Winterfell

"I refused for one reason, he sold you a half-truth"

Said Jon, resting hands on the sword's hilt. He looks deep in thoughts for a moment.

"He asked to give up my Gods, my post at the Wall -breaking my oath- and bend the knee. I would not disgrace myself that way. My father taught me honor is all a man has"

He looks at Maege.

"Yet, I stand here no oathbreaker, my Lady. I was... released from the oath, my honor is now intact. I marched South to relieve my home and found it freed. But, I still have a purpose"

He added.

"If you and the other lords believe I shall bear Stark arms and name, I will do. But I have no interest in being Lord of Winterfell, that has lost its appeal to me. I will rule as long as Rickon is not of age, because I'm the only one he has and I could not bear him as a puppet of someone less... moral. And the North needs a warden"

Jon added, serious-faced.

"I will rule fairly, if you'd have me, I will follow the will of our people. We shall ride South, because I believe Stannis will win and he will do justice, but once that's done, we shall remain within our orders, unbothered with what happens below the Neck"

Tristifer shook his head, but his smile only widened, and he chuckled. "You know me, I always root for the underdog to beat the odds." Despite what he had just said, he poured a cup of ale for himself and took a sip, his smile souring slightly at the bitterness.

"Can't say I was expecting this turn of events either. I thought the plan was to found a kingdom on Sea Dragon Point." Botley shrugged and took another drink. "And a damn good thing he didn't demand that of us. Red Rahloo isn't a god I could honestly follow, and I'm not in the habit of making false oaths to lords, kings or gods alike. I suppose it's to be expected, a savage god from the savage east, but to be so eager to burn everyone you meet..." Continued the man whose god endorsed piracy and drowning their enemies. Nevertheless, now he truly grimaced. Like Asha and the other Ironborn captives, he'd witnessed Stannis burning some of his own men-turned-cannibals on the icy road to Winterfell. Though no stranger to killing like most grown Ironborn, Tris had found their screams and the scent of their burning forms on the stake to be well beyond distressing, so much so that he had literally puked. "Though I'll admit Stannis is preferable to your uncle Euron, Asha. At least when he kills people in his horrid fashion, they did something to deserve it. Now Euron, that is a man I could never bend my knee to, ever." Not even if Asha herself had asked, probably, and Tristifer's expression took on an uncharacteristic darkness for just a fleeting moment at the thought. That Euron had drowned his father was bad enough, but dismembering Baelor Blacktyde - the man who'd been Tristifer's main father-figure in life - in seven parts, for being an Asha loyalist no less, was truly too much.

"Just the one thing, actually." Tristifer answered when the topic shifted away from Stannis and his bloody red god. He downed the contents of his cup entirely, the liquid courage flushing his cheeks and burning his doubts away. Whatever Asha saw him do before, well. It may or may not have been more foolish than what he was ginning up to do now. "I recall you promised me a kiss for every man I killed by Deepwood Motte, Asha. Now you know I don't like to brag, but ah, I'm quite sure I killed at least five there and five more outside Winterfell, including the one who gave me this..." He turned his bandaged hand over. He smirked, despite his frantic and alcohol-addled mental calculations as to whether his kills would be sufficient to prove himself worthy of Asha's affection.

"Yes, now that you mention it...if he had taken Oldtown, we should have heard about it by now, even if we are on the opposite end of the continent." Between sips, Tristifer's lips curled into a satisfied smirk at that realization. Perhaps Euron's campaign was indeed going poorly, if he had yet to crack Oldtown. Qhored the Cruel, one of the most infamous Ironborn kings who'd shattered the Riverlands and scared the piss out of the Reach, famously sacked Oldtown - and even he had never promised half as much to his lackeys as Euron had at the Kingsmoot. "Well, that's why we're still here with you, right? The only Ironborn with more sense than most of the Iron Isles combined, a shame that more of our people don't see it the same way. Your uncle of Harlaw's got the rest, now that Lord Blacktyde has been murdered."

"Argh, come on now, Asha. You never specified where you'd kiss me. I don't suppose I get to make any suggestions, or even just one?" Tristifer had replied, so quiet that he was almost whispering. That was definitely the ale talking, a sober Tris Botley would have slapped himself twice over for making such a crack. Instead, more than halfway through his second cup, his lips cracked into a grin between his increasingly red-hot cheeks, though he did have enough shame (and sense) left to look like he couldn't believe what he just said for a split second.

"Wha - Massey - huh..." At that, Tristifer's grin dissipated. He frowned deeply and narrowed his eyes, setting his cup down entirely. He was pretty sure Massey had been the knight who took him down at the Battle of Deepwood Motte, though he never got a chance to ask, and in any case the knight of spirals had indeed been assigned to guard Asha at all times by Stannis after the battle. From what little Botley had seen on the campaign trail, the man seemed less burn-happy than most of his peers (especially the pig-knight Suggs), but that was an extremely low bar to clear and he had enough competition for Asha already to put up with another challenger. At least Qarl the Maid, whose affections for Asha had never been hidden on or off their ship, was too lowborn for her to settle down with and become Lady of Pyke at the same time; not so this Ser Massey, lieutenant to a King, at all. "No, you haven't told me any of this before. Now I'd tell you I'd be happy to help you fend this greenlander's advances off, but we both know you're more than capable of doing it yourself. Though...well...hrmmm."

Suddenly Tris stopped talking and burst into a conspicuous coughing fit. No doubt a reckless thought, fueled by the booze, had just burst into his mind, and he was now weighing whether or not to go through with it.

Templeton was escorted by a few of the King's men to Stannis' solar, which had once served the Lord Eddard Stark. It was grey and austere, rather like the King himself.

"Ser Templeton. Unless the Vale has sent you to bend the knee, we are both wasting our time."

The King's cup-bearer, a Ryswell boy, poured two cups of wine. Stannis was stood by the hearth, unflinching.

"I heard Lord Robert was dead. Who does Baelish claim to rule for now? One of his cats?"

"Tell me. Is this really Sansa, or some red-head he pulled from one of his brothels? I have grown tired of Starks, real or false."

Stannis turned to face the Valesman, his brow knotted into a formidable frown. 

"All the Riverlords and Valelords. Last I heard, half the Riverlands had risen for Lord Edmure. And if this Hardyng is Robert's heir, what need do I have of Littlefinger? He is a grown man. My brother was king at twenty. By every law of Westeros, he is your liege."

The King folded his arms across his barrel chest. 

"So, speak. Littlefinger asks, but he does not give. He offers to bend the knee, which he should have done already. What good is he to me?"

Wyman leaned back in his seat, lost in thought. "I would need assurances, she is to be treated as the lady she is." He said after a long pause. "You will not shame her and my house with whores or brothels, or whatever other perversion you might fancy. Do what you will before you are married, but once the Seven bind you, you will be a Lord husband with or without your keep." He shifted in his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. "The Iron Throne made me promise to give my precious Granddaughters before. I cant give them to someone unworthy again, not that I would challenge your righteous intentions good Lord. Agree to this and you will be promised in a betrothal to Wynafryd, to be consummated once the war is closer to being won. Surly you could get to know your good father to be, Lord Wylis in the war."

"You are not supposed to fear anything, Lord Stannis, but I thought you were smart enough to understand the threat that looms down South."

Templeton looked at the fire. He had heard some were able to see things in the flames, to predict the future even. But he saw nothing

"I'll remain in Winterfell village for the next few days, should you come to reconsider. I honestly hope you do."

And with that, he left Eddard Stark's old solar.