The Old Soldiers' "Business"

Jon, not particularly tall himself, was surrounded by a group of white-haired veterans.

Looking around, there were quite a few of them.

At a glance, there seemed to be six or seven hundred.

"My lord, we're actually from the Mountain Clans, from the mountains north of Queenscrown."

"Just south of The Wall."

The old veteran continued his tale, while his heckler kept chiming in.

Jon, maintaining the modern virtue of respecting the elderly and caring for the young, continued listening.

"In those mountains, old men like us have to go hunting once winter comes."

"And then we never come back."

"But our ancestors have lived this way for generations."

"Now it's our turn."

Listening to them, Jon fell silent.

With food scarce, the elderly left what little they had for their descendants.

In his original world, there had also been stories of the Tomb of the Living Dead.

Once elders reached a certain age, they would be sealed inside a tomb. Each time their children brought them food, another brick would be laid over the entrance.

Jon had always treated such customs as stories. He had never expected that story to stand before him in the flesh.

"Autumn had come, and old men like us didn't have much time left anyway. But Lord Stark called us up, so we thought we might earn some military merit."

"And trade it for grain."

Jon quickly understood what they meant.

Though these old veterans' bodies had begun to grow frail and sluggish, their minds still worked perfectly well.

They knew that following Jon might earn them some credit, and at the very least, they would not be used as cannon fodder.

After all, if they died, then they died. But when they had left home, they had brought quite a bit of food with them—several dozen pounds or so.

If they failed to earn it back, they would be taking a loss.

In other words, a few dozen pounds of grain was enough to buy their lives.

"My lord, take us in!"

"Take us in, my lord!"

"Take us in! Take us in!"

Jon was not yet sixteen, yet he was surrounded by old men in their fifties and sixties, all pleading with him.

He could not bring himself to be so hard-hearted.

"All right, I understand what you mean. But Roose Bolton is the commander of the army. I need to ask for his opinion first." Jon raised a hand. "If Lord Bolton agrees, you can follow me from now on."

At Jon's words, the old veterans broke into broad smiles, revealing broken yellow teeth.

Most of their teeth were badly worn down.

After all, they had never had much soft or good food to eat in their youth. It was only natural.

Jon soon left through the path they had made for him.

The nobles still standing there began whispering among themselves.

"If not for Jon today, every one of us would either be prisoners or corpses. We absolutely cannot let Roose Bolton keep commanding blindly!" Meiqi Saiwen said.

"That's right. That leech knows nothing. I think his brain has been sucked dry by leeches. Jon's advice was so good! If we had followed Jon from the start, we might already have captured Tywin and be marching on King's Landing by now!" Harrion was younger, and his words were far more heated.

"When Bolton calls us to a meeting, we'll nominate Jon as our new commander right there!"

"Right! Nominate him directly! I could tell long ago that Jon is the same kind of man as Lord Eddard."

"Exactly!"

Everyone talked over one another, making it seem as though the title of Lord of Winterfell was about to be placed on Jon's head.

Yet among them, only one person remained relatively calm.

That was Howland Reed.

Though it seemed Jon was being put forward, he had neither the proper name nor the proper standing.

These nobles were openly defying their liege lord's orders.

What if Jon ended up becoming their scapegoat?

From a mere bastard to commander of an army.

He did not believe that someone as young as Jon could resist such temptation.

Perhaps Jon could remain clear-headed in the face of scattered support, but if it gathered into real momentum, things would become dangerous.

So the only person who knew Jon's true identity spoke up to dissuade them.

"My lords, I understand your feelings, but Jon is still young. Lord Bolton has far more experience in battle. We should still trust Lord Bolton and follow Robb's orders."

"Ser Reed, weren't you saved by Jon?" a noble from House Manderly retorted, his voice filled with accusation and coldness.

It was as if he held some grudge against Howland Reed.

House Manderly's Wylis had just died on the battlefield.

"Roose Bolton is a son of a bitch. He abandoned us!" Harrion said emotionally.

Howland Reed knew that what had happened today had already driven these men apart from Roose Bolton.

Bolton would no longer trust them in the future, and they would no longer faithfully carry out Bolton's orders.

But that did not mean they would do whatever Jon told them to do.

Jon's status was too low, and he had no reliable direct retainers to depend on.

Perhaps the North's lords would listen to him at first because he had saved their lives, but no one knew how long the war would last. What came later was impossible to predict.

Most importantly, what would Robb think? Even if Robb tolerated it, what about Catelyn?

But Howland Reed could not say such things in public.

He could only place his hopes on Jon.

He hoped Jon would not be carried away by this "support."

Meiqi Saiwen and Harrion began rallying the other lesser nobles, planning to jointly nominate Jon as the new commander.

What they did not know was that Roose Bolton had spies everywhere in the army. A group like theirs was far too conspicuous to avoid notice.

"That bastard refused?"

"Yes." Roose Bolton's attendant answered with certainty.

But Roose Bolton soon sneered.

"That boy definitely won't... He knows how much trouble he caused me today, and he still wants to make the fire burn hotter."

Still, Jon's position gave him no opening.

Now he had to figure out how to handle the meeting that would soon begin.

They had just finished a battle, so a meeting to review it was necessary.

The people of Westeros did not have the concept of a review, but what they did amounted to much the same thing.

At the very least, they had to discuss who had fought well, who had fought poorly, and hand out rewards and punishments.

Without question, Jon had performed best today.

If not for him diverting water to block the enemy, followed by that almost miraculous counterattack, the northern army would have lost at least half its men.

With such merit, even if he were not Eddard's bastard, he would still have been elevated from commoner to noble in a single leap.

After this battle, Jon would at least receive a respectable fief.

Eddard might even legitimize him. Even if he could not bear the Stark name, something like White Stark, in the manner of Karstark, was not impossible.

After all, House Stark had once had a branch known as Grey Stark, though it had since died out.

Pushing aside these pointless thoughts for the moment, Roose Bolton ordered his men to notify everyone that the post-battle meeting would be held.

Soon, the nobles qualified to attend gathered inside the tent.

Compared to before the battle, however, there was much more room in the tent.

For example, Wylis Manderly, who had died in battle.

The strongest impression he had left on people had been his obesity.

Now that he was dead, one man had freed up space for three.

Soon, Roose Bolton, the army's commander, arrived as well.

The moment he entered, he felt the hostile gazes of the others.

Contempt, coldness, even hatred.

Though they were all northerners, this was only a temporary army thrown together in haste.

Even when they disagreed with their own liege lords, they might simply walk away, let alone for Roose Bolton, a man with neither popularity nor prestige.

But Roose Bolton ignored it all and sat down at the head of the table.

He swept his gaze over the room and found that Jon was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he was about to speak, Jon entered.

More than half the nobles present rose to their feet in unison.

Even House Bolton's vassals were nearly drawn along, their backsides lifting slightly from their chairs, before they remembered themselves and quickly sat back down.

"Sit down, everyone. Why are you all staring at me?" Jon asked in surprise. "My knight, Tommen, was injured, along with some other soldiers. I was bandaging them, so I was delayed."

"Gods! Jon can bandage wounds too? He even tends to the injured!"

The crowd immediately felt that the image of Eddard's bastard had grown even more impressive.

Roose Bolton said nothing, merely gesturing for him to sit.

Jon was about to take his usual seat in the corner when Harrion suddenly rose.

"Jon, come sit here."

"Jon, you can sit here too!" Meiqi Saiwen hurriedly said.

Jon thanked them and sat down in his original seat.

Though it was merely a somewhat secluded corner, everyone still felt that it was the true center of the tent.

Seeing this, Roose Bolton snorted.

He believed Jon was putting on an act.

But he soon calmed himself and prepared to summarize the day's battle.

In his summary, he acknowledged Jon's achievements, while glossing over his own mistakes.

He spoke alone for more than ten minutes. Other than House Bolton's nobles and vassals, he received not the slightest response from anyone else.

Of course, except for Jon.

But Jon's responses sounded especially grating to Roose Bolton, like a kind of mockery.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of a sword being drawn echoed through the tent. Roose Bolton's body jerked, and he thought someone was about to mutiny.

The guards beside him stepped forward at once, shielding him behind them.

Harrion had abruptly risen to his feet.

He raised his sword and said to Jon, "Jon, from today onward, the forces of House Karstark will be under your command. I am also willing to serve as one of your generals!"

The moment Harrion finished speaking, the tent fell silent enough to hear a pin drop.