"Ever since Brandon the Builder," his father said, breaking the long silence at last, "Every Stark marriage has been witnessed by the Old Gods." Jon wondered at that. From what he had heard, his father had wed Lady Catelyn in the Sept at Riverrun, but then he supposed it was not out of the realm of possibility that there had been a private ceremony in the Godswood as well, like the one planned for him tomorrow. "You should not be an exception, Jon," Ned Stark continued, reaching out and giving Jon's shoulder a brief squeeze that made Jon feel a lot more grounded than he would prefer to admit. "But I fear that with no eyes in their tree, the Gods will see nothing at all."
Jon swallowed down the sudden pang he heard at those words. "So why are we here?" he asked. He wished he did not sound so hoarse, but his throat had felt clogged for days.
"We mean to give them eyes," Uncle Benjen said.
"I thought the Children of the Forest carved the faces into the trees," Robb protested.
"We are blood of the First Men," Uncle Benjen said. "But if legend is to be believed, we have a few drops of blood of the Children as well." He paused a moment. "I have no idea if this will work, but we should at least try."
Jon's father said nothing, which Jon knew very well meant he agreed and had nothing he found important to add. Instead, Ned Stark pulled a dagger from a scabbard at his side Jon had not even realised he carried. The metal glinted in the moonlight, and it took Jon long moments to realise it was not made from steel, but from bronze and iron. The blade vanished again, when his father closed his fist around it and pulled it abruptly down. When the bronze and iron became visible again, the glint of it was dull with blood. Still silent, Ned Stark passed the blade to Benjen Stark, who repeated the motion before passing it on to Robb.
Robb hesitated for long moments with his fist closed around the blade, breath held and a look of apprehension on his face. When he cut himself, it was with a wince Jon had only ever seen him give in the training yard, and even then this was different.
Robb passed the dagger to Jon, and Jon did not hesitate. He supposed he would have, except he was used to drawing his own blood by now, guided by his dreams, feeding the drops to the rocks that even now lay in his fireplace. He pulled down the dagger, adding his own blood to the others'. He went to return the dagger to his father, but instead of taking it, Ned Stark guided Robb's hand to rest over Jon's, then Benjen's, then his own. Then he pushed the dagger and their joined hands to the trunk of the tree.
Jon had never felt anything like it. The blade slid through the wood as though it were warm butter. Something seemed to guide their hands. None of the others were pushing at Jon's hand. There was no pressure. But the dagger moved anyway. And rather than small bits of wood, whole chunks seemed to fall off under their hands. The dagger appeared to lift itself for a moment before digging in elsewhere, and again, and then, somehow, Jon knew they were done. Almost as one, they stepped back, and Jon looked at the tree to see a face so very different from the one in Winterfell that it took his breath away. It was already weeping red sap, but unlike the heart tree he had grown up with, this one seemed happy. Smiling.
Grinning even. The eyes, despite the tears, looked benevolent. Benjen swallowed audibly.
Jon's father gasped. "The laughing tree," he breathed. His arm wrapped around Jon's shoulder, suddenly, pulled him tight against his side. "By the Gods."
Jon glanced over at Robb, who looked just as confused as he felt, but still Jon was fairly certain they both felt the weight of the moment, felt the way that true presence was filtering into the Godswood, felt how it was becoming a true Godswood. A peace he had all but forgotten spread through him, and suddenly he was staggering on his feet, absolutely exhausted. His father's arm tightened around him, and then he felt himself float through the air only to be cradled against Ned's chest and carried through the Godswood. "Come on, lad," his father said, voice soft. "Time for you to get some sleep."