Cleaning House

The Great Hall of Winterfell was buzzing once more as a thousand guests celebrated the fall of the Boltons and attempted to garner your favour in order to claim a share of the spoils. With the **** of Ramsay, the Dreadfort, was now lordless and the northmen were vying for the castle, whose lands and incomes would immediately raise them as the second most powerful lord in the kingdom.

Meanwhile, the wealthiest lord in the North, Wyman Manderly was lavishing you with gifts and had unsubtly presented you with his two maiden granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla, both beautiful and each eager to repay you for the debt White Harbour owed to the Starks of Winterfell, by whatever means necessary.

The treacherous Karstarks were allowed to retain their lands and titles as long as the new head of the House, Alys Karstark, married Sigorn the new Magnar of the Thenns. The Thenns in the TV show were ruthless cannibals but with your powers, you turned them into a more faithful representation of their book counterparts, honorable and civilised with their own lords and laws, unlike the rest of the wildlings.

The most trustworthy wildling clans were given lands to settle on in the Gift and castles to man on the Wall. They remained free from the authority of Winterfell as long as they didn't ****, reave or raid. However, more hostile clans had to give up their children as hostages of the Night's Watch to ensure their good behaviour. They weren't aware that the Army of the Dead was still harmlessly beyond the Wall as the Night King was still scratching his head, wondering how to get south.

However, the Umbers presented a problem for you. They were once House Stark's most loyal bannermen and the Greatjon had been the Young Wolf's strong right hand. In the books, he was still alive and a prisoner of the Freys with the loyalty of his House split between supporting the Boltons or the one true King. But now, the Umbers had turned into oathbreakers and killed Rickon Stark, a crime that needed to be punished.

"You called for me, sire?" Mors Umber knelt before you, head bowed low. He was an old man but huge and powerful with a chunk of black dragonglass where his left eye once was. He was the uncle of the Greatjon and the castellan of Last Hearth but despite being a staunch Stark loyalist, he loathed the wildlings with a fury and he loathed you for sheltering them. Sansa sat next to you, her blue eyes burning with hatred for the man whose family she held responsible for the **** of her youngest brother.

"I have been told that you were the castellan of Last Hearth when the Smalljon had sent my brother in chains to Ramsey Snow." The gathered lords falling silent at your words, many of them didn't believe that you would confront Mors Crowfood due to his popularity in the North.

"Aye, and still am." Mors looked up at you with one grey eye. "For years I have raised Ned's boy as my own and have grown fond of him. After the Young Wolf fell, Rickon became our rightful lord and king. It had been my hope to rally the North to his side but there are no easy choice in war."

"So you just stood by and let the Boltons have him!" Sansa snarled and some lords started to murmur in agreement. "Ramsay may have been the one to loose the bolt but Rickon's blood is on your hands!"

"No..." Crowfood said lowly as his lips twisted to a smile. "Rickon lives."

The entire hall was silent now, Sansa slowly turning beet red with rage while you concealed the sly smirk on your face. You had carefully planned this trial and with your every word you were reshaping reality. "What did you say?" You demanded in front of the comfused northmen.

"Rickon lives." Mors Crowfood reiterated, louder this time. "I could not choose between betraying the Starks or betraying my blood. So I didn't. I replaced Rickon with another boy and sent Ned's boy to Skagos with the wildling whore."

"Lies!" Sansa's voice was choked with anger. "I saw him! I buried him! Ramsay showed us Shaggydog's head!"

"Aye, I knew that everyone would take one look at the wolf and wouldn't think of taking a closer look at the boy. After all, direwolves and redheaded boys are rare in the North."

"Davos," You turned to the loyal smuggler sitting by your side. "Take Lord Umber and our swiftest ship, sail to Skagos and bring my baby brother home."

"Wait..." Sansa interjected. "You don't mean to trust this traitor's words over your own eyes?"

"What I saw was a mutilated boy, disfigured by Ramsay's arrows and horses' hooves." You turned to the eldest living Stark. "If there's a chance that our brother lives, don't you want him to come home."

She doesn't, You thought, Littlefinger's corruption was too great. She'll only ever feel safe with a crown on her head.

"If that's true then Rickon is the rightful king, not you." Sansa stated, trying to use your pride against you. "Would you truly let an impostor steal your crown?"

"If Rickon is alive, then you and I will raise him into the greatest king the North has ever seen." You proclaimed. "Crowns are cold and heavy on the head. I belong on a saddle with sword in hand."

Many of the lords murmur in agreement, pleased by your humility and family loyalty. Besides, Rickon was a boy of six and had ten years before he would be capable of ruling alone. You were happy to let him have Winterfell and the North, as long as you have the Seven Kingdoms and Sansa has none.

"I have some dire news." You proclaimed after Davos and Crowfood left. "Ever since the fall of the Boltons, the Freys have closed the kingsroad. Cutting our food supply from the Vale and our allies in the Riverlands."

"We should take the Twins and hang every single Frey along their cursed bridge!" Bronze Yohn Royce exclaimed to the thunderous agreement of the northmen.

"I know that this is a lot to ask." Your voice carried through the large hall, all eyes on you as you tried to spur the entire North to action. "We all remember what happened last time a king marched south. But this war is inevitable. I'm not asking you to die for me, fuck, I'll ride up to the Twins by myself if I must... For my brother and your kin that was slaughtered there.... Every day that Frey draws breath is another day that his hand tightens over our neck. If we are to survive this winter, we need to control the Crossing."

Some lords murmur in agreement, most remain silent, unwilling to oppose your plans lest they be seen as cowards.

"The Jon!" Hugo Wull of the northern clans stepped forward. He was known as the Big Bucket for the sigil of his House as well as for his huge belly. "I care not if I survive the winter. I am old, this is my last winter. I rode besides you from the hills to Winterfell, believing it to be my last battle. I bathe in Bolton blood and I've grown fond of the taste of traitor's blood. Let me loose upon the south. I want to bury my axe in the Walder himself! I want to cut the manhood of his sons and feed it to me wolves. For Vengeance! For the Robb! For the North!!!"

"For Vengeance!"

"For justice!"

"For the North!"

The entire hall was roused by the Big Bucket's speech, as the lords of the North and even the knights of the Vale who had lost no kin at the Red Wedding, drew their swords and shouted excitedly, yelling curses and obscenities towards the Freys. You let out a small smile as you solidified your hold over the men, granting you the army you needed for when the dragons would ultimately land in Westeros.