6.2 Broken Realm

The morning was crisp, no rain had fallen the last few days of our journey, and it showed.

Harrenhal felt oppressive, like a dead giant that wasn’t dead just yet. It was as ominous as it was eerie. But, the castle wasn’t the one that was rattling my senses these past days.

The Gods Eye, the largest lake in the realm, grabbed my attention and refused to let go. The blue waters, the fog that clung to them despite the fields around remaining clear, and the island at its center, they all drew me.

I sent Cerati to scout the island, check if something really was there, but the Isle of Faces had a thick forest impeding my sight. I thought to land Cerati, but the moment that idea crossed my mind, I had a hunch that it was a bad idea.

My first time close to the Gods Eye didn’t affect me the way it does now, and I had not the slightest idea why.

The children of the forest conjuring the hammer of the waters; the signing of the Pact that ended the war between the First men and the children; the fight and death of two dragonriders, they all had something in common. They all happened in the Gods Eye.

Moreover, it is said that boats are driven away by sudden windstorms or flocks of ravens. The place had close ties with magic, I was sure.

If I could find my way into the isle, I was certain I would clear great part of the fog clouding the secrets of magic. Skinchanging had proved incredibly useful and terrifying. Sansa’s rescue would have been impossible without it. Learning more magic… I could hardly imagine the limits.

Alas, if there ever was a rule of thumb about magical places somehow calling you, it was that you do not respond. That way lay madness.

The decision made, I ignored the Gods Eye and the Isle of Faces with all my might. It became easier once Harrenhal’s escorts got to us, mostly because they came bearing news of what was waiting for us in the castle.

I sighed, mostly because I could not sigh after entering the castle as it would be deemed improper of a man of my station or some such. A king’s brother couldn’t be seen sighing in public, much less when said brother was the man who took Maidenpool with a diminished army.

I sagged my shoulders just thinking of what Robb had planned as revenge for my tiny little commission of a very normal and simple song.

“It won’t be that bad, Wolfboy,” Dacey said by my side. She would’ve sound more convincing if she wasn’t grimacing herself.

Together with a relatively small retinue, we separated from the rest of the marching army. Even from were I stood, I could hear the festive mood from inside the castle. We had won the war, and Robb made sure to let everyone know.

The rusted gates of the castle groaned as they opened to receive us. I took a breath of fresh air, and put on a mask. Ghost appeared by my side, and nudged my hand for a pat.

Back at the Green Fork I faced a cavalry charge. Fought against bandits and swindled a garrison of knights out of their city. I sneaked my way in and out of King’s Landing… And yet, I hadn’t felt as nervous as I do now.

Some things never change.

Well, then. I creaked my neck. Time to face the music.

The way to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was long enough to bleed some of the nervousness out of me. The messenger was clear, we were to be honored for our achievements by His Grace, as part of the celebrations.

The heavy double doors welcomed our party. The enormous hall had many banners adorning its walls. The Tully trout, the Arryn falcon, the Manderly merman, the Karstark white sunburst, it seemed like most noble houses of the North, the Riverlands and the Vale was present. A multitude of colors and sigils were everywhere in sight, but most prominent of all, was the grey and white direwolf of the Starks.

Numerous long tables filled the hall in rows, each piled high with venison, boar, herring and—to Ghost’s delight—fried chicken. There where many bards and troupes distributed along the hall, and at least half the hearths were lit.

At the high table, my brother sat in the center. His left arm was plastered and bound in a white sling embroidered with a grey direwolf. He looked as if years had passed since the last time I saw him. Gone was the boy who shrank away when he became the center of attention. In his place, sat a man with eyes of ice and steel. His beard had once been thin and barely there, the desperate attempt of a boy who wanted to look like a man but didn’t quite know how, now looked natural. As if he had grown into it instead of it growing into him.

Grey Wind sat next to Robb like a silent guardian. The direwolf was bigger than Ghost, they were supposed to grow as big as a pony, Grey Wind was almost there. There were stories of how he joined in battle with my brother, of how his howls unsettled the enemies before battle. I could see that.

My party went forward to present ourselves to our king. The lords and guests fell silent when they noticed, soon the whole hall fell silent. I could feel the weight of everyone’s gazes on my back. It was awful. Couldn’t they just be… normal or something?

I had to fight my instinct to hasten my steps. I couldn’t be seen as a skittish fool. Even if I was.

I kept my gaze forward and my pace unhurried. As if I was the man of the moment. As if I could shrug off the attention like it was nothing.

Robb stood from his chair, servants moved his table out of the way. He walked forward to meet us, and the entire hall held its breath. God damn it, Robb.

Finally after what felt like two eternities and a half, we stood in front of our king, and with seamless fluidity, we knelt or curtsied all at once.

Three strides and Robb stood before me. He laughed and pulled me to my feet.

“Raise all of you!” he said, embracing me with his good arm. “You slipped into King’s Landing, and somehow I’m the most injured of the two,” he whispered.

“It’s called having a plan Your Grace, you should try it some time,” I whispered back.

Robb eased the hug to huff, amusement and relief in his posture.

“Maybe I should,” he said, and his eyes went hollow for a second.

And then it hit me.

I saw how much he had changed, how he carried himself in public and how much he looked the king he was. Much like myself, he was putting on an act. This utter dutiful piece of hard work and sleepless nights was putting on an act. It was clear from up close, the slight terseness of his posture, the discomfort caused by his crown…

And yet, he was still carrying himself the way a king should. He was bearing the crushing weight of his new kingdom, struggling under it, unsure if he was doing it right, but with a smile all the same.

I turned and saw Robb embracing Lady Stark and our sisters. It was enough to relieve part of the weight from his shoulders.

He returned to his place in front. “The Lannister armies are no more!”

The hall raised their voices in agreement.

“We won the war!” Robb continued. The hall echoed his words. “And yet, a victory in the field would have been empty if my sisters were prisoners still.”

He raised his hand to gesture to our sisters. Sansa raised her gaze, and Arya stood straighter.

“I raised my banners because I refused to accept injustice. I marched south because honor demanded it. I fought Lord Tywin because my lord father would’ve done the same. And I kept fighting because my sisters needed me.”

His gaze swept the hall.

“And I won because of you.”

The hall erupted in cheers.

“The King in the North!”

“The Wolf King.”

“The Red Wolf.”

Robb raised his hand and silence followed.

“We won, and yet, if it weren’t for the people in front of me, my sisters would’ve been hostages still,” he said with absolute authority, daring anyone say otherwise. “Lord Edmure Tully, slayer of the Mountain. He laid siege to Duskendale to pressure the Iron Throne. Few men would’ve dared go so deep into enemy territory. Fewer still would’ve done it while injured. Only one has managed it, and brought his army back without a single loss.”

The hall roared for Lord Tully.

“Edmure the Slayer.”

“Edmure the Clever.”

“Lord Hand, your wisdom is as sharp as your blade. I’m fortunate to have you.”

Lord Edmure nodded satisfied.

“Cersei Lannister,” Robb continued. “Murdered my lord father like a common criminal and refused to return my sisters. She lied when she claimed to have them both, as Lady Arya found her way to Maidenpool all on her lonesome.”

“The Shadow Pup.”

“The Shadow Pup.”

The cheers were a bit more subdued. Robb intentionally didn’t mention the role of Yoren of the Night’s Watch. It annoyed Arya a great deal, but she understood the need to keep that part of the story a secret.

“It was thanks to her, that my brother learned of the way to enter the Red Keep unnoticed,” Robb said, following his story. He then recounted the rescue, he talked about me and my two companions, he didn’t mention how we entered the city, or where we stayed, but he put emphasis on the risks we took, and the difficulty of the task.

“The Iron-Bear”

“The Iron-Bear”

Dacey’s eye twitched at the epithet. If the hall was silent, I would have heard her teeth grinding, I was sure.

“Soon after climbing down the walls,” Robb continued, “tragedy struck when crossbowmen found them. If it weren’t for Ser Perwyn’s bravery, half the group would’ve been lost.”

“Ser Perwyn.”

“Perwyn the Brave.”

Brave they call you, I thought. They don’t know how a mere spider in your tent could make you shriek, my friend.

Guilt still gnawed my insides, but it wasn’t like a heavy chain around my neck anymore. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat to center myself.

“And of course,” Robb said turning to me. “The man who helped me hatch the plan to face Lord Tywin Lannister. The man who lifted the siege on Maidenpool in a single assault. The man who got into King’s Landing and into the Red Keep to save his sister. My brother, the White Wolf.”

“The White Wolf.”

“The White Wolf.”

I could feel Dacey snickering by my side. The crowd chanted for what felt like hours until Robb invited us to sit by his side.

Admittedly, I was out of it for most of what followed. There was a toast for the fallen, Robb thanked the new Lord Karstark for his achievements and praised Rickard and Eddard Karstark for their bravery. Robb also told of Theon Greyjoy’s bravery. There was mention of rewards for all of them, but I wasn’t paying attention.

There was recognition for the most notable commanders and warriors of the campaign. Six? Maybe seven soldiers? Earned themselves a small keep. Among them, one stood out.

Bronn of Hags Mire. “Give the man a rope and climbing spikes, and he’ll open any gate,” Harrion told me.

The new Lord Karstark valued Bronn enough to give him a ‘nice enough keep’ close to Karhold. The Riverlander would marry Harrion’s bastard cousin to bind them in blood. The other soldiers didn’t have marriages lined up for them, but from their faces, they didn’t seem to mind.

Near the end of the banquet, Robb touched on the subject I was most nervous about. Lady Myrcella and Lord Tommen Baratheon became honored guests of house Stark until they could safely return to the Stormlands.

“Robert Baratheon was a brother in all but blood to my lord father, and as such, I offer his children the protection against their father’s enemies.” Robb declared.

A bold declaration that went against Stannis’ claims of incest, while at the same time making clear House Stark didn’t have the intention of taking the Iron Throne on behalf of their ‘honored guests’. In a reasonable world with reasonable actors, it would be enough for almost a decade of uneasy peace. But from what I gleamed of Stannis’ character… well, the last thing to die is hope.

Having the royal Baratheon children wouldn’t make us many friends, that was certain. But when the alternative was to hand them over to a man who would execute them on sight, there was only one choice.

The feast ended and finally, after an unnecessarily long, albeit regal, time, I followed Robb to have a private meeting. The matter at hand was obvious. So, of course my mind conjured a thousand scenarios, each worse than the last.

It got so bad that I had to seal my lips, lest I spout nonsense on the way. Instead, I focused my mind on something curious and innocuous. Perfect to keep my brain from sabotaging me.

Namely, what sort of insane ritual did Robb do to make himself a monster of charisma? The brother I knew was awkward and a little too lost on his own head to charm a room, let alone a hall full of nobility.

I raised my gaze at Robb. We were always of similar height, but now.. his portent, his pace, his authority… It almost felt as if I was looking up when seeing him.

His crown, a bronze circlet with runes of the First Men and surmounted by nine black iron swords, made him look taller, I realized. Even if he had to adjust the crown from time to time, it looked almost natural after a while.

We reached the lord’s solar in the Kingspyre tower, and once the door closed behind us, Robb sagged like a balloon.

“Gods, that was tiring,” Robb said, trudging to the lord’s chair. “I don’t know what I was doing half the time.” He slumped on the chair and sighed. “It was decent right? I almost forgot Myrcella and Tommen back there.”

“It was horrible,” I said, pulling a chair for myself. “House Stark’s reputation is in shambles. Shambles, I say!” I sat and gave him my best shit-eating grin. “By this time next week, Stannis will be laughing himself to tears at how bad you were at the feast.”

“Fuck off, Jon,” Robb said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh? My polite and regal brother using foul language?” I tsked, “how uncouth, how dastardly.”

“You can’t talk like that to your king!” he snarled from his chair.

We locked eyes, and kept silence… for about three seconds.

“Bwahahaha!” we dissolved into laughter.

We had a lot to discuss. Serious things and dangerous things. But for a moment, it was nice to be just two fools laughing at nothing.

The meeting started with lighter topics.

First of all, the circumstances of the Vale. Since the Seven Kingdoms were no more, the Vale was in a unique position. They could join the kingdom of the North and the Trident, which would give Robb more legitimacy; or they could declare themselves for Stannis, which would put us at odds.

From what we knew, Lady Arryn was a mess unfit for regency, and for all intents and purposes Lord Andar Royce was the ‘shadow regent’. He was a cautious and tactful man, not the kind of man to take big risks unless wholly calculated.

So, Robb and I agreed to continue to deepen the economic ties between our kingdoms. That way, they could eventually join Robb’s nascent kingdom with little to no friction. And at the same time, it would discourage the Vale as a whole to join our enemies lest they risk their new stream of gold.

Robb would ask his uncle Edmure to unofficially negotiate on his behalf. Basically, for Lord Edmure to drink and jape with the Vale lords, prodding and poking them for every advantage for Robb to use in the official negotiations. With him at the head of things, I was convinced the Vale would be part of Robb’s kingdom in the next decade.

With that settled, Robb kicked back and with little to no concern for his dear brother looked straight at me and said, “Jon, there’s an interesting betrothal offer…”

That took me by surprise. Those were ominous words.

I cleared my throat. “That’s, uhm, good?”

“Yup, it’s excellent. As far as I know, there’s been only one other marriage since the time of the Conqueror this good.”

I gulped. I knew this day would come since the moment my fool of a brother legitimized me. I thought I would be mentally prepared, but look at me, the mere thought of arranged marriages still manage to make my spine shiver in discomfort.

“That sounds… the kind of betrothal one has to accept.”

“Right?” he said, a little more energetic. “I’m glad to hear that from you.”

I sighed. Alright, fuck it. Arranged marriages will always be weird for me, but… well it sounds like it does give us something big.

I sighed. Again. “Well, then. So w-,” and then I saw the half smirk on my brother’s face. Motherfu—

“Because Lord Edmure already agreed,” he wisely interrupted me before I rose to strangle him. “Lord Lefford saw reason and offered his heir, the Lady Alyssane Lefford, in marriage.”

I hissed through my teeth. Who was the fool who taught this idiot to be a prankster? …Oh right. I know him, it was me.

“Alright, so we get an ally on the Westerlands, and Lord Tully’s blood will rule the Golden Tooth. I fail to see how this union can be compared to Orys Baratheon getting the Stormlands.”

Robb sent me a smug smile. “Because, Lefford lands become part of the Riverlands in perpetuity.”

Shit.

“Shit, indeed,” Robb said.

Gods, the news shocked me into thinking with my mouth.

In his chair, Robb looked way too pleased at having me on the back foot for once. Well, I guess it had to happen once.

I sighed dramatically. “Fiiine. You win this time, Stark.”

“I know,” he said, smugness oozing out of him.

We take a little break while Robb organized the parchment on his desk.

The Riverlands will get its own fortress on the only real road to the Westerlands. It would make most invasions from the west impossible, or as close to impossible as it could get.

And not only that, a lord of the Westerlands seceding his lands in favor of the new kingdom grants my brother a great deal of legitimacy. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few more lords follow Lord Lefford’s example in the coming years.

“Hey, Jon,” Robb said softly. “You know I wouldn’t negotiate a betrothal in your name, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that—” a crown changes men. A king is responsible for all of his people. A king can’t value the individual over the whole. “—I really, really hate when people tell me what to do.”

“And you hate arranged marriages,” he said. “With passion.”

I raised an eyebrow.

And received another raised eyebrow in response.

Alright, fine. “Yes, I hate the whole concept.” My skin crawls at the thought of arranging a marriage for a child. “Was it that obvious?”

“Jon, oh sweet brother-oh-mine, you can’t lie. Your face is an open book.”

“That’s not true,” I defended myself. “I tricked the Foote knight at Maidenpool.”

Robb tilted his head. “You told him you’d attack at the third morning, and you attacked at the third morning.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I have no doubt you were giddy and smug when you talked to Ser Phillip Foote. But you didn’t lie, did you?”

“No, but—”

“Then tell me a lie, right now.”

“The sky is red.”

I could almost hear crickets.

“See?” Robb said. “You can trick people, and hide things from them, but outright lie? No, that’s not who you are, Jon.”

This was a little odd, why go on and on about—

Robb produced parchment from under the desk, and my breathing stilled.

“Depending on your answer to my next question, I may need to apologize,” Robb said, confusing me more with every word. “Cersei’s letter—”

Really?. “False, obviously.”

Robb let out a deep sigh. “Please, let me finish,” he separated a parchment, and passed it to me, “That, is the letter I got once I returned to Riverrun.”

Confused, I took the parchment from his hand…

“Uncle Benjen?”

“Aye,” he said nothing else.

My eyes skimmed the letter, until I found the relevant part. It took me a couple of heartbeats to understand why Robb had given me the letter as if it would explain everything. And when I did, my blood ran cold.

“I guess,” Robb said, his words coming slowly, “I owe you an apology.”

Part of the dread pooling in my stomach vanished at his words.

“What?” I said, not masking my confusion in any way.

“Well,” he said, looking for the correct words to keep going, “the Seven Kingdoms are no more, and Stannis Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne… And well, I am king…” He finished sheepishly.

Uncle Benjen’s letter didn’t outright confirm Cersei’s claims, no one was stupid enough to confirm such a thing over a letter, and I was glad my uncle had enough tact to not do that either. The letter talked a little about Lyanna Stark and Harrenhal. The only notorious thing about the letter, was that it didn’t deny Cersei’s.

And that was enough. An admission, but only for the people who knew him.

My father was a rapist. My brain supplied out of nowhere.

I couldn’t deny it anymore. I couldn’t hide behind calling it the mad ravings of a desperate woman brought low.

My father raped my mother.

Harrenhal. The queen of love and beauty. An idiotic prince going for a teen closer to her tens than to her twenties.

My father was a rapist.

Uncle Brandon captured. Rickard Stark roasted in his armor. War.

My father raped my mother.

Fath-, Eddard Stark raising the North. The war devastating the Riverlands. The fucking prince appears, and dies on the Trident.

My father was a rapist.

King’s Landing. The Mountain and Lorch climb Maegor’s Holdfast’s walls… and kill… my siblings.

MY FATHER RAPED MY MOTHER.

“Listen,” Robb said, pulling me out of my head, “I didn’t know, but since we are here already, we can march south—”

“No!” I said more aggressively than intended. I took a breath. I had to push everything down and stop Robb from doing something stupid. “Fuck the Iron Throne. I’m a royal bastard at best. Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell.”

“According to Cerse—”

“Fuck Cersei!”

My hands throbbed and I was standing at the table, palms pressed against the wood. I didn’t realize I’d moved.

I closed my eyes. “Robb,” I said, and collapsed into my chair, “I’m no heir of Rhaegar. Fath- Lord Stark raised me in Winterfell, and I-I liked being Jon Snow, and I’m just beginning to like being Jon Stark…”

“I understand,” Robb said placatingly. “Sorry for ever bringing it up.”

“It’s fine.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring grin. “As long as you understand.”

Silence fell over us.

I hated it.

Silence meant my brain could be stupid and keep going round and round over something I didn’t want to think about.

Robb deflated into his chair with a long sigh. “I guess I can’t swindle myself out of this crown then.”

I knew what he was doing.

“Nope, that crown’s for life, Stark.”

And for trying to fill the silence, I thanked him.

“Well, then,” Robb said. “As you so eloquently said sweet brother, fuck the Iron Throne.”

He took the letters and put them away.

“Since we solved that,” Robb gave me a look asking for permission to continue. I nodded. “We have another related matter at hand.”

I tilted my head. What else could it be?

Robb produced another parchment from his desk. “There’s another letter.”

Of fucking course there was.

A/N: *sigh, I’m not happy with this chapter. Feels weird, but my mental image of the first half fought against the words I used to describe it. At some point I just went “f it, things are better finished than perfect.”

Let me know if Robb’s speech(?) felt good to read. I mean if it flowed while you read it. And if not, please tell me what made it ‘not-flowing’ (maybe you would’ve liked closer without actions in-between, maybe felt some words where out of place, maybe have the actions but have the dialogue ‘tighter’, maybe something else). I’d be very thankful.

So, new epithets, tell me if you liked them, or if you didn’t like them (If I hear some epithet I like more, I’ll edit the chapter)

Give me your comments! (◑‿◐)