Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

War Pigs

Ned stepped forward, his normally solemn disposition accentuated the bleakness of the situation. "My lords, we must put aside our differences and rally together as one. The ancient enmities between our houses mean nothing in the face of this common threat. Let us honor our ancestors and fight for the survival of our people."

Cregan nodded in agreement. "Lord Edric speaks true. We must set aside our feuds and rivalries. We gather our forces to reinforce the Wall, and deploy our greenseer scouts to gather more information about the movements of the Others."

Lord Rodrik Dustin, a jovial giant known for his fervent spirit and eagerness for battle, rose from his seat as Cregan finished speaking. His eyes gleamed with excitement, and he addressed the gathered lords with a passionate tone.

"My lord Stark, I stand ready to lead my men into battle against these wretched Others!" The Barrow Lord exclaimed. "Our swords have been idle for too long, and it is time to prove our valor. Let us ride forth and crush this threat before it reaches our lands!"

Blood calls for him as surely as it does Cregan. Glory and war are linked intrinsically. Death follows their trail, a silent constant shadow. Will he fall to its scythe? Mayhaps they all will.

Those who shared Roddy's inclination for warfare, cheered and voiced their agreement. They saw this as an opportunity to reclaim their martial heritage and defend the North with honor.

Ignorant children of Summer in truth.

On the other hand, Lord Balthazar Bolton, known for his cautious nature and strategic thinking, remained seated, his brow furrowed with skepticism. He spoke with a measured voice, trying to temper the excitement in the room.

"While I do not dismiss the seriousness of the situation my lord, we must not rush headlong into battle without careful consideration," Lord Balthazar cautioned. "It would be unwise to expose ourselves recklessly."

Gods he detested the man. He was so impure if the word is permissible. He can fathom falling to his manipulations once upon a time. Robb Stark was a king at ten-and-five. Outmaneuvering titans in the military arena who named him a greenboy. Politics got him killed. Unholy betrayals beneath a banner of camaraderie. Cregan will leave no openings for this leech lord to attempt what his descendent carried out.

But he can't disapprove of a sound stratagem.

More lords emphasized the need for gathering intelligence, fortifying defenses, and devising a well-thought-out strategy to confront the Others effectively.

So, Cregan acknowledged both perspectives. He understood the desire for swift action, but he also recognized the importance of prudence and preparation. He addressed the contrasting opinions with a balanced tone.

"Lords Dustin and Bolton, I appreciate your differing viewpoints," Cregan said, his voice calm but resolute. "We cannot afford to underestimate this threat, nor can we rush into battle blindly."

Just as he thought of putting this meeting to a premature close - to properly review every variable - his ward, Lady Alys Karstark, raised her hand, seemingly about to seek clarification on another pressing matter.

"My Lord Stark," Lady Alys began, her voice firm yet respectful. "While we face the threat of the Others, we must not forget about the wildlings beyond the Wall. They have been a constant source of concern for our lands for generations. What is to be done about them in this time of crisis?"

Just his luck.

He wanted to delay further. But fate was rarely pliant enough to fulfill his wishes.

Her question sparked a wave of murmurs and side conversations among the lords. Most saw the denizens beyond their boarders as raiders and rapers, a dangerous and unpredictable force that needed to be eradicated, while others - sparsely numbered - acknowledged the potential for temporary cooperation or a more diplomatic approach.

The thought counts.

Amidst the chatter, a few lords made jests about using the Others to deal with the wildlings, prompting a mixture of laughter and disapproving glances.

The freefolk representative (hostage) Freya was in his solar by his command. But should she hear the jeers and curses of his countrymen - loud and proliferate as they are - she might consider jumping into the fray and respond appropriately by killing and maiming all those in sight.

He won't lose his cousin to their idiocy.

He raised his hand to restore order in the hall. "Lords and ladies, while jests have their place, let us not lose sight of the gravity of our situation," Cregan said, his tone commanding attention. "The Others present a threat that requires our utmost focus and unity. As for the wildlings, a prudent approach is essential. They are not all our enemies, and some have shown willingness to work alongside us against the common threat."

The idea of allying with the savages was met with ridicule to outright dismissal. However, Cregan continued, his voice steady.

"I have already decided to extend an invitation to leaders of the wildlings," Cregan revealed, causing a collective gasp of astonishment throughout the hall. "It is a risk, but a risk we must take. My kinsman Bran is serving as my envoy with Erik the Red, the king beyond the Wall. His niece Freya is here to negotiate on behalf of the Freefolk as they like to call themselves."

Each successive revelation increased the uproar and outrage. But Cregan's words carried weight. The Starks were nearly deified for ages. He's certain that is the only reason no one took his sword and struck him down for his continued impudence and disregard for all northern teachings.

Perchance, Ragnar and Dreamfyre are additional buffers. But it's the mystical heritage that's the main factor.

He shall have profit from the few minutes of silent seething to introduce his guest and explain his sanity is still intact. Thus, so should his head.

With a nod to Jeor, the captain of the Guard left the Hall to retrieve the blonde spear wife.

Moments later, she stepped forward. Adorned in furs and her signature necklace of ears. He advised her to hide it. But she was stubborn without measure. All eyes turned to her, curious to hear the terms of the mindless barbarians.

Freya cleared her throat and began to speak, her voice carrying a hint of caution and resolve. "I am here to speak for the Free Folk. We have heard your invitation and come in peace."

She paused, scanning the room, her gaze meeting the eyes of each lord in turn. "Our terms for alliance are simple. Recognize our people's right to live and settle in the lands south of the Wall without fear of persecution or forced assimilation. We want a chance to rebuild our lives and contribute to the defense of the realm."

He offered to help her with the speech but she refused. He's impressed. Strangely concise and formal.

A murmur of uncertainty and skepticism rippled through the hall, but Freya continued undeterred. "Second, an exchange of knowledge and skills. We can offer our expertise in surviving the harsh lands beyond the Wall, as well as knowledge of the Others and their ways. In return, we would like assistance in agriculture, forging alliances with other houses, and access to resources that can help us thrive in this new environment."

The notion of accepting the wildlings as allies and granting them rights within their lands carried weighty implications. The long-standing conflict between the Free Folk and the North isn't about to disappear within hours.

They aren't tearing her apart limb from limb however.

Cregan, pleased with the subdued atmosphere rose to address Freya and the gathered lords. "Magnara Freya, your terms shall be considered seriously," he stated, his voice resonating with authority. "We will discuss your proposals and determine the best course of action for our people."

His words elicited a mixture of nods and murmurs from the Northern lords, signaling their willingness to engage in further negotiations and deliberations.

And for the final revelation.

"Bring out the casket. Let's see our prey."

Winter is here. And in the winter, the wolves are the hunters.