The noise and revelry of the wedding finally gave way to Winterfell's morning chill.
When Lynn opened his eyes, dawn had yet to break.
The fire in the hearth had burned out, leaving only a few dark red embers.
Arya slept soundly beside him, one hand still gripping him tightly, as though afraid he might suddenly disappear.
Her face, usually touched with stubbornness, was peaceful now.
Lynn gently brushed the stray hair from her brow and kissed her forehead.
Arya's eyelashes fluttered, and the corners of her mouth lifted unconsciously.
He did not disturb her, slipping silently out of bed and getting dressed.
There were more important things to do today.
The atmosphere in the Main Keep's great hall at Winterfell was solemn.
The long tables had been removed, replaced by a huge map of Westeros spread out in the center.
The wolves of the North were no longer the drunken men of last night's feast. They wore their houses' armor, with longswords at their hips.
Every face bore the gravity of a man about to march to war.
Ned Stark stood before the map.
Behind him stood Robb, likewise fully armed.
Everyone's gaze rested on Lynn.
Last night's wedding had made him one of their own in the eyes of everyone present.
His words carried even more weight than Ned's.
Lynn dispensed with pleasantries and went straight to the point.
"Before marching south, we must gather our forces."
His gaze swept over every lord present.
"Lord Umber."
"Here!"
Greatjon Umber stepped forward, his voice booming like a bell. "Last Hearth can field two thousand men! Every one of them strong enough to wrestle a bear barehanded!"
"Lady Mormont."
"Bear Island can field six hundred."
Maege Mormont's voice was steady and firm.
"We have no knights, but every woman