`Candlelight flickered inside the tent as the wind pushed against the canvas from outside.
Harrion held his sword high above his head, his eyes burning with intensity as he looked at Jon.
Medger Cerwyn quickly followed suit.
"Jon, the soldiers of House Cerwyn are yours as well!"
He drew his sword to show his allegiance, just as Harrion had.
"House Manderly stands with you!"
Soon, the sound of swords being unsheathed rang out one after another, like the prelude to a rousing anthem.
The gathered nobles raised their swords, signaling their willingness to follow Jon's command.
A quick glance showed that nearly two-thirds of the room were participating!
Jon hadn't expected to enjoy the "King in the North" treatment so soon.
Though, to be fair, they weren't kneeling to him.
Still, the difference between this and how he had been ostracized earlier was night and day.
Watching this scene, Roose Bolton's face grew darker and darker.
The candlelight cast shifting shadows across his features, making it look as though schemes were brewing in the darkness.
In Roose's eyes, Jon—an disregarded bastard—would surely be unable to resist such a temptation.
A struggle for military power was inevitable.
Nearby, Howland Reed tensed, slowing his breathing.
Jon, please don't accept.
Should I write to Robb? Roose pondered. Or perhaps just hand over command to him, and then...
Regardless, he wouldn't—couldn't—just take the Dreadfort troops and leave.
There was no doubt that the brothers, Robb and Jon, would settle scores later.
He might even lose the Dreadfort to Jon, leaving no place for House Bolton in the North.
Just as Roose was about to speak, Jon suddenly stood up.
Is it starting? Roose's pupils contracted, his fists clenching in secret.
Jon faced the crowd and drew his sword.
Roose's heart began to race. He recalled a time he had been leeched too much, and his heart had pounded just as fast as it was now.
But a second later, Jon spoke slowly:
"My Lords, I know you have grievances with Lord Bolton because of this battle. But under the circumstances, abandoning a losing battlefield was the wise move. Robb's decision to give command of the army and the task of pinning down Tywin to Lord Bolton was undoubtedly wise."
"Huh?"
Jon's declaration stunned Roose.
Unbelievable. Was Jon actually speaking up for him?
He stared wide-eyed at the boy's back as Jon continued:
"I am just a young man on my first battlefield. Look at my face—I haven't even grown a full beard. If you were in his position, would you have listened to my advice?"
Roose shuddered slightly. It was confirmed: Jon was defending him.
And coming from Jon, these words carried far more weight.
Those who had been clamoring to put Jon in power finally calmed down.
Howland Reed's eyes shone with disbelief.
He hadn't expected Jon to resist such a temptation.
Jon left his seat and walked to the center, positioning himself between Roose Bolton and the Northern lords.
"Jon, you've proven yourself," a noble from House Manderly said.
"But luck played a big part. What if the flood had come late?" Jon countered.
"My Lords, I believe the most important thing in war is obeying orders. Lord Bolton commanding this army is Robb's order. With my father imprisoned, Robb's word is the highest command in the North!"
As he spoke, Jon swung his sword.
With a crack, he split the chair in front of him in two.
The blade flashed, the chair shattered, and those standing nearby flinched.
"If anyone dares to create discord or disobey orders again, I promise their fate will be the same as this chair! Now, please, my Lords, sit down."
The men who had just been urging Jon to take command sat down one by one, their admiration for him only deepening.
Seeing the storm subside, Jon spoke again:
"My Lords, please forgive my rudeness just now. But our enemy is right across from us. We absolutely cannot do anything that would make them happy!"
Some sheathed their swords, composing themselves.
"Jon is right."
"We weren't thinking clearly."
The crowd murmured in agreement. Jon turned and bowed slightly to Roose Bolton.
Roose forced an ugly smile and signaled his men to bring a new chair.
The reason Jon didn't want this so-called command was that most of these people weren't genuinely supporting him; they were just resentful that Roose had abandoned them.
Furthermore, if this reached Robb, he might not agree to it.
By explicitly stating he "stood" with Roose, he ensured that Roose, to appease the other lords, would now have to seek Jon's approval for every future battle plan.
Indirectly, his influence had increased massively.
Sure enough, what happened next confirmed Jon's suspicion.
Having "regained" command, Roose spoke:
"Gentlemen, we have achieved our objective of drawing the Westerlands army's attention. Next, I plan to retreat the army to the riverbanks near the Twins. After all, we lack cavalry."
After speaking, Roose looked at the group, offering a rare explanation for his decision.
Unfortunately, no one spoke. Everyone silently looked at Jon.
Feeling their gazes, Jon said loudly:
"Lord Bolton's decision is very wise."
Seeing Jon's approval, the others chimed in:
"Lord Bolton is right."
"Yes, we should retreat first."
"Indeed, we have many wounded."
Although his orders were accepted, Roose felt like he was swallowing shit.
Jon hadn't fought him for command, but command had effectively shifted anyway.
Now, every order he gave would only be implemented if Jon agreed.
How was he any different from a mouthpiece?
Meanwhile, the inconspicuous Howland Reed looked at Jon with approval, wondering how Ned had raised such a "good nephew."
While Roose stewed in silent frustration, Jon suddenly made a proposal:
"Lord Bolton, we actually fought quite well in this battle. Perhaps we can use this as leverage to negotiate with Tywin. At the very least, we can demand he ensure my father's safety."
In the original timeline, Ned was at risk of being beheaded at any moment.
Jon wanted to try and buy him some time.
After all, Ned was his foster father in name and his actual uncle in blood. If he could be saved, he should be.
"Exactly! Those Westermen have tasted our steel; we should make contact!"
"I support Jon's proposal!"
"I support it too!"
Seeing Jon's overwhelming support, Roose had no choice.
The suggestion was beyond reproach.
And if they really had to fight all the way to King's Landing, a lot of people would die.
Despite the Northern nobles shouting loud slogans, they were calculating the costs in their hearts.
Roose nodded, agreeing to send an envoy to the Westerlands camp.
Finally, Jon mentioned letting the mountain clan veterans join his unit.
Roose naturally agreed without a second thought.
After the meeting, Jon left surrounded by the nobles.
After this display of humility, his reputation had clearly risen another level.
No one dared mention his bastard status anymore. If they did, Harrion Karstark or Medger Cerwyn would likely take their head off.
"Jon, since you won't accept command of the army, at least accept the prisoners and the spoils you won," Medger Cerwyn said after they left the tent.
"Yes, Jon. We know those prisoners can't repay you for saving our lives, but please accept them."
"Take them. If you don't, we won't leave!"
Everyone clamored, and Jon had to nod.
"Alright, I accept your kindness. My Lords, please go rest. I'll go check on the prisoners."
Jon figured the equipment on the Westerlands prisoners would be decent.
Even the weapons used by the mountain clans were better than what his veterans had.
He could strip them and arm his old soldiers.
Those men might be in their fifties, but with some better nutrition, they wouldn't be much worse than younger men in a fight.
Plus, these veterans didn't fear death; all they thought about was how to make their deaths "profitable."
With proper management, their fighting spirit would be among the best in the Seven Kingdoms!
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