House Frey had planned the Northern host's camps in advance, and with Robb's authority already established (thanks to Jon's earlier work), the army assembled north of the Twins quickly and in good order.
And because the Freys controlled the river crossing, they could also seal off information with ease. Not a whisper of the host's movement would leak out.
After leaving the Twins, Catelyn entered the central command tent and received the major Northern lords.
On the day Ned and Catelyn married, those lords had brought gifts. And over the years Catelyn had been "diligent" about giving Ned a whole brood of sons and daughters.
When a lord's household had a wedding or some other major event, Catelyn would send greetings as well, so her reputation among them was generally good.
When everyone had gathered, Catelyn explained why she had joined the army midway.
"I'm returning from the Eyrie, and I didn't know Eddard had been framed," she said evenly. "My lords all know Lysa is my sister. She governs the Vale's affairs."
"I will write to her and ask the Vale's armies to join our alliance."
She laid out her plan in a calm, orderly way, and the Northern lords grew visibly energized.
"Good!" Greatjon boomed, rubbing a hand along his sword hilt with a grin. "Direwolf and falcon, fighting side by side again. Last time we butchered the dragon—this time we'll skin the lion!"
"The Westerlands have numbers," Rickard Karstark added, clearly fired up, his white beard bright against his chest. "But they can't outnumber all the Seven Kingdoms combined. We'll win in the end!"
Then a discordant voice cut in—Lord Medger Cerwyn.
He was cautious by nature. The suggestion wasn't unreasonable, but it drew immediate pushback.
"Lord Cerwyn," Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island said sharply, "if we wait for the Vale to gather, what becomes of Northern pride?"
Bear Island women were fierce, and no one doubted they could fight.
"Aye," said the plump Lord Manderly, speaking with a genial tone while patting his belly out of habit. "We should at least open the war properly for our allies!"
Robb spoke then, his voice steady.
"We didn't march south only to save my father," he said. "The smallfolk of the Riverlands are suffering under the lions' hooves. We can't stand aside."
"And sealing information for long is unrealistic. We have to move quickly."
After everything that had happened, Robb's words erased the last traces of hesitation. No one wanted to be the lord who looked afraid after the Young Wolf spoke.
Catelyn watched her son and couldn't hide her satisfaction. The smile at the corner of her eyes simply wouldn't stay down.
Between disciplining the bannermen and securing the Frey alliance, Robb had proven he had what a proper heir needed. Catelyn's promise of Vale support only pushed morale higher.
Everyone in that tent felt like victory was already in hand.
Only Jon, standing in the corner, watched with cold eyes.
No one here could imagine the disaster that would come later. And even if Jon tried to warn them now, he couldn't—not in a way they'd accept.
For the moment, his priority was Roose Bolton. As long as Bolton didn't defect and gamble for profit, the North could at least preserve itself—especially its core strength.
If the North kept its best men alive, holding Moat Cailin and the Bite wouldn't become a hopeless defense.
And if Jon could seize Bolton's military authority earlier… then maybe, at the critical moment, he could bend the course of the war itself.
Earlier, in front of old Walder, Robb had only sketched the broad direction of the campaign.
Now came the real work: assigning commanders and naming objectives.
Robb said he would gather the Northern cavalry into one striking force and personally lead a fast raid, while Bolton would command the infantry-heavy main body to pin Tywin down.
In other words, the host of more than twenty thousand was being split into two wings—east and west.
The western army under Robb would relieve Riverrun, or at least drive off Jaime. The eastern army under Bolton would keep Tywin occupied.
As the eastern commander, Bolton was expected to explain his plan. Not only to the lords, but to Robb as well—because even Winterfell's foot would be under Bolton's command, and Bolton owed them an answer.
"Infantry move slowly," Bolton said, "but Tywin's army is closer to us."
"At present Tywin doesn't yet know we've marched south, so I intend to attempt a raid. If it succeeds, we may cripple Tywin."
"If it fails, we withdraw to the north bank of the Green Fork. That still achieves the goal of containment."
The lords nodded, approving.
Bolton sounded experienced, and many praised the plan. If Jon didn't know what the future held, he might have agreed too.
But Jon did know.
In the end, Bolton would be detected due to overconfidence, then take the bait of an intentionally exposed "opening," and throw away eight thousand men.
Jon would not allow that.
If he couldn't prevent the army from being squandered, then talking about saving the North—or changing the fate of the Seven Kingdoms—was just empty air.
Jon turned slightly toward Robb and spoke in a low voice.
"Robb. May I offer a thought?"
Jon wasn't loud, but because he stood close to Robb, plenty of people noticed. And after everything that had happened, Robb had begun to expect a lot from his bastard brother.
Just as Robb was about to nod, Catelyn spoke.
"Jon," she said, not loudly, but with arrow-clean clarity, "this is a war council for lords. You—you'd best not interrupt, or people will think House Stark can't even teach its children properly."
Robb heard it all, and his expression tightened. He was caught between them.
What Jon did next, however, wasn't what Catelyn expected.
"Understood, my lady," Jon said politely. Then he added, "Lord Robb—I'll share my view."
Catelyn blinked as if her mind had stalled: what did I just say, exactly?
Ignoring her look, Jon addressed Bolton directly.
"Lord Bolton, I'm only a son who understands nothing except that I want to save my father," Jon said, deliberately invoking Ned. "I have a few questions. Please clarify them for me."
With Ned's name used as a shield, Catelyn couldn't easily cut him off again.
Bolton's face stayed blank. "Ask."
The room's attention centered on Jon.
Many were eager to see what "wisdom" this bastard would produce.
"Lord Bolton," Jon said, "you claim we can strike the Westerlands army with an intelligence advantage."
"But what if we're discovered? This wing is infantry-heavy, with too little cavalry. If the raid fails, we could be forced into a bad position."
"How do you intend to respond if that happens?"
It was a realistic question, and Bolton's method sounded seasoned.
Still, Bolton had supporters—like Lord Cerwyn, who may have been trying to prove he wasn't "cowardly." Cerwyn spoke up to defend him.
"War means men die," Cerwyn said. "There's winning and losing. We can't refuse to attack just because we fear failure—that would look weak!"
"Right!" Lady Mormont added immediately. "We can't hide behind defense!"
Jon noted, not for the first time, that she was a battle-mad brute in a skirt. It wasn't just her face—her voice sounded nearly like a man's as well.
Even with others defending him, Bolton answered personally.
"They speak truly," Bolton said. "And I believe the raid has a high chance of success."
Jon followed at once. "Then will you place Dreadfort men in the vanguard?"
Bolton's expression tightened.
Jon had "accidentally" poked the exact sore spot—the exact intent Bolton would prefer nobody name aloud.
Several lords who'd been indifferent a moment ago suddenly felt a ripple of doubt.
Catelyn snapped, her temper cutting through the tent.
"Jon! Enough. The war hasn't even begun and you're already trying to turn the North's bannermen against each other?"
With Catelyn taking a position, others began to question Jon's character too.
Jon immediately acted flustered. He bowed to Bolton and apologized.
"My apologies, Lord Bolton. I spoke without thinking. I only—when I look at the men each lord brought, I see families behind them."
"I don't want them sacrificed for nothing."
The lords in that tent didn't truly care about smallfolk lives, but they still had to nod along to the proper words.
Bolton said, "I will, of course, value our soldiers' lives. But the battlefield is cruel. Not all of it is ours to control."
"If you have a better method, tell me. I will consider it carefully."
Bolton's posture won him more approval.
"Our leech lord isn't so bad," Greatjon muttered from the side.
Rickard Karstark, grooming his beard, even gave Bolton a slight gesture of respect.
Jon judged the moment ripe and finally laid out his real thought.
"I believe we might cut a breach in the Green Fork's riverbank," Jon said, "and let the water fight in place of our soldiers."
"It would cause Tywin trouble and reduce their cavalry advan—"
He didn't even finish before laughter burst out.
"Let water replace an army? What kind of mind comes up with that?"
"A bastard's imagination really is something," Cerwyn said, making it sound like a joke, using "playful" words to mock him.
"If we're going to fight, we fight honorably," the battle-mad voice scoffed. "Who talks about 'releasing water'?"
Jon didn't react.
To them, he was a bastard and a green boy. His suggestion didn't deserve serious treatment.
After the meeting, Jon's "water attack" became a running joke.
Even Robb felt Jon's thinking was outside his own experience. Still, Robb reasoned that Jon had an independent detachment—so long as Jon didn't interfere with Bolton's main plan, and Bolton agreed, Jon could try it.
Robb also felt a nagging doubt: maybe next time, he shouldn't bring his bastard brother into these councils at all.
Just have Jon patrol outside with Theon.
Bolton, having seen that Jon possessed more than brute force, didn't stop him either. If anything, letting Jon chase strange ideas helped keep Jon's eyes off Bolton.
In the wide, harsh North, few people truly respected what water could do.
But the plan passed—barely—and Jon got his chance.
Jon believed that if he held this "water" card, he might cut down the losses the North would otherwise suffer.
If it failed, no one would punish him.
But if it worked, his standing in the army would rise sharply. Bolton would no longer be able to dominate alone.
And the men saved because of Jon's idea would become his supporters—foundations for whatever he might try to do in the future.