The seat of House Mormont of Bear Island was an old stone castle that stood perched upon a rock at the edge of a lake surrounded by high, wooded mountains. In the great hall, Lady Mormont, a girl of eleven, sat between her maester and the captain of her guards, and eyed her visitors suspiciously.

"Lady Mormont," Jon greeted her, and her shrewd, dark eyes darted to his face.

"Welcome to Bear Island," she said curtly.

For a moment, Jon seemed unsure how to continue.

"I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna," he finally offered. "He was a great warrior and an honourable man. I was his steward. In fact –"

"There's no need for small talk," Lyanna cut across him. "Why are you here?"

Taken aback by her bluntness, Jon hesitated for a second.

"Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed," he explained. "He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men. It said –"

"I remember what it said," Lyanna interrupted again. "'Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.'"

Jon nodded. "House Stark is not gone," he said, "and it needs your support now more than ever. I've come here to ask for House Mormont's allegiance."

Instead of an answer, Lyanna turned to her maester, who leaned towards her and murmured something in her ear.

"As far as I understand," she finally declared, "you're a Snow, not a Stark."

Jon took a deep breath. "Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell, my lady," he said. "It is our duty to stop him, even more so because he forced my sister, Sansa Stark, to marry him against her will, and is holding my brother, Rickon Stark, as prisoner. What you have to understand, my lady, is that –"

Once again, Lyanna cut across him.

"I understand that I'm responsible for Bear Island and all who live here," she declared. "Dozens of Mormont men and women died fighting for your brother Robb. My mother was one of them. So why should I sacrifice one more Mormont life for someone else's war?"

She sounded almost angry, and Jon seemed at a loss for what to say. He turned to Charleen for help, but before she could speak, Ser Davos stepped forward.

"If it please my lady," he said calmly, "I understand how you feel."

Lyanna looked at him in surprise. "I don't know you," she admitted, "Ser –?"

"Davos, my lady, of House Seaworth. You needn't ask your maester about my house," he added with a small smile as Lyanna turned to the old man again with a questioning look on her face, "it's rather new."

"All right, Ser Davos of House Seaworth," Lyanna said, "how is it you understand how I feel?"

"You never thought you'd find yourself in your position. Being responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never thought I'd be in my position. I was a crabber's son, then I was a smuggler, and now I find myself addressing the lady of a great house in time of war. But I'm here because this isn't someone else's war. It's our war."

He paused to see what effect his words would have, but Lyanna's face was impassive.

"Go on, Ser Davos."

"Your uncle, Lord Commander Mormont, made that man his steward," Ser Davos continued, pointing at Jon. "He chose Jon to be his successor because he knew he had the courage to do what was right, even if it meant giving his life. Because Jeor Mormont and Jon Snow both understood that the real war isn't between a few squabbling houses. It's between the living and the dead. And make no mistake, my lady, the dead are coming."

He paused, and Lyanna looked at Jon.

"Is this true?"

Jon nodded. "Your uncle fought them at the Fist of the First Men," he said gravely. "I fought them at Hardhome. We both lost."

"As long as the Boltons hold Winterfell," Ser Davos added, "the North is divided. And a divided North won't stand a chance against the Night King. You want to protect your people, my lady, I understand. But there's no hiding from this. We have to fight, and we need to do it together."

At this, the maester leaned in to whisper something to Lyanna, but she held up her hand to silence him.

"House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years," she declared. "We will not break faith today."

Jon let out a heavy breath. "Thank you, my lady," he said; then, hesitating slightly, he added: "How many fighting men can we expect?"

Lyanna took a moment to confer in a low voice with her captain of the guards and then straightened up again.

"Sixty-two."

"Sixty-two?" Jon repeated incredulously.

"We are not a large house," Lyanna pointed out, "but we're a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders."

She glared at Jon, but before he could reply, Ser Davos spoke.

"If they are half as ferocious as their lady," he said, a small smile playing around his mouth, "the Boltons are doomed."

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"The answer is no," Lord Glover growled. A balding, broad-shouldered man with a short white beard, he stood in the courtyard of his castle at Deepwood Motte with his arms crossed and a disapproving expression upon his face. He had refused to welcome Jon into his hall, and his demeanour in the course of their outdoor parlay now seemed to finally quench what little hope they had left of gaining his support.

However, Jon would not give up easily.

"Lord Glover," he pleaded, "if you could just hear us out –"

"I've heard enough," the other interrupted him. "We've only just taken back this castle from the Ironborn. The Boltons helped us do it. Now you want me to fight against them? I could be skinned for even talking to you."

"The Boltons are traitors," Jon insisted. "Roose Bolton –"

Again, Lord Glover cut across him.

"Have other northern houses pledged to fight for you?"

"House Mormont," Jon said.

Lord Glover raised his eyebrows. "And –?"

"We've sent ravens to Houses Manderly –"

"I don't care about ravens," Lord Glover interrupted. "You're asking me to join your army. Who's fighting in this army?"

Jon exchanged a glance with Ser Davos. "The bulk of the force is made up of wildlings," he admitted.

Lord Glover gave a short, derisive laugh. "Then the rumours are true," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't dare believe them." He looked at Jon in disdain. "I received you out of respect for your father. Now I would like you to leave. House Glover will not abandon its ancestral home to fight alongside wildlings." He spat the last word out in disgust and then turned abruptly and started up the stairs to the door of his keep.

"Lord Glover," Jon called after him, "I –"

"There's nothing else to say," the other cut across him.

At this, Charleen finally found her voice.

"I would remind you that House Glover is pledged to House Stark, sworn to answer when called upon," she called out sharply, ignoring Jon's look of surprise. "The heir of House Stark is being held prisoner by the Boltons, Lord Glover, and here is his brother summoning you to fight for him."

Lord Glover paused; then, he turned and came back down the steps to draw himself up in front of Charleen.

"Yes, Lady Wollard," he growled, "my family served House Stark for centuries. We wept when we heard of Ned Stark's death. When my brother was lord of this castle, he answered Robb's call and hailed him King in the North."

He took another step towards her, but Charleen stood her ground.

"And where was King Robb when the Ironborn attacked this castle?" Lord Glover hissed at her. "When they threw my wife and children in prison and brutalized and killed our subjects? Taking up with a foreign whore. Getting himself and those who followed him killed." He paused, and looked at Jon. "I served House Stark once," he concluded, "but House Stark is dead."

And with this, he turned, went up the steps, and disappeared through the great wooden door into the castle.

GoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoT

Stretched out at the bottom of the hillside, the camp appeared endless, a vast sprawling city of tents, carts, and banners, but Jon's brow was furrowed as his gaze swept across it.

"Stannis camped here on his way to Winterfell," Ser Davos said, clearly hoping to offer some good news.

"And that's a good thing?" Charleen asked sceptically, remembering the bedraggled troop of infantrymen that she had seen advancing towards Winterfell on the day after her escape from the castle.

"He was the most experienced commander in Westeros," Ser Davos replied. "He chose this place for a reason. Those hills are a natural fortification, there's a stream down there for the horses –"

"We're not staying here long," Jon interrupted. "Another storm could hit any day. We have to march on Winterfell now, while we still can."

He turned and started down the hillside, and the other two followed him.

"Two thousand wildlings," Ser Davos listed, "two hundred Hornwoods, a hundred and forty-three Mazins, sixty-two Mormonts. It's not what we hoped for. But we still have a chance, if we're careful and smart."

He halted for a moment, but Charleen hurried onward and grabbed Jon's hand.

"It's not enough," she said desperately, "we need more men!"

Jon stopped, and turned to look at her. "There's no time," he insisted, though his tone was gentle. "We need to fight with the army we have. But Ser Davos is right – we do still have a chance."

He drew her towards him and soothingly caressed her head, but before he could say another word, they both caught sight of a figure hurrying up the side of the hill towards them.

It was one of the Mormont men. "My lord," he called breathlessly, "a letter for you!"

He held out a scroll of parchment, and Jon hurried forward to take it. Glancing at the seal, he tore it open, unfurled the scroll, and rapidly scanned its contents. Then, he held the letter out to Charleen with a grim smile upon his face.

"It seems like we are going to be staying here a little while," he said. "It's from Lord Arryn's chief commander. They Knights of the Vale are encamped at Moat Cailin. They can be at Winterfell in twenty days."