Edmure's uncle, the legendary Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, slammed his gauntlet on the table, his expression grim. "No, not at all! Vengeance will not be truly served until the entire Lannister family and the bastard sitting on the Iron Throne are captured and beheaded. We'll have our justice then, and not a moment sooner."
He let his words hang in the cold air of the great hall. "We all know the truth of it. The Freys and the Boltons would never have dared to act alone. It was that old fox, Tywin Lannister, pulling the strings from the shadows."
Bran Stark, sitting at the head of the table in his brother's place, turned to look at his great-uncle. His young face was set with a resolve that belied his years. He pursed his lips and spoke with the authority of the Lord of Winterfell. "Lord Brynden, you have my word. We will catch the enemies who murdered my parents and my brother. I swear it, in the name of the old gods and the new!"
Brynden looked at the twelve-year-old boy, who met his gaze without flinching. The old knight gave a slight, solemn nod, though the deep frown on his face did not loosen. "Aye, Bran. We all want to see the Lannisters receive the punishment they so richly deserve."
With that, Brynden turned his attention to the man sitting opposite them, and the harsh lines of his face softened into a rare, genuine smile. "Lord Jason, it's an honor to finally meet you. I am glad that your mighty army crushed Roose Bolton, recaptured Riverrun, and brought justice to the innocent souls we lost at the Red Wedding."
Looking at the famed Blackfish—Sansa's great-uncle, and soon to be his own—Jason offered a humble response. "I only did what any righteous man would do, my lord. The atrocities committed by the Boltons and the Freys at that wedding were an affront to gods and men. Such a heinous act could not be allowed to stand."
Brynden nodded, his gratitude clear. He had rushed back from the Riverlands upon hearing the news, having narrowly escaped the massacre himself because he was helping his nephew Edmure manage the city's affairs. He knew that without Jason, both the North and the Riverlands would have fallen completely under the control of their enemies. House Stark and House Tully owed this young lord an immeasurable debt.
The thought brought a fresh wave of disappointment as he considered his niece, Lysa Arryn, the Lady of the Eyrie. Brynden had sent raven after raven, pleading with her to honor their family's ancient pacts, to rally the banners of the Vale and join them in attacking the Lannisters. But Lysa, still bitter that her father had forced her to marry the old Lord Jon Arryn, refused to send a single soldier. She sat safely in her mountain fortress, content to watch her kin be slaughtered.
Brynden felt a deep, helpless anger. His own brother's actions years ago had broken Lysa's heart, and now that brokenness was costing them all dearly. It was a stark reminder that a bad marriage could poison a family for generations.
But the union between Sansa and Lord Jason was different. Here, both parties were willing and satisfied. It would be a perfect alliance, a foundation upon which they could rebuild. With Lord Jason marrying Sansa, his powerful armies and immense wealth would become the strongest shield for both House Stark and House Tully, especially as they now faced the combined might of the Lannisters and the Tyrells of the Reach.
"Lord Jason," Brynden began, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at a blushing Sansa, "when is your wedding? I hope it's soon. I'm eager to raise a cup to your union."
Jason turned his head, his gaze softening as he looked at Sansa beside him. He smiled warmly and took her hand. "You won't have to wait long, Lord Brynden. We've decided to hold the wedding in three days. I will take Sansa as my wife."
"Three days? Excellent timing," Brynden said with a satisfied grin.
Edmure finally interjected, his tone earnest. "What can I do to help? Bran, Sansa, please, don't hesitate to ask for anything."
Seeing his sister so happy at the prospect of her marriage to Lord Jason, a genuine smile graced Bran's handsome face. "Thank you, Uncle. If we need anything, I will be sure to ask."
Soon, the news that Lord Jason East of Starfire City was to marry Lady Sansa Stark spread like wildfire through Winterfell. The lords and ladies of the Northern houses, as well as the nobles from the Riverlands who had taken refuge there, were initially surprised by the speed of the arrangement, but no one was truly shocked. A man as young, powerful, and wealthy as Lord Jason was more than a worthy match for the daughter of House Stark.
The marriage would do more than join two people; it would forge an unbreakable alliance between House Stark and the formidable House East. It also signaled a monumental shift in the balance of power. With the Boltons destroyed, Jason's house would now rise to become the second most powerful in the North. In truth, many whispered that with his resources, he was already the most powerful lord across both the North and the Riverlands. The Northern and Riverlands lords were keenly aware of the terrifying strength Lord Jason East commanded. He was, without a doubt, the strongest force in their two realms.
At the same time, as a formal gesture of thanks and to solidify their new alliance, Bran, acting in his capacity as the Warden of the North and Duke of Winterfell, officially conferred a massive grant of land to Jason. He was granted the Dreadfort, the ancestral seat of House Bolton, along with all its surrounding territories, including the lands around Weeping Water. With the Dreadfort and Starfire City now under his control, Jason East was officially the second-greatest lord in the North, subordinate only to the Starks themselves.
The decision to grant the lands was made quickly, spurred by a raven that had arrived from King's Landing. In a transparent attempt to sow division, Tywin Lannister, in King Joffrey's name, had sent a royal decree naming Jason the new Warden of the North and Duke of Starfire City. This blatant attempt at manipulation had worried Maester Luwin, who immediately advised Bran to act. It was on his counsel that Bran moved to formally grant the Bolton lands to Jason, cementing their bond before Tywin's poison could take root.
Jason, of course, had also received Tywin's letter, and news of the royal appointment had quickly circulated through Winterfell. His response was swift and public. Standing before the assembled lords in Winterfell's great hall, Jason tore the royal scroll in two. He declared for all to hear that he would never acknowledge Joffrey, the bastard born of incest, as his king and forcefully rejected any title granted by the Iron Throne. His bold defiance immediately earned him the fierce loyalty and admiration of every house in the North, and Tywin's scheme to divide them crumbled into dust.
Having secured his new territory, Jason met with Qyburn to discuss its administration. He ordered the 7,000 soldiers of the Southern First Army, now fully equipped with advanced flintlock muskets, to march on the Dreadfort. The army, led by his commander McCann, was to occupy the castle and secure the surrounding lands, deterring any remaining Bolton loyalists or petty lords from causing trouble. With his wedding just days away, neither Jason nor Qyburn could travel to the Dreadfort themselves, so the army would serve as a powerful deterrent against the lawless pillagers and wildlings of the North.
As the wedding day approached, lords from every noble house in the North began to arrive at Winterfell to pay their respects and attend the ceremony. They were soon joined by the princes of the Riverlands, whose own lands had been so ravaged by war that their only hope for survival lay in a strong and unwavering alliance with the North.
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