed the lingering reluctance in his heart, forcing a stiff smile onto his face, as befitted a father-in-law.
"Alright, alright!"
Ned waved his hand, signaling for silence.
"I announce this news to tell you all that we, the North, are one family."
Ned's voice grew loud again.
"To celebrate this joyous occasion, and to give us more time to discuss the specifics of our journey south, I invite you all to stay at Winterfell for two more days!"
"For these two days, the wines and feasts of Winterfell will be supplied without limit!"
"Roar!"
Greatjon was the first to leap up; he had been waiting for these words.
"Wise, my lord!"
"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord!"
The lords cheered again, and the atmosphere of the feast reached its peak.
They, of course, understood Ned's meaning.
Staying for two more days wasn't just for eating and drinking.
It was also for them, the vassals, to get closer to Lynn, their future "own man," and deepen their understanding.
And to make the most thorough preparations for the upcoming war.
Ned Stark's esteem for Lynn no longer needed any words to describe.
Catelyn's face showed a satisfied smile; she walked to Ned's side and gently took his hand.
Ned clasped his wife's hand in return.
The warmth in her palm brought some comfort to his forlorn father's heart.
The revelry of the feast continued, but the core agenda had been settled.
The lords began to gather in small groups, drinking heavily and discussing the enormous impact of this marriage, as well as their aspirations for the future war.
No one mentioned duty or interest anymore.
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