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Brandon moved to stand beside him,
"There's something else you need to understand. The training Arthur provides isn't purely physical. It develops awareness, judgment, discipline. The strongest warrior is worthless if he lacks the wisdom to use his strength properly. What we're building is comprehensive—body, mind, and spirit working in concert."
"Spirit?" Lord Ryswell asked skeptically. "You're claiming religious significance now?"
"I'm saying that real capability requires more than just muscle," Brandon replied. "Without discipline of mind and spirit, no amount of physical strength will let someone transcend their limits. That's what Arthur's methods teach—not just how to fight, but how to think, how to endure, how to grow beyond what you believed possible."
"And all of this," Lord Karstark said, his tone laced with concern shared by many, "requires trusting that these enhanced warriors remain loyal to their houses and to the North. Forgive my bluntness, but we're being asked to stake our future on powers that could just as easily be turned against us. What happens when one of these stone-crushing warriors decides his lord has wronged him? Or when houses begin competing for the strongest among them?"
Lord Bolton spoke before anyone else could respond.
"Lord Karstark raises necessary questions." His voice was controlled, though his hand trembled slightly as he gestured—a motion his retainer tracked with silent unease. "Enhanced capabilities demand enhanced safeguards. But I believe... Arthur Snow has already considered such matters thoroughly. Perhaps he could address how loyalty and proper governance would be maintained?"
The shift in Bolton's tone drew notice. There was less defiance than expected—something almost cooperative. Several lords exchanged glances, quietly recalculating.
"Lord Bolton is correct," Arthur said. "Capability without accountability is worse than useless—it's dangerous. Which is why we're not just proposing training. We're proposing a structured system with built-in safeguards."
He gestured, and servants stepped forward carrying neatly stacked bundles of parchment—documents clearly prepared long before this moment.
Lord Manderly's eyes narrowed with interest. "You've already drafted formal proposals?"
"A framework," Arthur confirmed as the servants began distributing copies. "Created in consultation with Lord Rickard. The core concept is simple: a Northern Council to govern enhanced warriors. Representatives from major houses, operating under clear laws and regulations. The Council would determine who receives training, how enhanced individuals are monitored, and what consequences follow if someone misuses their abilities."
Lord Manderly leaned forward, scanning the document quickly. His skepticism shifted into genuine curiosity. "You're calling them Cultivators? Why that specific term?"
Arthur met his gaze. "Because what we're building isn't just about strength. Cultivation implies growth—of body, yes, but also of mind and character. These aren't just warriors. They're individuals who must grow in every dimension to achieve what you saw today."
"Cultivation," Manderly murmured, testing the word. After a moment, he nodded. "There's wisdom in that framing. It sets expectations beyond mere combat prowess."
"The structure itself is straightforward," Arthur continued. "Enhanced warriors—Cultivators—swear oaths not just to their individual houses, but to the North as a whole. They're registered with the Council. Their progress and conduct are monitored by representatives from multiple houses. Not just Stark oversight, but collective governance."
"And if someone becomes rebellious?" Lady Mormont asked, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "If a Cultivator turns against their house—or the North?"
"Then the Council activates response protocols," Arthur said. "We're training multiple enhanced individuals specifically for internal security—people whose loyalty is absolute and whose capabilities match or exceed any potential threat. If someone misuses their enhancement, they'll face others who can stop them. But more importantly—"
He paused, letting silence settle before continuing.
"More importantly, the training itself builds loyalty. Not through fear or coercion, but through understanding. Enhanced warriors aren't isolated individuals. They're part of a system—bound by shared experience and mutual responsibility. Breaking that bond means losing everything they've worked years to achieve. It means becoming outcast from the only group that truly understands what they've become."
Sorrin spoke from the line of enhanced warriors along the wall, his accent faint but distinct. "In the Free Cities, power without community leads to chaos. Sell-sword companies turn on their employers. Powerful men become tyrants. But those bound by shared purpose—triarchs, guilds, the Faceless Men—they endure because betraying the group means losing identity." He gestured to his comrades. "This is the same. We're not just strong individuals. We're Cultivators—bound by something larger than ourselves."
Tormund nodded, his weathered face set in solemn conviction. "I served the Faith for twelve years before joining Arthur. The Faith understands this—seven aspects, one whole. No single warrior matters more than the brotherhood. That's what Arthur's building. Not scattered champions, but a unified force."
Gareth added quietly, "I've seen what happens when power lacks structure. Riverlands lords tearing their lands apart for advantage. This Council prevents that. Every Cultivator knows that abusing their strength means facing the collective might of their peers. That's a deterrent stronger than any law."
Brandon stepped forward again. "We know this sounds ambitious. You all have concerns—about oversight, about loyalty, about what happens when things go wrong. That's why this afternoon's discussions matter. This document is a framework, not a decree. We need your counsel as much as your consent. The North's unity depends on building this together."
The murmurs that followed were subdued, thoughtful. Parchment rustled softly as lords studied the text, the weight of possibility sinking in.
The morning demonstrations had ended, but the real test—the politics—was only beginning.
Outside, as the crowd began to disperse, Arthur watched with quiet calculation. Lords gathered in clusters, their expressions a mix of wonder, doubt, and calculation. Alliances were already forming, doubts already whispered.
From the shadows near the armory, Tormund approached. His voice was low. "The lords are disturbed by what they've seen. More than they're showing."
"Fear is natural when facing the impossible made real," Arthur said, watching Lord Bolton's stiff retreat toward the keep, his retainer hovering close. "But fear can be managed, redirected. By afternoon, most will have processed the shock. They'll be ready for practical discussions."
Gareth joined them. "And if they're not? If fear turns to rejection?"
"Then we remind them they already understand what's at stake," Arthur said calmly. "They've seen what this power can achieve—none of them will turn away from it now. Not when they know such strength can belong to the North. Fear will fade. Ambition will take its place."
Sorrin's gaze tracked across the yard to where Lord Umber spoke with Garron—grandfather and grandson, duty and blood wrestling for dominance. "The big man's revelation complicates things. Some will wonder if family ties can override loyalty to the Council."
"Which is why Garron's choice matters," Arthur said quietly. "He'll stay. He'll serve through Stark authority, not Umber lineage. Once Greatjon accepts that—and he will—it'll prove that what we're forging here binds stronger than blood."
Lyanna approached, Sarra beside her. Both still wore the dirt of combat stain.
"That went better than I expected," Lyanna admitted.
"The easy part is done," Arthur replied. His eyes swept the dispersing lords. "We showed them what's possible. Now we'll see if the North can unite behind it—or tear itself apart trying to own it."
"Bolton's cooperation surprised me," Sarra said bluntly. "I expected him to be more... difficult."
Arthur's expression didn't shift, though his gaze lingered briefly on Bolton's retreating figure. "He has his reasons. Let's leave it at that."
Garron finally broke away from his grandfather and joined them. For all his immense frame, he looked faintly uncertain.
"How are you handling this?" Arthur asked, voice lowered.
"I'm not sure yet," Garron admitted. "I've been a nameless bastard for so long that having a grandfather—having a name—feels unreal. But it doesn't change what matters. I'm still who I was this morning. Still loyal to what we're building here."
"Good," Arthur said, and there was genuine warmth in his tone. "Because this afternoon's negotiations will decide whether what we've built survives politics. I'll need you all focused."
Brandon approached, expression thoughtful. "Father's gathering the lords after the meal. They'll have had time to think, to whisper. That's when we'll see who truly supports this—and who's just too afraid to oppose it."
"Let them," Arthur said. "Better to draw out doubts now than face them when they can do damage."
Thom, who'd been silent, spoke finally. "The younger ones seemed more open. Torrhen Karstark especially. A few other lords too—they tried to hide it, but they were curious."
Arthur's mouth curved faintly. "The young always adapt."