Well, here's chapter three. Really, a set up for next chapters, but at least we have Jon making decisions as king and people reacting to it. ALSO, Imade a change on CHAPTER 2, so that Jon doesn't know his mother's name or who she was (Ashara Dayne). A mistake I've made when writing that one, that showed itself now on later chapters I'm on. Anyway, please, enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF or its adaptations, GRRM rules all that.

"We don't have the m-"

"Actually, your grace, we do now." said Wyman Manderly, cutting him off.

Jon glared at him, hard. He really shouldn't have told his court about the raven.

"Even so, we have no obligation help them. We fought on the opposite side of them in the last two biggest wars." Jon reminded them, and this time it seemed to work.

They weren't eager to march even more to the south. Most wanted to go back home. It had been eleven moons since they arrived on the Riverlands. Jon missed Winterfell.

Ghost's white fur was on his shoulders and his bronze crown was atop his head. Longclaw was resting in front of him. Part of his hair was in a bun, a look his father used to wear. He had decided against shaving as well. All for the purpose of looking more king-like. He wanted them to listen.

"I agree. Fuck those rosies, we don't need'em." said Jon Umber. "Besides, his offers are shite! What good does a used cunt has!? The girl married thrice AND has a bastard daughter! He is mad to think she is fit for a king!" he roared.

Jon sighed. "That's not the issue here, Jon." he replied. Though the offer was noteworthy, because it showed just how desperate Mace Tyrell was. He didn't have much to negotiate with, so he played all his cards. He pledged House Tyrell and the Reach to the Kingdom of the North, and his daughter would seal the deal, offering herself as Jon's bride. It was all pretty weak, honestly.

But the point stands. It wasn't their war. The Tyrells and the Starks almost never agreed on things. Not enemies, just not friends. Yet…

The King of Winter looked around. Strong men, healthy men, men ready to fight. But for how long could they stay like that?

The North suffered its harshest winter in thousands of years; the Riverlands were burned, exhausted and abused. Both kingdoms needed food. Their supplies were dwindling each day, their fields slowly healing.

The Reach wasn't at its best, either. However, it was undeniably the most fertile lands in all Westeros. The winter had tired it out and the war was finishing the job. If they wanted to make good use of those lands, it had to be now.

"Your grace," Jon looked up, away from the white wolf's head of a pommel, where Jon usually stared at when thinking. The habit began after Ghost's demise. "you seem much more thoughtful than before, when we discussed a similar situation." said Lord Galbart Glover. "May I ask why? After all, there's almost no reason to sustain such a proposal."

Jon stared at the man dead in the eye. He has no children, he thought, but his late brother left heirs. His gaze shifted to Alysane Mormont. She has sisters, little Lyanna. He faced the door then, straight ahead. There stood a soldier. He was malnourished, slim as a spear.

He took a deep breath, let it out moments after. Beside him, to his right, he saw the Blackfish lean towards his nephew to whisper him something. He chose to ignore it, for now.

"Winter has come, and the scars it left are still hurting. But the body was already badly injured before it. Wars and conspirations held the daggers." he started. Lots of people glared at Emmon Frey, but he was staring at Jon, shaking slightly. "We need to heal, yes. But we have no potions, no gauze, no strings for the needles. We may make do with what we possess, aye. But the weaker ones might not make it. The children. The sick. The crippled. Should we take the risk?" he asked.

His words were met with confusion. They didn't understand him, although he saw that some inhaled deeply. Ser Davos was standing near the door as well, and he smiled at Jon. He knew.

"What I mean is that we have no food. We are strong and eager and healthy, aye, but for how long? The Riverlands have been stripped of its supplies, either by burning or by someone consuming it all." More glances at Emmon. "We need to make sure that our sons and daughters won't have to skip a meal. The Reach has never been friendly towards us, yes. But we need fertile lands. And they need peace. Let's try to solve each other's problems." He finished.

When the atmosphere grew tense, he added, with a small smile: "I miss the taste of goose stuffed with onions and beans."

At first only few chuckled, but soon everyone was laughing and exchanging jests. Jon felt his whole body relax, and a bigger smile appeared on his lips. He exchanged glances with Tormund, who was now beside Ser Davos, a horn in hand. He smiled and lunged forward.

"WELL SAID!" he yelled, shocking everyone present. He had the attention of everyone, and so his speech started. "Glad you all understood him fine, aside all that 'scars' and 'hurtin' horseshite." He grinned then, looking at his king.

"Starving to death ain't something you kneelers want to feel, aye." He mocked, and although Jon reprimanded him through his grey eyes, he knew the man wouldn't change his ways.

"Now, I will say this: you better not let any stupid ideas run through your inflated heads." He pointed at Jon. "That little Crow-Turned-King there, he is the best you all could ask for. I've heard tales of some of you and your little plans. Slitting throats and telling lies might be your way of doing things, but you should never do something like that to him. Heh."

His voice suddenly turned much more ominous. "Cause the Free Folk won't forgive ya." A long gulp from his milk-filled horn, he wipped his mouth with the back of his hand and boomed: "House Giantsbane will always stay loyal to Jon Snow, the pretty crow. And so should you."

He finished by yelling Jon's name loud, with a chorus of Free Folk following his lead. He lifted his horn to Jon and winked. Tall-Talker indeed. Jon returned the gesture. Beside him he heard Ser Brynden chuckling, together with a giggle from Roslin Frey.

"He's funny." she told her husband. He replied by disagreeing.

After everyone mostly settled down, a man stood up to speak, and Jon motioned for him to do so.

"I agree that we have to seize this chance to take a hold of those lands. But the letter mentions that the Reach will become part of the North, not the Riverlands. We should get something out of it." The one who spoke was Lord Jonos Bracken.

After he finished, many riverlords started to nod and voice their agreement. Except for Tytos Blackwood, of course.

Jon waited for the commotion to settle, before speaking: "We shall integrate the Reach into neither of our kingdoms."

The confused and shocked faces of his and King Brynden's vassals were plastered on their faces.

The King of the Trident rose a hand to ask for silence and followed the motion with a question.

"May I ask why? Not having them under our command can prove to be very precarious."

"They are at war. Florents against Tarlys. They want a king. If we smother their hosts and declare them vassals, the chances of revolting are too high." He explained. The truth is, Jon didn't think neither he nor Brynden would be able to hold the place for long. Reachmen didn't want a northern king, much less one crowned through war. "Like we did here, we will install Mace Tyrell as King of the Reach."

Before anyone could protest, Jon continued:

"We will respond to Tyrell's pleas by stating our conditions: The Reach shall revert a just part of its crop production to both kingdoms. The houses will also send sons and daughters to be warded by northern and riverlander lords. Some marriages will sort things out."

Jon didn't like the thought of using such methods to enforce his will, but he was tired of betrayals. The first Starks defeated their enemies and married their daughters. Jon would do something similar, though much more gently. At least he hoped so.

"Do you really believe it will work?" asked Jonos, doubtful.

Jon knew the plan was simple. Win the war, demand food and hostages. But everyone was desperate, they were tired of fighting.

"Aye."

The doubtful looks he received didn't do much to waver his conviction. Not a single one from a northerner. His men believe in him; he hoped that meant something.

After the whole conversation, Jon excused himself to his chambers.

In front of his door stood the maester. He opened it for Jon to enter and followed soon after. They sat down near the fire that had extinguished by now, though the room was warmer still.

"I'm sorry to bother you, your grace. Especially after such a heated and tiresome meeting."

Jon sniffed, before scratching his nose. Tired he was, but the maester wouldn't have sought him out for a petty reason, so he nodded.

"I thought to give you advice, if you may." he adjusted himself on the chair, focusing more on the king now. "Your strategy is very hopeful…" he started. "…but I don't think it's a bad one. However, reachmen can be quite prickly and stressing to deal with. They are proud of their land and may not accept your intentions on the spot."

Jon sighed. Heavily.

The master continued: "So I think you should not only speak with Lord Mace, but also his mother."

Jon chuckled. "Is the man that weak willed?"

"Almost. But the woman could make many strong men hold their tongue or fumble with their words. She holds authority, whether you think that's right or not, and showing her that you just want to ease it for everyone could be advantageous."

Jon pointed out that both knew someone would lose in the end. He just nodded, commenting that they would work on the letters tomorrow.

The small man nodded eagerly, probably satisfied with his own advice, and left.

Jon kept alone for some time until a maid entered his chambers and brought him supper. Bean stew, with almost no beans. At least there was wine. The king thanked the girl and positioned the pot full of wine over the dying hearth. He sat back and sighed, rubbing his temples with his index and thumb. Only moments later he realized he hadn't heard the door open or close.

He turned quickly, and the movement earned a shriek from the young woman. She was standing still, her back to the entrance, fumbling with her fingers. Her left hand flew to stop the sound, but it was too late. Her face turned red and her eyes darted to the floor.

He arched an eyebrow.

"Are you alright?"

The question seemed to calm her down, shoulders losing its stiffness slightly. She looked up then, though her eyes were still close when she said: "Do you need something? Y-your g-grace!" the last part was added harshly.

He opened his mouth to answer but a sudden thought passed through his head. Anger started to rise, but he held it down. Scaring the girl would be no good.

He stood and took slow steps towards her. Her eyes were still closed, her body tensing each time he advanced. He stopped about five feet from her.

"Open your eyes."

He asked again, saying 'please', after she refused to do it the first time.

Instead of doing it slowly, she opened them fast, almost too much. It shocked him a little.

"Sorry." She said, averting his eyes.

"It's fine." he answered, tilting his head so he could see her eyes. They were hazel coloured. She eventually answered his gaze with her own, but the fear of what he might do still showed.

"Your eyes are really dark." She mumbled. He chuckled again and she flushed. It was a pretty shade of pink. Her face was nice, too. High cheekbones and lips full. Her sandy blonde hair was cascading around her shoulders, and he remembered Val for a second. His body reacted to the memories.

His face twisted and he used his hand to hide it. He ended up frightening her a bit by the motion, and she almost called for help. He held his hand up and told her he was fine.

For one quick moment he had wanted to take her. This girl. He forced himself into control and gazed her eyes again.

"Whatever they told you to offer me tonight, you can rest assured. I won't. We won't." he nodded to reinforce his words, and she mirrored.

He opened the door and motioned for her to leave. When she did, he sighed hard and went back to the fireplace. He looked at its ash-filled centre and wondered whether he should the fire, or not.

Lost in his thoughts, Jon barely noticed the knock at his door. He absent-mindedly told the person to come in, even though he wished to stay alone.

Edmure Tully entered. He was wearing a dark blue shirt with the Tully trout over it. A deep red cloak rested around his shoulders. His copper-red hair had been cut short and his beard had been trimmed, although it had already grown thicker. His face was unreadable, though, judging by how tense his shoulders were, Jon imagined he was nervous.

"May I sit?"

Jon nodded, motioning for the chair beside his, with a small round table between them.

He remained silent, until his eyes properly focused on the hearth.

"Do you need more wood?" he asked, frowning.

"No. Neither do I need women." Jon answered, a bit coldly. He knew the Blackfish wouldn't have sent him one. And him appearing soon after she left the room probably meant something. Or the king was blaming the wrong person.

The blush on his face was visible in the, almost, completely dark room.

"I understand." Jon didn't think he did. "I actually came to…" Jon waited. "…thank you properly. For having me released. Uncle told me it was you who negotiated the terms with the Lannisters. With the Imp." the last word was laced with disgust.

Jon grunted in response.

"I've also heard that you were the one to suggest that we became kings." He said, pointedly looking at Snow now.

"Aye."

He fiddled with his fingers, taking his gloves out. "I'm grateful for it. Truly." he said then, firmly.

"You guys deserved to have one of your own ruling." answered the king.

Edmure was a man about fifteen years older than him, but since they met, Jon had a feeling that the man was still a boy, somewhat. His kindness was well-known, just as his naivety. A king had to be just and king, yes, but hard and confident. King Brynden's heir had much to learn, though Jon felt that he would be a loved king. At least by the smallfolk.

"I was mad at your father," he started, but a long pause told Jon that perhaps he regretted the topic of choice. "for fathering a bastard. I mean, he had married my sister, exchanged vows with her. Then he went and broke them. I couldn't understand why, not after hearing all about how honourable Eddard Stark was."

Although the mention of the word bastard should have made Jon feel offended, he actually understood the man. If any of his sister's husband had done the same, he would probably be pretty rude to him as well.

Maybe telling the brother of his deceased stepmother wouldn't mean much, but it mattered to him.

"He didn't, though." He said softly.

Edmure showed him a confused expression, brows furrowed.

"He fathered you."

Jon pushed his impatience aside.

"Yes, but he didn't break his vows. Because I wasn't fathered during Robert's Rebellion." He clarified.

"Truly?"

"Aye."

The information didn't seem to settle well with the heir to the Trident. Jon could almost see him do the numbers.

"How?" he asked.

Jon sighed. "The details don't matter, I would guess, but my father laid with my mother before the war. Before his marriage. He tarnished his honour, in the end. But not your sister's. The man who told me that would not lie to me."

Edmure didn't seem to believe him, though he didn't protest.

Jon then asked about his wife and kid, to which the man replied eagerly. They spoke a bit about politics and Jon's strategies to deal with his vassals.

"Basically, just have someone who understands you so well that he or she can clear about any misunderstandings you might make?"

Jon nodded solemly.

A smile appeared on the prince's face. He got up and extended his arm for a shake. When they did, he said: "I hope you can teach me more about ruling as king, when I succeed my uncle."

Jon smiled slightly and nodded. Edmure then bid him goodnight and headed for the door.

When he was halfway out, the king called for him.

"What did the Blackfish whisper to you during council?" he asked, tone slightly cold.

Edmure frowned a bit, trying to remember. Realisation flashed on his features and he answered: "Watch and learn."

After he left, Jon stayed on the chair for a while. He then reached for wood.

So our boy Jon Snow is heading towards war again, huh. Alliser Thorne warned him though, even if only in the show. A new setting will appear next chapter, and some characters will be making appearances as well.

I don't know how long I will make this story, but this chapter was one of the fastest that I wrote.

Hope you enjoyed it, and review it for me, please.

Until next time.