The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 34

Carlisle Umber

As we reach what's left of Castle Black's gates—splintered beams and shattered iron hanging precariously—I pull my horse to a halt, the weight of the destruction settling heavily in my chest. I take in the wreckage with a growing sense of dread, my heart pounding as I glance back at Rickon, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. Sansa rides alongside us, her gaze somber as she surveys the damage.

"Stay close to me," I murmur to her, unsheathing my sword with a quiet metallic hiss. The blade feels solid in my grip, a sliver of reassurance amid the unease that has settled over us like a storm cloud. Sansa nods, tightening her grip on her reins.

We press forward, moving through the path littered with remnants of what was once a stronghold. As we approach the heart of the courtyard, I realize we're not alone. A throng of people has gathered, their faces drawn with exhaustion and suspicion as they turn to watch us. They murmur quietly, casting wary glances our way, eyes full of questions and wariness. I feel their stares follow me as I scan the area—there are bodies sprawled across the ground, blood staining the snow in grim, jagged streaks. My gut twists. What happened here? Did we stumble upon the aftermath of a battle?

Sliding off my horse, I turn to Sansa and Rickon. "Stay on the horses for now," I tell them, keeping my voice low but firm. "If things get bad, you'll be able to get out of here quickly."

Sansa reaches out a hand, her eyes shadowed with concern. "Wait, Carlisle—"

"Stay," I insist, offering her a small, reassuring smile before turning to face the crowd. "I'll be back."

Ignoring the unease prickling at my spine, I make my way toward a man who stands at the forefront, his posture rigid, his eyes narrowing as I approach.

"Stop right there," he calls out as I draw near. His voice is steady, but there's an edge of caution in his tone. "What's your name?"

I glance around at the other men, some of whom still hold weapons in a tense, white-knuckled grip. Clearing my throat, I meet his gaze directly. "Umber," I say, my voice carrying across the silence. "Carlisle Umber."

The man watches me for a moment before extending his hand, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Edd," he says, gripping my hand firmly. His gaze softens slightly, though a glimmer of sorrow darkens his expression. "You're Jon's friend, aren't you? He spoke about you once."

A sliver of hope pierces the tension in my chest. If he knows Jon, then perhaps he can lead me to him. "Good," I reply, my voice a mixture of relief and urgency. "Because I'm looking for him."

Edd's expression falters, his gaze dropping to the snow. The change in his demeanor sends a cold wave of dread through me, settling like lead in my stomach. His eyes, when they lift to meet mine again, are haunted, his face etched with grief that is all too familiar.

"You've come at the wrong time, Carlisle Umber." His words are soft, barely a whisper, but they slice through me like a blade. My brows furrow as confusion and fear twist inside me.

"What... what do you mean?" I stammer, my heart pounding harder as I search his face, desperate for any hint that he's mistaken.

Edd hesitates, his voice thick with sorrow as he finally utters the words that shatter my heart. "Jon Snow... is dead."

The world tilts, my vision blurring as his words sink in, a sickening disbelief churning within me. Jon... dead? The thought is unfathomable, impossible. I move back a step, the weight of his words crashing down on me. "I—I'm sorry, what?" The question is little more than a broken whisper, and I feel tears well up, blurring the world around me as I struggle to hold onto some fragment of hope, some chance that this is all a mistake, That I haven't just lost the last of my best friends.