Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The great hall had been rearranged for the morning's session. The long feast tables were gone, replaced by a circular arrangement of chairs that placed no house obviously above another—though Lord Rickard's seat remained subtly central, a reminder that while the Council sought equality, Winterfell's authority still anchored it.
Arthur stood beside a table covered in documents—the formal charter they'd drafted, maps of northern territories, lists of proposed training facilities, and economic projections that would fund the entire enterprise. Around the circle sat the lords who'd committed resources and support: Manderly, Umber, Karstark, Bolton, Mormont, Flint, Cerwyn, and the major clan chieftains including Harrek.
Smaller houses had representatives standing behind the seated lords, and Arthur's enhanced companions lined the walls—a visible reminder of what this Council existed to create and govern.
"My lords," Rickard began, his voice carrying the weight of formal proceedings, "we gather to finalize the Northern Council of Cultivators. To establish its structure, its laws, and its leadership. What we decide today will shape the North for generations."
"Then let's be direct about the first question," Lord Karstark said, his tone measured but pointed. "The proposed Council composition lists six seats. Four are filled by Arthur Snow's immediate companions—Garron, Lyanna Stark, Sarra, and Redna. One is held by Arthur himself as Grandmaster. That leaves a single seat for representatives from the rest of the North's houses."
He leaned forward slightly. "I supported this endeavor. I contributed resources. But I'm not blind to what this structure creates—concentrated power in the hands of one group, with token representation for everyone else. Why should we accept this arrangement?"
Arthur had expected this challenge. He met Karstark's gaze steadily.
"Because those four individuals are the only ones currently capable of fulfilling the Council's core function," he said simply. "The Council isn't a political body—it's an operational one. Its primary purpose is training new Cultivators, managing enhanced warriors, and responding to threats from those who misuse their abilities. That requires Council members who possess the capabilities themselves."
"Your son could develop those capabilities," Lord Flint observed. "As could warriors from any of our houses. Why not structure the Council to include them once they're trained?"
"The Council structure allows for expansion," Arthur replied. "Once we have more enhanced warriors who've proven their discipline and judgment, additional seats can be created. But starting with untrained individuals in leadership positions would be irresponsible. You wouldn't put someone who's never held a sword in command of your garrison. Why would we put someone who doesn't understand cultivation in command of Cultivators?"
"It's not about command," Karstark countered. "It's about oversight. About ensuring no single group consolidates power without accountability."
"The accountability is built into the structure," Brandon interjected from his position beside his father. "The Council operates under northern law, subject to the authority of House Stark and the assembled lords. Arthur and his companions aren't independent actors—they're implementing a system you all agreed to support."
"With respect, Lord Brandon," Lady Dustin said smoothly, rising from her seat behind her husband, "that argument assumes House Stark maintains authority over enhanced warriors who could, theoretically, ignore conventional power structures. If a Cultivator can crush stone and move faster than eyes can follow, what stops them from simply taking what they want?"
Her gaze moved to Arthur. "I'm not questioning your loyalty. But we're establishing precedents that will outlast all of us. In ten years, twenty, fifty—when you and your companions are gone and new Cultivators have risen—what prevents them from deciding they're beyond northern law?"
The question hung in the air, and Arthur saw several lords nodding slightly. This was the core fear beneath all the political maneuvering—not what Arthur might do, but what the system he was creating might become.
"Two things," Arthur said quietly. "First, the training itself. Cultivation isn't just physical enhancement—it's mental and spiritual discipline. The techniques only work for those who develop that discipline, who understand that power without purpose is destruction. We're not creating warriors—we're creating individuals who've spent years learning to control themselves before they ever gain the strength to threaten others."
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "Second, the Council structure ensures that no single Cultivator operates alone. Every enhanced warrior is registered, monitored, and part of a community that's stronger than any individual member. If someone goes rogue, they don't face conventional forces—they face other Cultivators who have both the capability and the mandate to stop them."
"Which brings us back to the original concern," Lord Karstark said. "If the Council is composed entirely of your people, what stops the Council itself from going rogue?"
"The North stops us," Arthur replied simply. "We're not independent. We serve northern interests, operate under northern law, and answer to northern authority. If the Council as a whole betrayed that trust, every house represented in this hall could withdraw support. No training facilities on your lands. No economic cooperation. No political backing. The Council's power exists because the North grants it—and what's granted can be revoked."
"Pretty words," someone muttered from the back.
"They're not just words," Garron rumbled, stepping forward from his position along the wall. His massive frame drew every eye. "I'm Lord Umber's grandson. My blood ties me to Last Hearth as much as my training ties me to this Council. If the Council betrayed the North, I'd face a choice between my family and my companions. That's true for many of us—Lyanna is a Stark, Sarra is clan-born, even Arthur serves at Lord Rickard's pleasure."
"Which means the Council is bound by the same ties that bind all of us," Lyanna added, her voice carrying clearly despite her youth. "We're northerners first, Cultivators second. That's not something that changes just because we're stronger than normal warriors."
Lord Greatjon Umber stood, his massive presence commanding attention. "My grandson makes a fair point. And speaking of Garron—there's another matter that needs addressing before we finalize anything."
He turned to face Rickard directly. "The Wall." His voice dropped, roughened by unease. "Lord Rickard have gotten my letter. The Watch is undermanned, aye—but that's not the half of it. My rangers speak of strange things in the woods. Tracks that vanish mid-snow. Lights moving where no man walks. Even the wildlings seem spooked—they're crossing south in larger numbers, desperate."
A murmur passed through the hall. The Greatjon's jaw tightened. "I've fought men my whole life, but whatever's stirring beyond that Wall—it's got even my lads whispering of ghosts. If this Council means to strengthen the North, then we start there. Before the fear spreads further."
Arthur leaned forward. "Agreed, my lord. The Wall must be our first priority. Which is why I'd propose sending Garron north not as a recruit, but as a liaison to the Night's Watch. Someone who can coordinate with them directly."
Umber's heavy brows drew together. "A liaison? You'd have him serve with the Watch?"
"Temporarily," Arthur clarified. "He'd remain part of the Council rotating assignments, perhaps three months at a time. Enough to improve communication, training, and defenses. He could help them rebuild their ranger forces, ensure supplies reach them, and bring word of any changes directly to us."
The Greatjon's expression shifted from suspicion to thought. "Hmm. The Watch needs help more than they need fresh oaths. He hesitated and then said. "Aye. It might do. And… it'd give us time. To mend what's been broken between us."
Garron met his grandfather's gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. "I'd be honored, my lord. Both to serve the Watch—and to spend time at Last Hearth."
"Then that's settled," Rickard said, and Arthur caught the approving glance the Lord of Winterfell sent his way. Addressing Umber's concerns while strengthening the Wall and giving Garron time with his newfound family—three problems solved with one assignment.
"Very convenient," Lady Dustin observed, her tone dry. "One question answered, one lord satisfied. But it doesn't address the fundamental issue. Lord Karstark is right to worry about concentrated power. Perhaps the solution is adding more seats immediately—not for Cultivators, but for houses. Oversight positions. Representatives who can observe, advise, and report back to their lords about what the Council is actually doing."
"With respect, Lady Dustin," Arthur said carefully, "that would transform the Council from an operational body into a political one. We'd spend more time managing internal debates than actually training warriors or responding to threats. In situations requiring immediate action, that kind of bureaucratic structure could prove fatal."
"So you want unchecked authority," she pressed. "The ability to act without consultation or oversight."
"I want functional authority," Arthur corrected. "The Council operates under established laws and procedures—laws we're finalizing today with input from every house present. We don't have unchecked power. We have the capability to fulfill our mandate without paralysis. There's a difference between autonomy and tyranny."
"The difference being that you define the boundaries of your own mandate," Lady Dustin countered smoothly.
"No," Arthur said firmly. "The charter defines those boundaries. Training Cultivators. Monitoring enhanced warriors. Responding to internal threats. Economic development to fund operations. Those parameters are explicit and not subject to Council discretion. If we exceed them, you have both the right and the means to object."
Lord Willam Dustin spoke then, his voice mild but carrying unexpected weight. "My wife raises valid concerns, but perhaps we're approaching this incorrectly. The Council's composition may be limited now, but it can expand as Arthur suggested. Why not establish clear criteria? Once a house has a warrior who completes full training and demonstrates the necessary capabilities and judgment, they earn consideration for a Council seat. Power grows organically rather than being artificially concentrated or diluted."
It was a reasonable compromise, and Arthur saw several lords nodding approvingly. Barbery shot her husband a look that mixed irritation and reassessment apparently Lord Willam was more politically astute than his usual quiet demeanor suggested.
"That's acceptable," Arthur said. "We can formalize it in the charter. Initial Council seats remain with current members until more Cultivators complete training and prove themselves. Additional seats are then created based on demonstrated capability, sound judgment, and service to the North."
"How many additional seats?" someone asked.
"We'll cap it at twelve," Rickard interjected. "Enough for representation from major houses, small enough to remain functional. Once we reach twelve Council members, any new Cultivators join the broader organization rather than the leadership council itself."
"And the single seat for current house representation?" Lord Flint asked. "How is that determined?"
"Rotating position," Arthur suggested. "Six-month terms, cycling through the major houses that contribute significantly to the Council. It's not permanent power, but it ensures regular insight into operations and direct input into decisions."
"I can accept that," Lord Manderly said. "It's not perfect, but it's workable. And frankly, it's more oversight than most new organizations offer during formation."
Lord Karstark studied Arthur for a long moment, then glanced at his son Torrhen, who sat beside him practically vibrating with barely contained eagerness.
"Father," Torrhen said quietly but urgently, "let me go. Let me join them today."
Karstark's expression shifted to surprise. "You want to begin training immediately?"
"Yes," Torrhen said, his voice carrying passionate intensity. "I've seen what they can do. I've heard what they're building. I want to be part of it—not in ten years after everyone else has mastered these techniques, but now. At the beginning, when there's still everything to learn and prove."
"You're my heir," Karstark said. "Your place is at Karhold, learning to rule."
"My place is wherever I can serve the North best," Torrhen countered. "And right now, that means learning from Arthur Snow. Father, you've seen what Garron can do, what Lady Lyanna can do. Imagine if every major house had someone with those capabilities. Not just warriors, but leaders who've developed the discipline and strength Arthur talks about. That's what the North needs."
Karstark looked torn between paternal concern and strategic calculation. Finally, he turned to Arthur. "If I allowed this—if I sent my heir to train under you—what guarantee do I have that he'd return loyal to Karhold? That he wouldn't simply transfer his allegiance to you rather than his house?"
"None," Arthur said bluntly, and several lords tensed at the honesty. "I can't guarantee loyalty through words. But I can point to results. Garron is returning to work near Last Hearth. Lyanna remains devoted to House Stark. Sarra still honors her clan connections. The training doesn't erase who someone is—it enhances it. Your son wouldn't stop being a Karstark just because he learned to be a Cultivator."
He paused, then added more gently, "And frankly, Lord Karstark, you're not really afraid he'll stop being loyal to your house. You're afraid he'll become something you don't understand. Something you can't control the way you controlled the boy he was. That's a fair fear. But it's also inevitable—with or without my training, your son is becoming his own man. The question is whether he does so with capabilities that serve the North, or without them."
The honesty was calculated—harsh enough to be credible, sympathetic enough to avoid insult. Karstark's expression cycled through irritation, resignation, and finally something like respect.
"You're dangerously perceptive for someone so young," he said. "Fine. Torrhen can join your training. But understand this, Arthur Snow—if my son comes to harm through your methods, or if his loyalty to Karhold wavers, you'll answer to me personally. Enhanced warriors or not, some things remain sacred in the North."
"Understood, my lord," Arthur replied. "And welcomed. I'd rather have your honest concerns than false pleasantries."
Torrhen's face broke into an undisguised grin, and Arthur caught Lyanna rolling her eyes slightly at the younger lord's enthusiasm. They'd have to temper that eagerness with discipline, but at least Torrhen had the passion required for the work ahead.
"If we're allowing heirs to join," Lady Mormont said thoughtfully, "then Bear Island should send someone as well. Not my daughter—she's too young yet. But I have a cousin's son who's shown promise. Would the Council accept students beyond just the initial group?"
"The Council exists to train students," Arthur confirmed. "We'll start slowly—perhaps a dozen new trainees this year, more as we develop infrastructure and teaching capacity. Any house that supports the Council can nominate candidates for training."
The discussion continued for another hour—details about training facilities, resource contributions, legal authorities, response protocols for rogue Cultivators, economic arrangements, and dozens of other details that would govern how the Council actually functioned. It was tedious work, but necessary, and Arthur was careful to listen more than he spoke, allowing the northern lords to feel genuine ownership over what they were creating.
Finally, as afternoon sun streamed through high windows, Rickard stood.
"We've covered the essential points," he said. "The charter is drafted, the structure is agreed upon, and initial Council membership is established. Are there any final objections before we formalize this?"
Silence stretched across the hall. Then, one by one, the lords rose—some quickly, some reluctantly, but all of them standing in acknowledgment of what they were creating.
"Then by my authority as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," Rickard declared, "I formally establish the Northern Council of Cultivators. May it serve the North faithfully, strengthen our defenses, and never forget that power exists to protect, not to rule."
"The North remembers," several voices murmured—the old words taking on new meaning in this moment.
Arthur caught Lyanna's eye across the hall, saw her small nod of encouragement, and felt something steady inside him. They'd done it, they'd built something that could actually work.
Now they just had to prevail.
---
The afternoon had dissolved into smaller discussions and private negotiations when Arthur finally escaped to the battlements. He needed air, space to think, time to process everything that had just been formalized.
Garron found him there, the big man moving with surprising quiet for his size.
"Congratulations," Garron said simply. "We did it."
"We started it," Arthur corrected. "Actually making it work will be harder than getting permission to try."
"Maybe." Garron leaned against the stone wall, looking out toward the distant outline of mountains to the west. "The Greatjon wants me to visit Last Hearth before I head to the Wall. Spend a week, meet the family I never knew I had, see the home I might have grown up in."
"How do you feel about that?"
Garron was quiet for a long moment. "Strange. Complicated. I spent most of my life with no family, no home, no identity beyond survival. Then you gave me purpose, training, companions who became the only family I knew. And now suddenly there's a grandfather who wants to claim me, a house that might have been mine, a whole history I never experienced."
"You don't have to go if you're not ready," Arthur said.
"No, I want to," Garron replied. "But I'm also afraid. What if I don't fit? What if they expect someone I'm not? What if trying to be an Umber means losing what I've become as a Cultivator?"
"Then you remind them that you're both," Arthur said firmly. "Garron of Last Hearth and Garron of the Council. Blood and choice. They don't have to be in conflict unless you let them be."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to choose between loyalty to family and loyalty to purpose," Garron observed, but there was no accusation in his tone—just recognition of different experiences.
"Fair," Arthur admitted. "But I've watched you for years now. You're not someone who breaks easily under pressure. If anyone can bridge that gap, it's you."
Garron smiled slightly. "High expectations."
"Earned ones."
Garron studied him for a moment then a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Before I forget—congratulations. On you and Lyanna."
Arthur blinked, caught off guard for the first time that evening. "Who else knows?"
"Most of us," Garron admitted with a quiet laugh. "It wasn't exactly subtle. The way you two look at each other it's been obvious for months. We were all just waiting to see when you two finally realize it yourselves."
Arthur exhaled through his nose, half a sigh, half amusement. "I see."
"Oh, there was even a betting pool," Garron continued, clearly enjoying himself now. "Some said it would never happen. Others called you a dunce for not noticing sooner." He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And a few said that if you kept pretending not to see it, Lyanna would eventually pounce on you just to end the suspense."
Arthur's mouth twitched, a hint of dry humor breaking through. "Glad to hear I've been providing the North with such quality entertainment."
Garron only smiled, eyes glinting with quiet affection.