Debating the Lords: Jon Snow

Jon's arrival was like a basin of cold water poured into a pot that had begun to boil.

The fervent excitement was abruptly cut short.

Greatjon, who had been left hanging, shouted indignantly, "Stannis is worth shit!" He turned to the lords of the North and the Riverlands. "We've only just marched south, and we've already won two battles. Does Renly proclaiming himself king mean our victories never happened?"

Though the battle on the Green Fork could not truly be called a victory, neither could it be called a defeat. It did not stop Greatjon from saying so.

His words immediately won the agreement of quite a few people.

Excitement was hard to conceal in Robb's green eyes, while Catelyn stared fixedly at Jon, praying that he could persuade the lords.

Brynden watched in secret, waiting for the right moment to speak.

Ignoring the clamoring lords, Jon looked at Greatjon and demanded:

"Stannis is unworthy? Would you dare say that if Lord Eddard were here?

If King Robert were here, would he be willing to see the realm torn apart?!"

Since Jon's standing was far from impressive enough, he could only bring out those two good brothers to prop up his argument.

After all, they were the greatest common ground shared by everyone present.

At his words, Greatjon opened his mouth but fell silent. Combined with his massive frame, he looked like a lost bear.

Somewhat unwillingly, he said:

"Jon, I think you're a fine young man. Why are you trying to stop us?!"

At a loss for words, Greatjon could only mutter to himself off to the side.

Jon did not press him further, because someone soon stepped forward to refute him.

Rickard, his snow-white beard neatly groomed, came before Jon and said:

"Northmen should never have meddled in southern affairs. Duke Rickard and Brandon are examples enough!

We were forced together by the dragon kings in the first place.

Now that the dragons are gone, why should we continue bowing to that Iron Throne? Not to mention the dragon kings themselves vanished long ago."

Compared to emotional types like Greatjon and Lady Mormont, Rickard was clearly more pragmatic.

After independence, everyone could pay fewer taxes. Robb could be king, and the rest of them could become dukes or the like. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

Though not every earl could become a duke, House Karstark would certainly be elevated to a dukedom.

"And would these southerners you speak of simply watch the North become independent? The dragon kings forged the Seven Kingdoms together with iron and blood long ago.

Doesn't Robb have Riverlands blood flowing through his veins? Even I was brought back from the south by Lord Eddard, was I not?"

"That's different!" Rickard stubbornly replied.

"Different? Fine! Even if it is different, our enemies are still out there, not yet defeated. Why should we make even more enemies for ourselves?"

"We Northmen are not afraid!"

"That's right! We're not afraid!"

Greatjon and Mormont began shouting again.

"We're not afraid of southerners!" Rickard emphasized.

"But that means more war, more battles to fight. Do you all have too many sons?!"

There was rebuke in Jon's voice, and it left Rickard somewhat ashamed and angry.

He knew that his son Harrion had been forcibly rescued by Jon from a battlefield that had already been lost.

But the pain of losing his two younger sons left him unable to care about that.

He drew his sword and pointed it at Jon furiously.

"You little bastard! Say that again if you dare!"

The cold gleam of Rickard's sword reflected across Jon's face, startling Catelyn. Yet those gray eyes showed not the slightest fear.

Though she had always disliked Jon—one could even say hated him—their positions were rarely aligned now, and she did not want Jon to be hurt.

Robb sat upright, ready to put an end to the conflict at any moment.

Yet Jon showed no intention of yielding. Turning to Rickard, he said:

"Come on, then. Kill the man who saved your son's life. Come on!!!"

Clearly, Rickard could not bring himself to strike, and could only remain frozen in place.

"Jon!" Brynden rebuked him sharply.

He had been observing Jon all along and had reached a conclusion.

Though Jon resembled Eddard in appearance, his bearing was more like Eddard's brother Brandon!

Eloquent, confident, and courageous—he was practically Brandon reborn.

Brynden the Blackfish stepped between Jon and Rickard, separating the old man from the young one.

"Lord Rickard, young men can be hotheaded. Please do not lower yourself to his level."

After soothing Rickard, Brynden turned to Jon.

"Jon, everyone has seen your achievements in the battle at Blackwater, but that is no reason for you to disrespect the lords. Now, apologize to Lord Rickard."

What a centrist.

Jon silently thought to himself. He knew that Brynden, the man Robb would one day name "Commander of the Southern Marches," was his true final opponent in this war of words.

And he was also Robb's great-uncle. Whether by seniority or status, he outranked Jon.

An apology was just an apology.

"Lord Rickard, I was too hasty. I apologize to you."

Jon gave Rickard a deep bow, but Rickard merely turned away and snorted so hard that his beard nearly blew upward.

Brynden continued:

"Jon, Robb becoming king is not merely about the North and the Riverlands gaining independence. In our current circumstances, we need to unite people's hearts.

As you said, half of Robb is the ice and snow of the North, while the other half is the rushing currents of the Riverlands.

But they must obey the command of a single mind to possess sufficient strength.

Now, both the North and the Riverlands are willing to follow him. Only by rallying beneath the same crown can we defend our own lands!"

"Well said!" Greatjon shouted, pounding the floor with the butt of his sword. He wondered why he had never been able to come up with words that good.

That tomboy Mormont was naturally no exception.

Rickard nodded slightly and looked at Jon.

The lords of the North and the Riverlands also felt persuaded.

Catelyn, however, realized something—compared to the power of the lords, no one cared about the lives of her two daughters.

At that moment, she was like a drowning woman, and Jon was her only lifeline.

Robb, meanwhile, looked as though he had suddenly understood something.

If he had initially been driven only by emotion, he now had a theoretical foundation.

In other words, his determination to become king had grown even firmer.

Jon watched Robb from the corner of his eye. He knew his cousin was set on becoming king.

Otherwise, he would have stopped this debate long ago.

But that was all right. Jon had another plan. Though difficult, it could prevent those innocents from sliding into the abyss.

Still, Jon wanted to make one final effort. He said:

"People's hearts are like water, and a crown is like a ship.

Water can carry a ship forward, but it can also overturn it.

There are no eternal liege lords in this world, only eternal vassals."

Jon meant to subtly remind Robb that since the Riverlands could oppose the Targaryens, they might one day oppose him as King in the North.

But his words clearly stung some others.

"What do you mean? Are you saying we'll betray Robb?"

"Bastard! Don't think you're so impressive just because you fought one battle, you bastard!"

"Riverlanders never betray."

What a joke. Jon sneered inwardly. The fickleness of the Riverlands lords was common knowledge throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

When the Ironborn came, they followed the Ironborn. When the dragon kings came, they followed the dragon kings. When Robert came, they followed Robert.

To them, changing liege lords was like changing clothes.

That was what happened when a stone struck a dog—it barked.

Jon turned his head slightly toward Robb. Seeing that Robb still showed no reaction and did not even defend him, he knew Robb was determined to become king.

So, under everyone's gaze, Jon walked before Robb, drew his sword, and held it across his chest.

"Robb, I am a bastard who does not even know who his mother is.

But I grew up in the North, in Winterfell.

Winterfell is my home.

I will still fight for the North, for Winterfell, and for you. But I will not fight for the crown House Stark lost three hundred years ago."

With that, Jon turned and prepared to leave the hall.

At that moment, Greatjon stepped forward and blocked his path.

"Jon, don't forget. You left The Wall without permission, and Robb spared your life!"

"When the war ends, I will return to The Wall. If you cannot wait that long, then cut off my head now!"

Jon spoke coldly as he walked away.

He had already proven his worth.

No matter how foolish the Northern lords were, they would not do such a thing.

Besides, Jon had made his position clear. He only opposed Robb becoming king; in the future, they would still be allies on the same side.

Thus, everyone could only watch as he left the hall and stood at the doors with his back to them.

Robb said nothing. He only felt that the light outside the hall was very bright—so bright that it hurt his eyes.