Jon and Davos stepped through the gates of Riverrun together. When Davos saw Riverrun surrounded by two rivers, he couldn't help but marvel at the castle's strength and defensibility.
"Sansa, you and Arya go in first. We will follow shortly."
"Mm!" Sansa nodded firmly, her eyes full of excitement. Arya cheered and strode quickly into Riverrun.
"Jon, will this really work? I think we should have told Robb at least two days in advance."
Davos anxiously rubbed his missing fingers.
"You don't understand my brother. He is a decisive commander on the battlefield, but in this matter, he tends to waver. We must use the most resolute attitude to make him choose correctly." Jon and Davos chatted while riding their horses.
After they entered Riverrun, the guarding Soldiers looked at Jon and Davos with a mixture of respect and fear.
All sorts of rumors about Jon were spreading across the Seven Kingdoms at an astonishing speed.
Some said he could control the Flood and fire, which was why he was able to defeat the Lannister and Tyrell. In the eyes of common Soldiers—who were generally uneducated—Jon was practically a wizard.
Davos naturally felt this too. Originally, the two should have ridden side-by-side, but he unconsciously fell back a step behind Jon, as if that offered more security.
Under the watchful eyes of the Soldiers, the two passed through the towers and keeps. Jon had Robb Frey and Sandor lead their horses away, and the guards prepared to escort them toward the great hall.
Just then, Jon noticed that the person who came to greet him was the old acquaintance, Ramsay.
Ramsay still preferred to look at people with his gloomy gaze. He approached Jon and Davos and spoke.
"Please hand over your weapons, both of you."
Just as Davos was preparing to unbuckle the longsword at his waist, he heard a sharp crack. He looked up abruptly, realizing Ramsay had somehow fallen to the ground.
It turned out Jon had slapped Ramsay to the ground.
"Jo—" Davos froze instantly, unsure what to say.
"You scoundrel! Robb is my brother! What are you doing?! Trying to sow discord between us?!"
Seeing Ramsay sprawled on the ground, the Soldiers angrily stepped forward, but none dared to draw their swords.
Ramsay covered his stinging cheek, looked up fiercely at Jon, and tears welling up in his ink-dark pupils.
"Hmph!" Jon snorted coldly and walked straight towards the great hall. Davos glanced back and quickly followed suit.
Soon, the two arrived at Riverrun's spacious wooden great hall, where a large group of high-ranking lords looked toward them.
Inside the hall, the air seemed frozen. Every gaze directed at them carried the unique chill of the North, weighing heavily on their shoulders.
Davos followed behind Jon, crossing the high threshold, feeling as if he had stepped into a wolf's den. He couldn't imagine how Jon had stood here alone, facing the wrath of the entire North and the Riverlands, opposing their crowning of Robb as king.
"Traitor!"
A curse cracked the silence like a whip. It was Greatjon, Robb's most loyal fierce general, who also, to some extent, represented the attitude of the North.
The voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the great hall to hear.
Davos's eye twitched, and he quickly scanned the surroundings. Although the other nobles remained silent, the looks interwoven with scorn,
anger, and confusion said it all.
They were probably thinking that if this bastard had taken the opportunity to crown Robb after capturing King's Landing, the influence of the Northmen would now be at its historical peak. As for the kingdom plunging into deeper war? That wasn't their concern.
However, if the perspective was broadened to the entire hall, that wasn't entirely true. Most people looked at Jon with awe and curiosity, especially a certain young noble around ten years old who kept grinning foolishly at Jon, though Jon didn't have time to notice him.
Davos's gaze returned to Jon ahead of him. The young man's back was straight, his steps steady, and his gray eyes calmly met every gaze, as if the invisible arrows had not harmed him in the slightest.
"Jon," sweat beaded in Davos's palms, "facing your Family and countrymen, being seen as a traitor, what exactly are you thinking?"
At the end of the great hall, seated on the wooden throne, was Robb Stark, the King in the North. His face was tense, stripped of youthful naivety, leaving only the gravitas and weariness of a king. To his left was his mother, Lady Catelyn Stark. When she saw Jon, a flicker of complex emotion, different from others, crossed her eyes—after all, he had rescued her two daughters from King's Landing. To his right was Queen Jeyne Westerling, whom Robb had recently married.
"Robb." Jon stopped at an appropriate distance and bowed slightly. Davos followed closely behind.
"You should address him as Your Majesty!" Greatjon roared again, his thick fingers resting on his sword hilt.
Jon acted as if he hadn't heard, turning his gaze to Catelyn: "Lady Catelyn."
Catelyn gave him a slight nod, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Rickard Karstark, one of House Stark's most intimate vassals, spoke coldly: "If you are here to persuade us to abandon our king, you can turn around and leave now, Snow."
If House Stark were to suffer an accident resulting in the end of its Bloodline, someone from House Karstark would be chosen to inherit the Stark surname, as the two were originally one entity. In his view, setting aside the discussion of peace talks, Jon's "Stark" name came courtesy of Stannis. Rickard believed this was not only illegitimate but also an insult to the Stark Bloodline.
Harrion looked at his father, then at Jon, not daring to say much.
Roose Bolton, meanwhile, wore a cold sneer on his face, looking like someone enjoying the spectacle and wanting things to escalate.
Jon still ignored Rickard's warning, his gaze remaining fixed on Lady Catelyn's face. His voice was clear, penetrating the great hall: "Lady, do you remember the day I left Winterfell to go to The Wall? What did you say to me?"
Catelyn's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and a flush of shame crept onto her pale cheeks.
She remembered, of course she remembered. Bran had just fallen from the high wall, his life hanging in the balance, and she was heartbroken and lashed out at the bastard.
Davos, standing nearby, swallowed. He could tell from Catelyn's expression that whatever she had said was likely unpleasant.
Jon didn't wait for her reply. Word by word, he spoke for her: "You said that I should have been the one to fall from The Wall, and that I, the motherless bastard, should have been the one lying there."
A ripple of suppressed commotion spread among the nobles. Some shifted uncomfortably. Bringing up such a cruel, old incident involving the Lady of the house to her face was tantamount to a declaration of war.
"Jon!" Robb finally spoke, his voice carrying suppressed anger and offended authority. "Are you bringing up these old matters to humiliate my mother, or to seek sympathy?"
Robb had already heard that Jon slapped Ramsay upon arriving at Riverrun, which made him feel somewhat offended.
Now Jon was publicly accusing his mother, Catelyn, which he could not tolerate.
Jon slowly turned to Robb, looking at him with those gray eyes so similar to Eddard Stark's. "No, Robb. I just want to tell Lady Catelyn that I don't hate her."
He looked at Catelyn again, his tone becoming unusually gentle, even carrying a hint of nostalgia: "As you said, I am a motherless bastard. I have no memory of my mother in my mind. But I remember once when I had a fever and was confined to bed for days. I woke up in the middle of the night, and you were leaning over my bedside. I will never forget that feeling of warmth, though sadly, it was only that one time. So, whenever I hear, or think of, the word 'mother'—the image that appears in my mind is yours."
The hostility in the great hall silently drained away, like air from a punctured bladder. Greatjon opened his mouth, but ultimately just mumbled and turned his head away. Lady Catelyn lowered her head, her fingers tightly clutching her dress, her shoulders trembling slightly. Robb's tight jawline also seemed to soften for a moment.
Jeyne, who had been particularly nervous and constrained all this time, also relaxed slightly.
But this momentary warmth was utterly shattered by Jon's subsequent words.
"However," Jon's voice became cold and hard again, like The Walls of Castle Black, "I am now loyal to His Majesty Stannis Baratheon I. He granted me the Stark surname, so I am no longer Snow."
"The price I pay for this is my loyalty to him."
He looked directly into Robb's eyes. The gazes of the two brothers collided in the air, with no avoidance.
"My purpose for coming here is, by order of Your Majesty, to ask you to lay down your crown and submit to the iron throne."
"Or else?" Robb's voice was cold as ice.
"Otherwise, we can only meet on the battlefield." Jon's tone was terrifyingly calm. "If fate forces me to kill you with my own hands, Robb, I will not live alone; I will follow you, because Father said, 'Winter is coming, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' You and I are both lone wolves now."
Time to show my acting skills, Jon thought. He paused, and his voice took on a noticeable choke: "Because killing you would feel like killing my mother's son. And the blood required for us brothers to fight will stain the entire Trident River red. The North and the Riverlands have already shed too much blood."
A sorrowful atmosphere enveloped the great hall. Lyman, seated among the lords, craned his neck and involuntarily clenched his fists, feeling an unbearable oppression in his heart because of Jon's words.
Rickard couldn't bear to watch any longer. Fratricide, he believed, was a tragedy Eddard Stark would never have wished to see, and he finally stopped caring where Jon got the "Stark" surname from.
If he could say such words, then he was a Stark.
Roose Bolton's mouth curved into a barely noticeable smile. This 'flavor' was perfect. He remembered when Jon was at Harrenhal, he had rendered Roose helpless with this same Aura of "I'd rather die with you."
"I will wait outside for your answer." Jon's gaze swept over Robb, Catelyn, and every one of the lords. "Whatever your decision, Robb—before we meet in battle, I want to hug you one more time, just like when I returned to Winterfell."
Having finished speaking, he turned resolutely, just as he had when he advised Robb not to claim the crown, the only difference being the few extra tears he shed.
Jon deliberately made a gesture of wiping tears, allowing more people to see clearly.
Although politics disregard personal feelings, personal feelings are a weapon of politics.
Under the gaze of all, he walked out of the great hall alone. The heavy door frame enclosed his retreating figure, separating the inside and outside of the hall into two worlds.
The pressure suddenly fell entirely onto Davos, who remained in place. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and faced the crowd with their varied expressions.
"My lords," his voice was not loud, but it carried the steadiness honed by years spent at sea. "Yes, Jon is a bastard, that is true. But Jon being a bastard is not his fault. He is the purest, bravest, and most responsible person I, Davos Seaworth, have ever met in my life."
He looked around, his gaze sweeping over every face: "His Majesty Stannis offered him the Stark surname and the title of lord of casterly rock three times to keep him, and he only accepted on the last attempt. Why? Because he feared this very situation today, feared meeting Robb, whom he views as a true brother, in battle!"
Davos emphasized his tone: "Now, Lord Walder Frey of Riverrun has declared allegiance to the iron throne, and House Redwyne's fleet is gathering, soon to march against Balon Greyjoy, who has illegally crowned himself king! The blood in the Riverlands has not yet dried, and the children and elderly of the North still wait in bitter cold for their fathers, sons, and brothers to return home!"
He finally looked at Robb on the throne, speaking earnestly, yet with undeniable realism: "Your Majesty, my lords, lay down that crown which does not belong to you. It is too heavy; it will be forged with the lives of countless good men from the North and the Riverlands. Go home, return to the Winterlands that truly belong to you, for only there are the things you ought to protect."
Having said his piece, Davos bowed deeply, said no more, and also turned and walked out of the great hall, leaving the deathly silence and the immensely difficult choice to the lords.
Outside the doors, the cold autumn rain continued. Davos saw Jon standing in the courtyard, looking up at Riverrun's gray clouds, seemingly trying hard to find a gap for the sunlight to shine through.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)