Jon X
He found Robb exactly where he expected him to be.
The godswood was hushed beneath a pale morning sky, the ancient weirwoods standing like silent sentinels draped in fresh snow.
His boots crunched softly as he walked the familiar path toward the heart tree.
Robb sat on the stone, elbows on his knees, staring up at the carved face in the weirwood trunk. The red leaves above stirred faintly, as if whispering secrets only the old gods could hear.
He stopped a few paces away, hands tucked into his cloak. "You're thinking too loudly again."
Robb glanced over, offering a small, tired smile. "And you always know where to find me when I do."
Jon sat beside him on the cold stone. For a long moment, neither spoke.
The silence between them had always been comfortable, even now, with the weight of recent events hanging heavy in the air.
"How do you feel about it?" Jon asked quietly. "The betrothal being broken."
Robb let out a slow breath, his gaze returning to the heart tree. "I knew it was coming. Truth be told, I knew it was false even before they suggested it."
He turned to look at him fully. "You liked the Princess."
"I did," Robb admitted, a faint, almost wistful smile touching his lips. "She believed herself far more cunning than she actually was. I found it… adorable."
"Cunning?" Jon asked, doubt clear in his voice.
Robb chuckled softly. "She played the part well, the teasing smiles, the bold touches, the way she made me feel like the center of her world. But I saw through it. The Dornish don't surrender their heir lightly. Not to a northern wolf. Not without a deeper game."
He leaned back against the bench, staring up through the blood-red leaves.
"The moment the first raven arrived from Sunspear, I knew," Robb continued. "While the North might benefit from ties to Dorne, trade, spears, a southern ally, what did Dorne truly gain? Me? A boy lord with a famous name and a pack of loyal friends? To risk losing their chosen heir for that?" He scoffed lightly. "It felt almost insulting how obvious it was, the game is not played that way."
Jon remained silent, processing. He had suspected as much, but hearing Robb lay it out so plainly still carried weight.
"Then why entertain it at all?" Jon asked. "Why accept the proposal if you knew it would be broken?"
Robb's eyes tracked a pair of crows flying overhead, one with grey feathers, the other black save for a single white streak. He watched them until they disappeared beyond the castle walls.
"It is no fun to fool a fool," Robb said quietly. "Anyone can do that. But it is far more interesting to fool someone who believes they cannot be fooled. The Dornish thought me young. Naïve. A puppet they could manipulate to test northern resolve. So I let them believe it. I played the smitten boy. I danced. I laughed. I let Arianne think she had me wrapped around her finger."
His expression darkened for a moment. "Being the fool brought us something valuable in return. Gratitude. Leverage. A clearer view of their intentions. And…" His eyes flicked toward Jon, a knowing glint appearing. "Other benefits."
He reached out suddenly, tugging down the collar of his tunic before he could react. The red marks on his neck were laid bare in the cold morning light.
He jerked back, pulling his collar up quickly, face burning. "Robb-"
Robb smirked, wide and unrepentant. "I let myself be fooled because I heard Dornish women were fiery. Were they not?"
He looked away, but a smirk of his own tugged at his lips. He nodded once, quietly.
Robb laughed loudly, the sound bright and genuine in the solemn godswood. "You're a man now, Snow."
He chuckled along with him, shaking his head. "Did you see Haden in the yard this morning?"
Robb clutched his gut, still laughing. "He was walking like a shadowcat had eaten his balls. Limping like he'd been ridden hard and put away wet."
They shared a long, loud laugh that echoed through the trees, easing some of the tension that had settled over Winterfell since the feast.
Eventually, Robb's laughter faded. His eyes trailed across the godswood, lingering on the bleeding eyes of the heart tree. The carved face seemed to watch them with renewed intensity.
"Do you feel any different, Jon?" Robb asked, voice suddenly quiet and serious.
He looked at him quizzically, then realization dawned.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching inward, searching for the constant presence that had haunted him for days, the ghosts of old Stark kings, their pale forms and dripping ichor, their endless screams.
"They're gone," Jon said, opening his eyes. "The ghosts… they're not here anymore. It's just us."
Robb nodded slowly. "They must have returned to the crypts. But I wasn't asking about them." He tapped his own chest. "I was asking about you. Because I can see it. Something has changed."
Jon breathed deeply, searching himself again.
The weight, the constant whispers at the edge of his mind, they had quieted. But he felt no great surge of power, no dramatic shift. He shook his head.
"No," he said. "I don't feel any different."
Robb considered this, then shrugged calmly. "Mayhaps there is something else at play, then."
Before Jon could ask what he meant, a guard stepped into the godswood, boots crunching loudly in the snow.
"My lord," the man said, bowing slightly to Robb. "There is a woman at the gates. She asks to see you specifically."
Robb's expression sharpened. "Who is she?"
The guard looked up. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered with an unnatural glow, the same bright green Jon had seen in the crypts when Robb had first knighted him.
Robb noticed it too. He smiled faintly. "Can you see it, Jon?"
Jon nodded, tension coiling in his stomach. "His eyes are glowing. Just like yours did."
Robb rose smoothly and swiped his hand through the air in a casual gesture. The guard's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed bonelessly into the snow, unconscious but breathing steadily.
"He was charmed," Robb explained calmly. "He'll need a short rest before he wakes. In the meantime…" He looked toward the gates. "Let's see this woman he spoke of."
They walked together through the castle, the silence between them comfortable yet charged.
When they reached the main gates leading out toward Wintertown, a woman stepped out from behind a rack of supply carts.
She wore robes of deep, vibrant red that seemed to shimmer even in the weak northern light.
Her hair was a striking, fiery red, brighter even than Robb's auburn, cascading down her back like liquid flame.
A large ruby rested at the center of her throat, gleaming with inner light.
Her entire body radiated a soft, crimson glow, distinct from the cold green Jon had seen in Robb. It pulsed like living fire.
The woman's eyes locked onto Robb with unnerving intensity.
"The Lost One," she said, voice rich and resonant, carrying an accent Jon couldn't quiet place. "My Lord has shown you to me at last."