Head in the Clouds, Heart in the Gutter

As the day of departure drew nearer, the men Robb had promised were about to be assembled.

As agreed, Jon came to Robb's study. The two of them were about to head to the camp together.

But the person Jon saw was Maester Luwin.

He stood at the door, and when he saw Jon, an apologetic smile appeared on his face.

"Jon, there's something I need to tell you."

In Jon's memory, this was the first time Maester Luwin had looked so awkward in all these years.

Helping Robb do the dirty work had finally come back to bite Jon.

As agreed, Jon had helped Robb consolidate his authority, and Robb was supposed to give him a force of around five hundred men to command independently.

A force of five hundred men should at least have ten to thirteen knights as its backbone or officers.

And Jon was supposed to keep Roose Bolton in check. He could not do that without men of his own.

In the army, the man with the bigger fist had the final say.

But Jon's earlier efforts to enforce military discipline had already reduced those knights' goodwill toward him to rock bottom.

When Robb sent people to recruit soldiers, those men openly declared that they would rather die than serve under a bastard.

Even Robb, acting in the name of the Lord of Winterfell, could not force them.

Because this world followed that whole "my vassal's vassal is not my vassal" rule.

As Maester Luwin explained it to Jon, he knew that if not for the earlier matter of enforcing discipline, there should still have been people willing to help Jon.

Even if Jon was a bastard, he was still Robb's brother.

He should have been assigned somewhere relatively safe, where military merit could be earned easily.

There were plenty of examples in Westeros of vassals following their lord's bastard into battle.

These people simply refused to accept Jon's command because of what had happened before.

Although there were more than four hundred knights in the entire Northern army, only a few dozen had actually gotten into trouble with Jon over military discipline.

But knights had their own "circle," and Jon's reputation in that circle was clearly not very good.

As a result, almost no one was willing to follow him.

Luwin knew this was Jon's contribution and sacrifice, so he carefully tried to comfort him.

"With the army about to march, and Robb having only just gathered power into his hands, he truly cannot force them, Jon, you..."

"Maester Luwin, I expected this when I made the suggestion to Robb. It's only a little worse than I imagined. It doesn't matter. As long as I can go to war and save Father, that's enough."

Seeing Jon say this, Luwin nodded. Just then, Robb happened to come out.

"Jon, I'll transfer three hundred men from Winterfell's soldiers to you. Together with the men scraped together from others, I think we can still make five hundred."

The soldiers of Winterfell answered directly to House Stark. They could not disobey Robb's orders.

And they were all elite troops, which counted as Robb's compensation.

"Robb, you don't need to blame yourself. I said from the start that as long as I could go to war and save Father, none of this mattered."

Yet the more Jon said that, the worse both of them felt.

They both decided to provide Jon with the best equipment and supplies.

To lighten the mood, Jon changed the subject.

"By the way, Robb, when are we setting out?"

"Oh, I was just about to tell you about that." As he spoke, Robb took out a letter. "This is Old Walder's reply. He agreed to the alliance and will send at least two thousand men!"

At the mention of troops, the Young Wolf became excited.

Jon nodded. He knew that originally, Old Walder had agreed to the alliance only after Catelyn reached The Twins and persuaded him.

Now that they had convinced Old Walder ahead of time, it should happen somewhat earlier than before.

After chatting briefly, Robb suddenly said, "Jon, there are actually two knights willing to fight alongside you."

"Oh? That's good. What do you think of them?"

"They..." Robb hesitated, looking troubled, because he felt it might have been better not to mention them.

"My lord, my family comes from the White Knife. You may call me York."

The speaker was an old knight who looked rather advanced in years.

He had not chosen to follow Jon willingly. He had fallen asleep during his lord's meeting.

And York was already nearly sixty. His lord considered him likely to be a burden, so he tossed him out to fill the quota.

Moreover, he was alone, bringing only a dozen or so utterly ordinary servants.

Removing him would actually improve the army's overall combat strength.

But Jon knew he was in no position to be picky, so he said sincerely, "It is an honor to fight by your side, Ser."

The old knight felt unlucky to have ended up following a bastard. Even though Jon had greeted him politely, he still wore a completely expressionless face.

But it did not matter. Once they reached the battlefield, he would have to listen to Jon.

If he was unhappy, then he was unhappy.

Next, Jon walked over to the other knight. At least this one looked presentable.

He was twenty-five or twenty-six, with a standard build and height, and his armor gleamed brightly.

He did not look like someone who would doze off during a meeting.

Jon was a little curious, so he waited for him to introduce himself.

But after waiting for quite some time, the man did not say a word.

Jon found it strange and turned awkwardly to look at Maester Luwin.

Luwin leaned close to Jon's ear and whispered, "Well, this is Ser Tommen. He... processes things a little slowly."

Jon nodded, roughly understanding the situation.

So what if he was a noble? Could nobles not be idiots?

When Robb ordered a personal force to be assembled for Jon, Tommen's lord immediately knew whom to hand over.

And so he had been pushed out to fill the quota.

Still, Maester Luwin put in a few good words for him. At the very least, Ser Tommen was competent when it came to military skills.

Jon was speechless. His only two talents at present somehow possessed all four debuffs: old, weak, sick, and disabled.

But since things had come to this, he would make do for now.

Jon looked at the two of them again and said, "Sers, this is my first time going to war, and we have few men. If you have any opinions or suggestions, you can tell me directly..."

"My lord, my name is Tommen Leche, from House Leche of Long Lake. This time, I have brought thirty-two servants, including two light cavalrymen, seven infantrymen, and three archers..."

Jon, who had been speaking halfway through his sentence, stared at Leche in astonishment.

His reaction was way too slow!

Could he really manage on the battlefield?

As Jon sighed inwardly, old Ser York beside him could no longer hold it in.

He frowned and pursed his lips, twisting his old face into something like the pleated top of a steamed bun.

He had probably given up any hope of gaining military merit or spoils from this war.