When Old York heard the news that the war might end early, he grinned from ear to ear.
Although he hadn't personally killed many enemies, everyone was treating him like a hero.
And his share of the military merit was absolutely secure.
For him, this campaign was already a complete success—he had even overachieved. Going home now would be perfectly fine.
"The war might end, but nothing is certain yet. Don't tell anyone else," Jon warned. "And don't slack off on the training."
"Don't worry, my Lord!" Old York replied cheerfully.
Suddenly, he looked at Jon with a suggestive gleam in his eye.
Old York once had a son, but unfortunately, he died young. Now, all he had left was a granddaughter, not yet fourteen.
He thought to himself: If Jon gets knighted or granted lands for this, I have to secure him for my granddaughter before anyone else does!
Sensing Old York's increasingly heated gaze, Jon instinctively looked away.
He had seen that look way too many times.
In his previous life, when he decided to drop out of school to start a business, everyone thought he was ruining his life.
But when he made money and built a new house for his family, matchmakers from ten miles around nearly trampled his doorstep flat.
He knew exactly what Old York was thinking, but there was no need to call him out on it.
Jon then looked towards the veterans training nearby. They were actually shaping up quite nicely.
Many of them were former hunters. Despite their age, these old men carried an air of "if I die, so be it."
The only reason they feared death was if it happened before they turned a profit.
It was said that to make the journey, each of them had brought thirty to fifty pounds of grain from home.
As long as Jon ensured their final reward exceeded the value of that grain, they were natural-born daredevils—or rather, death-seekers.
And he had six or seven hundred of these death-seekers in his hand.
Counting Jon's original five hundred men, plus these veterans and the stragglers who had lost their lords and joined his ranks, the number of soldiers under his direct command now exceeded fifteen hundred.
Although most of these men were basically "limited-time trial cards," it was a massive improvement compared to when he first left the Wall with zero soldiers, forced to act as Robb's glorified bodyguard.
And as long as he kept winning and eventually secured a decent fief, most of these men would likely continue to follow him.
Westerosi people didn't have a strong attachment to staying in one place if a better life beckoned elsewhere.
Two days later, just as Jon was ramping up the soldiers' training, scouts suddenly returned with news.
The Westerlands army had increased its guard and patrols!
Jon's heart skipped a beat.
Don't tell me Ned has already been executed?
As the adoptive father of this body, Jon didn't want Ned to die.
But some things were beyond human control. If the world truly descended into chaos, Jon had other plans ready.
A few days later, Roose Bolton called another council meeting.
At this meeting, neither the Northern lords nor Roose Bolton let Jon sit in a remote corner again.
He was practically ushered to the center of the first row.
"Well done, Jon. I heard everything. You taught Tywin a lesson he won't forget. You really made us Northerners proud," Medger Cerwyn praised.
"Aye, a bastard lecturing a High Lord—that's never happened before," Harrion boomed, but immediately realized his slip. "Uh, Jon, I didn't mean it like that."
Jon waved his hand, indicating it was fine.
Beside him, Howland Reed smiled at Jon.
He was growing fond of this young man.
And he hoped more than ever that Jon would never learn his true identity.
Just as everyone was chatting and laughing, Roose Bolton entered the tent.
The nobles quieted down at the appropriate time—mostly out of respect for Jon.
Roose pretended not to notice the shift in dynamic. He wore a rare smile as he spoke:
"My Lords, I have good news to announce."
Hearing this, everyone leaned in to listen.
"Lord Robb has won a great victory at the Whispering Wood. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, is now locked in the dungeons of Riverrun!"
As Roose's words fell, cheers erupted inside the tent.
The energy was intense enough to almost lift the roof off.
"Well done, Robb!"
"Truly Ned's son!"
"The Kingslayer should fetch a hefty ransom."
Everyone celebrated joyfully, discussing the news with excitement.
Roose sat at the head of the table, waiting for the celebratory energy to burn itself out.
He looked down at Jon and noticed the bastard didn't seem particularly happy.
Is it jealousy?
Roose thought darkly.
As a seasoned military veteran, he knew that organizing a counterattack in the face of certain defeat was nothing short of miraculous.
In terms of difficulty, it was probably harder than Robb's ambush.
But the fact remained: Robb's victory, capturing the Kingslayer, shone brighter.
However, Jon wasn't as petty as Roose imagined.
He knew that Ned was executed around the time of the Battle of the Whispering Wood.
Combining this with the abnormal movements of the Westerlands army, he realized Ned was likely already dead.
This meant they would soon face even more difficult and complex battles.
As the cheers gradually subsided, Roose spoke again:
"Jon, news from Riverrun says there are important matters to discuss. Robb wants you to go there."
Robb must know Ned has been executed. His mind must be in chaos, that's why he wants me there, Jon thought.
"Understood. I'll prepare and set off immediately." Jon then turned to Medger Cerwyn. "Lord Cerwyn, I entrust the logistics of the army to you in my absence."
"Go with a clear mind, Jon," Medger said, patting Jon on the shoulder.
Roose had intended to take over logistics temporarily, but seeing Jon hold onto power so tightly, he had to let it go.
After the meeting, Jon didn't delay. He took Tommen and headed straight for the Twins.
From the Twins, they could take a boat to Riverrun much faster and safer.
Jon decided to travel day and night.
Because he knew that soon, Robb would be crowned "King in the North" by the Northern lords.
The title was glorious, but it brought a lot of trouble.
Once crowned, an alliance with Renly, Stannis, or Highgarden became impossible.
Wearing that crown meant it was the North against the world!
---
The Twins.
Old Walder Frey had also heard of Jon shining on the battlefield.
At the same time, he had received news of the execution of Eddard Stark, Hand of the King.
He guessed Jon probably didn't know yet, and a little scheme began to form in his mind.
Jon had proven his military genius in this battle.
He had proven his value.
If the last time Walder proposed a marriage alliance to Jon was just to give Robb a hard time and test the "hidden expert" of Winterfell...
Then this time, he genuinely wanted to make Jon his son-in-law or grandson-in-law.
"My Lord, Jon has arrived."
"Quick! Let him in!"
Old Walder put down his wine cup and sat up straight, speaking with urgency, like a hunter watching a rabbit about to step into a trap.
This time, no matter what, he had to secure this bastard!