Wyman Manderly seldom stood, yet his voice boomed off the ancient walls of Winterfell all the same. “There was a time,” he was saying, “when the Boltons and the Freys choked loyalty from this land. They crawled around these very walls like roaches, sitting on the same seat my king does today. It took the last Starks, an army of wildlings and our friends from the Vale to snatch the north back from its traitors.” He nodded at Baelish, who nodded back. “The Boltons are dead, and when our friends of Frey finish their bloody war, we will be back for them. The north remembers… and it also will not forget the Targaryens, Greyjoys and Lannisters.”
Lord Manderly’s comments were met with general assent. Cerwyn chipped in. “The greatest battle is yet to come, the battle for the dawn. We cannot lay in bed with old foes hoping they help our quest, no less with fools who style themselves dragon queens. There is no margin for error.”
“I agree, Lord Cerwyn,” Jon Snow said. “There is no margin for error. When you named me king, I promised to lead my men as well as I can. I will fight the White Walkers, no matter the odds, but the odds are against us. Twenty-thousand strong cannot hold the Wall against the dead. But if the rumors of a three-headed dragon at Pyke is true, destroying them would be easy.”
The lords of Winterfell remained in disarray, but even when Ghost, curled beside Jon, was growling, Sansa remained silent, neither agreeing with Jon nor with the bannermen. Jon was adamant. Dragon or no dragon, Daenerys Targaryen holds an army. This battle is not between Starks or Targaryens or Lannisters, it is between men and monsters.
“If I may, Your Grace,” said Petyr Baelish, who seemed equally lost in thought until then. “We cannot know for certain if an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen will last for years. What we do know is that we need her men, and her men alone. Westeros knows northmen to be loyal, honorable folk. No one would consider that the children of Lord Eddard Stark would, say, dispose of her after Winterfell has made good use of her armies…”
“No!” the word was out of Jon Snow before he thought it. Even the other lords of Winterfell looked aghast by this consideration. Sansa was right about him. All Petyr Baelish cared for was breaking alliances and creating chaos. Jon would not have the Stark name tainted with such mud.
Sansa, however, looked more thoughtful than ever. “Why not?” she said finally. “We owe the Targaryens a debt, but we cannot meet them in field. If my time at King’s Landing taught me anything, it was that some wars were won with swords and shields, others with letters and quills. Cersei will do anything she can to keep her throne, and Daenerys will do anything to win it. For the sake of survival, why should we not?”
The lords began mulling the idea over, even warming to it. Jon could not believe his ears. He knew, as king, that he could forbid his men from considering this proposition, but part of him refrained. You imposed the wildlings on the Night’s Watch, and where did that path take you? Jon promised to think the matter over. As the lords of Winterfell disbanded, he wondered what decision he would come to, and how they would react.
*
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