The banquet hall buzzed with laughter and song, yet beneath the surface warmth, Lady Catelyn Stark's eyes betrayed unease.
She raised her cup, then set it down untouched. Her smile, when answering the others' congratulations, was polite but strained, the gesture of a woman whose thoughts were elsewhere.
After a long pause, she finally broke her silence.
"On my way here," she began, her tone calm but edged with curiosity, "I heard that Tywin Lannister's fierce general, Ser Gregor Clegane, was slain by Jon himself. Is this true?"
Before anyone else could answer, a clear young voice rang out.
"Absolutely true, my lady!"
The hall turned toward the sound. It was Lin Man, the young Earl of Darry, barely eight years old.
He rose from his seat and gave Catelyn a courteous bow before glancing toward Jon.
Jon met his eyes, and Lin Man's face lit up with uncontained excitement. His small hands tugged at the hem of his tunic to straighten it before he spoke again, his voice trembling with pride.
"If it weren't for Big Brother Jon that day," he said, "Darry City would have fallen to the Mountain's army. It was Big Brother Jon who defeated him—and avenged my father! My brother Martin now serves as the captain of Big Brother Jon's personal guards, and all the soldiers of Darry follow his command. Everyone in the city admires him greatly!"
He repeated Big Brother Jon again and again.
None of the other lords in the tent corrected him. Some even nodded in approval.
But in Catelyn's eyes, this was intolerable.
Lin Man might have been a child, but he was still an Earl. Jon, however capable, remained a bastard. For the boy to call him Big Brother so openly—and for no one to object—meant only one thing: Jon's prestige within the Eastern Army had grown dangerously high.
Roose Bolton, seated nearest to Catelyn, noticed her expression. His pale eyes narrowed, the flicker of a plan forming in his calculating mind.
He rubbed a finger idly along the base of his wine cup, his gaze darting between Jon and Catelyn like a leech crawling over flesh.
Catelyn, however, knew now was not the moment to confront Jon publicly. If she wished to curb his influence, she would need to move carefully—and perhaps, through Bolton.
She composed herself and shifted the topic. "My lords," she said evenly, "as you all know, Renly Baratheon has been assassinated. Most of the Stormlands' host now follows Stannis, and he commands the strongest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms.
Stannis is a rigid man. If he takes King's Landing and claims the Iron Throne, he will never recognize the North's independence. I may be but a woman, yet I wish to hear what plans you lords have next."
Her eyes rested on Roose Bolton.
Bolton caught the signal immediately. His suspicion from earlier was confirmed. Bowing his head slightly, he replied, "My lady, I have already discussed this matter with Lord Jon. Our next step is to take Harrenhal—cut off communication between the Westerlands and the Crownlands. Once Harrenhal is under our control, even if Stannis moves inland, he must first face the mightiest fortress in Westeros."
Jon's brow twitched.
Could Bolton's intent to stir trouble be any more obvious?
The Lord of the Dreadfort, of all men, calling him "Lord Jon"? It was as subtle as shouting treason in a chapel.
Jon shot Bolton a cold glance. Bolton, unfazed, added that they had discussed the campaign together—thereby implying equality between them. Even if it was true, the timing of it, said aloud before Catelyn, only served to raise her suspicions.
Predictably, her expression hardened.
"Lord Bolton," she said, voice polite but edged like a knife, "you needn't be so deferential. Though I am not Jon's mother, I watched him grow up. Robb entrusted the Eastern Army to you, which means you are the one he trusts most. Such major decisions should be discussed with the other lords."
The message was unmistakable. Jon is just a bastard. Do not treat him as your equal.
By emphasizing "the other lords," she subtly reinforced Bolton's authority—and undercut Jon's.
Bolton, of course, let the insult hang in the air, content to watch the tension ripen.
"Ah—" Meiqi Saiwen suddenly stood, unable to bear the insinuation. "My lady, don't underestimate Jon. Were it not for him, these old bones of mine would be rotting in a Lannister dungeon! I was shot through with an arrow that day, and the Western cavalry were upon us. It was Jon who turned the tide and saved us all!"
Harrion Karstark and Wendel Manderly both rose to add their support.
"These are no mere boasts," Wendel said. "He's a true Stark in all but name."
Their loyalty was genuine—and that made it worse.
Jon, though grateful, could only inwardly sigh. They thought they were defending him, but every word they spoke only deepened Catelyn's mistrust.
She had resented him since his youth, seeing him as the living reminder of Eddard's supposed betrayal. Now, with Jon's growing strength and influence threatening Robb's position, that resentment curdled into something colder.
Sure enough, once the feast ended, Catelyn requested a private meeting with Roose Bolton.
"So," she began sharply, "Jon now commands five thousand men—and these five thousand are not under your authority?"
Her tone was clipped, incredulous. Five thousand men might be mere levies and wanderers, but to Catelyn, it was nearly the entire strength of Winterfell itself.
"Yes, my lady," Bolton replied smoothly. "But this was His Majesty's will. When we first marched south, the King granted Jon fewer than five hundred men. He gathered the rest by recruiting stragglers and Riverlands militia on his own…"
He deliberately omitted the part where Jon's charisma and victories had drawn half those men to his banner willingly.
Catelyn's reaction was exactly as he hoped.
"This is absolutely unacceptable!" she snapped, her spine straight as a spear haft. "The Eastern Army numbers little more than twenty thousand, and Jon—a bastard—commands five thousand on his own? A quarter of the force beyond your control? No, this cannot stand."
"My lady, these were all men Jon raised independently—"
"Still unacceptable!" she cut him off, voice sharp as a hammer striking nails. "Leave this to me. I will deal with Jon myself."
"My lady… I fear I've disappointed His Majesty," Bolton murmured humbly.
But Catelyn was already turning away, her mind fixed on confrontation.
As she left, Bolton's thin lips curved into a smile.
Polin, standing beside him, leaned in eagerly. "Excellent, my lord! Lady Catelyn will strip that bastard of his army, and then we'll command half of the Northern host!"
Bolton's smile deepened, faint as a knife's edge.
He didn't bother answering.
After all, what he was doing now was no different from Jon's own tactics—retreating one step to advance three.
---
Yearly access offer 50 percent and monthly offer 25 percent
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)