Lord Robett Glover looked on with pride as his former ward, and new Lord of the Hornwood, Lawrence Snow, rode into Winterfell. Arrayed around him were twenty men at arms and a household knight around their new Lord. The orange banners with a great moose upon them stood out on the grey, cool morn. He opened his arms. "Lawrence! Cutting it close there boy!"
"Ran into some ruffians that needed taking care of two weeks back." Lawrence laughed, dismounting his horse and then stepping into Glover's arms and hugging him tightly.
He beamed, hugging the boy who was as good as his own son. "Good for you, best you got here today though. Missing the Stark's Moot would be poor taste. Especially what with Lady Stark giving you the Hornwood."
"Aye, rode hard to get here in time." Lawrence pulled back with a boyish grin on his face. "Sent a raven to Lady Stark saying my vote was for House Stark should we be further delayed."
"Good lad." Glover gave his back a last slap. "Now, we have words to have before this Moot, and things for you to know. So let's present you to Lady Stark and get some bread and salt into you and then we can talk."
Lawrence gave a sharp nod, his face turning serious. "Of Course." He turned to his men, and they were his men now. "Stable the horses, then find the Glover men."
"Should I come with you, my Lord?" One of the men asked, looking at Lawrence with genuine concern.
Lawrence didn't look to Glover for help, just commanded like he'd been born to be a Lord and not a bastard. "Aye, I'll need you if matters of the Hornwood come up."
"Very good my Lord." The man swung himself out of his saddle and strode over to join them.
Glover was so proud of the boy he could burst. "Come one then, Lady Stark's in the great hall."
"How many Lords are here?" Lawrence asked as they bustled towards the great hall.
Glover chuckled as he herded them through the great busy yard. "All of them, you're the last of us. Lord Reed sent a representative of course. But all the others, even Skagos came."
"Damn, well wouldn't want to be the Lord not here. Doubt you'd keep your head longer than a few moons." Lawrence's voice held weight then.
Glover didn't disagree, the damned Starks were blessed in war. Ned had been a damned good soldier, led them to victory after victory in the Rebellion. Then Robb, gods be good Robb had been the greatest military leader of the War for all they'd lost. But now Jon and Sansa were continuing that legacy without a hitch. Wasn't natural, but then Starks never had been normal, they had ice in their veins. It was why they'd ruled the North since they'd united it. "No, next house that brings Lady Stark's wrath will be burned to the ground I imagine."
"They'd damn well deserve it." Lawrence scoffed.
He hummed. "You're not wrong." Glover gave a sharp nod to the protective giant of a woman standing vigilant watch over Lady Stark who was directing servants with a single minded focus.
"Lord Glover, Lord of the Hornwood." Lady Stark neatly avoided saying Snow. She focused on Lawrence. "Welcome to Winterfell, our hospitality is yours." She waved a servant forward. "Fetch bread and salt."
The servant bowed and then scurried off.
She looked back to them. "I apologize for not being prepared for your arrival, we weren't expecting you till tomorrow."
"Aye, we pushed the horses last night." Lawrence straightened with pride. "Wouldn't have missed your Moot for anything my Lady."
Lady Stark's face gave the faintest flicker of approval. She showed little emotion when not near her family or their god. "Your voice will be heard, as is your right."
"So long as me and my line hold the Hornwood it's yours Lady Stark." Lawrence was positively radiating pride at the honor of ensuring his loyalty was known.
Glover wondered when he'd last been young enough to feel that loyalty so keenly? Years past now, but he didn't envy his former ward this.
The servant came rushing back, holding out a bowl of salt, a chunk of bread sitting on top of it.
Lawrence easily tore a piece of bread and dipped it in the salt before eating it without the slightest hesitation. "I thank you for your hospitality Lady Stark."
"Your rooms have been prepared besides Lord Glover's. Until the Moot then my Lords." She took a half step back.
Glover and Lawrence both dipped their heads, speaking in unison. "My Lady."
And then she was gone, across the room snapping orders about using fewer candles.
Lawrence looked to him. "Shall we?"
"Aye, we've got much to speak of before the Moot begins after the midday meal." Glover dropped a hand on Lawrence's shoulder. "You did good though boy."
Glover looked at his man at arms guarding his quarters. "Anyone gets close you knock on the door."
The man gave a sharp nod.
Glover shut the door behind Lawrence and moved further in. "This Moot is going to be a damned nightmare and you need to be ready for it."
"What do you mean? Who'd challenge the Starks for it?" Lawrence's eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring in fury at the very idea of it.
Glover whacked the boy's shoulder. "Think! That head of yours is for more than hitting things with. There's three damned Starks and there're damned fools who'll put Jon forward over Rickon."
"What? But that's...Rickon's Lord Stark's trueborn son." Lawrence paused, his frown deepening. "But there will be war, from the south and the north. They'll want a strong leader."
Glover nodded, good, the boy could use his head. "Damned foolish, but aye. Doesn't help the boy's half wild and Wildling raised."
"Either way Lady Stark remains Lady of Winterfell. So long as she's there does it matter which of her brothers is Lord?" Lawrence asked, genuinely curious in his question.
Glover sighed. "If I'd known you'd inherit the Hornwood I'd have taught you better. But we don't have time now. If Jon Stark is named Lord, any heir of Rickon's holds claim to challenge for Winterfell. The North would be fractured in just a few generations. We'd sentence our heirs to a bloody civil war come later summers. And for what would we risk that fate for? Jon Stark will lead us to battle whether he's Lord or not. Anyone with eyes can see it's best to leave Lady Stark as regent."
"What do we do?" Lawrence faced him, his face set and ready to do his duty.
Glover knocked his knuckles against the wooden table in his rooms. "We let them talk themselves out, and divide themselves up and argue. Then Lord Manderly will speak, he's powerful enough to hold the room. Then we give him our votes, and we hope that's enough."
"Will the god not intervene?" Lawrence's eyes flicked to the window, the Order's tower visible out past the glass.
Glover poured himself a mug of ale, then dropped down into a chair. "That at least is some luck. She's recused herself from the decision. Spent the last half moon teaching fighting to Rickon and Lyanna Mormont. And Rickon's been joining her men for reading lessons. And she didn't take Jon's hands for hugging her. There'll be no trouble either way. And I don't know what Lady Starks plans to do about the whole courting issue, but whatever it is she's clearly got it in hand."
"Well, that's something at least. If Jon's named?" Lawrence poured his own mug, taking the other seat.
He sighed, his face solemn. "Then we swear our loyalty and we hope Lady Stark can steer us through without future chaos being seeded."
/
Sansa watched as the last of the Lords jostled into their seats on the benches around the tables set in the Lord's Hall. It was a hall meant for a King to rule over his court. Lords were crushed in against each other, various knights and senior members of import standing up around the sides. She glanced at Jon.
He breathed out a great steadying breath, his eyes solemn, and then lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, drawing the attention of the room.
She stood, the various men falling silent to hear what she had to say. She drew strength from Jon seated to her left, Rickon to her right, the two giant direwolves laying before them, and Daisy standing pointedly separate, but still towards the head of the room. Her eyes tracked those Lords who held some measure of her trust. This would solidify Stark power, it would allow them to stand in the days to come.
So she spoke, her voice carrying as she'd learned to do in those long years in King's Landing. "Lords of the North, you've been summoned here because the North was broken." She held her face, unforgiving and aloof as there was a wave of discontent at her words rippled through the men. "We have no time for fighting and arguing about who the Lord of Winterfell and the North should be, the Dead are coming." She gestured to Jon.
Jon stood, taking her place as she returned to her seat. "My sister is right, the Long Night is here. I fought them, killed an Other." His voice left no doubt that he meant every word of it. "You can ask any of the men of the Night's Watch, or any of the Free Folk here who have joined us to fight."
Tormund slammed his mug against the table, clearly pleased by the chance to make his mark on the whole thing. "Million blighted fucking dead cunts coming to kill us all."
"Aye." Lord Forester raised his voice. "My man at the wall confirms the dead are coming."
Mors Umber spoke from the wall where he was standing as a man of standing though not Lord of a holdfast. "Everyone by the wall knows those monsters are coming."
Lord Reed's envoy spoke. "Lord Jojen warned us that the Long Night comes again. House Reed will vouch for the truth of this."
Jon pulled the attention back to him. "There are three things that can kill them. Fire, dragon glass, and valyrian steel. And we must fight, hiding in our castles will leave us to die, one by one. Our only hope is to stand together."
Lady Dustin scoffed. "Pox to it all, we're not here to make battle plans. We're here to put the Starks back where they belong."
"You don't have a voice here Lady Dustin, or is it Ryswell?" Lord Slate spoke up, his dark eyes shining past his bushy brows.
"She's been Lady of a noble House for almost twenty years." Sansa's voice cracked through the hall, eyes snapping back to her. "While she may no longer be due a vote, her voice will be heard."
Davos cleared his throat. "I know I don't rightly have a vote. I'm not of the North. But I think it's clear what's needed here. And it's as Lady Dustin says."
There was thumping of fists against the tables from the some fifty-five Lords of the North. Lord Poole stood. "We all know we mean to name a Stark." He raised his arm pointing at Rickon's pale face where he was sitting rigidly still beside her. "Ned Stark's son sits there. Who'd dare challenge that."
"I should think we have two sons by the name of Stark." Lyanna Mormont spoke then.
Sansa closed her eyes for a long second in resignation of what would happen. Opening her eyes she took hold of the room. There was a concerning amount of agreement seen on the Lords' faces as Lyanna continued.
"Rickon Stark would be a fine Lord in a time of peace." She stood, commanding the room with a near violence of a presence demanding their respect. "We all know Lady Stark could hold the North and train him up into a proper Lord in a time of peace. But we're not at peace." Her voice was a damned whip. "The dead come from the north, and the Lannister scum will come from the south."
There was a round of 'ayes' and agreement to her words.
Lyanna continued. "We need a warrior, one battle tested and true. I say Jon Stark is the only man I mean to bend my knee to."
There was a roar of argument as the tables of Lords burst into noise at the inevitable having happened. Sansa wondered at the fact that being Lady of Winterfell meant she had a near constant desire to pinch the bridge of her nose. Instead, the fingers of her left hand dug into the wooden armrest of her seat. Her other hand reached out catching Rickon's hand and holding firmly. She could not spare more concern for him than that, it'd show perceived weakness in him if she did.
Lord Ryswell lept to his feet barking out loud enough to be heard, the others quieting to hear his words. "Jon Snow may be using the name Stark, but he's a Snow. He has no right to the Winter Throne."
"He's a Stark." Sansa's voice was sharp. It would make everything so much more complicated but she would never allow Jon to be hurt in this way again. He'd deserved better as a boy, and he deserved better now. "I name him a Stark, his blood names him a Stark, and the gods name him a Stark."
Lord Ryswell bowed his head towards her. "Be that as it may my Lady, legitimized or not he's not Ned's heir. Young Rickon is."
Sansa gave him a nod at that, her public agreement of where she fell, though she'd say no more. It had to be the Lords deciding this. An iron fist would lose them loyalty as fast as a velvet glove would.
"And I don't mean no disrespect." The new Lord Ryswell looked to Jon, before returning his attention to the other Lords. "But he swore oaths to the Night's Watch. Oath's said before a face tree. I don't know what the truth of his leaving the Wall is. And I don't rightly care. But I'll not have some oath breaker for a Lord."
There were murmurs of agreement, the tides turning against Jon and back to Rickon.
Lord Ryswell continued. "Besides, it wasn't Jon Stark who made me and the Dustin's bend the knee, it was Lady Stark. Any boy raised to rule by that Lady as regent will be the finest Lord we could ask for."
"Boys die." Lord Bole cut in. "We all have seen too much death to trust in the survival of a boy just beginning his martial training. We need strength to survive what's to come."
Greatjon Umber snapped then, his anger a sight to see as he towered over the other Lords. "I swore my oaths to House Stark. I don't care which Stark arse warms the chair. But I won't listen to talk of Ned's son dying!"
"ENOUGH!" Lord Magnar of the Skagos isles roared. "You lot are all daft fools!"
Sansa had a rather pounding headache. They'd been arguing for near an hour. The issue raged back and forth between steady trusted military leadership with the risk of death on the battlefield, or the proper right of succession and Rickon, with all the risks of a boy Lord. She hoped Lord Manderly spoke soon, and that he was as convincing as he'd promised. Because at this rate it'd be near impossible to bring the arguing Lords together under whichever way they voted. If she could she'd throttle them all with her bare hands. But with Manderly, Cerwyn, Glover, Hornwood, and likely the Flints inclined to vote for Rickon, if they were convincing enough most of the Lords should follow.
Finally, finally! Lord Manderly stood and cleared his throat, his silent until now voice causing the others to quiet to hear what he would say. That and the respect he commanded. "I would speak!"
Fists beat on the tables to encourage him, several Lords, who'd been arguing taking their seats.
"I say both sides make fair points. With Lord Rickon as our Lord Paramount, he'd be safe here in Winterfell as we fought wars to survive. And none of us can argue that his Lady sister would make a regent fit for these times. And Jon'd lead us to battle, title or no." He let his words linger. "And should we name Lord Jon as our Lord Paramount we'd have a proven and tested leader. One to lead from the front lines like his brother and father before him. No doubt he'd depend on his Lady sister near as much as Rickon would. No matter who we choose, House Stark stands united? Or do any of you doubt that?"
There was a great chorus of pounding at this.
Manderly drew himself up. "Two perfectly respectable choices, choices that might even see us through the dark days and nights coming for us. But I say why do we choose?"
Sansa was as confused as the rest of the Lords seemed to be at this, and she frankly would make Manderly regret it till his dying day if he turned on her now. A dying day that depending on his next few words may be far sooner than nature would provide on its own.
"What is this but some grand council? We of the North don't choose our leaders through Moot's or Councils. That's for the southern cunts. We have always been ruled by those strong enough to drag all of us sons' of bitches into it. Not a one of our Houses bent the knee to the Starks of old because we chose them in some Moot. They told us to bend, or granted mercy in exchange for loyalty. Every last one of us owes loyalty to the Starks not because we chose them but because they demanded it of us and we listened. Hells, mine own House is the only one out of the lot of you that came to House Stark. And it wasn't some Moot that did that."
It was a ringing silence now.
Manderly's gaze was challenging as he dared any man to disagree with him. "We're Northern men and women. We don't bow and submit to the rule of just anyone. We bow to the person who can make us. The leader who chooses us, who makes us do so."
"What are you saying?" Lord Glover demanded, but he was clearly as off balance as the rest of them.
Manderly tipped his chin. "I say we're all here because we were summoned here and we all came. From the damned bog dwellers to the those crazy son's of bitches on Skagos, to fucking Wildlings and Umbers sharing table and breaking bread together because they were told to." He challenged them all with his tone. "House Ryswell and House Dustin bent the knee at sword point because that damned sword was put to their throats. The Bolton's and Karstarks are gone because it was willed and ordered. Our coasts were cleared of Ironborn by an army under their command."
"The North was forged in blood and conquest by the Starks of old. And I say we have ourselves a Stark of that same cloth. Who has brought us here with conquest and blood. Who commands and we answer because we know there sits one who is to be followed. One with the will to command not just in battle, but in every way. We will have food in our bellies because of trade commanded, paid for with debts shouldered by a leader who has done what leaders do. Lead." He raised an arm and pointed straight at Sansa who felt she could hardly breathe. "I say, Sansa of House Stark, the Red Wolf already is our Stark of Winterfell."
There was a banging of cups and fists on tables as the tide swung, Lords who'd just been arguing agreed as they consented to Manderly's words. A swell of sound filled the hall and echoed off of the stone.
Manderly dropped his arm to the pommel of his sword. "I say fuck the south! Sansa Stark retook the North, she avenged the Red Wedding, she commanded and we followed! The North has been her's since we all followed when she demanded it of us. She survived the Lannisters, she survived King's Landing, she survived the Boltons! We are united, the Lords of every House in the North because she willed it." He dragged his sword out of its sheath, pointing the blade at her. "There sits the only Stark I mean to swear to! There sits the only one I mean to bend my knee to. THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!"
There was a roar then of fists banging on tables, swords being unsheathed, and voices crying out in a great cacophony of noise. "QUEEN OF THE NORTH, QUEEN OF THE NORTH, QUEEN OF THE NORTH!"
And curse him to seven hells, Jon turned and bent the knee, his sword to the ground. An unmistakable sign of fealty.
They all followed suit. Greatjon Umber, Manderly, Bole, Cerwyn the dozens besides them. Even Lyanna Mormont bent the knee, their voices crying their vote. Not one refusing, not in the face of this choice. Even those that might not want to, bent, because they accepted it.
Sansa's throat was dry. A cold calm washed through her, this could not be fought. It was more than she'd ever wanted, was everything she'd ever wanted, and everything she'd come to never want. But it was.
She stood from her chair, a part of her realized even Rickon had left his own seat, falling to one knee. Looking across the hall of kings, she stood and knew that she was Queen.