The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 9

Robb Stark

The mess hall is dimly lit, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. I sit next to Jon at one of the long wooden tables, surrounded by his close friends—Sam, Pyp, and Grenn. Sam is hunched over, his round face drawn with worry, while Grenn paces restlessly back and forth, his heavy boots thudding against the cold floor. The topic of conversation is as grim as the atmosphere—Wildlings.

The threat of the Wildlings has always been something I've known about living in Winterfell, whispered tales of savagery passed down through the years. But sitting here, the gravity of the situation feels more real than ever before. The danger is no longer a distant tale; it's on my doorstep.

Sam's voice, usually soft, is laced with guilt as he speaks. "I should never have left her there." His eyes are downcast, and I remember him mentioning a girl named Gilly. She's been on his mind constantly.

"You couldn't have known," Jon says, his tone comforting but firm, trying to ease Sam's burden.

Sam shakes his head, his expression pained. "Of course I could have known. They've been raiding the villages close by. It was only a matter of time."

Grenn, who hasn't stopped pacing, suddenly stops and turns to face us. "And we just cower in here while they slaughter our brothers," he growls, his frustration palpable.

Edd, leaning casually against the wall, crosses his arms. "Our brothers had orders to stay at Castle Black—"

Grenn cuts him off, anger flaring in his eyes. "So it's all right then? Black Jack and Kegs and Mully chopped to pieces because they broke the rules?" His voice rises, echoing off the stone walls.

Edd's expression hardens. "I didn't say it's all right. I'm saying they shouldn't have been there."

"We're pledged to guard the realms of men," Grenn retorts, his voice shaking with conviction. Sam, however, seems lost in his own thoughts, his voice barely audible as he mutters, "She's dead because of me." He's not even tuned into the argument anymore, consumed by his own guilt.

Grenn's eyes narrow as he stares at the table. "We can't even guard Mole's Town," he says, the bitterness in his voice cutting through the room.

Jon sighs, rubbing his temples. "We can't go after them, you know that. That's what they want."

"And little Sam," Sam continues, his voice breaking. "As if I cut their throats myself."

Pyp, shrugs lightly. "Maybe she managed to hide herself. I thought all of you were dead. You went north with Mormont, and no one came back. Not for ages. But then you did."

Edd, still leaning against the wall, his arms now crossed tightly, chimes in. "She survived Craster, and he was the worst shit I've ever met. She survived the King's march to the Wall. She survived a White Walker—"

At the mention of White Walkers, my head turns towards Edd, eyes narrowed in confusion. Before I can even form the question burning on my tongue, Jon clears his throat loudly, cutting Edd off. Everyone's eyes turn to Jon, but he simply mutters, "Sorry, you can carry on," dismissing the interruption.

White Walkers? I narrow my eyes at Jon, suspicion gnawing at me. He's hiding something, something important.

Edd exhales heavily, turning his attention back to Sam. "As I was saying, she might have got out."

Sam nods, though it's clear he's not convinced. "She might have," he echoes, but his voice is hollow.

Jon runs a hand through his hair. "If they hit Mole's Town, then we're next. Mance and his army must be close."