When House Karstark's army appeared at Winterfell, everyone knew that the army was about to set off.
Bran Stark sat in his chair, looking at the bustling Winterfell, and for a moment he felt a bit dazed; even when the King visited last time, there weren't this many people.
However, Robb had made many arrangements early on, so although there were many people now, it wasn't crowded. Each family settled in their own area, with few conflicts between them, making it appear very orderly.
Bran heard that this calm was achieved by his brother Robb personally beheading more than a dozen people.
"How many people have arrived so far?" Bran curiously asked Maester Luwin, who was beside him.
Maester Luwin had been incredibly busy recently, writing and drawing on paper while answering, "Over twelve thousand people. House Karstark also brought over two thousand people. There isn't much food left in the city, so the army must depart soon, or we'll all have to beg for food on the streets."
"With less than fifteen thousand people, can we rescue Father?"
Luwin's scalp tingled from calculating these numbers: "There are also the people from The Neck, and Earl Mandele and Earl Flint from the south will join the army once it reaches their territory. There should also be knights from the barrows near King's Road who want to try their luck."
Hearing that many more people would join, Bran felt a little relieved. Watching House Karstark's white sunburst banner on a black field slowly enter the city, he felt a bit uneasy: "Brother should be hosting a feast for them."
"House Karstark not only shares ancestry with your family from over a thousand years ago, but among the nobles who have arrived, they, House Seaworth, House Umber, and Boton are the most powerful. So your brother will definitely host him in the largest banquet hall."
Because there were too many nobles, and most brought their sons, Winterfell's reception halls couldn't accommodate everyone. Robb could only host them in batches according to their noble strength.
Bran disliked such occasions. As Robb's younger brother, he would sit at Robb's left hand, the most honored position besides Robb himself. But as a person with crippled legs, he could feel the lords staring at him with resentful eyes.
Why should a cripple sit in that position?
No one said these words, but Bran had heard them countless times.
Tonight was another feast, and he would again sit in that position, enduring everyone's strange scrutiny. If he could, Bran truly wished he could fall seriously ill now and only recover after those people had left.
But if they all left, Robb would leave too…
Although Bran was still young, he understood the ruthlessness of war. If Robb truly met with an accident on the battlefield, the Stark Family would truly collapse.
Then Father, Sansa, and Arya, who were still in the capital, would not be saved…
Time passed minute by minute in his scattered thoughts, and soon it was time for the feast for House Karstark. The people sent by Robb asked Bran to dress and prepare to go to the banquet hall.
Bran felt a slight headache, sighed, but still changed his clothes and set off.
On the way to the banquet hall, Bran felt that this path was even more difficult than the one his brother took to King's Landing.
Finally, he reached the entrance of the banquet hall. Opening the door, numerous lords were seated around a long table, the hall filled with clamor and excitement. There were also a few smaller tables nearby, occupied by younger individuals.
Robb was the first to see Bran arrive. He stood up, took the wheelchair armrest from the servant, and pushed Bran to the seat on his left-hand side.
Bran felt as if he heard those illusory voices of doubt again, but his expression remained normal. Under his brother's influence, he had learned to hide his emotions and not let others see his thoughts.
After settling his brother, Robb raised his goblet: "Welcome, Earl Rickard Karstark. The Stark Family will not forget this friendship. Our army has now gathered. Tonight is not only a feast for Uncle Rickard but also our meeting before we depart."
With House Seaworth, House Umber, Boton, and House Karstark present, plus the Stark soldiers, the strength of the North was largely assembled. It was time to raise an army and go to war.
"Rescue Lord Duke Ned!"
"To King's Landing, kill that old bitch!"
"Damn it, when I fought the Mad King with Lord Duke, that bitch didn't even know where she was selling herself. Now she dares to imprison Ned! To King's Landing, kill her!"
As the declaration of war was made, the lords of the North, great and small, became excited. Some yearned for achievements, some were driven by their camaraderie with Ned, and others simply pledged loyalty to the Stark Family.
Once the lords had finished venting, Robb smiled slightly and continued, "Everyone, prepare yourselves when you return. The army will depart tomorrow at noon."
At this moment, a gruff voice rang out, so loud it was like a clap of thunder in one's ear: "Our family's army must march at the front, at least not behind House Seaworth!"
This loud sound startled everyone present, but Robb's expression remained normal, a faint smile still playing on his lips.
Robb looked at the man, Jon Umber, the head of House Umber. Because his son, who was devouring food beside him, was also named Jon, people generally called him Greatjon. He was over two meters tall, and even clad in heavy armor, one could see his thick body was full of astonishing strength. A fierce beast was people's first impression of him.
Robb said unhurriedly, "Greatjon, you are currently in my army. We can discuss the specific plan, but the outcome may not be as you wish. Finally, and most importantly, once a military order is issued, whether you are satisfied or not, you must obey it, understand?"
Greatjon didn't listen to Robb at all: "What military order to obey? If my army is at the back, I'll go back immediately!"
Maege Seaworth and Rickard Karstark, who were nearby, both changed their expressions.
Robb, however, was unhurried. He leisurely sat back in his chair, looking at Maege, his newly appointed captain of the military police: "If Greatjon truly leaves, according to the newly established military law, what is the crime for someone who swore an oath to me and then deserted on the battlefield?"
Maege stood up abruptly, meeting his gaze with a physique that was no less imposing than Greatjon's. Her hand rested on the dagger at her waist as she uttered two words, syllable by syllable: "Beheading."
No one doubted that if Robb gave the order, she would not hesitate to strike at the other party.
"You say I deserted on the battlefield, you little brat whose pee is still grass-green?!"
Greatjon had no reaction to 'beheading,' but hearing a term as dishonorable as 'deserted on the battlefield' instantly enraged him. He had fought alongside Ned his entire life, was straightforward, valued loyalty above all else, and held honor dearer than life. Hearing those words, his mind went blank and he reached for his waist; he wanted his sword.
"Howl!!!"
Grey Wind, who had been gnawing on a bone at Robb's feet, suddenly smelled danger. It leaped onto the table, its eyes wide and teeth bared, ready to lunge at Greatjon, who was about to draw his sword on its master.
This scene happened so fast that none of the nobles present could react.
But what happened next surprised everyone even more.
An invisible, adhesive gravity suddenly appeared around Robb. Bran, being close to Robb, felt it most distinctly; he felt as if he was about to lift off his wheelchair and fly towards Robb!
And Grey Wind, suspended in mid-air in its pouncing posture, was instantly pulled backward by this force in the next second, landing precisely on the table in front of Robb!
This was a type of Gravity Magic, capable of pulling enemies towards oneself.
Robb controlled the direction and primary target, mainly pulling Grey Wind. Otherwise, everyone in the room would have instantly lost their balance and fallen to the ground!
What kind of miraculous power was this?
Everyone's minds went blank for a moment. By the Old Gods, was this power a miracle?
"Woof woof woof…"
Grey Wind, pulled back by gravity, instinctively tried to lunge forward again, but its entire body was firmly held down by one hand—Robb's hand. He gripped Grey Wind's spine, pressing him flat onto the table. The struggling Direwolf's paws knocked over the bowls and dishes in front of Bran.
Everyone stared dumbfounded at Robb, who was leaning back in his chair with a relaxed expression. What incredible strength was this, to effortlessly suppress a Direwolf with one hand?!
Only Maege showed no surprise. Robb could crush her hand bones directly, so suppressing a Direwolf seemed less exaggerated.
And Robb, pressing down on the raging, massive Direwolf with one hand, smiled and explained to it, "Don't be so agitated, Grey Wind. Greatjon just wanted to help us cut the fattest piece of lamb."