"I couldn't say," Sam said. "It seems clear to me that she has her own plans..." Sam trailed off, and then shook his head.
"What I will say is that I don't think it's a good idea to keep His Grace here much longer. Whispers will become words before too long, and the discontent is sure to grow if nothing is done. It's best to face the threat before it can become dangerous."
...
Jon scowled, and then gave a single sharp nod as he shook Sam's hand off his shoulder. Ghost fell into step beside him as he turned and made for the entrance to the tower, taking the steps two at a time to reach the doorway behind which he would find Stannis. The guards took his weapons. Then he grasped the door handle, and hesitated. Sam is right, Jon thought. I need to find a way to get His Grace out of my hair.
The thought irked him. How was it that the Lannisters had sowed their seeds so deep into his men that even his closest advisor was now telling him to find a way to dispose of the man who rode to their rescue in their direst hour of need?
With a single twist, the door sprang open to reveal the same room Jon had entered just a few weeks prior. A wave of warmth rolled over him, hot air blasting past his face to flood the stairs behind him. Jon shut the door even as his mind turned idly to the Boy King's letters. Before him was stood Stannis, but also a collection of his best lords all crowded around a table with their eyes affixed to a map, pensive looks on their faces. A stroke of good luck, Jon thought. I've just walked in on a war council.
"Lord Snow," Stannis said, looking up from the map. "Before we begin, I have a gift for you."
Melisandre stepped forwards, waving Rattleshirt forwards. "I believe you were still complaining of a lack of men, Lord Snow," she said, smiling. "Our Lord of Bones fills that need rather well, wouldn't you agree?"
Jon opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. What are you up to, woman? Jon wondered as he met Lady Melisandre's gaze. His eyes flicked over to the Lord of Bones. If Tommen tells the truth then... Why is she offering you to me? Might you be Mance? "Aye," Jon said with an unenthusiastic look on his face. "He might do."
"Lord Snow, attend me," Stannis barked, breaking Jon out of his own thoughts. "I have lingered here with the thought that the wildlings might chance a second assault on the Wall. They have not. So now that they are dealt with, it is time to turn my attention to other enemies."
Jon frowned. "I have no love for Lord Bolton, nor his son, but the Night's Watch is sworn to never take up arms in a conflict involving the realm. Our vows-"
"Yes, yes," Stannis said heatedly. "I know all about your vows. Spare me your sermon, Lord Snow, I have men enough without you. Rather what I want is your advice. I mean to march on the Dreadfort."
Jon balked.
Stannis smiled when he saw the shock of Jon's face. "Good. What surprises you might surprise another. The Bolton bastard has gone south, taking the bulk of his strength with him. Most likely they plan a strike against Moat Cailin, to make way for Lord Roose to return from his campaign in the Riverlands. But in doing so, he has left his flank exposed. I am told no more than fifty men hold the Dreadfort. If I take it-"
"You won't," Jon blurted out, and then quickly continued when he saw the stir his words were likely to cause. "The road to the Dreadfort is long and treacherous from here. It'll leave your men exposed - easy prey for the Bolton bastard to pick apart. Remember a march is no small thing. He will almost certainly be forewarned, with enough time to prepare a trap. And even if by some miracle of the gods you make it," Melisandre bristled, "you must remember that the Dreadfort is not some crumbling castle. It will be well provisioned, and it's walls and gates are tall and thick. Fifty men may hold the approach, but behind the walls they will feel like five-hundred. Stuck in a siege, again you will become easy prey for Ramsey."
"Only if he's willing to abandon his own siege of Moat Cailin and strand his father below the Neck," one man said.
Jon dismissed the man's claims with a wave of his hand, and the man's face flushed with silent outrage. "Moat Cailin will fall long before you ever get to the Dreadfort. It's a tough fort to take from the south. From the north it is poorly defended. The walls have been reduced to ruins by years of neglect. You are already outnumbered. If you were caught by the combination of Roose and Ramsey whilst busy with a siege..."
"It's a risk," Stannis said. "But all war carries risk."
Jon shook his head. "It's not just a risk, Your Grace, it's rank foolishness."
Stannis's look turned stormy, and if such a thing was even possible, his face became even more dour. "Leave me, all of you. I wish to speak with Lord Snow alone."
The abrupt dismissal did not seem to sit well with the men, but nonetheless they all filed out, their feet shuffling across the floor. Only Lady Melisandre remained. Jon shot her a strange look, but kept his peace when Stannis did not object to her presence.
"The men who just left are all good men, Lord Snow, but they are men of the south. They don't know this land as you do. So once again I will ask you... What would you have, if you were Lord of Winterfell?"
"My sister is Lady of Winterfell, Your Grace," Jon repeated. Arya or Sansa or... Jon felt his mouth go dry. Or Bran, assuming the Boy King again speaks the truth. Any of the three would better than me.
"I have heard all I need of Lady Lannister," Stannis spat, and Jon thought it best not to mention the annulment again. "You could bring the North to me. Your father's banners would rally to your cause. Even Lord Manderly would struggle out of his seat for a son of Eddard Stark. You could wed the wildling princess - I see that way you look at her pretty face and ripe breasts - and be a lord in your own right."
How many times will he make me say it? "My sword is sworn to the Night's Watch."
Stannis looked vaguely disgusted. "Your father was an honourable man. Stubborn. It's what got him killed." The disgust soon disappeared, supplanted by exhaustion.
The Lady Melisandre smiled, as though at a jape she'd just heard. "A wolf may change it's skin," she assured Stannis, shooting a look at Ghost, "but not it's stride."
"My sword may be sworn, Your Grace, but my mind is still my own," Jon said. "If I offer my thoughts, will you heed them?"
Stannis's brown furrowed in thought. "I cannot swear that, but I can say I will listen."
Jon nodded, his gut twisting in discomfort as he avoided meeting the Red Woman's eyes. Is this what Tommen had intended? he wondered. The Boy King's letters gave him an idea, one that would put him in a much stronger position. But at what cost? Was he about to send Stannis barrelling headlong into a trap? The stag will slay the kraken with ease. Savages from beyond the Wall will slay savages from beyond the shore. The flayed man will not fall so fast. The fat man should not be disturbed. The meaning of the riddles written in Tommen's letters suddenly became clear in his mind. Melisandre frowned, and Jon silently cursed. This sort of plotting was not what he had envisaged when he had accepted the position of Lord Commander.
"Forget the Dreadfort," Jon said, pointing at the map and then moving his finger due west. "Your focus should be here, at Deepwood Motte. If Bolton means to make war with the Ironborn, then so must you. Deepwood is a motte-and-bailey in a thick forest, making it easier to catch unawares. A wooden castle. The goings will be slower through the forests, admittedly, but a slow victory is better than a quick defeat."
Stannis tapped his index against the surface of the table, eyes narrowed in thought. "I beat the ironmen at sea once, where they are fiercest. On land, caught unawares..." He nodded in agreement. "It would be an easy victory."
"One that would help cement your legitimacy as a true claimant," Jon said. "You must not forget the north is almost as big as all the kingdoms of the south combined. You are too badly outnumbered to stand much of a chance in pitched battle. But from Deepwood you can control much of the western shore and win more lords to your cause. For now they might ignore you as another doomed pretender, but if you stand and show them your strength they will have no choice but to listen when you speak. This will be a slow campaign - winning hearts and minds always is - but if you are careful you will eventually amass enough of a force to be able to confront the Boltons in straight fight."
Stannis nodded sharply. "And then the north will know it has a king again."
Jon nodded, his gut twisting into ever-tighter knots. The north will never accept a king that fights beside wildlings, he thought. That was Tommen's plan all along, wasn't it? To spend Stannis's forces on this campaign, weakening Bolton in the process, and then stroll in once all the hardest work was done and take the kingdom for himself, using either Sansa or Arya or Bran as his pawn. Was that why he wanted Lord Manderly left alone? Were the two plotting together? Plotting to put a Stark back in Winterfell? Possibilities ran through Jon's mind, some filling him with hope and others with dread. The future shrouded itself behind a veil of mystery he could not seem to manage to look beyond.
Well, Sam, Jon thought sourly, at least you got what you wanted. Stannis won't overstay his welcome.
Melisandre's gaze was affixed to him. "Did you see something about this in your fires?" Jon asked when the silence grew too much for him to bear.
She shook her head. "I have yet to look in that direction, but I will be certain to do so."
"Well, the flames ought not to gainsay me," Jon said. "Unless the gods themselves mean to meddle."
"The Lord of Light will not obstruct the path of his chosen champion," she said.
"I wouldn't mention that to any of the lords you meet along the way, if I were you," Jon said. "They will not take any insult - intended or otherwise - to the old gods lightly, and it may cost His Grace much-needed support."
"I know," she said with a knowing smile. "But you need not have any fear of that, Lord Snow. So long as the enemy continues to rise in the far north, my place is here besides you and your black brothers."
Jon nodded and looked away from her strange, unblinking eyes, suppressing the shiver that threatened to run down his spine.
...
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