If Lord Jason could win the North, or achieve even greater things, Qyburn knew his own status would rise with him. This was a very good thing.
At this thought, an even wider, more pleasant smile spread across Qyburn's old face. "You're absolutely right, my lord. To protect the people of the North and all of Westeros from that evil army of the dead, we must unite the North's power to resist those monsters!"
Jason blinked. He couldn't tell if Qyburn actually believed in wights or was just playing along, but it didn't matter. "Right. So, first we'll crush Roose Bolton's rebels, and then we'll contact all the other northern houses."
He paused, stroking his chin. "However, because of who I am, I'm afraid those proud northern lords won't obey my orders. To them, I'm just an outsider."
Qyburn was well aware of this problem. Westeros was a land obsessed with bloodlines and inheritance. As a foreign lord, Jason had no natural claim to rule the North. He could kill all the families who opposed him, but the resulting chaos would be immense and would delay any plans to march south into the Riverlands.
After a moment of thought, Qyburn's eyes lit up. "Sir, the only Starks left are Sansa, Bran, and Rickon. You could marry Lady Sansa. Let Bran inherit the title of Lord of Winterfell, and you can serve as the Warden of the North in his name."
"This way, you can issue orders to the northern lords with full legitimacy. Then, you can eliminate your opponents one by one without causing too much unrest!"
Hearing Qyburn's strategy, Jason couldn't help but picture the girl with the smooth, auburn hair and fair, delicate face. He was ten years older than her, but Sansa was sixteen now. By Westerosi tradition, she was old enough to marry.
With all the adult Starks dead, she was the eldest child. Faced with the threat of the Boltons, she would have to agree to the marriage to protect her family and her home. If he married Sansa, he would instantly gain a legal claim to the North and the right to rule it.
It was a brilliant plan.
He would not only get a beautiful wife but also gain dominion over an entire kingdom. No matter how he looked at it, it was a huge profit. As for his girlfriend, Lin Xiaohan, back in the modern world... well, they were in two different worlds. Marrying a wife here wouldn't affect his plans there. Besides, he thought with a private smirk, no one here will ever know.
Jason tasked Qyburn with arranging the marriage proposal and rode to the barracks. The First and Second Northern Corps were already assembled, their formations stretching out in neat squares below a high platform.
Standing on the platform, Jason looked out at the two legions—more than fourteen thousand men—and felt a surge of pride. What man didn't dream of commanding thousands? At his command, these tens of thousands of elite soldiers would rush into battle and win glory for him. For an ordinary man from the modern world, it was an unparalleled feeling of accomplishment.
He glanced behind him at Jon Snow, whose face was even colder and more withdrawn than usual. Jason knew he was grieving and offered him a few quiet words of comfort. Robb had been Jon's favorite brother, and his death had hit him hard. Only two months ago, they had been drinking together in Riverrun, celebrating a victory. Now, Robb was gone, betrayed by the Boltons and the Freys.
All that was left in Jon's heart was revenge.
The two legions began their march toward Winterfell, following the wide dirt road that led from Starfire City.
After marching for more than forty miles, the army made camp on a high hill that offered a good defensive position and a wide field of view. The heavy supply wagons were arranged in a large circle, providing a makeshift wall for the camp. This way, the soldiers wouldn't have to worry about a surprise enemy raid while they rested.
Smoke soon rose as the cooks lit their fires. Canned fish and cured meat were tossed into large iron pots, and the smell of a hot meal quickly filled the air.
Soldiers lined up in batches, holding their own bowls. They were served a piece of soft, white bread, a full bowl of stew with sea fish and marinated pork, and a smaller bowl with a few slices of sweet, canned yellow peaches.
This was a feast compared to the rations of any other army in Westeros. Normally, only lords ate this well. Their soldiers were lucky to get hard, black bread mixed with sawdust.
A soldier from the First Northern Corps found a stone to sit on in a corner of their encampment. "Rod, what's wrong?" asked a fat soldier next to him, scooping fish into his mouth. "You don't look so good."
The young man named Rod, who had brown, curly hair and an immature face, shook his head as he chewed his bread. "It's... it's nothing. Just a little worried. War is terrifying. My neighbor, Keller, he went south with Lord Jason last time. He fell off his horse and was almost trampled to death. It's awful!"
Thinking of his neighbor, who now had a crippled leg and needed a cane to walk, young Rod's face turned pale.
The other young soldiers nearby grew quiet. In truth, they were all worried about being injured or killed. It was the first time on a battlefield for most of them; they had never seen real fighting. With a battle coming, it was impossible not to be nervous. But despite their fear, strict military discipline was ingrained in them. No one would dare disobey an order.
The fat soldier, Tom, downed half his bowl of stew. He then scooped up a piece of yellow peach, letting the sweet taste fill his mouth. He closed his eyes in pleasure.
"So what if you get injured or killed?" Tom said, taking a large bite of bread. "Hasn't Lord Jason promised relief for the families of any soldier who is wounded or dies? And he doesn't abandon the crippled ones, either. He finds them lighter work to do."
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