A little over a month after the battle, the Great Hall of Winterfell was once again furnished the way Charleen remembered it, with two long tables standing on each side beneath the windows, and the high table at the top of the room in front of the fireplace.
The hall was packed with people. They were sitting at the tables with hardly a place left empty between them, filling the room with their talk and laughter – Jon's allies had gathered to celebrate their victory.
However, it was not just his friends that Jon had summoned, but all the lords of the North without exception. Robbett Glover was sitting halfway down the hall, his back very straight, his eyes fixed upon the table before him, and there were a few others in the room who looked similarly uncomfortable.
Jon himself was sitting at the high table, alone. He had wanted to place Charleen by his side, but she had refused. I'm not a Stark, she had insisted, neither by blood nor by marriage – at least not yet. I don't belong at the high table of Winterfell.
And so, she had taken a seat at the top of one of the long tables, opposite Lyanna Mormont and with Brienne of Tarth at her side. Brienne had been wounded in the battle, but her physical injuries were nothing compared to her pain and self-reproach at the death of Sansa Stark, whom she had sworn to protect. She had barely spoken to anyone after the battle, and even now, she did not return Charleen's smile but merely nodded in greeting.
Lyanna Mormont, on the other hand, smiled broadly at Charleen for a moment before turning her head back to the high table. Charleen followed her gaze, and as she did so, Jon thumped the table with the palm of his hand, and silence fell.
"The free folk, the Northerners, and the Knights of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won."
The hall erupted into deafening cheers at his words, but when the noise died down once again, Lord Royce got to his feet with a pinched expression upon his face.
"With respect, my lord," he said, "not all the Northern houses fought together. The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North. They need to be punished for their treason. Take their castles and give them to new families, loyal families who supported you against the Boltons."
A murmur of approval ran around the room, and Jon waited for it to subside before he spoke.
"The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries," he said calmly. "They've kept faith for generation after generation. I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons."
"So there's no punishment for treason and no reward for loyalty?" Lord Royce interjected angrily.
"The punishment for treason is death," Jon declared. "Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harald Karstark died on the field of battle." He paused. "When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I executed men who betrayed me. I executed men who refused to follow orders. But I will not punish a son for his father's sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision, and my decision is final."
He looked directly at Lord Royce for a moment, and then his gaze swept across the hall.
"Ned Umber!" he called, "Alys Karstark!"
At the far end of the hall, a boy got to his feet who could not be more than ten years old, and on the other side of the room, only two seats down from Lord Royce, a young woman with auburn hair also rose to stand.
Jon beckoned them towards him, and they approached the high table with looks of trepidation upon their faces.
"For centuries, our families fought side by side on the battlefield," Jon said to them. "I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark, to serve as our bannermen and come to our aid whenever called upon."
Immediately, without hesitation, Alys Karstark and Ned Umber drew their swords and knelt.
"Stand," Jon ordered. "Yesterday's wars don't matter anymore. The North needs to band together, all the living North. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?"
"Now and always," they echoed, and there was another outburst of cheers and applause.
Alys Karstark's face relaxed into a smile of relief, and Ned Umber looked up at Jon admiringly. Together, they turned to resume their seats and were received with acclamations of encouragement by their neighbours at the table.
When the din subsided, Lyanna Mormont stood up to speak.
"House Umber and House Karstark were not the only ones who broke faith with House Stark," she said. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still, you refused the call." She addressed the three men in turn as she spoke, and they shifted uncomfortably under her disapproving gaze.
"But House Mormont remembers," Lyanna continued, "the North remembers! We know no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." She turned to look at Jon. "I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king, from this day until his last day."
With a nod of emphasis, Lyanna resumed her seat and smiled at Charleen.
On the other side of the room, amid a murmur of voices, Lord Manderly got to his feet.
"Lady Mormont speaks harshly," he admitted, "and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime." He turned to Jon. "I didn't commit my men to your cause because I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding! He is the White Wolf, the King in the North!"
And with this, he unsheathed his sword and knelt to Jon as Ned Umber and Alys Karstark had done.
Once again, there were murmurs of approval, and then a scraping noise of wood on stone as Lord Glover rose from his bench.
"I did not fight beside you on the field," he said to Jon, his voice faltering, "and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong, and ask forgiveness. "
Jon swallowed.
"There's nothing to forgive, my lord."
"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years! And I will stand behind Jon Snow –" he raised his sword – "the King in the North!"
"The King in the North!" Lord Cerwyn echoed, rising from his seat, and with a roar of approval, everyone else in the room followed suit, raising their swords in an impassioned salute.
"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"
With a shiver running down her spine, Charleen watched as Jon got to his feet. His shoulders were heaving with emotion, and his eyes wandered around the room for a moment until they finally met hers. And Charleen held his gaze as her lips formed the words that were echoing around the room in a single, many-voiced shout.
"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"
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That evening, Charleen returned to her chamber long before the feast was over, desperate to spend some time alone with her thoughts away from the noise and chatter. Jon had been surrounded by people all evening, and though he had beckoned for her to join him at the high table once the feast began and the seating arrangements started to break up, Charleen had preferred to remain where she was, protected by Brienne's silence from the conversation that she did not feel like joining.
When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her with a breath of relief. She went to light a fire and sat down in a chair by the hearth, watching as the flames curled around the logs, licking at their fuel like so many orange tongues.
The King in the North.
Before the battle for Winterfell, Charleen had not given much thought to what might happen in the event of their victory. Barring Rickon's survival, she had simply assumed that Sansa would remain Lady of Winterfell, her bastard brother counselling her, perhaps, but otherwise free to live his life as he pleased.
But Sansa and Rickon were both gone, making Jon the Lord of Winterfell, and even though Charleen at first had recoiled from the idea of sharing his title, her feelings for Jon had gradually conquered her doubts. Now, however, in addition to his lordship, Jon had been proclaimed King in the North, and the thought of marriage appeared downright preposterous.
All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door, startling Charleen out of her thoughts.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Charleen immediately got to her feet when she saw who it was.
"Your Grace."
"Please don't," Jon implored, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I've been Your Grace'd all evening – don't you start now, as well."
"Why not?" Charleen said. "You're my king, too."
"I hope I'm more to you than that," Jon replied, crossing the room and grasping her hands in his. "I hope that you will call me 'husband' soon."
He cupped her face with his hand, but Charleen avoided his gaze.
"Jon, we can't be married now," she said. "Don't you remember what Lord Glover said at Deepwood Motte, about Robb? Your brother made a stupid mistake, and he lost his head for it. You need to be smarter than him. You mustn't make the same mistake."
Jon drew back a little, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember what she was referring to. Then, the memory came back to him, and he scoffed.
"You're hardly a 'foreign whore'. You're highborn, and a true Northerner."
"That's not what I mean," Charleen explained. "Robb married for love, when he should have married for expediency. You're a king now, you need faithful allies. You should wed Alys Karstark, or one of Lord Glover's daughters, or maybe Lyanna Mormont once she's a few years older –"
"Have you lost your mind?" Jon interrupted her. "I'm not going to marry anyone else! I didn't ask to be named king, and I am not going to let it keep me from marrying the woman I love!"
He paused, his dark eyes fixed upon Charleen's face, then added quietly, "if she is willing."
Under Jon's gaze, Charleen's resistance melted like an icicle in the sun.
"Of course I'm willing," she half-whispered. "But what if your bannermen don't like your choice of bride? What if they feel that their families have been slighted?"
"Winter has come," Jon replied. "We must band together if we want to survive. The Northern houses can't afford to stand upon their pride."
"Still," Charleen insisted, "let's not make a big affair of our wedding. Let's keep it private – just you and I."
"Aye," Jon said, nodding slowly, "just you and I." He drew Charleen towards her, but she resisted.
"And when we're married, I don't want to be called queen," she told him. "Your people chose you to be their king, but they did not choose me, and I therefore cannot share your title."
"All right," Jon answered, "you don't need to hold the title if you don't want it. But you'll always be my queen."
And with that, he pulled her close and kissed her, and Charleen, wholly conquered, leaned eagerly into his touch.
