The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 35

Authors Note: Sorry I was gone for a minute you guys, College was College-ing for a while but I'm back in full grind mode now 🤧🤧

Robb Stark

The room is cold, colder than the bitter winds that howl outside the walls of Castle Black. My arm tightens around Rickon's small, trembling body, his face buried against my chest as he sobs quietly. His tears soak into my tunic, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is Jon—his cold, lifeless body lying before us. The pale light of Castle Black does little to soften the sight, the harsh reality settling in my chest like an anchor. It's the first time I've allowed myself to truly look at him since I saw him, sprawled in the snow, blood pooling around him like a dark, twisted halo. His face is pale, his skin like marble, the wounds now cleaned, but the memory of them is seared into my mind.

The grief, the loss—it's all-consuming, but it doesn't change the fact that I have a role to play. I can't let the North fall. I have to fight for what's left, for the people who still look to me for leadership, for protection. The North is bleeding, but it's not dead. Not yet.

I came dangerously close to surrendering, letting go of everything I had worked for in a moment of weakness. I can't forgive myself for giving in, even if it was only for a fleeting instant. I should have been stronger, more grounded, and now that lapse haunts me. But I refuse to fall into that trap again. I will keep my resolve this time, no matter how hard it gets. My path is clear, and I won't let myself falter again.

Carlisle stands beside me, staring at Jon's body as if he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wet with tears, tracks already marking his face. He's barely holding himself together, his breathing ragged and shallow, the kind of breath someone takes when they're on the verge of breaking. His voice shakes as he speaks, barely above a whisper. "H-how? How did it happen?"

I glance at him, then back to Jon. The image of him bleeding in the snow flashes in my mind again, vivid and sharp, but I push it down. I can't bear to give him all the gory details right now; the betrayal, the mutiny, how Jon had been surrounded by men he trusted, stabbed again and again. Instead, I swallow down my own anguish and answer softly, "They betrayed him. His brothers... the Night's Watch."

My words hang in the air like frost, but they barely seem to reach Carlisle. His eyes remain locked on Jon, searching for something, some explanation, some sign of life that isn't there.

Sansa, standing at Jon's side, holds one of his cold, stiff hands in hers. Tears streak her pale cheeks, her shoulders hunched in silent grief. She shakes her head, her lips quivering as she speaks, her voice fragile. "I was horrible to him," she whispers, her words filled with regret. "I never got to apologize. I never..."

A sob escapes her, ragged and broken, and she clutches Jon's hand tighter, as if hoping he might squeeze it back, as if her touch could bring him back from the dead. But his hand remains cold, unresponsive.

Carlisle steps forward, wrapping an arm around Sansa and pulling her into his chest. She crumbles against him, her sobs shaking her body as she buries her face in his shoulder. I stand there, watching them, Something fleeting flickers in my mind, a quick suspicion. The way Carlisle's arm tightens around Sansa, the way she leans into him so easily. It's fleeting, a moment of unease. Did something happen between them? Carlisle wouldn't do that to me, to us. His loyalty is ironclad. I remind myself of that as I swallow the unwelcome thoughts, forcing them deep down where they belong. Now isn't the time for that, and I don't even know why I'm thinking it. Carlisle's been there for my family when we needed him most. It's just my mind playing tricks on me, searching for something to latch onto in the midst of all this grief.

I tighten my grip on Rickon's shoulder, squeezing gently, trying to offer some form of comfort. His sobs are quieter now, but no less heartbreaking.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," Rickon chokes out between sobs, his voice small and filled with the kind of sorrow no child should ever have to bear.