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Chapter Twenty-Two: The Heir's Burden
The Great Hall of Winterfell was left behind, the laughter, music, and the scent of roasted meats fading into the stillness of the corridors. Dacey Stark followed closely behind Jon and Robb as they moved through the winding stone passages of the castle.
Jon's grip on Robb's shoulder was firm, guiding his brother with purpose. There was no hesitation in his stride, no lingering warmth from the joy of the feast. Jon's back was straight, his steps measured, as if he carried the weight of the entire North on his shoulders.
Dacey had never seen him like this before.
Jon led them into a secluded chamber, one of the smaller rooms meant for private discussions between Lord Stark and his most trusted men. The air inside was cool, the single hearth unlit. The heavy stone walls muffled the sounds of the feast still raging in the Great Hall.
Jon stepped inside with Robb, and Dacey entered last, closing the door behind them.
Without a word, Jon locked the door with a quiet click.
The room fell into an eerie silence.
Dacey took a step to the side, leaning against the stone wall as she watched the scene unfold before her.
Jon took a few steps back from Robb, putting deliberate distance between them. He studied his brother with eyes of cold steel, his usual warmth replaced by an expression Dacey had only ever seen on one other person—Ned Stark.
Jon's long, raven-black curls were tied back, but a few strands had escaped, framing his pale, sharp face. His features, always striking in their beauty, had turned to cold marble.
His face was a block of ice.
Dacey had overheard the servants gossiping about how Jon could wear the same cold, unreadable face as his father, Lord Stark, but she had never witnessed it for herself. Not like this.
She had never imagined he would have to use it on his own family.
Even she felt uneasy.
Robb, standing in front of his brother's frozen mask, suddenly looked like a boy being scolded.
"I—" Robb began, then faltered. He sighed and ran a hand through his auburn curls, frustration clear on his face. "Jon, it was a mistake. We got caught up in the moment. I just kissed her, nothing more."
Jon didn't react. Didn't blink.
His voice, when it came, was steady but carried a quiet, dangerous edge.
"Who are you?"
Robb frowned. "What?"
Jon's expression remained unchanged. "Who are you?" he repeated, the words clipped and cold.
Robb hesitated, his confusion clear. "I'm your brother," he said, his voice uncertain. "Robb."
"No," Dacey interrupted, stepping forward.
Robb turned to her, brows furrowing.
"You are Robb Stark," Dacey said, her voice calm but firm. "Heir to Winterfell. The next Warden of the North. You are not some boy sneaking off with a servant girl."
Robb swallowed but didn't argue.
Jon took another step forward, his grey eyes unwavering.
"When our father called the banners during the rebellion, who brought the most men?"
Robb frowned, but he answered. "Lord Rickard Karstark."
Jon nodded. "Who brought the most riders?"
"Lord Karstark."
"And whose forces made up nearly one-third of the northern army?"
Understanding dawned on Robb's face, his mouth opening slightly as he whispered, "The Karstarks."
Jon's voice, still even, carried a weight that could not be ignored.
"Because of your mistake, you have besmirched the name and honor of Alys Karstark—the only daughter of Lord Karstark, one of our father's most important and loyal bannermen. She is one of the most sought-after maidens in the North. And now, her name is being dragged through the dirt."
Robb stayed silent for a long moment. His breathing was steady, but his jaw clenched, and his fingers curled into fists. Dacey could see it—the slow, creeping realization of the enormity of his actions.
Robb stayed silent for a while. Then,suddenly, he lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders.
"I will wed Alys," Robb said.
Jon's eyes flickered—just for a moment—but his expression did not change.
"Are you sure?" Jon asked, his voice quiet but firm.
Robb nodded. "Our father raised us to be dutiful and honorable. I always knew that one day, I would have to marry for duty. And I like Alys. Maybe, in time, we'll grow to love each other—like mother and father."
Jon studied Robb's face carefully, searching for doubt.
Finding none, he exhaled softly, his mask finally cracking—just a little.
Then, he gave a single nod.
"I will go speak with Father."
With that, Jon turned and left, his steps as light and silent as a shadow.
The chamber fell into stillness.
Robb let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. His hands were still clenched, but some of the tension had left him.
Dacey stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.
"This wasn't easy," she said gently. "But you made the right decision. You took responsibility for your actions, and that is what a true Stark does."
Robb let out a small, tired chuckle. "You sound like my mother."
Dacey smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Robb sighed. "I just hope Alys forgives me for the mess I've caused."
Dacey smirked. "She will. And if she doesn't, well…" She patted his shoulder. "You'll just have to win her over, won't you?"
Robb huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
The weight of the moment still lingered, but the heir of Winterfell had made his choice.