Even from a distance, Winterfell was the most impressive castle complex that Michael had ever seen or heard of. There were two sets of high walls with a moat between them, multiple large keeps within, towers, gatehouses and crenellations, all in some sort of granite.
But he also saw weaknesses. The walls were straight lines, and they had blind spots at the bottom of them. They weren't entirely smoothsided either, a decent climber could make the top with basic equipment. On the south and east sides, there was a town almost right up to the fortifications, and on the north and west, the large forest called the Wolfswood was nearby, plenty of cover and plenty of wood to build siege engines.
But there wasn't much time to dwell on that.
As Jon 'Snow' led the way, the delegation moved slowly by Wintertown and to the east gate. Stark men guarded the way, blocking every street exit both ways. To Michael's irritation, there were no crowds of people to gawk and throw rocks. Normally that would be an inconvenience, but he had intended to put on a show.
Three wights were marched between the horses at the front and the few unicorns at the back. They were attached to poles with leather loops around their necks to keep them in control, two a piece. The guys keeping control were not happy to be doing the job, but promises of decent food that would come with a diplomatic event worked. At least the Stark men-at-arms appeared equally displeased to be near the things, some of them forgetting their duty as the wights passed by and backing way off from the road.
In the mean time, Corporal Zheng's jaw was practically wired shut, a deep frown set in place. Aside from being voluntold into joining the delegation due to her cover story, she had no horse riding skills whatsoever and little patience to learn for the moment. She radiated unhappiness, but kept her promise and hadn't complained.
Her reins were held instead by Val, riding alongside, the 'princess' dressed in fine white furs, her long blonde hair tied in an exceptionally long single braid adorned with silver rings and clasps. Val was too busy staring up at Winterfell to betray any other thoughts.
Robb Stark waited at the gate, with some of his lords and what appeared to be another maester, a small man dressed in grey robes with a small multi-metal chain around his neck. The lords weren't dressed in armour this time. A good sign.
Michael was still surprised at how young Jon's brother was. He had assumed the legitimate son of the ruler of this part of the world had been at least a few years older, but aside from being thicker built, the elder Stark could've been born the same day as the younger. He had neck length red hair and blue eyes, and his gaze was cool and wary.
Negotiating with a child, Michael thought to himself with annoyance, before another part of his brain reminded him the child likely had received political education from the day he could speak. But probably not with someone I can dupe.
Soon the column reached the gates, and Michael put two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. The wight-keepers moved their charges up the column and in front of the party blocking the way. Michael had selected two biggest of the wights for the job, former Free Folk warriors who had gone down fighting and rose again with the most horrific wounds. The third was a woman, practically untouched but dead all the same.
Hissed curses and roars of shock blew out as soon as the undead came into view of the lords. And then they looked at Michael with bewilderment. Good, they believe. And not just about the wights.
Robb Stark himself kept his mouth shut and his face blank, though he paid attention to nothing except the wights for quite some time.
He's grown up too fast, Michael realised, before making sure that Zheng was recording the event with her phone. He moved his horse between the two parties, aside from the wights, and addressed the man. "Lord Robb Stark, I present the wights as promised."
Robb took a moment to realise he had been spoken to, but the mask of a practiced noble quickly fell over his already muted shock. "That you have, Lord Duquesne." A quick glance to either side of his brother Jon followed. "Who are these you have brought with you?"
Val nudged her horse forward a few steps to join Michael, bringing Zheng along with her. She met the eyes of her cousin, Jon Umber, and inclined her head in greeting. To Michael's surprise, the huge man inclined his head in return, drawing the attention of many a lord. Finally, the Free Folk's chosen speaker inhaled a large breath and introduced herself to the lords. "I am Val Umber, Princess of Wall and Gift. Goodsister to Mance Rayder, our King. I come to speak peace and to warn of the threat to us all." She pointed sharply to the wights.
There were rumbles of discontent that rolled and built, threatening to burst into outright shouting. Michael made a mental note of all those that were displeased, via their house sigils. When he looked at the man he guessed was most capable of making noise, he heard and saw no objection at all. Jon Umber was as silent as Val had been on the approach. What's your game, big guy?
Robb Stark soon raised his voice over the din, cutting it off. "My lords! You shall have the chance to voice your concerns, but not here before the gates!"
The lords shut up quickly, though not before Lord Greyjoy and another older noble lent their own voices to telling them to be quiet.
"And who else?" Robb asked, looking to Zheng. Michael waited for the Corporal to introduce herself, but she did not, instead staring at him with her hand on O'Neill's pistol. It took him a minute to realise what she wanted, and he was glad she was getting into the role. The whole idea was to save her from being a bargaining chip, after all.
"May I present Her Royal Highness, Leanne Zheng, Princess of Taipei, Elector of Vancouver."
As the lords' brows knit deeply, Zheng smiled widely and looked back at them. "A pleasure, Lord Robb," she purred. Robb, Jon, the maester, even Val looked like a dog had just transformed into a dragon and declared itself king. "Don't be so surprised," Zheng said to Jon. The Crow blinked back, and Zheng wove a dismissal.
"A princess?" Robb asked.
"My family is in exile, we were expelled from our homeland, however respected we are in Canada," Zheng replied casually, "And I'm the youngest child of many. It's not very likely I'll ever wear a crown. Yet blood is blood, is it not?"
The lords' faces relaxed. They knew what blood right meant. They accepted that idea. It was familiar to them. The grand deception was working, the half-truths easy to sell. Zheng's family had been thrown out of China during their civil war, and her father's side still had ties to the leadership of Taiwan. Why the hell she had joined the Canadian Army with that sort of background, Michael couldn't wring out of her, but it wasn't necessary for his purposes.
Robb seemed to view Zheng with softer eyes. "Lady Zheng, Lady Val, Lord Duquesne, I bid you welcome to Winterfell. We have bread and salt here, though I know not if you follow the tradition of guest right."
Zheng smirked over at Michael, no doubt amusing herself by thinking of how she killed Craster after deceiving him. She was under strict orders to accept and eat the damn food this time.
"We don't," Michael answered honestly, "Our tradition is different, we regard diplomatic negotiations like this one to be sacrosanct without the need for such a gift, with all parties' lives and property to be respected to the highest degree possible. We will however accept your gift of bread and salt, as a sign to you that we intend to follow that tradition."
Robb Stark gestured to his maester, who proceeded forward with the offering. The older man offered it first to Jon. The Crow looked at Robb with some hurt, which Michael didn't entirely understand. He quickly tore off a part of the loaf and dipped it in the salt, before eating as instructed. The maester repeated this with the entire column.
The bread was better tasting than any Michael had eaten on this world, being made with wheat flour rather than rye. The salt even improved the flavour.
When the whole delegation had taken their bread and salt, Robb Stark stood up in his saddle.
"You are now guests of House Stark. Follow us to your quarters. Know that any breach of the laws of the gods where behaviour as a guest is concerned will bring the wrath of mine host upon your entire party!" The lords gave a cheer.
The Free Folk remained silent. Such threats were nothing to them. And even less to Michael. I'm going inside your big walls, kid, he mused to himself, You're the one who ought to be afraid of my wrath.
The wights were rolled up again in their ice, leather and furs, and packed back onto the unicorn's haunches. Robb led his lords and the delegation through the gatehouse, across the moat, through a second gatehouse and into a large courtyard. The horses were put into a stable, though Val and the other Free Folk were reluctant to do so. The three unicorns carrying Marcach's representatives kept stirring up the horses, so they were brought along instead. Robb and some guards continued to lead the delegation onwards, with Jon and the lords disappearing into the largest keep in the middle of the complex instead.
Michael was nonplussed when the building they were to stay in was not in fact built for the purpose of housing guests.
"It's a fucking church, sir," Zheng declared in English.
"I noticed, Corporal. There's a priest standing in the doorway."
Zheng said something in Chinese that Michael had little doubt was anatomically impossible, while the priest in question gawked at the unicorns. He wasn't old, maybe the same age as Zheng herself. Like the priest of the Seven at the Wall, he had a crystal hanging off of his neck on a chain. Unlike his counterpart however, he didn't reek of booze.
"This is Septon Chayle, he will see to your quartering in the sept," Robb said, "Aside from this building, you are permitted access to the grounds, the Great Hall at mealtimes, and the godswood. Nowhere else. Jon will show you where those are, after I speak to him. Guards have been posted."
The sept connected to no other buildings, and the nearby guardtowers and balconies had great lines of sight to every exit. Good thing we brought smoke, Michael thought. "I take it putting us in a guest house or a tower would piss off too many of your lords?"
Robb smiled. "You're lucky you aren't sleeping in the stables or kennels, Lord Duquesne. My bannermen would have happily insisted on it, if they knew I had planned this." With that, he departed, though half of his guards did not, instead remaining to guard the exit into the adjoining courtyard.
"Perhaps they meant it as an insult," Val added, "We are lucky Varamyr or the Thenns are not here. Though I have no quarrel with it, false gods do not scare me."
"Thought as much," Michael muttered to himself, before raising his voice, "Okay, let's go inside and get settled first."
"Allow me to help," Septon Chayle said cheerily, approaching and taking one of Michael's packs, "It's not very often I get so many visitors. To say nothing of visitors rumoured to be merciless savages. Yet here you are to treat and make terms."
Val scowled from behind the priest, but said nothing.
"I was surprised, to be honest," Michael answered, "I didn't think we'd find a priest of the Seven gods here. We were told the North was almost entirely old god worshippers."
"Lord Stark's lady wife follows the new gods," Chayle explained, as they moved inside, "And their children have been instructed in both faiths, though Lord Robb favours his father's. There are more of us along the White Knife and especially at White Harbour, where House Manderly follows the gods of their southerly ancestors."
The inside of the 'sept' was just about spacious enough for thirty people camping out, and had its own fireplaces. It smelled of strongly of incense with a little woodsmoke. Icons of the Seven Gods hung in front of seven carved statuettes of the same, on seven walls.
At least they're consistent with the divine numerology, Michael thought as he claimed a corner between the king of the gods and the warrior god, placing his second pack down carefully so the munitions boxes inside wouldn't bang on the hard wooden floor. Chayle quickly put the other pack of Michael's he was carrying down beside it, while others filed in and claimed their own spaces.
It took some time to get the space liveable, secure the unicorns and wights outside, set a watch on the courtyard outside via the small windows at the tops of the seven walls, and get a radio check in with O'Neill outside of Winterfell. All of that went without a hitch, though the priest hovered about the whole time. Something that wasn't going to fly.
"Do you sleep in here, Septon?" Michael asked.
"No, though I can if you wish," Chayle replied, bouncing on his heels, "I would learn of your customs, if at all possible. Such matters are of interest to me. And you could learn of the Seven too."
Michael wondered where the priest's energy was coming from. "We'd prefer privacy, Septon, though I'm happy to speak about our customs," he replied, seeing Val come into the building and tilt her head to point behind her, "Corporal, with me."
Zheng unslung her weapon and did as ordered.
The door banged open, and thing Val was warning of strode in; Lord Greyjoy with a pair of Stark guards. The black haired teenager with a sword and a golden giant squid on his jacket half-flinched when he noticed Michael so close to the door. But his gaze soon floated over to Zheng and Val, interrupting whatever train of thought the young man had.
Thinking with his cock, Michael thought with amusement. "Lord Greyjoy, is there something you came here for?"
Greyjoy woke up from eye-fucking Zheng, just in time to avoid getting a gun stuck in his face, and cleared his throat. "Lord Robb demands that you join him in his father's solar to discuss the terms of peace."
Michael resisted the desire to roll his eyes at the use of 'demand' in what was more likely a diplomatic request. "Very well. We'll dress into something more suitable and follow you in five minutes."
Twenty minutes and a radio check in with O'Neill later, Michael and Zheng were kitted out in their walking-out dress, complete with shined shoes, berets and the addition of their slung rifles and some smaller bags. Outside, Lord Greyjoy was red in the face with impatience and began to say something arrogant until a Val glare shut him down. Jon Stark was also present, though he did not move to follow Greyjoy.
"Not coming with us?" Michael asked.
"The lords don't trust the Night's Watch any more," Jon replied, "Robb says I will join the negotiations after today, but for now, only the northernmost lords will attend. I'll see your people are well treated, Lord Duquesne."
Michael gave a thumbs up. "Thank you, Jon."
The young Crow gave a little bow, and went into the sept. Michael saw a great many lords standing around the entrance to the great hall, staring at him. We really do have a mountain to climb here…
"What are you doing?" Greyjoy demanded from across the courtyard.
Michael did not respond. He half jogged to Zheng and the others, putting the problem out of his mind for now. Let's just get through the first meeting.
The destination was the Great Keep of Winterfell, a massive round tower with sub-towers around it. It had an entrance hall at the base with arrow-slit windows, and many closed rooms accessible through winding stairways. It was also a lot more warm than Michael imagined it would be, considering it snowed at random even in winter in the part of the planet they were on.
"Does this place have air conditioning?" Zheng asked, pulling at her collar.
"What?" the 'squidling' asked.
"She means it's warm," Michael responded.
Greyjoy stopped on the stairs to explain, aiming his response at Zheng. "There are hot springs underneath Winterfell. The hot water and steam runs through the centre of the keep into its walls. Other buildings too. Keeps everyone warm, especially in winter. That's what I was told when I asked when I first arrived, though I have not been here during a true winter."
It was three flights upwards until they reached the place for the negotiations. The 'solar' was essentially a large office, circular with a fireplace at the opposite point to the door. It smelled of ink, parchment and burning turf, not unlike the library at Castle Black. It was completed with tapestries on the wall, shelves for both books and scrolls, a sort of plank-and-trestle table in front of a fine large oak desk and a finer oak chair.
Lord Robb was sitting in the chair, his maester attending beside him. Standing on one side of the table was a trio of other nobles. Their badges were not hard to miss, and all three had more than passing resemblances to relatives Michael had already met.
"Thank you Theon," Robb said to Greyjoy, "Leave us." The latter man bowed, glanced at Zheng and then left. There was a silence for a moment, as both parties sized each other up.
Michael started things with a salute. "Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, Lady Mormont," he rattled off, before looking to the main contender, "And Lord Robb Stark. Greetings on behalf of her Majesty's Canadian Forces."
"And the King of Wall and Gift," Val added, politely but without salute or bow.
After getting no reaction from the nobles, the maester whispered something in Robb Stark's ear. "Lord Duquesne… your Highness, Lady Umber," Robb replied, "Shall we begin?" He gestured to the trestle table, as the maester proceeded to pick up a writing tablet with parchment nailed to it. Val took a seat at once, opposite her cousin across the centre of the table. They stared at each other, as the lords took their own places.
"I need a minute, Lord Robb," Michael replied, reaching for his bag. He pulled out his laptop, and placed it on the table at the end. "Corporal, stay standing," he said in English, "Be ready if something goes wrong. Mind the door and the lords. They've got swords and maces."
Zheng frowned. "Yes sir." She began pacing at the end of the table. Michael wasn't sure if she was trying to be menacing or if she was just uncomfortable.
"You have a strange tongue, my lord," the maester commented, "I have never heard it before, and I am a man with much learning in the tongues of this world. Maester Aemon at the Wall even more so." The room seemed to watch the deployment of the computer with some interest, whispering as it powered on.
"I'm certain no one south of the Wall has," Michael replied, "And that you have no idea what this thing is. Don't bother asking questions, I won't answer and we have more pressing business… Though not so much that I shouldn't know your name, Maester…?"
"Luwin, my lord."
"Good to meet you," Michael said, as he started recording every sound in the room, "Let's begin."
"At last," Lord Umber complained.
"We'll be direct for the sake of our collective sanity," Michael promised, "Val, tell them what you want."
The 'princess' looked to Robb. The young lord returned her attention, examining more than her face for a moment before discipline reasserted itself. The Greyjoy isn't the only one to think with his cock. Maybe Mance wasn't making a mistake choosing her after all.
Val spoke clearly and firmly. "The Free Folk want peace, the Gift as our kingdom, and a promise from you to fight against the White Walkers. We offer oaths to not raid your lands and to punish those that do in the way of our ancestors; sacrifice to the weirwoods."
Laughter bubbled out of the lords, and the Lady Mormont cackled. Robb Stark and Maester Luwin remained silent. They're letting the underlings vent.
"Do you think us drunks and cravens, cousin?" Lord Umber asked Val, "They'd no longer call me the Greatjon if I accepted such a proposal, they'd call me the Greatloon."
"And I Rickard the Cockless," Lord Karstark added grimly, "A hundred thousand wildlings or no."
"We've always been able to push the wildings back," Lady Mormont agreed.
"This is a negotiation," Michael reminded them, "That was what you would call an opening proposal." He looked to Lord Robb. "Do you have one? Putting things how they were before isn't going to be possible."
"I would know yours, first," Robb replied, "We've heard what Mance Rayder wants. What do you want? You are not 'Free Folk', after all."
He's carefully read whatever reports the Lord Commander and Mors Umber sent. Michael saw little point in hiding his intent though.
"Free passage to the Isle of Faces, unmolested by any force loyal to you or your allies. If your enemies resist our movements, then we'll fight alongside you to remove them as obstacles to our progress. We would have no obligation to follow your orders."
"Just that?" Robb said, surprised.
"No," Michael replied, "Many of the warriors with me are also descendants of the people taken by raiders and dragged north of the Wall. I would demand their right to return to the homes of their mothers and grandmothers, as well as thousands more of their cousins that remained at the Wall."
Lord Karstark pulled on his beard. "How do we know they are who they say they are?" he complained, "How do we know this is not a plot to put wildlings on our lands?"
"I would imagine Lord Umber's Aunt Rowan can verify their stories," Michael replied, with a false smile to the Greatjon, "But even so… They split off from Mance to swear loyalty to us, so I could bring them home. That alone makes them different to the others. They know what a return means too. They want to 'bend the knee' as long as there is peace."
Val's nose turned up slightly at that, but she did not verbalise her displeasure.
Robb nodded, tapping his fingers on his father's desk. "Why do you want to go to the Isle of Faces?"
"That is our business," Zheng replied.
"A waystation," Michael lied, "From there, we can receive orders from our government. Whether that's to stay or return home, it does not matter. Our requirements have no more cost to you than provisions for the journey south, and could benefit you if we have to fight your enemies to get where we want to go. Canada's demands are the least of your worries."
The lords were quiet and didn't make any sign of objecting to that. Looks like they don't really care about us, except that we've helped the 'wildlings'.
"Jon says you claim you're from another world," Robb said, "Do you offer proof of this, beyond what we can see before us now?" He gestured at the laptop.
"Aye, a strange thing," Lord Karstark commented, "It hums to itself. Though that's not proof of any sort."
"I've not seen or heard the like," Maester Luwin stated, "And I have studied the deeper mysteries. The Citadel is unaware of this, or hides the knowledge at the highest level."
"Mayhaps we best see a demonstration of the weaponry my brother speaks of," Lady Maege added, peering out from her grey hair towards Michael's rifle where it was propped up against the table's edge.
Michael shook his head. "Our origin is not relevant. The fact I'm sitting here at all is proof of our capabilities. I didn't come here to put on a show for you." If I spend bullets here, it'll be to kill you, not impress you.
"It's relevant if you're off your bloody heads," the Greatjon snorted.
"Or if you're sorcerous fiends of some kind," Karstark added, "The Others' return means the return of the magicks, that is told in all the old tales."
Zheng let out a laugh, circling to the front of the table and leaning on her palms over it. "If we're mad sorcerers, then you're really in trouble, aren't you?"
"Ha, true!" the Greatjon said.
Michael scratched his chin for a moment. We're getting off track. "I've stated what we want, Lady Umber has stated what her people want. Lord Robb, it is time for you to state your position. With the greatest respect, stop dancing around it."
The teenage lord clasped his hands in front of him in thought, and the maester ducked his head to consult. The two spoke for some time, before Luwin finally stood up straight again and cleared his throat.
"The North requires all those in the Gift to swear fealty and bend the knee to Lord Robb in place of his father, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North."
Michael's jaw clenched. Ser Alliser's shit all over again, he thought, I have more leverage this time, but maybe that doesn't matter.
Luwin's pronouncements continued. "The lands of the New Gift will be returned to their rightful lords; namely Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, as well as the chiefs of House Wull and House Norrey."
"And about time too," the Greatjon smiled, nudging an equally pleased beard-tugging Lord Karstark with his shoulder.
"Not a chance Mance will accept that," Zheng said, rolling her eyes.
Michael looked to Val, and found her still locked in a staring contest with Robb Stark. Why isn't she saying anything?
"Brandon's Gift will return to the North also. We are willing to name Mance Rayder's heir as lord of part of it, and we are prepared to name chiefs who bend the knee as vassal lords across the entire Gift. We shall require each to send their heirs to Winterfell as wards, including Mance, as well as all their daughters. Marriages will be arranged as appropriate to tie the new vassals to the realm."
Val's head finally turned to the maester. She loves her sister too much to like that proposal, Michael knew.
"We also require a marriage pact from each of you with one of the northern lords," Luwin concluded, "Perhaps Lady Val to a Karstark… Yourself Lord Duquesne to Lady Mormont's eldest daughter."
Michael sucked in a large breath, exasperated that the marriage demands had begun already. Before he could concoct a coherent response, Lady Mormont rose and slammed her palm of the table, shaking the whole thing. "Maester, I'll not have my daughter wed to the man that shamed my brother!"
Lord Robb straightened up in his chair and addressed her directly. "'Twas only a suggestion, my lady," he intervened, "No offence was meant." Lady Mormont sat again, nostrils still flared with anger. Well, she doesn't like us.
"Perhaps Lady Zheng could marry Lord Umber's son instead," Luwin offered, "We can discuss the exact matches in due course, if the principle of the thing is accepted."
Michael glanced at Zheng, and found her finger was on her carbine's trigger, her thumb brushing the selector switch, threatening to throw it to full-auto. Her face was not twisted with anger or fear though. She's calmly contemplating a massacre. He quickly raised his palm under the table at her. Let me handle it, Corporal.
The maester wasn't done. "Naturally, Lord Robb would expect both the chiefs of the … Free Folk and you Canadians to fight on his behalf to free his father from captivity," Luwin concluded.
"There are our preferred terms," Robb stated, "I imagine you find them as unacceptable as we find yours. But know this; my lords will not abide large concessions without beneficial return."
He looked to Val again. "Lord Umber, Lord Karstark and Lady Mormont are here as they are the nobles who would have to live beside your people, Lady Val. Even if we accept you as an Umber, and we do not concede that except as a courtesy for the moment, they must accept whatever we agree on or our words will be nothing but air in the wind."
"So we must meet in the middle," Val said coolly, "That is the way of things, where two tribes possess no clear advantage."
Robb nodded once.
"You can put marriage out of your mind right now," Michael said, "For us at least. Lady Zheng cannot marry without permission of her father, and you wouldn't get it even if you could ask. Another of our number is already married. The last is too young." Lies to protect everyone, so easy.
"And you?" Luwin asked.
Ygritte entered Michael's mind, the sensation of her running her fingers through his hair. "My situation is complicated."
"Jon says you are betrothed, my lord," Robb cut in, "To the chieftess of the Laughing Tree tribe."
The lords and lady clenched fists and gripped the table, not liking that news. Michael wanted to deny it, but The Situation was a key link to the Free Folk he could not just toss away. Not until they were well clear of the Starks' lands. Assuming I'm not stupid enough to take her along to Canada…
Michael's silence must have been answer enough. "All the more reason we should have a marriage pact between our peoples," Robb continued, "You already have one with the wildlings."
"No, we don't."
"Your man who is too young," Luwin said, "How many years has he seen? Jon Snow said he was older than he is. Perhaps this man can be asked his opinion on the matter…"
"Marriage is not how we build military alliances in Canada," Michael countered, "And if we are ordered to leave this continent, a marriage would not keep us here. Given the situation, our government would regard it as being made under duress and not recognise the pact as legal."
"Marriages are how we create alliances here, my lord," Luwin pressed on, "You are not in Canada."
"Our ways are not yours," Zheng said, cutting to the chase, "Accept it and move on." Her thumb finally moved her carbine's selector switch. The maester cocked an hairy eyebrow, perhaps having worked out what that meant.
"Yes, there are more important differences," Michael said quickly.
"My people will not bend the knee," Val said, "Not when we have taken the Wall."
"You did not take the Wall," Robb replied, before pointing at Michael, "He did."
"It was both of us," Michael said, "And that was the unfortunate result of a single man's arrogant belief that he was better than us. One man's personal war."
"Ser Alliser Thorne was a dragonloving cunt," the Greatjon rumbled, "And he liked killing wildlings very much. But I doubt the fault was all his."
Michael felt his skin crawl. "We are dangerously close to an impasse that will result in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. It won't just be wildlings, and it may result in total loss at the hands of the undead creatures you've already seen today. Now, can you please begin to speak about how we're going to resolve the differences between your two positions?"
"What about the difference between you and I?" Robb asked, "You refuse a pact."
"I just told you, a marriage pact wouldn't be legal," Michael replied, struggling to keep his voice down, "It wouldn't bind me at all. Your demand is pointless. And on top of that, I'm the one returning the people taken by raiders to you, and their descendants, strengthening you with skilled hunters, fishers, woodworkers, tanners, fursmen and warriors."
"Wildlings," Lord Karstark declared, "They're wildlings. They can't be trusted."
"They're your families," Michael countered, "The legitimate cousin of Lord Umber is beside me, in plain view, not a yard from where you're sitting. And she is far from the only one with relatives in your lands. And after all I've heard and seen since arriving on this damn world, it surprises me above everything else to hear a noble lord argue that blood ties are meaningless."
Karstark bristled, puffing up with outrage. "Will that stop them raiding? Will that stop them following the ways of the tribes they were raised in?"
"Yes," Val said, turning all heads to her, "If we have the Gift, we do not need to raid."
"Though I'm sure there would be outliers," Michael added, in the name of managing expectations.
"Those are men and women we would kill, and then hang their guts from the branches of the sacred trees," Val said, "We knew you would say such things, Lord Karstark. It is why we offered to do this from the start. It is no small thing. The chieftains committed their men to killing our own to keep a peace at great risk. But when they give their word and oath to the gods and the King who brought us south of the Wall, both are kept."
Though they'll lawyer the hell out of both too, Michael thought to himself, And some won't listen anyway.
"We're no fools, Lord Stark," Val said, "I am prepared to exchange terms, if you are. A way we both get most of what we want."
Luwin and Robb exchanged looks, but it was the maester that answered first. "That would depend on the concessions you offer."
"And if you have the authority to make them," Robb said, "What if your chieftains do not like what you have given up?"
"They agreed to follow my decisions," Val said, "And to what I can offer."
"Another sacred oath?" Lady Mormont scoffed.
"Aye."
"Impossible. Every wildling thinks himself a king."
"Not so much any more," Michael interrupted, "The Free Folk have learned a lot since we met them. More than you can imagine."
"I'm sure you taught them well," Lord Karstark quipped. He was laying the blame for the whole situation at Michael's feet.
Robb cleared his throat pointedly. "Let's hear what you think we should accept."
Val's hand grabbed her long braid under the table, playing with the end of it where the lords could not see. What's wrong? Michael asked, She can't possibly be that nervous. She had quipped and stood tall the whole time.
"You agree to our terms as I have already stated. The Gift will be our kingdom, you will aid us against the Others, we will not raid you."
"We spin in circles," Lord Karstark complained.
Val kept speaking. "In return, the chiefs will send their heirs as wards to Winterfell and Last Hearth, for those that are young enough. In time, marriages can be arranged, to assure peace beyond the winter to come. We offer gold and silver for your war in the far south… And warriors."
There was an awkward silence for a moment.
"Warriors?" Robb asked, "You mean to join us in trying to free my father and sisters, to punish those who took them?"
"Aye."
Michael could hardly believe his ears. Though he had suggested something like this, the chieftains hadn't breathed a word of joining the Starks, or else he would've heard it through Taryne before leaving Molestown.
"What?" Zheng said. Michael glared at her to be quiet. We need to know her plan.
"The Gift is enough for my people," Val explained, "But many of our people would get as far away from the Others as they can, as far south as they can. Some tribes will not take well to peace and will want to raid, but they know that raiding the lands of the Starks would doom them. They cannot trust that the Canadians will assist us against you if they provoke a war. So we offer warriors, spearwives and wargs to go south, to fight your enemies and to raid upon their lands instead."
Lady Mormont cackled again. "There is a certain poetry in sending the wildlings to kill Lannisters," she admitted, "Can you imagine Lord Tywin's reaction?"
The maester frowned, writing down the statement. "How many swords do you pledge, Lady Val?" Luwin asked.
"Thousands of warriors, perhaps ten thousand," Val said, "And hundreds of skinchangers."
Michael had heard enough, but he couldn't speak to stop it. She didn't come here to make peace. She came here to make an alliance so Mance's warriors would fight a different enemy, steal from different villagers, drag off different women. He wanted to say that and more, but one whiff of serious division like that, and the lords would pounce on it.
"We intended to ride south soon," Robb said, "Your warriors will not arrive in time to aid us."
Val folded her hands on the table. "The city your father is held in, Mance says it has high walls and a castle as big as this one."
"Not quite as big," Luwin said.
"It matters not. Mance says you will not take the city easily, nor will your enemies allow it to happen without battle. Your war will last many months, if not a year. Our warriors will have the time to join yours. And we need not send all the warriors at once. Smaller hosts can move more swiftly."
"What of our lands?" Lord Umber boomed, "Much of the New Gift belongs to me, cousin. By right, now the dragons are gone and the black brothers have been defeated."
"An Umber will be King of the Gift one day," Val promised, "Even now, that king may grow in my sister's belly. If we are kin, then my family will always rise to the defence of yours. And who's to say our families will remain separate forever more? The same for the Karstark. The strength of both your clans will grow and prosper with ours, that I do promise."
"What a lovely tapestry weaved from the lips of a lovely maid," Lord Karstark said without warmth, "But mayhaps you fill our ears with honey, so that your warriors can betray us on a southern battlefield, leaving the North stripped bare of men-at-arms for your multitudes to descend on. Or perhaps the treachery will arrive before that, as your host moves down to join ours. Can wildlings resist the offer of Lannister gold and promises of even more of our land? I think not."
"I offer a promise against that too," Val said.
"What promise?" Robb asked.
Val seemed to brace herself on the table. "That you and I shall wed, Lord Stark."
Son of a bitch, Michael thought, Mance, you crafty piece of work. Val had pale blue eyes on a pretty face, long hair blonde hair, curves in the right places. Most men would have killed to be with her for a night, and Michael was sure they had.
Robb Stark was a hormone-soaked teenager regardless of upbringing, and one that had spent most of the meeting watching her, even as he listened to everyone else. It didn't take a genius to see the strategy. Though Val must have also seen something in the young lord too. Michael couldn't see her agreeing to a marriage otherwise, even if Mance ordered it. She's as much a spearwife as Ygritte, all told.
Robb Stark did not immediately shoot down the idea, as Michael thought he would not, instead searching Val's face for the answer.
Lord Karstark rose from his seat like a shot, his face red. "The heir to Winterfell to marry a wildling?!" he shouted, and stormed out past Zheng, who gave him a wide berth. Lord Umber and Lady Mormont rose to follow him, though they both bowed to Robb first before taking their leave.
"What the hell just happened?" Zheng asked in English.
"It seems we all have some things to think about," Michael replied in the Common Tongue, "Lord Robb, I think we should adjourn for the day."
"So do I," the young man said, "I need to consult with my lords on… everything that has transpired here. We shall return tomorrow morning."
"Understood," Michael said, ending the recording on the laptop and shutting it, "Lady Val, can I have a word with you?"