Jon's internal alarm bells were ringing loud enough to wake the dead in the crypts.
Wait, he thought, panic spiking. Why is a Riverrun guard summoning me to Luwin's tower? Did they find the body? Are they setting me up?
Before he could spiral further into paranoia, his vision was obscured by a giant, glowing obstruction.
Five hollow blue stars floated in front of his face, pulsing gently. Below them, scrolling text read: [We look forward to your 5-star review! Please rate your experience!]
It was blocking his view of the guard. It was blocking his view of the hallway. It was blocking his view of reality.
"Are you kidding me?" Jon hissed under his breath. "Now? You want feedback now?"
He tried to look around it, but the holographic panel just drifted closer, practically sitting on his nose. It was like a pop-up ad that refused to be closed.
[Rate us to continue!]
Jon felt a vein in his forehead throb. The sheer audacity of this System was incredible. It had hijacked his body, drugged him, committed robbery, and left him at a murder scene—and now it wanted a high rating?
With a flick of his wrist that was fueled by pure spite, Jon smashed the first star on the left.
[1 STAR SELECTED.][Feedback received: "Terrible." We will strive to do better next time!]
The panel shattered into a million pixels and vanished. Finally.
Jon took a deep breath, composing his face into a mask of confused obedience. He nodded at the guard. "Lead the way."
He fell in step behind the man, keeping a few paces back. His hand hovered near his belt, where his dagger was tucked. If this guy tried anything—if he led Jon into a dark corner—Jon was ready to stab him. He'd done it once today; the second time should be easier.
But nothing happened. They walked through the corridors in silence.
It was only when they turned a corner toward the side gate that Jon realized something was wrong.
"Hold on," Jon said, stopping. "This isn't the way to the Maester's tower."
The guard stopped and looked back, genuinely confused. "Maester's tower? Why would we go there?"
Jon frowned. "You said Lord Stark ordered me to report to Maester Luwin."
The guard scratched his head. "No... I said the Lady Stark ordered you to get cleaned up. You and Robb and the others. For the King's arrival."
Jon blinked.
Did I mishear him?
He replayed the memory. The blood rushing in his ears, the adrenaline, the stupid System asking for a rating... yeah, maybe he had hallucinated the "Maester Luwin" part.
The guard looked at Jon's plain clothes and disheveled hair. "You look like you've been rolling around in a hayloft, Snow. Lady Catelyn wants everyone presentable."
A heavy silence fell between them. Jon stared at the guard. The guard stared at Jon.
Jon's hand twitched toward his dagger. The guard was armed with a sword. It wasn't a fair fight.
"Hey! Snow! What's the hold-up? We're waiting on you!"
The voice was loud, arrogant, and painfully familiar.
Jon looked toward the stables. There, leaning against a post shirtless and looking entirely too pleased with himself, was Theon Greyjoy.
The "Prince" of the Iron Islands. Ned Stark's hostage/ward.
Jon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Thank the gods for annoying people.
He nodded at the guard, muttered an apology, and walked past him toward the stables. The tension evaporated.
Inside the utility room next to the stables, it looked like a locker room. Half the young men of Winterfell were there, shirtless and laughing. Tomy, the castle's leatherworker who doubled as the barber, was moving between them with a straight razor and a bowl of hot water.
Robb Stark was there, too.
Jon scanned the room, his instincts on high alert. Information gathering mode: engaged.
"Sounds like Lady Catelyn is on a warpath about our appearance," Jon said casually as he walked in.
"She's not mad at our appearance," Theon sneered, flashing a grin. "She's just mad at your appearance."
The other boys chuckled nervously. Theon was the only one who openly mocked Jon like this. It was his way of coping, Jon figured. Theon was an outsider too—a hostage raised among his captors—but instead of keeping his head down like Jon, Theon compensated by being the loudest, most arrogant person in the room.
Jon ignored him. Rule number one of surviving Theon: don't feed the troll.
Instead, Jon looked at Robb.
The Heir to Winterfell was standing with his arms crossed, looking serious. When Jon caught his eye, Robb looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably.
Guilt? Jon wondered. Or just stress?
"Alright, Tomy," Robb said loudly, clearly trying to change the subject. "Fix Jon up. Make him pretty. We all know he spends more time on his hair than any girl in the North."
The room erupted in laughter. The tension broke.
"Yeah, Jon," one of the stable boys jeered. "Still trying to impress someone?"
"Maybe he's saving himself," another cracked.
"For who? There's nobody here but us!"
"Maybe he likes men!"
The jokes were crude, fueled by teenage hormones and boredom. Jon just shook his head, enduring it.
If he were actually sixteen, maybe he'd be embarrassed. Maybe he'd fight back. But mentally, he was an adult who just wanted to retire. All this posturing was exhausting.
The problem was, his lack of reaction just made him seem weirder. In a castle full of hot-blooded teenagers, Jon the Stoic Bastard was an anomaly.
Theon strolled over and slapped Jon on the back hard enough to sting. "Cheer up, rookie. Once we get you cleaned up, I'll take you to see Ros in Winter Town. With that giant stick up your ass, maybe she'll give you a discount!"
More laughter.
Jon sat down in the barber's chair. Tomy lathered his face with hot soap.
As the razor scraped against his skin, Jon finally relaxed.
I'm safe, he realized. For now.
If the body in the rookery had been found, the castle would be in lockdown. Guards would be swarming. Ned Stark wouldn't be sending boys to get haircuts; he'd be holding an inquest.
The secret was safe. The System's mess hadn't blown up in his face yet.
Just as the boys were starting to get dressed, the door banged open.
Ned Stark strode in, followed by Ser Rodrik Cassel and a dozen household guards. The room went silent instantly. The boys scrambled to stand at attention.
Ned didn't waste time on pleasantries. His face was grim.
"Lads," he said, his voice grave. "You are the future of Winterfell. The King arrives tomorrow, and the castle is vulnerable. Meeting the King is an honor, but security comes first."
He looked around the room, meeting each boy's eyes.
"Starting tonight, I need you to form pairs. You will assist Ser Rodrik in patrolling the perimeter until the Royal party departs."
Ned nodded to Ser Rodrik and stepped back. The Master-at-Arms stepped forward, tugging on his whiskers.
"Alright, you whelps, listen up. No nonsense. Pair up, get your gear, and take ten men each. We're doubling the watch."
Assignments were handed out. Fate, having a sense of humor, paired Jon with Theon.
Theon smirked at Jon, his eyes glinting. The look clearly said: Great. Now we can sneak off to Winter Town while on patrol.
Jon ignored the silent invitation.
He hurried back to his room to armor up. He strapped on his sword belt, checked his dagger, and pulled on his heavy cloak.
His heart was pounding again.
Patrol duty, he thought grimly. Doubling the watch.
Ned said it was for the King's arrival. But Jon knew better. You don't double the watch just for a parade. You do it when you think there's a threat.
Did they find the body? Or did they just find blood?
Either way, the castle was on high alert. Jon had gotten away with murder once today. Now he had to walk the walls all night with Theon Greyjoy, trying to act innocent while the entire garrison hunted for shadows.
The situation hadn't gotten better. It was just a different kind of dangerous.
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