The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 3

As I sat across from Jon in the dimly lit study, the tension between us hung in the air like a thick fog. The shadows danced on the walls, mirroring the storm of emotions brewing within me. I tried to focus on the words in my book, but my mind kept drifting back to that painful morning when he had officially ended things.

Maester Luwin sat next to Jon, prompting him to repeat the names of the great houses and their sigils for revision. His voice was steady, a rhythm I found oddly soothing amidst the chaos of my thoughts. Once Jon finished, Maester Luwin stood up, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. "I'll be back soon. Keep reading your books," he instructed, before disappearing into the corridor.

With the maester gone, I glanced at Jon, his brows furrowed in concentration over his text. The moment his head began to lift, I quickly averted my gaze, feeling the heat creep up my neck. My heart raced as I caught him stealing glances at me, a small part of me hoping he might break the silence first.

The stillness was deafening, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the chair as one of us shifted uncomfortably. I longed to bridge the chasm that had formed between us, to reach out and touch his arm, but fear held me back. What if I opened old wounds that had barely begun to heal?

Surrounded by the books that once brought us joy and laughter, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to mend what felt irreparably broken. For now, we sat in silence, both pretending to be engrossed in our reading, while our hearts silently pleaded for reconciliation.

Then, Jon broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension. "How's your book?" He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine, and my heart raced, thumping loudly in my chest.

"Good. How about yours?" I replied, attempting to sound casual even as my pulse quickened.

"It's about the White Walkers. I got interested after what happened today." He absentmindedly stroked Ghost, his direwolf, who was curled up on his lap, seemingly unfazed by our heavy emotions.

Nodding, I turned my gaze to the flickering flames in the fireplace, the warmth radiating between us like an unspoken bond.

"Song?" Jon's voice drew my attention back to him, and I saw a flicker of sadness shadow his features. "Are we okay?" His words hung in the air, a question wrapped in uncertainty, his eyes searching mine for reassurance.

I felt a lump form in my throat, the weight of his question pressing down on me. How could I promise him something I wasn't entirely sure of myself? But as I gazed into his eyes, I caught a glimmer of hope, a spark that urged me to respond.

"We will be," I whispered softly, my voice barely breaking through the stillness of the night. It was more a declaration of faith than a statement of certainty, but it was all I could offer in that moment.

Jon paused, weighing my words carefully as if searching for any trace of doubt. Then, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and I felt a rush of relief wash over me, mingling with the warmth of the fire and the flickering light of hope that flickered between us.

The door burst open, and Arya stormed into the room like a whirlwind, her excitement palpable as she bounced in, with her pup Nymeria bounding in right behind her. In an instant, Arya lunged at Jon, who was seated in his chair, causing Ghost to leap off his lap in alarm. Jon laughed and playfully pushed Arya away. "Have you heard? Have you heard?" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm.

"No, but it must be something extraordinary to have you in such a frenzy," I replied, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips.

Arya flopped down beside Jon, her grin wide and infectious. "The king is coming to Winterfell!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with glee.

King Robert Baratheon. Just the mention of his name carried a weight that filled the room with awe. Tales of his rebellious past and legendary battles echoed in my mind. Jon and I exchanged startled glances, both of us momentarily stunned by the unexpected news. "Why now?" I asked, turning back to Arya. "He's never visited Winterfell before."