The air in the command tent was tense. Catelyn Stark sat at the head of the table, posture straight as a spear.
Jon stood before her with his hands calmly at his sides.
Sora, quietly pouring tea for the lady, trembled when Catelyn's sharp eyes fell on her.
"Jon," Catelyn said coolly, "I have never heard of a noble's attendant being a woman. Nor," her voice tightened, "have I ever heard of a bastard keeping personal guards."
Sora's hand faltered, spilling a few drops of tea on the table.
Jon glanced at the mess, his expression composed. "My lady," he said evenly, "what you call personal guards, I call reserves. In critical moments, I lead them to reinforce other fronts. They are only under my direct command for training, which is why some may mistake them for personal guards."
Sora finished wiping the table and refilled the cup. But Catelyn did not reach for it. In her eyes, Jon's explanation was nothing more than clever wordplay—his "reserves" were clearly soldiers loyal to him alone.
She did not bother arguing. Her purpose was simple: to transfer Jon's military authority to Lord Bolton. His so-called reserves were included.
"Jon," she said, her tone brisk, "how many troops do you currently command?"
"Less than three hundred."
"I want you—what?"
Catelyn's brow furrowed. She leaned forward, certain she had misheard.
The camps outside were crowded with men; she had seen hundreds herself. Yet he claimed three hundred as though mocking her intelligence.
"Jon," she pressed, her voice cold, "repeat how many. Lord Bolton told me you have five thousand soldiers—including nearly five hundred heavy-armored guards."
Jon's lips curved faintly. So Bolton wasted no time selling me out.
"My lady," he replied lightly, "of those five thousand, more than two thousand are Mountain Clansmen from the Vale—warriors I won over with food and weapons. Another five hundred are old veterans from the Northern clans. Their lord fell at the Green Fork, and because I saved them, they now follow my lead. Several hundred more are soldiers whose lords perished in battle. My true command, however, is scarcely more than three hundred men."
"You even went to the Mountains of the Moon?" she asked sharply.
"I did," Jon said. "With Robb's permission."
Catelyn's expression wavered. She had just returned from a diplomatic mission herself and knew how difficult it was to win the loyalty of tribesmen, let alone wild warriors of the Vale. How Jon, a bastard, had managed it was beyond her comprehension.
She studied him—the boy she had known since Winterfell now seemed unreadable, unfamiliar. The realization made her discomfort sharpen into dislike.
After a moment, she took a small sip of tea. "Regardless," she said, "these five thousand men must fall under unified command. I expect you to hand over authority to Lord Bolton."
At her words, Sora's fists clenched tight beside her.
She had once admired noblewomen like Catelyn, believing them to be gracious and wise. But now, hearing her try to strip Jon of what he had built from nothing, that admiration turned to contempt.
"My lady," Sora began hotly, "these men were gathered through Jon's—"
"It's not your place to speak, girl of the Mountains of the Moon," Catelyn snapped, emphasizing the words with a pointed look.
Jon's patience thinned. So this is how it will be.
He walked calmly to the other side of the table and sat down under her disapproving gaze.
"My lady," he said, voice low but steady, "you've made your point clear. I am a motherless bastard—everything I have, I owe to House Stark."
He reached into his coat and laid a parchment on the table.
"These are the rosters of my officers. In the name of the King in the North's mother, you may command them to obey Lord Bolton. If they choose to follow your order, I will not defy it."
Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by this?"
Jon gestured to the parchment. "The roster is here, my lady. Do with it as you please." Then his tone turned quieter—but sharper. "There is one more thing. If Robb intends to send Theon Greyjoy to negotiate with the Iron Islands, stop him. Once Theon returns home, Balon will act without restraint. He will likely strike the North and Winterfell itself."
Catelyn stiffened. "Theon is Eddard's ward. He wouldn't dare."
"But he is also Lord Stark's hostage," Jon said. "And a hostage freed is a weapon unsheathed. My lady—" his gaze hardened—"you wouldn't want to lose two more children, would you?"
At the mention of Bran and Rickon, Catelyn's self-control snapped.
She seized the teacup and hurled it toward him—
—but Jon was faster. He pressed down on the rim just as it moved, stopping it without touching her hand.
"My lady," he said quietly, "this motherless bastard lived under your roof for fourteen years. In the Battle of the Green Fork, I saved over fourteen hundred men, and I slew the Mountain with my own hands. So please—do not interfere in military matters."
"You—!" Catelyn rose, her face pale with fury, blue eyes blazing like ice.
Jon had no interest in arguing further. For all her love of her children, Catelyn's emotions often clouded her judgment—she had proved that when she freed Jaime.
Still, his warning would serve its purpose. If Robb was wise, he would reconsider trusting the Ironborn.
He turned to leave. "The North stands too close to the sea and too far from mercy. If Robb insists on that alliance, tell Theon—"
Catelyn snapped, "Tell him what?"
Jon looked back over his shoulder. "He knows."
"You—!"
Jon's calm indifference only enraged her further.
"My lady," he said at last, his voice cool, "I have said what I must. Everything I do is for Lord Stark's honor. I will follow my own path, even if it means defying Robb—or you. Judge me as you will. When this war ends, I'll return to the Wall and resume my vows."
Without waiting for a reply, Jon turned and walked out.
"Jon! Jon!"
Catelyn's shout followed him out into the cold air. The boy she had once cowed into silence now stood as her equal—and that stung worse than any insult.
But his words cut deep. The mention of Bran and Rickon lodged in her heart like a thorn. Sansa and Arya were already lost in the South; the thought of losing two more was unbearable.
In the days that followed, she set aside thoughts of military command entirely and departed for Riverrun in haste.
To show courtesy, Jon sent twenty veteran soldiers to escort her and personally saw her to the edge of camp.
Sora stood beside him, still fuming.
"How could Lady Catelyn act like that…" she muttered.
Jon's reply was soft. "When I was little, I once caught a fever. Lady Catelyn sat by my bedside for nights without rest. I woke once and saw her asleep at the head of my bed. I never knew my real mother, so whenever I imagined one, it was her face I saw. She's only a mother worried for her children. Don't blame her."
To him, the matter was done. He wouldn't waste anger on those who could not see beyond their fear. The army was his creation, and no one could take it from him. His calm restraint would only earn his soldiers greater loyalty.
But to Sora, his defense of Catelyn was something else entirely.
She looked at him, her heart aching. Her mother had died young too—but at least she had known a mother's warmth. Jon, she realized, had not.
Her mother's words echoed in her mind:
Those who suffer need only a drop of kindness to feel peace.
Those starved of love need only a touch of it to remember
forever.
"Jon…" she whispered. Her throat tightened.
Without turning, Jon said quietly, "Address me by my title."
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