The farce in the South continued to unfold, but Lynn had more important things to do.
It was time to deliver on his promise.
Winterfell, ancient and unyielding, had once again gathered all the vassals of the North within its walls.
They had answered Lynn's summons and traveled from the Riverlands, their faces showing anticipation tinged with unease.
Not long after the war in the Riverlands ended, they had received news they could scarcely believe.
Lord Lynn had promised to provide enough food for the entire North to survive the long night.
And he would do it today!
The fire roared in the hall's fireplace, but the atmosphere was somber.
"Jon, do you really believe Lynn has all the food ready?" Rodrik Flint, a vassal from the White Knife River, asked quietly.
"If Lynn promised it, he'll do it."
Greatjon Umber folded his thick arms, his voice booming.
"But that's food for the entire North! Not a few hundred loaves of bread!"
"Where's he going to conjure it from? Magic?"
"How long has it even been? It's completely impossible..."
The Earl of Hornwood, seated beside the place of honor, looked troubled as well.
"Winter has come. None of our granaries can last two years. If this is just an empty promise..."
"Shut your mouths!"
A deep voice cut through their discussion.
Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, slapped the table with his fat palm.
"Listen to yourselves! Are you all doubting Lord Lynn?"
"I'm telling you, Lord Lynn never acts without being certain."
"Besides, he doesn't owe us anything!"
"If he summoned us here, he must have his reasons."
"All we need to do is wait."
His words quieted the hall for a moment, but the doubts on the lords' faces did not fade.
Just then, a shrill horn