THE CROWNLESS
The ride through the Crownlands was even more relentless than the march to Winterfell with the Canadians.
The great host of the North and Trident had left Harrenhal the day after the surprise departure of the foreigners. It was near thirty-six thousand strong after another eight hundred Crannogmen showed up unexpectedly the evening before.
Those fortunate to be mounted rode ahead, nine thousand men under the banners of Stark, Tully, Umber, Karstark, Frey, Manderly, Blackwood, Bracken… and Snowstark. The moniker his fellow lords used for him acknowledged Robb's grant of the name of Stark, but also that Lord Eddard… King Eddard might revoke it at will.
Yet for all his position might be temporary, there was no shortage of confidence in him.
Jon found himself at the head of his own column of bannermen, a mix of those formerly sworn to Winterfell, White Harbour and Last Hearth. The latter added themselves to those Free Folk already serving as bodyguards to Val, who insisted on coming along despite maesterly advice to avoid travel by horse in her condition.
His men were polite and respectful; those that had fought with Jon at the Bloody Ford had spread word of his deeds that day. It was embarrassing to have men twice or three times his age nod their heads in their morning greetings, eyes glancing at his Valyrian steel blade.
Each night they pitched only the barest tents as shelter, and each morning eat only the most necessary food to keep them going. Val had more to eat, not out of any great appetite but because she often threw up what food she ate at first. She cursed him in the evening, and became affectionate at night. The swing between the two reminding Jon of the approach of his fatherhood.
And that inevitably led to thoughts of his own father. His real father.
Seeing Robb daily, Jon wanted to tell his false brother and true cousin everything he had learned on the Isle of Faces. But seeing Lady Catelyn just as often, the instinct fell as soon as it rose. His worst instinct was to throw the truth in his face, but he was stopped cold each time by the fact it was worse than the falsehood that was the story of his life before.
The riding at speed was great respite from his thoughts, Ghost running just slightly ahead the whole way. Often, Jon led the vanguard, his direwolf proof against any ambush. Other times, Robb himself did, with Greywind providing the same protection. They made spectacular progress and met no resistance whatsoever, counting their blessings with every mile. Villages were empty as they passed them, fear of the riverlords' response to the Mountain's ride being the why of it if anyone was to guess.
Jon was leading the vanguard when they arrived by the village of Brindlewood, halfway to King's Landing. An insignificant place according to the Blackfish, who that day was riding along with Jon and Val, with a tower keep so small that it had never been brought to siege. The granaries were larger, and likely full given the fields were recently reaped. The houses well appointed for smallfolk ones, dressed in the red stone of the Crownlands.
"It shall be a matter of moments to receive their submission," the Blackfish promised, "Then we can move on." They formed up the men in two blocks just beyond the keep and the village line, one northern, one Riverlander. No messenger to the keep was sent, none was needed. Every keep the Canadians had passed had already been instructed to render themselves unto the Starks when the host arrived.
Indeed, a headman came out, a young man dressed in mail but bearing no weapons, with what must have been the village watch of a dozen men. But Jon's hand leaped to his sword's hilt as near fifty more followed afterwards.
The clothing and bearing of the men spoke of their roughness, a sort of person that Jon was now familiar with courtesy of his stay at the Wall. But he did not draw the weapon from its scabbard, as the man leading the group strode into view wearing the black cloak of the Night's Watch, a matted black beard to match.
Jon's gut twisted, suddenly afraid of being called an oathbreaker. It was every noble's duty to dispatch deserters from the Watch. His mind went back to watching one his Father had dispatched, not long before he met Ghost and the other direwolves.
"A Crow," Val hissed, hand gripping the reins tightly, "What is one doing so far south?"
"Recruiting, my lady," the Blackfish said with an amused smile, "The Watch has men from every one of the kingdoms, and sometimes beyond."
Val narrowed her eyes and muttered kneeler to herself.
"My wife is well aware that men from all over Westeros join, Ser Brynden," Jon intervened, "She is just surprised one would be here."
"Aye," Val said, "Just didn't think you had to send men to fetch anyone for the duty, just that anyone who was accused of rape or murder was sent to Castle Black. Those being the sorts we most oft find among the rangers."
The Blackfish grunted a dismissal, not willing to argue over the matter as the headman and the watch-brother approached.
The headman looked nervously at Ghost, before doing his duty. "We render Brindlewood Keep to House Stark of Winterfell," he said, kneeling in the dirt before them.
By now, this was a boring sight. "We receive it gladly," Jon said.
"And would also be glad to hear how much grain you have on hand in there," the Blackfish said, gesturing to the granary.
The headman grimaced and avoided Ser Brynden's eyes. "We have much, but not enough to feed your host for long, my lord," he explained sheepishly, "King's Landing demanded immediate dispatch of as much as we could send. If you ride south, you may catch up with the train of wagons we sent."
Ser Brynden and Jon both looked to each other.
"Lord Lannister must have sent word ahead to prepare," the Blackfish said.
"Yet we are far from the city still," Jon said, "Mayhaps there is not enough food near enough the city?"
"Good," Val said impatient as can be, "Now, what's this Crow doing here?"
The headman came to his feet and cleared his throat. "I have been charged with handing these prisoners to you for transportation to the Wall," he said, "By the most terrifying group of foreigners since the Targaryens. Calling themselves Canadeeans."
"Canadians," said a gruff voice in correction.
The wandering brother stepped ahead of the still-kneeling headman and gave a small bow of the head. "Yoren," he said in introduction, "We have met before. You are Jon Snow, are you not? When you first arrived at Castle Black, your uncle introduced us. What brings you south with your brother's host?"
"Jon Stark now," Val replied with curled lip, "Lord of Moat Cailin, by treaty with the Free Folk, the Starklands and Canadians. We ride with the Stark lords against their enemies."
Yoren's brow creased with surprise and alarm, his beady eyes staring up at Jon. "That is desertion."
Jon could barely meet the man's gaze, the accusation like a bell ringing in his ears. He forced himself to overcome it and addressed Yoren directly. I have done wrong to serve a greater good. "That was the cost of peace," he said, "A marriage alliance, so that war between the living could be prevented."
"The Others have come again, Crow," Val added with a smirk, "Peace is not some fanciful dream, but sorely needed. We even spared your brothers at the Wall from their rightful fate, after we took it from them."
Yoren scowled up at the both of them, a sinister look that would have been frightful if Jon had not been mounted. He has killed many men, he decided.
"It was not you that took the Wall, wildling," the wandering crow growled, "I know well who did. I have faced them in battle."
Val scoffed loudly. "If you had faced the Canadians in battle, crow, you would be dead."
"Many are," Yoren said with a nod, "They came upon us in a village, Sept-in-the-Woods."
"That is almost half a day's ride!" Ser Brynden exclaimed, "These Canadians and their horseless carriages move fast. I have yet to see them fight and all those I have spoken to who have only have experience fighting alongside them, not against them as foes. Could you describe it?"
Yoren sucked breath through his teeth. "I'd rather not, it was not a happy memory," he said, "But I have more urgent tidings. Lord Stark… When the Canadians came upon me, I had your sister Arya in escort, disguised as a boy."
Jon's breath caught in his throat, his skin going gooseflesh as all warmth went out of it.
"She did not die that night," Yoren said quickly, "I sent her out of the village with some others before the Canadians overran us. I gave instructions to move west of the God's Eye and the north to Riverrun."
Cold fear turned to grinding frustration, every one of Jon's muscles feeling jammed up with tar. "As if the Riverlands are a safe place for a girl!" he shouted.
"She fears little," Yoren responded at once, "She even stuck one of the Canadian wildlings with her blade, when we were discovered at the village. I regret not being able to send men with her, but that might have drawn the Canadians down on her. I could not risk it. But she was not safe when the assault happened, that is for sure."
Jon deflated. It was now in the hands of the gods and Arya's companions that she would not fall to the depredations of a land just recently evacuated of an enemy host. Bandits and roadmen were like as not to be about.
"We must tell my niece and nephew," Ser Brynden urged, "We'll remain here until Robb and she arrives with the rest of the cavalry."
Jon nodded, and turned back to Yoren. "You'll ride with us," he said, "Your men may join us, we have captured many spare mounts. I would have the Canadians' account of events from the lips of Lord Duquesne himself."
Yoren smiled widely, unnerving Jon. "Unfortunately, I have orders."
"What orders?" Jon asked.
"Wight-hunting, north of the Wall."
It was Catelyn Stark, Queen of the North and the Trident, who led the vanguard after Yoren's tidings were given to her, steel in her blue eyes and flanked by both direwolves. Jon had never seen her so furious. She almost rode her horse to death the first day, and had to be talked into slowing the march after almost doing it again the second.
They bypassed the other keeps on the Kingsroad entirely, not wasting a single moment. The column marching behind would handle them. As they got closer, Jon could smell the sea breeze on the air, salt floating in every breath though the water itself was nowhere in sight. In no time at all, the vanguard approached the last keep before the territory of the capital itself.
From atop the castle itself, the flag of Canada flew lazily but fully from a pole, red and white visible from miles around. As they got closer, more and more signs of the foreigners' presence appeared.
Dogs sat on the road, watching northwards until the van threatened to ride over them. White birds with no business south of the Neck flew above, following. This was soon joined by the grey mechanical bird, its single huge eye swivelling unnaturally to watch them. That gave even Queen Catelyn pause, and the march slowed, the knights taking the forward position.
Then, as the village of Hayford itself hove into view from a bend around a small wood, the Canadians came out to meet the vanguard. Five of their boxy horseless carriages drove out to meet them outside the village, men armed with their bolt thrower weapons standing out of the top of them, one of them also carrying the weirwood leaf flag.
The advance ground to a halt, the nervousness caused by the sight causing all to pull back on their reins without a command to do so. Ser Brynden calling for a line of battle and no one contradicted it. The Canadian machines rumbled forward for only a few moments more, crawling over the ditch between road and field with ease. Canadians and Free Folk dismounted from front and back, though the ones on top remaining with their weapons.
Lord Duquesne walked out in front as his warriors gathered to either side, all dressed in their mottled green. The man gave a friendly wave, and gestured to come forward. For a few breaths, no one did.
It was Queen Catelyn who nudged her horse forward to a trot. Jon and Robb went after her, as did the direwolves. The sound of horses' hooves announced some others were moving too, though Ser Brynden called for the line to remain behind.
The queen's horse slid to a halt in front of the Canadians and half turned.
"Lord Duquesne!" she shouted, "You almost killed my daughter! I would have justice!"
Jon's heart clenched, his gaze running immediately to the weapons. A few were indeed aimed their way, with no chance any of those behind them would miss at the mere two dozen paces distance.
But Lord Duquesne simply looked to Lord O'Neill standing beside him in confusion. As Catelyn Stark stared him down, he gave a command in his own people's tongue. O'Neill withdrew, moving behind to the horseless carriages.
"Well?" Queen Catelyn continued, "Have you nothing to say? After you promised peace and the return of my family!"
Still Lord Duquesne remained quiet, his face impassive. Not sure what was going on, but sensing some danger, Jon quickly dismounted himself from his horse and walked forward. The Canadian leader's attention quickly shifted to him, moving out to join him.
"Jon, wasn't expecting to see you for days," Duquesne said, offering his hand, "You guys must've rode like the hounds of hell were chasing you to get here so fast."
"What are you doing?" Jon asked under his breath as he was accepting the hand, "Why are you not answering Queen Catelyn?"
Duquesne smirked, though there was no menace in it. "You'll see." He stepped aside and gestured to the crawlers.
From the back of one of them, Sansa stepped out while Lord O'Neill helped her. She was taller, more of a woman than before, but dressed perfectly like he had when he had last seen her.
"Sansa!" cried the queen from behind.
"Mother!" Sansa said, eyes filling with water as she ran forward, passing by the Canadians and Jon as fast as her legs could take her. Mother got off her horse and went to meet Daughter, and they embraced as the direwolves went in, whining and poking their noses at both. Robb began getting off his horse like it was on fire to join.
Behind, more girls walked over with Lord O'Neill, including Jeyne Poole. Jon opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and opened it again. How!
The Canadian cocked an eyebrow. "You look confused, Jon Stark," Duquesne said.
"Did you storm King's Landing?" Jon asked, "Rescue them?"
O'Neill let out a single laugh. "If only," he said.
Lord Duquesne's smirk soured. "We have come to an agreement with Lord Lannister, though I wish I hadn't."
"What sort of agreement?" came a question. They all turned and found Val near. "You last met in battle, and you almost killed him. How did you convince him?"
"Your Highness," Duquesne said, "One thing at a time." The Canadian turned towards Queen Catelyn, Robb and Sansa. Edmure and Ser Brynden sidled up too, as if to intercept him.
"Thank you," said Robb on seeing it, "I know not how you did it, but thank you."
"Yes," Sansa agreed, nodding so that the tears burst from her eyes, "Thank you, Lord Duquesne."
The Canadian leader waved that off. "It took no effort," he said, "But before we talk about that… let's talk about almost killing the other daughter." He looked to Queen Catelyn. "I presume you're referring to Arya."
Catelyn Stark's blue eyes glared. "We were informed that she was on our way to us," the queen said, anger dampened but still present in her voice, "And your actions forced her into the countryside, alone save for some companions who are barely more than children themselves."
Lord Duquesne sighed again and turned to Queen Catelyn. "I'm sorry for that. Sorry my actions have put your younger daughter in danger. But in my defence, I couldn't know she was with a random group of men attacking a village."
"That is not the tale the wandering black brother told us," Lord Edmure said.
"The wandering crow is trying to cover up the fact his recruits sacked a village," Lord O'Neill replied, "Either he's lying and he's a bandit, or he's incompetent and couldn't control his men."
Queen Catelyn kissed Sansa on the forehead and told her to take the girls away to the rear, Tully men in scale-mail and pointed helms accompanying them. "Your recklessness often puts you in such situations, Lord Duquesne, I am sure of it."
Duquesne tilted his head, conceding the point. "There aren't many of us here, I have to be audacious," he replied, "But I have kept the promise Princess Zheng made with you. You have your daughter. I have also secured terms for peace from Lord Tywin that include the return of your husband. Your King, now."
The queen's eyes widened. "So quickly?" she gasped.
O'Neill nodded, crossing his hands over the firearm hanging from his chest. "Lord Tywin didn't agree easily, but he knows what it means to fight us."
"It helped that Lord Stannis has landed outside the capital," Duquesne added, "Our wargs reported it as the Lord Hand was deciding. There's a fleet blockading King's Landing as we speak."
Robb grinned, looking to Jon and the others. "So the war is all but won," he said, "If Lord Tywin is agreeing to terms to a few hundred, he will get down on his hands and knees for thirty six thousand."
The Canadians frowned as a pair. "That is not why I negotiated," Lord Duquesne stated, "We have crafted a fair treaty that neither side will like entirely... But it's definitely in your favour. There are few more details to work out, particularly for you, Lord Edmure. But I will ask that you accept it."
Every Westerosi noble present bristled. Even Jon felt a sense of outrage. It didn't matter how powerful the Canadians were. They had not defeated the Starks or the riverlords in battle.
Lord Edmure moved forward, his head held high, spurs clinking as he moved. "Who are you to negotiate for us?" he asked, "We have grievances and dishonours to answer that you cannot understand."
"Lord Edmure is right," Jon said in support, "While I will not condemn you without hearing the terms, it was not right for you to seek terms alone."
"My father's leal banners speak justly," Robb continued, "Canada does not speak for House Stark, House Tully or any other of the North. The very notion cannot even be allowed to be rumoured."
Duquesne grasped his chin between thumb and forefinger before answering.
"You're correct, I do not have the right to speak for you," he began, before his eyes flashed and the corners of his lips curled, "But I do have the right to command the forces of Canada in Westeros."
"Meaning?" Queen Catelyn asked. To Jon's shock, her tone was not hostile in the slightest.
"Meaning you don't have any right to command my soldiers to fight," Duquesne said, "If you decide revenge and this southern entanglement are more important to you than the survival of the world, you can take King's Landing on your own."
The Blackfish shook his head. "Thousands would die."
Duquesne breathed out heavily. "Yes. My objective here is not to embarrass or humiliate you. I want to preserve northern strength to fight the immortal ice demons coming to kill us all, if that's okay?"
He ignored the glare given as response to those words, and looked Robb dead in the eye. "And I am not trying to dictate terms to you either. The treaty I have got from Lord Tywin is not bad at all. Gather your lords and consider it. We can force the Lannisters to accept any reasonable changes you come up with together."
Lord Edmure grumbled an incoherent objection. The Blackfish muttered about wildlings, causing Val to mutter about kneelers.
We're too close to a falling out, Jon thought, Though the Canadians hadn't the right, we should hear the terms. He knew Duquesne long enough to know the man wouldn't sacrifice at a weirwood. He also knew the Canadians believed in fair terms. They had spared the Watch when they didn't have to. They had negotiated peace between Free Folk and Winterfell when they didn't have to.
"Let us decide on the terms," Jon declared to Robb, "This is all useless argument without knowing them. Canada does not have the right to negotiate for us, but as Ser Brynden said, thousands of men depend on taking the wise course."
To Jon's great relief, Robb nodded. "Lord Stannis has already arrived," he said, "And Lord Renly comes, we know not when. Our only chance of taking the capital before either interferes is with the Canadians' aid."
He turned to Lord Duquesne. "But if this treaty does not address the dishonours piled upon us, I will not be party to it."
The Canadian frowned, but acquiesced. "Your choice," he said.
The lords of the North and Riverlands with the host were summoned and arrived at the camp outside Hayford the next evening. They had ridden so hard that some of the elder lords were unable to make it, sending younger representatives in their stead. The host itself would arrive the day after.
The council gathered that night in a grove away from camp, where it was hoped that none of the Spider's spies could overhear, only the most loyal guards scattered throughout the fields around it to prevent them stealing in. The place was lit by a central bonfire in a pit, sending a pleasant smell of the burning wood into the air.
The lords took their place in the same manner as had been established at Harrenhal; riverlords to the left of Robb, northerners to the right, the two Canadians present nearby with Queen Catelyn.
Jon was surprised at the last detail, wondering if the tales Sansa and her handmaidens had told had anything to do with it. His cousin had not revealed the tale to anyone but her mother and brother. His imagination did not spare details as to the horrors, the silence filled with his speculations.
He found himself with the northern lords, not wanting to be held in any special regard at that moment.
Duquesne brought a strange box with something called a microphone attached to it on a wire. Speaking towards the microphone allowed one's voice to be projected from the box louder than any man could shout, an ability that Lord Duquesne used to cut through the chatter of the Westerosi lords.
The Canadian leader thanked them for coming at short notice and began to explain the terms he had negotiated with Lord Lannister. He started with the good tidings.
The North and Riverlands would have peace with the Lannister-Baratheons.
House Tully would receive payments as compensation for the destruction wrought by the western hosts, to be negotiated directly with Lord Tywin and paid once per moon until the total amount was settled. The criminals Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Addam Marbrand would be put on trial, at Harrenhal under joint Riverland-Canadian justice.
House Stark would receive Lord Eddard back and recognition of his status as King of the North and Trident.
The last concession was that the Lannisters would send aid to the Night's Watch by ship to the Shadow Tower, so that they could be better prepared to defend the Wall.
The reaction of the lords was jubilant. They cheered on the announcement of each term, drowning out even the loudened voice of Duquesne through the machine.
Jon did not cheer, he just turned the terms over in his head. They were too good. Lord Tywin must be terrified of the Canadians, he thought, But fearfulness is not his reputation? He smelled a plot.
The concessions were explained next. All highborn prisoners that weren't accused of 'war crimes' by the Canadians would be released, including Jaime and Tyrion Lannister. Half the northern host would return home, so the westerlands wouldn't be threatened while Lord Tywin fought off the Baratheon brothers. And Father could not make any alliance or agreement with claimants to the Iron Throne.
These terms were met with sullen silence, though the objections of the lords sat on the tips of their tongues. It wasn't hard for Jon to guess why. The feats and capacities of the Canadians were common knowledge by now, and none wanted to offend Lord Duquesne by being the first to object. Especially when he was to leave and they would then be free to come up with an answer spoken by all the lords, leaving no one particular to blame should he not like its sound.
The Canadians seemed to sense the time had come, handing the microphone to Robb before sliding off. Lord Duquesne quickly ducked over to Jon, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to speak into his ear.
"Help us out if you can," he said quietly, "The Others are coming, you know it better than most." He looked to Val and winked, before leaving.
Jon scowled at the man's back as he withdrew, walking through the trees back to his Canadian crawler where his escort was waiting for him. As the lords began arguing over the terms, he barely listened. What help does he want from me?
It was only when the argument of the lords around him erupted did he begin to pay attention to the words.
"My lords!" Lord Blackwood declared, "How can we think to send banners so far away when a Lannister host remains in the field? And while I hold the Canadians in high regard, they are not of this realm."
"Aye!" cried Karyl Vance, the birthmark on his face darkening, "Kevan Lannister still leads a formidable number of men-at-arms. When they have finished retreating to the West, there is nothing stopping them from returning to the Riverlands by way of the Golden Tooth and my lands!"
"By which time we will be better prepared," Lord Edmure stated, running a hand through his red hair, "My lords, these terms give us the chance to step back, with gold in our coffers to repair our keeps and arm our menfolk. Refusing them means storming King's Landing, weakening ourselves in the face of King Renly's might, for which we gain nothing."
"Gold in your coffers, mayhaps!" called Lothar Frey, a round of jeers following his words. Jon wasn't sure if they were in support of the man or against him.
The portly Lord Mooton stepped up to the fire, his white doublet bathed orange by its light. "Should not the bastard Joffrey die?!" he called, "Should we not wait and join Renly Baratheon's assault on the capital, so as to endear ourselves to him? It seems to me that our kingdom stands or falls on his word. Whereas these terms leave us standing naked after having delivered him the insult of rebelling."
"Coward," snarled Maege Mormont, fist raised, "Our kingdom stands on the bravery and stoutness of its warriors. How can a man call himself a noble who would not fight?"
The lord of Maidenpool recoiled from the insult, the fact it came from a woman clearly needling him. "I have fought!" Lord Mooton objected, "And accepting these terms is to lay down our arms!"
"Aye, you've fought. For the fucking dragons!" said another with a riverland accent, Jon saw not who. That caused a furor, lords shouting and pointing across the firepit at each other or trying to calm down others. Some realm we are, who cannot even discuss terms without killing one another.
Before blades could be bared, Robb brought the microphone to his mouth. "My lords!" his voice projected over the din, "Though I would treat with Renly Baratheon, he is not Aegon the Conqueror, no matter how many knights and men he claims to be able to muster! I'll not give my fealty to him!"
"Aye!" came the cry in reply, from northman and riverlord alike.
"We cannot now bend the knee to any man but my father," Robb continued, "Should we do so, it would be a folly men would laugh at us about for centuries. The North's claim to its own realm would be extinguished forever, the Trident once more turned into the battlefield of other men."
"Then what of the Old Lion's demand, your Grace?" said the Blackfish, "The realm cannot be seen to be abandoning the defence of its own lords and smallfolk. Sending your northern banners home to soothe Tywin Lannister's worries is asking for trouble. Especially for a treaty written by a foreigner."
"Some among us have our own reasons to send our banners home," Lord Karstark responded, stroking his thick grey beard, "You may fear the Lannisters' intent, but I must look northwards of my own lands. There is no lack of threat from that direction."
"Aye, that is wisdom," Maege Mormont agreed, "I fear what might happen if the Bay of Seal freezes. I'd not be down here while wights walk across the ice to steal my home, or the wildlings who've not followed Mance Rayder."
Murmurs rumbled around the firepit from the riverlords. Very few of them had seen the wights, or that the 'wildlings' could be a real threat. Not all believed the tales. Jon clenched a fist behind his back. It had been strange to him that the riverlords had declared with the North for independence, and the reason was simple; their concerns were different. That difference looked like splitting the nobles of the new realm on what many considered matters of life and death.
He stepped forward. "My lords, I have seen the wights myself," he said, "As have many of the northern lords. We face wars from both the north and the south. The peace in the North will not last until winter. Even a fragile one in the south is worth every week it buys us to prepare."
Jon knew many were thinking of the Free Folk when Lord Karstark meant he needed his banners home., but the 'wildling' reputation was such that his argument held the same weight.
Robb nodded. "The Canadians will not leave the Riverlands," he said, "I do not believe that Lord Tywin would dare attack. He suffered grevious defeat at our hands, and he gave up my lady sister after being threatened by the Canadians."
"What of Lord Renly?" Lord Mooton said.
Lord Edmure smiled brightly, reminding Jon of Bran or Rickon when some matter goes their way. "Lord Duquesne has assured me that anyone attacking the Riverlands will … 'regret their life choices'. He regards the land as key to the defence against the Others, for vittles and the like."
There were some murmurs, Jon hearing the nearby Darry boy express his approval. This stopped when Lord Lothar moved forward into the firelight, the blue bridge sigil on his breast turning black in the low light.
"I am sure that the Canadians would be victorious, Prince Robb," he said, nasally voice grating on the ear, "But there are only a hundred of them. If Lord Renly wants, he could march his men-at-arms in three columns into our kingdom, thirty thousand strong."
"The Canadians are worth thirty thousand at least," Jon stated, "Four of them took Castle Black without losing a single man. Four leading seven hundred tore through Lord Tywin's outriders that were on your family's lands, Lord Lothar. The same shattered the cavalry at the Bloody Ford in the blink of an eye and saved my life when I had a sellsword's blade to my throat."
Lord Mooton cleared his throat. "We would have just twenty five thousand to oppose them, if you send back half the northmen. The Reachmen and stormlords could push deeply into our kingdom before they could be stopped."
"And you think ten thousand more would help, my lord?" Jon asked, "Could the Reach even feed so many, so far from home?"
"The Canadians could defeat one host, we could defeat a second while the third is harassed," Lothar Frey pressed, "We could blunt how far the Reachmen get into our lands. And that is just one possible way a larger host could aid us. Unless the Canadians plan to send a larger host of their own?"
Jon could not reply. He knew rightly that reinforcement from the otherworld had its own problems. The Frey sneered back, victorious.
"Ah yes, invite more arrogant foreigners," Lord Mooton complained, "How can my fellow lords cry coward when I say our fate is in the hands of the Lord of Storm's End, a man of Westeros, then think to demand that men from even further afield protect us?"
Lord Lothar looked at the Lord of Maidenpool like he had just pissed on his boots, while the other lords piled insults upon the pair of them. Jon did not agree with Lord Mooton, but at least got the satisfaction of the Frey being put in his place.
Robb raised a hand, and when he was not heeded, raised his voice too. "While Lord Tywin has not demanded Canada leave the Riverlands, Lord Duquesne has stated it is unlikely that Canada will send further troops soon. We can count on their current strength, which is considerable, but they are not here to conquer Lord Renly for us."
"Which is why we must have your host with us, Prince Robb!" Lord Bracken stated, "Certainly more than half of it, at least!"
That sent the lords arguing again over the numbers, but to Jon, it was just noise. His mind took hold of the things that had been said, and began to make something of them.
Canada would not send more warriors. That made sense. He couldn't see Bloodraven or the Children of the Forest welcoming them, he got the impression they did not like each other. Lord Tywin was unlikely to bend on the matter of his Father's banners returning home, and couldn't afford to make the same concession with Lord Renly and Lord Stannis bearing down on the capital.
Jon bit his lip, thinking about it. It seemed to him like the only party without any restriction on them was the Canadians, though they also had not secured very many concessions for themselves. What are you planning, Duquesne?
He turned to Val. "How many Canadians are there?" Jon asked her, "Do you think there are secretly more on the Isle of Faces than we saw?"
Val picked up the end of her long braid, playing with it as she thought. "No, I had the men Mance sent with me look around," she said, "There are no more than one hundred and fifty Canadians, and no more than seven hundred warriors of the Laughing Tree."
The Laughing Tree. It was like the sun had suddenly dawned. Jon quickly leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheeks and then the lips, drawing more than a few gazes. "Thank you," he told her.
Val looked back in confusion. "What?"
Jon just backed up and stepped to the firepit again. "My lords!" he declared, "There may be another way to assure a defence for the Riverlords."
"What way, Lord Snowstark?" Queen Catelyn asked, "The terms seem comprehensive."
The way she said Snowstark was unlike the way the lords said it. Jon felt the insult in his gut, but pressed on, finding he already had the lords' attention courtesy of his kissing his wife. "The terms say that half the northern banners must return home," he said, "But in the treaty that gave me my wife, King Mance pledged ten thousand warriors to our cause."
"Lord Tywin is no fool," the queen responded at once, "Your marriage to Princess Val makes the wildling warriors just as 'northern' as our own leal banners, and they do come from 'the North'. He would view their arrival as a breach of the terms."
Jon felt a rush, like his blood was on fire. "But there are already Free Folk here," he said, "The Laughing Tree tribe, under Lord Duquesne's command. If the ten thousand take the same oath that they have, then they are not 'northern' banners at all. They are not sworn to the Kingdom of Wall and Gift. They are sworn to Canada."
"Wildlings?" Lord Mooton gasped, "You mean to defend our lands with wildlings who will reave and rape?! Led by the men who gave insult to my son for defending a fellow lord's right?"
Val's face became a face of a demon, her hand slipping to her dagger.
Jon gestured for her to stay before she leapt at the man, getting a glare for his trouble. "Lord Mooton, if there is one person who can enforce law upon the Free Folk, it is the man who broke the Wall and defeated the Night's Watch. They know Canada's power well, and they respect oaths of the sort Duquesne will demand of them."
"And if they don't, we'll feed the weirwoods with them!" Val snarled, "Justice in the True North shows oathbreakers no mercy!"
"As if we can count on such justice," Lord Bracken said, teeth bared in disgust, "Where would these wildlings stay? Certainly not on my lands!"
The stupidity of such a remark burned Jon. Lord Bracken's lands didn't border the West or the Crownlands, nor did they have good roads towards either. "Which do you prefer, my lord?" Jon asked, "Lord Renly's troops coming to force you to bend the knee, or Lord Duquesne defending your choice of King?"
The lords resumed shouting at each other and Jon knew he had made a mistake. They weighed in on both sides, honour and rejecting the foreigner against ending the war early with guarantees and gold. Robb attempted to quiet them, but wasn't succeeding. Jon felt a lurch in his chest, fearing he had split open the divide he wanted to mend.
Flashing lights and a cacophony boomed from behind. Jon flinched, recognising it as Canadian weapons being used. There were no dead men with bloody holes in them that he could see, so it wasn't an attack. But the noise was very effective in silencing the bickering lords.
Jon turned and found Princess Zheng approaching with a dozen Canadians, all armed and armoured, the strange goggles that allowed them to see in the dark attached to their round helms. Ghost and Greywind immediately burst from where they had been laying down, a flash of white and grey fur moving by, and their noses were soon seeking her face.
"Get off me!" she complained as she made her way, the lords parting for the direwolves, "Sorry everyone, I tried getting your attention with words but you were busy screaming at each other."
"Princess Zheng," Queen Catelyn said in greeting, "What brings you to this council? We were promised you would not interfere with our deliberations."
The Princess of Taipei was finally able to move up to the fire, a direwolf's head under each arm. "Yeah, I know," Zheng replied, "I was ordered by Captain Duquesne to inform you that the vanguard of Renly Baratheon's army has reached the Blackwater at the village of Taren. I'm here to pick up Jon here and go take a look tonight."
The lords stood in stunned silence, and Jon knew why. No one expected Lord Renly to move so quickly. A separate peace with Lord Tywin wouldn't be possible without snubbing him directly now, making the whole idea far more dangerous. He would demand that the North and Trident support his claim regardless, and unlike Lord Stannis, the Lord of Storm's End had the strength to punish their refusal.
"Jon," Robb said, "Go with her. See how many Lord Renly has brought."
Jon snapped out of it, and gave his brother a small bow. Tonight, he would ride once more with the Canadians, all the better to see what danger Val was in, and his child growing inside her.