The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 13

Robb Stark

As I finish securing Greywind and Nymeria in their pens, I'm interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the frosted ground. I turn to see Jon approaching, his expression grim, a familiar intensity burning behind his eyes. Before I can ask what's on his mind, he speaks, his voice low and purposeful.

"I need to run an errand," Jon says, his tone far too serious for something as simple as an errand.

I straighten up, locking the pens and turning fully to face him, my curiosity piqued. "What kind of errand?"

"I'm going to kill Mance Rayder," he states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, I just stare at him, unable to comprehend what he's saying. Then it hits me, and disbelief surges through me. "Have you gone mad?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. "You can't just walk up and kill the King Beyond the Wall."

"Mance Rayder is the leader of the wildlings," Jon explains, his tone calm, as if he's thought this all through. "Cut off the head, and the body will fall. Without him, the wildlings won't have a leader to rally behind. They'll fall apart, revert back to their old ways—scattered tribes at war with each other. We might've held them off for now, but they'll come back. And when they do, we can't survive another full-scale attack."

His logic is sound, but it doesn't make it any less reckless. My disbelief turns to frustration. "And you think killing Mance is just going to be that easy?" I counter. "Jon, if you go after him, they're going to kill you. They're not just going to let you waltz in and take their leader's head."

"Maybe," Jon admits, his voice steady but with an edge of uncertainty. "But maybe not. If I speak to him first, try to reason with him, I might have a chance. He's not a fool. He might see reason."

"And you're confident you'll walk out of there alive?" I ask, studying his face closely. His jaw is set, his eyes determined, but there's a flicker of doubt.

"Sure" he says, though I can tell from the slight tension in his voice that he's not nearly as sure as he's pretending to be. "I'm fairly certain."

I let out a sigh, shaking my head at the insanity of his plan. "If you're going, then I'm going," I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest as if daring him to argue.

Jon's face tightens in frustration. "Robb, this isn't—"

"Jon," I cut him off, stepping closer to him. "If you're so sure you can make it out alive, then I've got nothing to worry about, right? And besides, I'm not letting you face Mance Rayder alone."

I clap a hand on his shoulder, giving him a teasing smile. "Fight together, survive together, right?"

Jon rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed, but he doesn't argue further. He knows I won't back down, just like I know he won't change his mind about going.

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I didn't expect the land north of the Wall to be lush or teeming with life, but the sheer emptiness of it is startling. It's an endless expanse of snow and ice, stretching far beyond what the eye can see, as if the world itself drops off into a void. I knew it would be desolate, but still, I had expected some sign of life—maybe a lone house, some hint of civilization. But there's nothing. Nothing but the cold wind and the ever-present threat of death.

Why would there be, though? With Jon's stories of the White Walkers, anyone foolish enough to stay here would meet their end eventually.

Jon and I make our way toward the camp, its fires flickering like distant stars in the snow. As we walk through the maze of tents, I see the life that has gathered here despite the harsh conditions. Children chase after goats, laughter ringing out in brief bursts. Men and women sit around cookfires, stirring pots of thin stew, their eyes dull but watchful. There are latrine pits dug haphazardly around the camp, the stench barely masked by the biting cold. Yet, for all the semblance of normalcy, there's a tension in the air, thick as the smoke rising from the fires.