The great hall of Riverrun had once been the place where Robb Stark declared himself king. It was also the hall where Jon had talked him out of it. Now it served as the war council chamber for the Sunset Sea coalition.
The room seemed to have bad luck with Jon.
Every time he sat in it, most of the men present argued against whatever he wanted to do — even now, when some of them were already calling him "Your Grace."
Jon sat on the high seat with Roslin Frey standing quietly at his side. Every so often she stole a glance at the young duke — or king — who had once been a stranger and now appeared in her dreams far too often.
Who could have guessed that the bastard her father had once mocked at a feast was actually of Targaryen blood?
"Your Grace, Stannis has scouts everywhere," Rhaegar Frey said. "Sending even a small force through their lines would be far too dangerous."
Rhaegar had decided that, king or not, he would always address Jon as "Your Grace." Jon had promised to help him with the inheritance of the Twins, after all.
Jon had just announced that he intended to lead an elite force himself, slipping around behind Stannis's army with only a few hundred men. Rhaegar could not accept the risk.
"My lord, Stannis is no fool with an army either," Rickard Karstark said, rising. Since Jon had not yet taken the crown, titles were still mixed. "If you try to circle him you cannot bring many men — two or three hundred at most. Those few hundred would then have to face ten thousand or more of Stannis's soldiers. They will come straight for you the moment they realize who you are, and they will come hard. Let me go in your place."
Rickard had been looking for a good death ever since the Westerlands campaign. Jon had saved him then, and again on the Iron Islands. Now that another war had begun, he wanted one more chance — especially since he could already see younger men rising fast around Jon.
Bastards and second sons who had proven themselves on the Iron Islands. Maester-officers like Leo. The orphans Jon had taken in and trained in his schools. In another few decades Jon would have no shortage of capable men.
The old men of the North had an old custom: step aside and make room for the young.
Rickard and Rhaegar spoke for most of the room. Nearly every lord of the Sunset Sea coalition was gathered around Jon now. If anything happened to him, they would all be branded traitors. No one wanted to take that chance.
The only person who supported the plan was Lyman Darry, who had shot up several inches in the past year and now believed he was grown enough to ride beside Jon.
Roslin understood little of war, but even she could see how dangerous this was. A few hundred men against ten thousand was simple arithmetic.
"I understand your concerns," Jon said, looking over the crowded hall. "But I can take two or three thousand men, not a few hundred."
He clapped his hands.
A group of men and women stepped forward. They wore Westerosi clothing, but their eyes, posture, and the way they moved were clearly not from here. Most striking of all were the animals that walked beside them — eagles, owls, a snow bear, wolves, cats, a boar, ravens.
The smell of the beasts rolled through the hall. Several lords near the front covered their noses without thinking.
Some recognized the newcomers as wildlings — or free folk, as they called themselves.
When Jon explained that these people could send their minds into the bodies of their animals, the entire hall erupted in shocked murmurs.
Even Roslin stared, wide-eyed.
At Jon's signal the skinchangers sat cross-legged on the floor. One by one their eyes rolled back and they slipped into their beasts.
Under Jon's spoken commands the animals performed tricks that left the lords gasping. An eagle counted numbers by flapping its wings. A wolf placed its head inside the snow bear's open jaws without being harmed. Complex orders were followed without hesitation.
Roslin watched in amazement. Then she suddenly remembered Jon's clever raven back at Casterly Rock and felt her face grow warm. That bird had probably seen every corner of her chambers.
After the demonstration, Jon explained his plan. He would break two or three thousand of his best men into small groups. The skinchangers would act as living scouts and guides, leading them in separate columns around Stannis's army. They would link up again at a chosen point near the God's Eye.
"Seven hells," someone muttered. "Magic is real after all."
Once they saw what the skinchangers could do, most of the lords agreed the infiltration was possible.
But even if everything went perfectly, three thousand men — no matter how elite — could not hope to stop Stannis's full host. If those men were destroyed, the Riverlands would fall open and Stannis could march straight for the Twins, sealing the Neck before the northern army could reach them.
The Riverlands lords and their people had already been ravaged once. They had no desire to see it happen again.
"I said I would lead the flanking force myself," Jon said plainly. "I can hold Stannis's army. I don't need to defeat him — only pin him in place so he cannot risk a decisive battle. Once the Reach army arrives, everything changes."
When Jon spoke like that, even Edmure Tully found it hard to argue. The man's record spoke for itself.
"The Long Night is coming," Jon said again. "We need to end this war between ourselves before the real war begins."
He had considered bringing back a wight or even a White Walker as proof, but Daenerys had already shown that evidence alone meant nothing. Men only respected strength they could see and feel. He would have to beat Stannis first, then offer terms.
Under Jon's insistence the council accepted the plan.
He chose his commanders: Rickard Karstark, Sandor Clegane, Harken, Septon, Leo, Mandon, Garalt Flowers, and several others. Some would work in pairs, others alone. Each group would carry a few hundred men and be guided by skinchangers. Their rally point was set near the God's Eye.
Edmure Tully would remain at Riverrun. His defense of the Red Fork had already proven his ability.
The lords and officers filed out to make ready. Soon the great hall was empty except for Jon and Roslin.
Jon looked at her. With the Twins suddenly important again, Roslin's position had risen with it.
They had not had a proper conversation since she arrived at Riverrun. Their last real talk had been cold and honest.
Roslin felt Jon's gaze and went rigid. The crackle of the hearth fire sounded loud in the empty hall. Her heart beat faster.
Jon decided to say the hardest part first.
"Roslin," he said quietly, "I know your father sent you here to serve me. But I can't let you get pregnant right now."
Roslin's eyes filled instantly. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Jon sighed inwardly. The girl was sweet, but she cried far too easily.
He explained his reasons. They were at war; he could not afford distraction. More importantly, he needed to protect his eldest son's position and the natural authority that came with being several years older than any siblings who followed.
Roslin only cried harder.
Jon took her cold, slender hand in his rough one. "Your child will come after Margaery's in the line of succession, but I will still give it a dragon egg in its cradle, the same as Aegon. It will be raised no differently from my other children. We may never have a grand wedding, but I still hope to grow old beside you. Once we finish with Stannis, once we have faced the Long Night and won… I will bring you into my life properly."
For some reason Roslin only wept more at his words. Jon felt a flicker of helplessness. He kept wiping her tears and speaking softly, unsure what else she wanted from him.
Margaery's position had been earned by her family, by the promises Jon had made her, and by the steel she had shown when she placed Alester Florent under arrest at Casterly Rock. No one — not even Jon — was willing to shake that foundation.
Then Roslin spoke again, voice thick and broken.
"I… I want to tell you… no matter what my father decides later… as long as you don't send me away… I'll stay. I'll serve you. Wedding or no wedding… whether my child can call itself Targaryen or not… none of it matters."
She was crying so hard she could barely get the words out. A thin line of clear mucus glistened beneath her nose.
Jon felt something soften in his chest.
Margaery's love burned hot. Roslin's was clear and quiet.
He wiped her face again, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
They parted soon after to prepare for what was coming.