Jon Snow knew this was coming.
The lords of the north in front of him were in disorder. Ser Davos Seaworth stood in a corner, brooding. Beside Jon sat Sansa Stark, patient for calm to reign. Jon tried to emulate her. I must listen to what they say. I must be a better king than I was Lord Commander.
“Wildlings… to the Wall?” Lord Manderly exclaimed. He could have stood in surprise, but hardly did.
“I pray you see the problem here, Your Grace,” Lord Glover added, trying to be calmer. “The wildlings have been fighting the Night’s Watch for thousands of years. You know this better than anyone. This will be a travesty of traditions. The men in black will not take it well.”
Tormund Giantsbane could not hold in his rage. “If we’re closer to the dead than you, why are you lot shitting yourselves?”
Jon could hold it no longer. “My lords,” he said, and the crowd silenced. “What we are faced with… it begs breaking tradition. This is not a battle between kings, not between clans. There are no wildlings, nor are there men in black. There are men… and then there are monsters. We cannot let the monsters prevail. For that to happen, we must do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.”
Lord Petyr Baelish, silent all this while, chimed in. “He happens to be right,” he said. “Besides, the wildlings know the Land of Always Winter better than we do. They have fought these creatures longer than we have. The Wall craves their knowledge, their expertise. If we do not unite, there may be no Winterfell to speak of.”
Jon was surprised to see Littlefinger stand up for him, after what Sansa had told him about the man. Murmurs of assent followed Petyr’s words. Finally, Lyanna Mormont, Lady of the Bear Islands, spoke. “Your Grace has seen things beyond the Wall we once never imagined to be real. Only you know best. If it is the will of the king, Bear Island stands with him.”
After Littlefinger and Lyanna, the rest of the bannermen quickly gave their assent. Jon was relieved, but not altogether satisfied. After the Battle of the Bastards, not even five hundred wildlings were alive… and all of them were going to be sent to the Wall. If Jon had to fight another battle, his friends would be far away. He would have to count on the support of his bannermen. They named me their king, Jon thought, but if I ask them to march to their deaths, they may unname me as quickly.
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