Winterfell's great hall.
Roose Bolton sat at ease in the high seat that had once belonged to Eddard Stark.
Below him, the lords of the North sat along both sides of the long tables.
"Ser Bartimus has sent a letter from White Harbor."
Roose Bolton spoke quietly, yet every ear in the hall pricked up.
"Rhaegar's son, Jon Snow, is not only alive, but marching on Winterfell with twenty thousand troops from Essos and two thousand cavalry from House Manderly. They are acting in Sansa Stark's name, declaring that they intend to reclaim Winterfell and the entire North."
As his words fell, the silence shattered.
Greatjon Umber slammed his enormous palm onto the table, making cups and plates jump.
He surged to his feet. "We must teach this bastard a lesson! A bastard with a Dragonlord's blood dares lay claim to the North?!"
He deliberately avoided the name "Stark."
Next, Galbart Glover rose, his tone calm. "Lord Roose, we should punish Earl Manderly first. He has openly colluded with a foreign army and invited the enemy into our midst. He is now an enemy of the entire North. We are not without allies in White Harbor. Ser Bartimus has already stated in his letter that he is willing to assist us."
Roose Bolton nodded slightly. "Indeed, Lord Eel must pay for his choice. But the immediate threat is Jon Snow and his army. Twenty thousand men, fifteen thousand of them savages from the Dothraki grasslands. What are your thoughts, my lords?"
A suffocating silence descended over the hall once more.
Every lord knew that the North's terrain was open. Fighting a decisive battle in the wilderness against the Dothraki, who rode like the wind and were masterful horsemen, would be no different from sending their soldiers to their deaths.
Moreover,