Lynn released Lyanna's hand. Her palm was warm and damp with sweat, and the short sword she held aloft still gleamed coldly in the firelight.
She wasn't acting. She truly wanted to take Walder Frey's head.
The wildest blood of the North coursed through this little girl's veins.
"For the honor of the North!"
Greatjon Umber grabbed the roast lamb he had kicked off the table, then seized a flagon with a hand the size of a shovel, pouring ale down his throat. The liquid streamed into his thick beard, soaking the leather armor on his chest.
"To Lord Lynn! To Lady Mormont!"
"To the King-Beyond-the-Wall!"
"Bugger the Southrons!"
Ned Stark stood at the high table, watching the near-riotous scene with a complex expression.
He glanced at his wife.
Catelyn's face showed no surprise; only a calm sense of expectation.
He looked to the other side. Roose Bolton had quietly resumed his seat. He kept his head down, methodically cutting the mutton on his plate with a small knife, as if none of this concerned him.
But Ned knew the Lord of the Dreadfort was nowhere near as calm as he appeared.
Ned had worried, too. He feared Roose Bolton's words would be a poisoned barb lodged in the hearts of the lords.
Duty.
Yes, it was a bannerman's sworn duty to follow his liege into war.
But you cannot eat duty. Duty does not fill a belly or keep a soldier alive in the snow.
A war with no profit, only cost and sacrifice, was enough to drain the reserves of the most loyal house and breed the foulest resentment.
Roose Bolton hadn't spoken a single false word. He had simply chosen the perfect moment to voice the calculation hidden in every man's heart.
Ned saw Bolton's intent clearly. He wasn't openly opposing Lynn; he was testing him. He was reminding everyone that this march south was not a Stark call to arms, but Lynn's "private affair."
Duty versus profit—the eternal struggle of the nobility.
No one wanted to fight a war without reward. Even when commanded by a liege lord, it was common for vassals to drag their feet, offering only token support. As long as they didn't openly rebel, there was little a liege could do.
Roose Bolton had simply torn down the veil of polite fiction.
He had calculated that Lynn would try to buy them with gold or soothe them with empty promises. Either way, Lynn's standing would diminish in their eyes. Gold made him look like a merchant turning war into a transaction; promises made him look like a liar.
But for all his cunning, Roose hadn't accounted for a ten-year-old girl named Lyanna Mormont.
With the purest, fiercest passion, she had smashed Bolton's carefully laid trap to dust.
Gratitude. Survival. Honor.
These three things moved the hearts of Northmen far more than gold or oaths.
And by binding his own survival to theirs, Lynn had left no room for argument.
Lynn was far sharper than Ned had imagined. He hadn't rushed to defend himself. He let the doubt fester, then used Lyanna's voice to turn the tide completely.
Now, this war was no longer Lynn's private feud. It was the North's collective crusade for survival and glory.
Roose Bolton hadn't shaken Lynn's position; he had become the whetstone that sharpened it, forging the alliance between Lynn and the Northern lords in fire.
Ned Stark stood up.
He didn't look at Lynn. Instead, he looked at the cheering bannermen.
A profound sense of satisfaction filled his chest. As Warden of the North, nothing gladdened him more than seeing the North united as one.
Ned raised his goblet high, his deep voice cutting through the din.
"For the North!"
"For the North!"
The lords roared in response, draining their cups.
The atmosphere hit a fever pitch. Even the most stoic squires in the corners were flushed with excitement.
As Ned looked over the faces, feeling that satisfaction, Catelyn nudged him gently with her elbow.
Ned turned to meet his wife's blue eyes.
She didn't speak, but the message was clear.
It is time.
Ned's heart sank. The hot blood of Northern unity suddenly felt a little cooler.
He instinctively wanted to stall. Maybe propose another toast, or pretend he didn't understand her signal.
But Catelyn's gaze was firm, carrying a hint of urgency he couldn't ignore.
She was right. This was the perfect moment.
Lynn had just crushed Roose Bolton's scheme and won the hearts of the lords. The fire of survival and honor was burning at its brightest. Announcing the marriage now would be like pouring oil onto that flame.
It would bind Lynn irrevocably to House Stark.
It would tell everyone that Lynn's will was, for all intents and purposes, the will of Winterfell.
Ned understood the logic. He knew the politics.
But when he thought of Arya, his heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand—a mix of sourness and swelling pain.
His daughter... his little Arya.
The girl who hated needlework but loved to chase Bran and Rickon through the yards with a stick sword, covered in mud. The girl who would sneak her peas to the direwolves under the table and make faces at him during feasts.
She was going to be a wife?
Time was a cruel thief.
Ned's eyes drifted to the children's table.
Robb was whispering with the Smalljon. Bran and Rickon were fighting over a honeycake.
But Arya... Arya was staring unblinkingly at Lynn, her eyes practically glued to him.
She saw no one else.
Ned felt a wave of helplessness, followed by that indescribable paternal ache.
He looked at Lynn again. The young man was composed, possessing the sharpness of youth but the gravity of a much older man. He had just defused a crisis that could have fractured the North. His wisdom and capability were undeniable.
Lynn was, without question, one of the finest young men in the Seven Kingdoms. Marrying Arya to him was a boon for her and for House Stark.
But reason is one thing; feeling is another.
A crude but fitting thought filled Ned's mind: He had spent years tending a prize rose in his garden, and now he had to watch a boar barge in and root it up.
And the worst part was, he had chosen the boar himself. He was practically opening the garden gate for it.
To think, he had once nearly taken his future son-in-law's head as a deserter.
Fate had a strange sense of humor. In the blink of an eye, the deserter was not only marrying his daughter but standing as an equal to the high lords.
Ned's grip on his goblet tightened.
Catelyn nudged him again. Harder this time. Her eyes carried a warning.
Ned took a deep breath.
He knew he couldn't delay any longer. If he did, he'd pay for it tonight.
"My Lords!"
Ned spoke again. His voice was lower than before, but it carried an undeniable weight of authority.
The noisy hall fell silent instantly. The lords turned to the high table, expecting the Lord of Winterfell to announce a military strategy.
The Greatjon even put down his half-eaten leg of lamb, wiped his greasy mouth, and put on a serious face to listen.
Ned's gaze swept over everyone.
Roose Bolton still had his head down, but Ned knew the man was listening intently.
"Today, we gathered for the future of the North."
Ned's voice echoed in the cavernous hall.
"Lord Lynn has shown us the path. Lady Lyanna Mormont has reminded us of our honor and our blood."
He paused, gathering his words. The silence grew heavy with anticipation.
"To make this unity stronger, to make our alliance unbreakable..."
Ned felt his throat go dry. The words weighed a thousand pounds.
"I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, do hereby announce..."
His eyes finally landed on Lynn.
The look he gave was complicated. There was appreciation, approval, and trust.
But mostly, it was the look of a father telling a son-in-law, 'If you hurt her, I will end you.'
"My daughter, Arya Stark, is to be betrothed to the Lord of the Gift, Lynn!"
Silence.
Absolute, pin-drop silence.
Everyone was stunned by the sudden news. The lords looked at one another, expressions shifting from shock to confusion, and finally to realization.
A marriage?
No, this wasn't just a marriage.
This was House Stark's ultimate declaration.
Who was Arya Stark? Ned Stark's own blood.
Giving her to Lynn changed everything. It meant Lynn was no longer just an ally held by profit or gratitude.
He was becoming a Stark. He was becoming family.
It was a blood pact. The highest level of trust and endorsement.
Moments ago, Roose Bolton had questioned if this was a "private matter." Now, Ned had answered by pulling Lynn into the very heart of House Stark, slapping down every doubt with a wedding vow.
Could there be a clearer signal?
Lynn's war was now House Stark's war. And Stark business was the North's business.
If he marched south, the entire North would be his iron shield.
After the brief silence, the hall erupted with a cheer louder than any before.
"For the North!"
"Congratulations, Lord Stark! Congratulations, Lord Lynn!"
The lords were ecstatic.
The way they looked at Lynn changed completely. Before, there was awe and calculation. Now, there was genuine warmth and acceptance.
He was no longer the mysterious, powerful outsider.
Lynn was now "one of us."
Roose Bolton finally lifted his pale face. He looked at Lynn with deep, unreadable eyes.
But under the table, his hand was clenched into a tight fist.
Ned Stark's move was even more devastating than Lyanna Mormont's speech. He had cut off the root of any potential division.
Lynn stood up and bowed deeply toward Ned.
He had wanted to marry Arya for a long time; naturally, he wouldn't refuse. He said nothing, but the bow spoke volumes.
Ned looked at him, emotions swirling. The pang of losing his daughter lingered, but seeing the unprecedented unity of the North gave him comfort.
He forced down the reluctance in his heart and pasted on the stiff smile required of a father-in-law.
"Alright, alright!"
Ned waved his hands, quieting the room.
"I announce this to tell you all: The North is one family."
Ned's voice regained its booming strength.
"To celebrate this union, and to give us ample time to plan our march south, I invite you all to remain at Winterfell for two more days!"
"For these two days, the wine and meat of Winterfell shall flow without limit!"
"Hoooah!"
The Greatjon was the first to jump up. He had been waiting for those words.
"Wise counsel, my Lord!"
"Thank you for the hospitality!"
The lords cheered again, the festive atmosphere reaching its peak.
They understood Ned's meaning perfectly. Staying two more days wasn't just about eating and drinking.
It was time for the bannermen to get close to Lynn, their future family member, to deepen their bonds and prepare for the war to come.
Ned Stark's endorsement of Lynn needed no further words.
Catelyn smiled with satisfaction. She walked to Ned's side and gently took his hand.
Ned squeezed her hand in return. The warmth gave his heavy fatherly heart a little comfort.
The feast roared on, but the core business was settled.
The lords began to cluster in groups of three or four, swilling ale and discussing the massive implications of the marriage and the glory of the war to come.
No one mentioned duty or profit again.