Winterfell's embroidery room was no longer quiet.
Galon stood behind Robb, watching calmly as the match on the board neared its end.
It was Robb's turn to move — and he was cornered.
His army had been reduced to a lone king, and that king was trapped between Sansa's two bishops with nowhere left to run.
Robb leaned closer, squinting, searching for a miracle move. There wasn't one.
Galon already knew how this would end.
"Sansa learns quickly," he thought, genuinely impressed. Most new players spent games learning the pieces — Sansa was already constructing traps.
Three moves later, she slid her bishop forward with a satisfied flick of her fingers.
"Checkmate."
"Robb, you've lost again."
Robb stared at the board in disbelief, as if sheer confusion might change the result.
"Why is it always only my king left?" he muttered.
Galon nearly laughed.
Robb played like a charging warrior: bold, aggressive, and utterly uninterested in defense.
Sansa simply waited, trading piece after piece until nothing remained to protect him. Robb finally tipped his king, defeated.
Sansa sat straighter, eyes bright with triumph.
"Again, Robb. One more round!"
She immediately began resetting the board. She was hooked — there was no question.
But Robb was done.
"Not again. No. Not happening."
He rose from the chair with the exhaustion of a man who had survived battle rather than lost a game.
"Aww, come on," Arya groaned from the far side of the room. "Play while Septa Mordane isn't here to drag us back to sewing!"
Of course — Arya had slipped out during their first match and returned only because no one had noticed yet.
Robb waved her off. "Father wants me to show Galon around Winterfell. I can't stay and be beaten to death."
He gave Galon a pointed look — a silent plea for backup.
Galon stepped forward smoothly. "Lady Sansa, perhaps Jeyne and Beth would enjoy playing next?"
Two heads snapped up instantly — Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole, who had been silently dying of impatience.
They nodded with the eagerness of pups seeing meat.
Sansa considered, then nodded graciously. "Very well."
Galon bowed lightly.
"Then I wish you a pleasant game, ladies."
He turned — but before he could take a full step, a soft voice called after him.
"Lord Galon."
He stopped and met her eyes. Sansa hesitated — then gathered enough courage to speak.
"I… like the gift very much."
The room went still.
Galon smiled, warm and subtle. "I am glad. Then my effort was worth it."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze quickly.
Behind her, Beth and Jeyne exchanged silent screams of excitement. Even Robb looked like he was trying not to grin.
Galon bowed again and followed Robb out.
The moment the door closed, chaos erupted:
"I go first!" "No, I do!"
"You played last time!"
"You weren't even here!"
Robb winced. "The entire castle will hear about this," he groaned.
Galon chuckled. "At least they aren't talking about your losses."
Robb glared at him.
"Help me beat her. Teach me how to win — and I'll show you something worth seeing."
Galon raised a brow. "What sort of place?"
Robb smiled mysteriously. "You'll see — once I stop losing."
Galon laughed once. "Then we have a deal."
"A deal," Robb echoed.
They walked together toward the guest wing.
As they approached, servants rushed hurriedly along the corridors — tapestries hung, floors polished, torches trimmed.
Winterfell was preparing for royalty.
At last, they reached the rooms.
And just as Galon was about to look over the chamber prepared for him, voices carried from the next room — one unmistakably sharp and composed.
"More candles, Maester Luwin. Tyrion Lannister is known to read late into the night."
Robb mouthed silently: "My mother."
Then — as if hoping it would improve things — he called out:
"Mother!"
Lady Catelyn Stark turned. Her eyes met Robb's first — warm. Then they shifted to Galon — and the warmth vanished.
Robb introduced them.
"Mother, this is Galon Glover."
Galon bowed respectfully. "Good day, Lady Stark. Maester Luwin."
The maester nodded kindly. "Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Galon."
Catelyn said nothing.
She looked at him the way someone might study a strange weapon — unsure whether it was useful or dangerous.
Her silence stretched just long enough to chill the room.
Robb cleared his throat. "Mother…?"
Still Catelyn said nothing.
Galon, sensing the tension, spoke gently. "If there is anything lacking in the arrangements, Lady Stark, I will not trouble anyone. I am grateful simply to be received."
Her expression did not soften.
If anything — something colder flickered there.
Resentment.
Suspicion.
A judgment already formed.
The air tightened like drawn bowstring. And Galon finally understood— Someone had already spoken to her.
Someone had whispered poison.
The war of shadows had begun long before swords ever would.
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