Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Chapter 32: Honor not Honors
"I've seen knights far less worthy."
– Ser Brynden Tully
There was nothing's more like to bring a Lannister running than a threat to his gold. By night, the Crag was arguably the smallest of the castles they had taken so far; with Ashemark falling merely days prior and Lord Marbrand their captive – it was also the poorest – not counting the ruins that were Castamere, though even there was richer, for Tywin Lannister had kept the mines of House Reyne to himself… so one supposed that by now the debt of those dead men had been paid tenfold…
The silver and gold there was bountiful. There were no bones of drowned lions though, it seemed Tywin had thrown those into the sea long ago.
Jon Snow wondered, if the Reyne's could see them now; would they cheer them on? Or would they curse them as rebels?
"Are you ready?" The voice of his brother gripped him from thought.
The Crag stood in the distance, under a starry clear night sky lit by moonlight; the castle walls perched atop a hillside.
"Ready as ever," Jon answered quietly, stroking Ghost's fur for comfort.
"It's just another castle brother," Robb was confident as ever. They'd already taken several of them after all.
The plan was a simple one, as Jon eyed the left flank where the shadowy figures of Black Walder Frey's men could barely be seen, with their ladders; ready to sneak up the side of the castle while the Greatjon Umber did the same to the right flank – all while Robb lead the bulk of their forces up the centre with a ram.
The garrison knew they were coming. The archers on their walls and the torches they lit laid ahead, waiting for them to enter range.
"Keep your head down," Robb began his usual talk. "And-"
"-your shield up." Jon smirked at him. "I know, I know."
"Am I so predictable?" Robb chuckled at that before pulling down the visor on his helmet.
"A far cry from Tywin," came the reply in jest. Jon pulled down his own visor as a show of his readiness.
"With me then brother," Robb nodded, then drew his steel up high.
"WINTERFELL!" Jon shouted, drawing his steel.
"FORWARD LADS!" Robb gave the command, pointing his blade up towards the castle gates.
The ram began to move then as the northmen chanted their war cries, moving the ram inch by inch; manned by ten of their strongest men – relatively small as the ram was, for such a small castle; but the Crag rested atop a steep hillside and pushing a giant battering ram up it would prove a challenge under arrow fire.
Jon kept his shield up as they entered range of the enemy archers, raining down volley after volley onto their heads.
Robb had ordered great barriers crudely crafted that would aid them, although lofty; they provided shelter as his troops moved up the hill.
"BRACE!" The shout came too late for some.
It handed with a CRASH and sent several northmen flying.
"They have a catapult," Jon muttered in disbelief. "Damn it…"
"Keep moving!" Robb ordered as he moved to rally those struck. "Spread out lads, keep your shields up!"
The formation spread as ordered, as once in a while a chuck of rock was tossed in their direction – though none neared them, some were unlucky.
"Frey has made it," Jon muttered aloud as they advanced.
Black Walder's ladders had met the walls first. Umber's wouldn't be far behind…
"FASTER!" Came the immediate scream from the right. "DON'T LET THOSE FREY BASTARDS BEAT US TO IT!"
It was the Greatjon, of that there could be no doubt; his voice rang out across the whole battlefield so much that Jon doubted anything hadn't heard him.
"Hey, Snow!" Theon's voice grabbed his attention as Jon took cover behind over of the barricades.
"Greyjoy," Jon nodded to the man.
War had a funny way of somewhat lessening Jon's hate for the cocky kraken.
"Try not to die, would ya?" Theon continued with a smirk. "I've good money on you!"
Then again, there were still reasons to dislike the arrogant fool. Some things never change.
"Piss of Greyjoy," Jon said with a smirk on his lips as one arrow landed with a THUNK on his shield.
"Close one," Theon uttered, eyeing the shaft of the arrow; perhaps an inch from Jon's face.
"Aye," Jon chuckled nervously.
"Good thing Lannisters are shit with bows!"
Trust the kraken to crack jokes in the middle of a siege.
"We're almost there!" Robb was heard shouting out. It was his lords voice, Jon knew, it carried across the chaos of battle as easily as a raven flew.
The Crag looked bigger as they drew closer – or so it appeared – there wasn't half as many archers on the walls as they originally thought. Some weren't moving. Strawmen, Jon thought with a scowl, doubtless the Westerlings had known they were coming and prepared for exactly this. Proud fools.
"Take the ram to the-"
Robb's voice halted suddenly.
"HE'S HIT!" Another's voice called out in a panic.
"Robb?" Jon thought, darting up from the barricade in a heartbeat without thought.
"SNOW!" Theon called out to him as he sprinted over the lines, uncaring for the dangers.
One arrow hissed past him as he ran, then another before he finally reached his brother; fallen on the hill with shields surrounding him.
"Jon," Robb looked to him, scowling. "You're supposed to be-"
"Is it bad?" Jon asked his brothers guard, looking to Dacey Mormont who held him in her arms.
"No," She answered as arrows continued to THUD against the shields that covered them. "It's-"
"-nothing," Robb snapped at them. "It's just my shoulder. I can still fight, it's-"
Robb yelped when Dacey touched the arrow shaft, frowning at his respond.
"Ye can't fight like this," she scolded him. "Don't be stupid lad!"
THUD and THUD as arrows pelted their shields. One found a gap and hit a soldier's flesh, but he stood firm.
"Take him," Jon told her, looking to the squire Olyvar. "Back to the camp, now!"
"Jon-" Robb tried to argue against it.
"No," He refused. "You know I'm right."
For a moment, he was afraid his brother would refuse him.
"Torrhen," Robb looked to the man. "Jon has the command..."
The Karstark hesitated for a moment but nodded. "Aye, my lord."
At that, Jon picked up Robb's shield and bellowed his orders; as the field had grown gloomier.
"ROBB LIVES!" He'd declared first, to dismiss the men's worse fears. "ON ME, FOR THE NORTH!"
Jon charged, without thinking; truly – as Greywind and Ghost followed on his heels – he charged for the ram at the Crag's gates and found himself accompanied by Robb's guard, except for Lady Mormont and the Frey squire. "HEAVE!" He shouted, and the ram smashed against the gates with a mighty crash.
Again and again it crashed, until the ram smashed through the front gate, splintering wood and bending iron to the cheers of exhausted and battered soldier's. While the men moved the ram to allow a charge, it was Jon who vaulted over the corpses killed by arrow fire and charged through the gate with his brother's shield raised and blade at the ready. Ghost and Greywind followed closely, beside Robb's guard, crying "Stark!" and "Winterfell!" as they went through the breach.
The Westerling men drew back in the courtyard, as men always did at the sight of what must have seemed like certain defeat, sword raised now with his face hidden behind a slit helmet; Jon Snow charged forward and danced with steel, cutting down man after man with ease as men fought on the ramparts above via their ladders…
The defenders were clutching swords and spears and axes, but nine of ten wore only mail, those stragglers not engaged with Jon or his brother's guard were earning crossbow bolts from those few on the ramparts that had stopped to take aim on instruction. Jon was breathing heavily, removing his now wet blade from the neck of a man who turned to hear the cries of his fellows at just the wrong moment. Jon had taken full advantage and failed to hesitate, just as he'd been taught.
"Get him!" one man shouted, a Westerling men-at-arms by the look of him. "Kill the Stark!"
Jon turned to see three men close the rear, having found a gap in the wall of steel by overpowering one man who's face Jon didn't know. He side-stepped to dodge the first strike, cutting clean through the shaft of the spear and then the wielders throat with a back swing. The second cried out at the loss of his brother-in-arms, raising an ugly warhammer high. Jon held up his brothers shield to block the blow, the force sending him to the dirt and his blade clanging across the yard.
Wide-eyed, he watched as the hammer fell, rolling to the side as it came aiming to crush his skull like a ripe melon.
"Honor before Hon-" The man screamed as a grey blur leapt onto him, teeth ripping into flesh as Greywind tore out the knight's throat.
"To your feet Snow!" Ser Brynden's voice demanded his attention, with a sword that dripped red. The Blackfish offered his hand without a word.
"Thank you-" Jon moved to say, now on his feet and breathing heavily.
"It's not over yet lad," Tully dismissed, catching his breath and looking around the castle grounds
The courtyard was littered with bodies, four for every man of theirs. The ramparts seemed clear at a glance as Jon noted that many had not fallen to the sword, but to the fall itself, being pushed over the side; some alive but crippled from the drop. Another wave of men rushed through the gatehouse behind them to fight.
From all sides they converged around them now, with steel in their hands and victory in their hearts. The day seemed won.
"STARK!" A voice snapped Jon's attention to the main keep doors as they swung open to reveal a knight in a sand-coloured surcoat blazoned with seashells, with some twenty heavily armoured knights that wasted no time charging in some last foolish attempt, hoping to win some bitter victory by removing the army's commander.
Jon plunged his blade through the first man's visor in a heartbeat, slicing into the skull within it all too easily.
Another second charged with spear but in one swift motion Jon danced to the side and punched his pummel into the man's helm, leaving him stunned enough for a nearby man-at-arms to swing a large warhammer into the fool's chest that sent him flying into the dirt. Ribs shattered, choking on his own blood.
A third, blinded by panic, tried to slice at Jon's back, causing steel to swipe harmlessly across his plate. No blood, thank the gods…
It was Ser Brynden to fell the third after his failed attempt, driving steel into the panicked man's back and out through his chest. While he dropped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings Jon Snow was moving through one man to the next, painting a crimson picture in lion's blood.
The Seashell Knight's surcoat was covered in blood by now too, but he was a Westerling, that much seemed clear.
"Surrender," Jon snarled at the knight from beneath his helm. "You've lost!"
"Never!" The Westerling shouted, swinging his longsword wildly at those surrounding him now. "Never!" He repeated. "You'll never take my home, do you hear me Stark?!" The man fell to his knees with a cry as a Blackwood man drove his tipped spear through the back of Westerling's thigh.
"It's over," Jon told the man, lowering his bloodied sword and catching his bated breath.
"No," Westerling growled through his pain like a wounded beast. "Never over, not until-"
"Brother!" A call came from the keep as a boy that seemed barely eight rushed out and knelt by the wounded knight.
"Stupid boy!" Westerling snarled through gritted teeth. "I told you to stay in-"
"Mercy!" The boy begged, looking to Jon with a pleading expression. "P- Please, Lord Stark!"
Jon felt pity for the boy, who begged up at him from the courtyard floor with wide eyes.
"And you are?" He asked for a name, wanting to know the boy.
"Nobody!" Westerling spat at him. "Just a-"
"Rollam!" A woman's voice answered, rushing out into the courtyard.
She rushed past swords and spears for her sons, to grab the young Rollam Westerling.
"Mercy, my Lord!" She begged him. "We surrender, I swear it on the gods!"
"M- Mother," the wounded knight snarled.
"Hush, foolish boy," she scolded her son. "This is over!"
"I accept your surrender," Jon told her in his best lordly voice. "Lady…"
"Sybell," she answered. "I am Lady Sybell Westerling, if it pleases you – Lord Stark…"
Now there was the awkward part. She'd mistaken him for his brother, it seemed…
"Forgive me, Lady Sybell," Jon sheeted his sword and removed his helm. "Robb Stark is my brother; my name is Jon Snow."
"S- Snow!?" The bite of anger came from the wounded Westerling. Bested by a bastard. The shame of it.
"I see," The Lady was more collected. "We are at your brother's mercy then, Jon Snow…"
"Fetch your maester for the boy," The Blackfish told her then. "Lord Stark is wounded; I trust you have room for him?"
Lady Sybell seemed to take a moment, wheels turning in her mind before she agreed. "Yes, of course, we'd be happy to…"
Jon watched as the wounded knight was led away and the lady of the house was busy whispering gods know what in his ear. A scolding, if Jon had to guess; it seemed the most likely case for risking his life as he did. The yard was filled with their men now, as the Westerling banners were taken down from the castle walls.
In their place they raised the direwolf of House Stark. Jon had seen the sight numerous times now, but it had yet to grow old…
"Snow," the Blackfish called his name, eyeing him intently as Ghost came padding up all covered in blood.
"Ser Brynden?" Jon looked to the old knight as he watched Greywind walk up beside him.
"You did well," Tully said, looking at him oddly.
"I-" Jon fought his surprise at the praise. "Thank you, Se-"
"I wasn't finished," he continued. "When we first met, I saw you as little but a stain on my nieces honor; a bastard boy – from what I'd heard."
The Blackfish had never treated him differently than he'd treated any of Robb's men, but one supposed Lady Catelyn hadn't ever spoken kindly of him to her kin.
"Lady Stark-" Jon began, frowning as the whole courtyard looked to him.
"-but I was wrong."
Wrong? Jon wasn't sure what to say…
"At Riverrun, I saw you fighting beside your brother; then again at Oxcross you proved yourself… and yet again at Ashemark… and now here too, where you rushed like a damn fool across a battlefield to check on your wounded brother before taking the lead and storming this castle in his name."
"You honor me, Ser-"
"Still not finished boy," the Blackfish scolded him half-heartedly. "Lastly, you bested that Seashell Knight and fought with honor…"
Jon looked around then, to see the faces of those gathered. Karstark, Mormont, Umber, Blackwood, Manderly – none seemed to argue with the old knight.
"Kneel boy," came the words after a moment's peace.
"I don't understand…"
"Did I stutter?" Ser Brynden raised a brow in mock question. "Take a knee, Snow."
Ghost licked at his palm. It was an action that snapped him to reality as he knelt, with Greywind watching intently.
"Jon Snow of the House Stark," the Blackfish began as the yard fell silent. "In the name of the gods, I charge you to be brave in the face of your enemies…"
His sword – still bloodied from battle – moved from one shoulder to the other as he spoke.
"I charge you to be just, to speak the truth always; even if it leads to your death…"
They weren't the words spoken for andal knights; Jon knew… but then he wasn't a follower of the Seven…
"I charge you to safeguard your family, uphold your duty, and to do no wrong…"
The sword moved again, and a droplet of blood fell from the blade onto Jon's shoulder.
"This is your oath," the Blackfish looked down at him. "And this is so you remember it…"
The slap came in an instant, striking Jon across the cheek with enough force to stagger him.
"Rise now Ser Jon," Brynden bid him, lowering his bloodied sword. "Knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
And with those words, Ser Jon rose; feeling as if the world had suddenly grown ten times as heavier.
He had no words as the yard erupted into clapping and cheers of "Ser Jon!" and "The Whitewolf!"
"Well done lad!" Ser Wendel Manderly clasped him on the shoulder first. "A great honor!"
"Well earned Snow," Torrhen Karstark offered with a mere nod.
"They'll make anyone knights these days huh, Ser Snow?"
Theon's jest was oddly comforting… at least some things hadn't changed…
"I'm not worthy," Jon muttered then, quiet enough that only the Blackfish heard him.
"I've seen knights far less worthy," he told him sternly. "Or are you questioning my decision, Ser?"
"No," Jon shook his head frantically. "Not at all, I'm hon-"
"I'm just screwing with you lad," Ser Brynden chuckled at his own joke.
Those who passed him by offered their congratulations too, in words or mere gesture; but none seemed so happy as Greywind.
"You okay boy?" Jon looked to the wolf, its fur matted with blood and tail wagging.
Greywind looked at him with more intelligence than any wolf had business having…
"Cheer up Snow," the voice of Qrow Ryder snapped him back to reality again. The man was one of the few men in Prince Willam's retinue that hadn't gone east with the Prince, to the whispers of many – for it was said that he'd fallen out of favour – with the Prince or with Lady Amber… or both…
"I-" Jon hummed, finding his hands stroking Ghost's fur. "It's nothing, just…"
"Can't say I give a shit about that knightly nonsense," Ryder shrugged uncaringly. "Andal nonsense, if you ask me, but you fought well lad."
"Thank you," Jon answered him with a smile.
"Ser Jon has a fine ring to it too, doesn't it?"
"Aye," that he could agree with easily, as a smile grew.
"Ser Jon Whitewolf!" Qrow declared loudly, all smiles himself. "Whitestark? Redstark, maybe; for all the damn blood?"
It was customary for knights of 'low' birth to take names for themselves, but only one name came to his thoughts. He already had a name, after all…
"So," Ryder pried with a nudge. "What's it to be, Ser Jon?"
"Targaryen," the name echoed in his mind, but he dared not voice it aloud.
"I don't know yet," Jon decided to answer. He'd avoided the question this long and it was easier to keep avoiding it… to keep things the same…
Although, his thoughts wandered then, would anything ever truly be the same? It seemed more and more like the dream of a foolish child than reality.
"Well then," Ryder shrugged at him. "No rush, eh? Maybe another castle or two sieged and it'll hit ya!"
"Maybe," Jon laughed bitterly at that thought as Ryder moved towards the hall with Greywind on his heels.
"See you inside lad," Qrow walked waved as he walked away cheerfully.
Who was he, exactly? Snow, Stark, Targaryen? Something else?
Ser Jon wasn't quite sure of the answer to that anymore.
The Westerlings were an ancient and proud house descended from the First Men of the Age of Heroes, but one wouldn't have been able to tell it from their holdings; seated at the high table with their Lady and her sons – flanked by banners of seashells and sand – Jon felt far too many eyes on him for comfort. In the ancient days, they held more power and influence, but it had shrunk over the years; selling land and mines to pay their debts to Casterly Rock and others.
It was showed in the food too, siege or no siege; the servings of tough beef with stale bread and smoked fish were a far cry from nobility.
"Ser Jon," Lady Sybell was quite the talker, he'd quickly found. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your knighthood."
"The one I got defeating your son and taking your castle," Jon thought silently as he chewed his cut of pork.
"Thank you, my Lady," he opted for instead. Honeyed words. "Your son fought well."
"Oh yes," she smiled at him sweetly. "My boys are quite brave you see."
"I've no doubt," Jon told her, eyes darting around the room.
Gods, where was Robb when you needed him? Still recovering sadly…
A faint "Hmpf" came from Ser Raynald and Jon pretended to not hear it, nor see the glare Lady Sybell sent her son.
"How are you enjoying the feast?" The woman pried at him.
"It is…" Jon searched for the right words. "Pleasant, my lady; the fish especially."
"Oh you flatter us Ser!" Sybell was all smiles, fake and honied; Jon could tell. Willam had taught him well enough to know a false smile.
It was a lie too on his part, the fish was a far cry from those he'd tasted at Riverrun; but it wouldn't do to insult your hosts… although… they were hardly their hosts so much as they were captives. "You fought well yourself," Ser Raynald said extremely reluctantly. That it pained him to admit was all too obvious.
Jon merely nodded at the knight. His leg had healed well, he was told; though the man still boasted a fine limp.
"A stark reminder!" The Greatjon had called it. Oh, how he'd laughed at that jest…
Looking out at the hall Jon could spy the Lord of Last Hearth drinking and making merry with the Karstarks and the Mormonts, thick as thieves as they were – while the Riverlords largely kept together, separate from the northmen… with the exception of the Blackwoods who seemed more at home with the northmen…
The girl was missing though. She'd missed supper too, where the Westerlings had invited him to a more private feast earlier in the morning.
"Where is the Lady Jeyne?" He asked, rather boldly; but uncaring. These were his brother's captives for god's sake… not the other way around…
"Oh," Lady Sybell feigned surprise at the question, as if he hadn't asked it once before. "She is assisting to the care of your lord brother Ser."
"Is she now? Still?" Jon wondered in quiet, one brow raised in obvious questioning.
"My dear has quite skilled hands you see," The Lady was smiling, with something hidden behind her eyes.
"I'm sure," Jon answered with the best impression of Will's smile that he could muster.
"My sister is well versed in the healing arts," Ser Raynald butted in there, the words tasting foul to the knight.
"Perhaps her skills would be put to better use on your own men then," Jon mused aloud, taking another bite of pork.
"Nonsense my boy," the Lady practically giggled her reply. "The wound was our doing, allow us to remedy it! We insist!"
Never before had captives been so eager to 'please' their captors. Jon didn't trust them, not even for a damn second.
"Gods," he cursed in his thoughts suddenly. "I'm becoming Willam…"
Jon put down his knife at that, getting up from his chair without a word.
"I- Is something wrong?" Lady Sybell asked him quickly, a spark of worry in her eyes.
"No," Jon denied with his best false smile. He was getting good at it. "I mean to check on my beloved brother, my Lady."
"My sister is quite capable of-"
"I shall give the Lady Jeyne your regards," Jon walked away at that without another word.
The guards nodded at him as he passed them by, with Ghost on his heels; licking his chops happily.
"The Greatjon been spoiling you again boy?"
Ghost's tail was wagging absently, eyes avoiding his masters.
"You'll get fat," Jon scolded the wolf as they walked, but the beast didn't seem to care.
Robb's room was on the upper floor of the castle, in the Lords chambers that would've belonged to Gawen Westerling… if he wasn't currently in a cell in Seagard…
Up the stairs, a short walk and a few turns down the corridors until he came across the lord's chambers, with two men standing vigil.
"Ser Snow," one of them greeted him with a nod.
"I'm here to see my brother," Jon told them the obvious, as Ghost pawed at the door.
"Aye, um-"
"It's just that well-"
"Is there a problem?" Jon looked at them, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
"No!" The guard denied quickly, then hushed his voice. "Tis just well, his lordship is with the Westerling girl and we-"
"Stand aside," Jon spoke in his most lordly voice, trying desperately to mimic Ned Stark.
The guards looked to each other for a moment but relented; stepping aside for him to pass.
"Robb?" Jon moved to knock on the door then.
It opened though before he could reach, as a young woman with curly chestnut hair bumped straight into his chest.
"I- I'm sorry," she mumbled though sobs, eyes downcast as she brushed past him in a hurry and ran down the hall.
That had been Lady Jeyne, he knew; not an unattractive woman in his opinion… and there in lay the issue…
"Jon," his brothers voice called out to him. "Come in…"
Robb was abed still, slumped up on some pillows with bandages over his shoulder.
"The girl," Jon asked as he closed the door behind him.
"It doesn't matter," Robb said with a deep frown. "Read this..."
The letter was sealed with hard blue wax, the red fish of Tully was broken.
"Greyjoys," Jon spoke the name with a renewed hatred. "What the hell are they doing!?"
"Keep reading," Robb insisted with a snarl. "It gets worse…"
"Moat Cailin… Deepwood… by the gods…"
"The men will call for Theon's head," Robb spoke his fears, for the kraken was his friend.
"I-" Jon might've jumped at the chance to slander the prick months ago, but not now; it seemed too childish. "He's fought well…"
Robb laughed at that. "You're defending him now? You brother, of all people!?"
"Don't make me change my mind," Jon smirked slightly. "Still, it's true enough; nobody can deny him it – nor would his head change things."
"The bastards," Robb growled then, groaning as a shot a pain stabbed at his wound.
"We'll make them pay," was all that came to mind. The Ironborn would never hold the North, Jon knew that, as did nearly all of Westeros.
"What in the seven hells is Balon thinking?" Robb scowled at the news, trying to wrap his ahead around it. "The West is ripe for the taking, while the North offers him nothing but snow and furs – all while his stupidity does nothing but help the damn Lannisters! He'll never hold the fucking North, the blind fool!"
Ghost whined at that. "It changes nothing," Jon insisted after a brief moment. "They'll never hold the North, you said it yourself…"
"If only I'd sent Theon home, maybe he could've-"
"He'd be a hostage in his own home," Jon countered easily. "Or worse, he'd fight for his blood…"
"He's loyal, Jon – you were defending him a moment ago!"
"He's still a Greyjoy," Jon pushed. "It's his family that-"
"And you're a Tar-" Robb near snapped at him, barely catching himself in time.
Jon frowned at his brother as Greywind stirred at the foot of the bed. The guards were still outside.
"I- I'm sorry," Robb leaded back into the pillows. "Gods, how has it come to this?"
"We'll handle it," Jon stepped closer to the bedside as he read over the letter once more, as if the words would change.
"So confident," Robb huffed, only to groan as his shoulder bit at him. "Perhaps I should stay abed, and you should be lord?"
"Gods no," Jon growled at that idea. "Do you have any clue how awkward it is, with these Westerlings? I need you down there, brother…"
"Jeyne wasn't so bad…"
"Oh I'll bet she wasn't."
"It's not like that," Robb denied quickly, blushing redder than his hair.
"Isn't it? Her mother hasn't stopped praising the girls many talents since we took her castle."
"She tried…" Robb seemed to dig through the fresh memory. "I think she tried to kiss me… when the news came…"
Jon didn't quite know what to say about that. It wasn't exactly surprising though.
"You're betrothed," he opted on reminding his brother bluntly.
"I know that," Robb scoffed, frowning at the thought of a Frey bride.
"I don't trust em," Jon revealed with a fold of his arms.
"No," his brother sighed. "She… you're right Jon…"
"What?" Jon smirked wide. "I didn't quite catch that, could you repeat it?"
"Piss off," Robb Stark laughed, feeling as if the act had lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders.
A knock came at the door then as an elderly voice greeted them. The man did not wait for an answer, pushing open the door as he pleased.
"Maester," Robb knew him, though he didn't seem too pleased by the sight of him.
"Lord Stark, I have-" The Maester saw him then. "Ser Jon…"
"Maester," Jon eyed the Westerling Maester but said little as Ghost growled at the man.
"I-" The man faltered at sight of the silent growl.
"Did you have something for my brother?"
"I- Um-" The Maester shook himself from his fear. "More milk of the poppy for-"
"He seems well enough to me," Jon countered with a raised brow, hand absently on the pommel of his sword.
"Lady Wester-"
"Robb," Jon looked to his brother then. "Can you walk?"
He gave a nod. "Well enough, the wound has healed, and my head is clearer..."
The Maester disagreed heatedly. "My Lord, I must protest; while it may appear to the untrained eye that the wound has healed – there is still much danger of internal bleeding! You must remain abed for now… has the Lady Jeyne not seen to the distribution of-"
"The Lady Jeyne is away," Jon frowned at the man. "As will my brother be…"
Robb had managed to sit up on the bed, his legs not quite as strong as he'd like.
"Are you certain?" Jon doubted briefly at the sight of him…
"Aye," Robb gave a nod, moving his arm slightly. "It's sore, but I'm well enough."
"I must insist that-"
"Who do you serve, Maester?"
"I-" The man looked at Jon as if he'd grown a tail. "I serve the lord of this house…"
"And who is that?" Jon pried, stroking Ghost's ears to calm him. "My brother has taken this castle, has he not?"
"He-" for a moment the old man thought to argue with the foolish bastard of a traitor. He didn't think long though.
"I'll be quite fine Maester," Robb told him sternly before Ghost would bite. "You're dismissed for now, with my thanks…"
The old Maester seemed insulted, frowning, he muttered "My Lord" before hastily taking his leave of the room.
Lady Sybell wanted his brother abed, of that Jon thought was too obvious; among other things she clearly wanted – the woman and her plain ambitions put a bad taste in his mouth that threatened to make him gag. And… why did Robb have a shit-eating grin on his face that would've looked more at home on Theon?
"What?" Jon frowned at his brother's look. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Robb chuckled briefly as he stood up, flexing his muscles and finding them too stiff from disuse.
"What is it then," Jon pried a little, watching as Greywind jumped off the bed lazily.
"You reminded me of father is all," came the answer with a wide smile. "You're using his Lords Voice and everything."
Jon huffed at that. "Someone had to talk to these prissy southerners while you were napping, brother..."
"Aye," Robb laughed and found the action irritated his shoulder. "Gods, lend me a hand, would you?"
"Always," Jon gladly let his brother lean on him as they left the chambers.
The guards followed at their heels, falling in behind like shadows on constant watch.
In the grand hall – though it wasn't so grand – the Northmen greeted them with cheers as their liege entered.
"Lord Robb!" The Greatjon was the first to see them, raising his tankard of mead up and directing every eye onto them.
"The Young Wolf!" Another called out as the brothers moved towards the far end of the hall.
"White Wolf!" Another toasted, raising their cups. "Ser Jon!" and "Winterfell!" and "Stark!" joined the chorus.
Robb wouldn't tell them of the Greyjoys this night, he decided as Jon led him to the high seat; where Lady Sybell whispered in his ear and the Lady Jeyne shied away in embarrassment. Tonight was for celebrating – at the Westerlings expense – so bad news would wait till tomorrow. This war was far from over.
My Note(s): Jon Snow is knighted by the Blackfish, a choice that took some thought – but ultimately despite his birth I don't believe Brynden Tully would've held Jon's birth against him after a good number of battles and sieges where Jon has shown his worth; not to mention he's seen how close Robb and Jon are and how trustworthy the boy is – coupled with his skill in battle. As one of the few knights in Robb's service, it seemed fitting; even with the Blackfish changing up the vows for Jon as he isn't a follower of the Seven. That'll doubtless make some pious idiots claim he isn't a "true" knight, but hey, fuck the Faith. Ain't no Northmen going to care about the change.
This wasn't a difficult decision to make, ultimately. Jon has fought at Riverrun, Oxcross, Ashemark and the Crag and was instrumental in more than one battle.
Tellemicus: Bolton's Betrayal huh? So certain of that, are we? :P You'll have to wait and see, no spoilers…
Wolftamer96: I did aim to make the atmosphere fairly ominous with Roose, mostly to put the fear into my original readers hahaha.