Jon and Davos passed through the gates of Riverrun together. Seeing the castle surrounded by two rivers, Davos couldn't help but marvel at its sturdy defenses; it was a fortress easy to defend and hard to attack.
"Sansa, you and Arya go in first. We'll follow shortly."
"Mm!" Sansa nodded, her eyes full of excitement. Arya let out a cheer and charged into Riverrun with large strides.
"Jon, will this really work? I feel we should have told Robb at least two days in advance."
Davos rubbed his severed finger joints, looking worried.
"You don't know my brother. He's a decisive commander on the battlefield, but in matters like this, he tends to waver. We must use the most resolute attitude to force him to make the right choice." Jon chatted with Davos as they rode.
As they entered Riverrun, the garrison soldiers looked at Jon with a mix of awe and fear.
Rumors about Jon had spread across the Seven Kingdoms with astonishing speed.
Some said he could control floodwaters and fire, which was how he defeated the Lannisters and Tyrells. To the average soldier with zero education, Jon was practically a wizard.
Davos naturally felt the mood. They were supposed to be riding side by side, but he unconsciously fell a horse-length behind Jon, as if that felt safer.
Under the wary gaze of the soldiers, the two passed through the towers and keeps. Jon had Robbett Glover and Sandor take their horses, and the guards prepared to lead them toward the Great Hall.
Just then, Jon realized the person coming to greet them was an "old acquaintance"—Ramsay Snow.
Ramsay still liked to look at people with that sinister gaze. He walked up to Jon and Davos and said:
"Please hand over your weapons."
Just as Davos was about to unbuckle his sword belt, a crisp slap rang out. He jerked his head up to see Ramsay lying on the ground.
Jon had slapped Ramsay to the ground with one strike.
"Jon—" Davos froze, not knowing what to say.
"Bastard thing! Robb is my brother! What are you trying to do?! Sow discord between us?!"
Seeing Ramsay sprawled on the ground, a group of soldiers stepped forward angrily, but no one dared to draw their swords.
Ramsay clutched his burning cheek, looking up at Jon viciously, tears actually welling up in his dark pupils.
"Hmph!" Jon snorted coldly and walked straight toward the Great Hall. Behind him, Davos glanced back, then hurriedly caught up.
Soon, they arrived at the spacious wooden Great Hall of Riverrun, where a large group of high-ranking lords looked at them.
Inside the hall, the air seemed frozen. Every gaze directed at them carried the unique chill of the North, pressing heavily on their shoulders.
Davos followed behind Jon, stepping over the high threshold, feeling like he was walking into a wolf's den. He couldn't imagine how Jon had stood here alone back then, facing the wrath of the entire North and Riverlands to oppose them crowning Robb.
"Traitor!"
A curse cracked the silence like a whip. It was "Greatjon" Umber. As Robb's most loyal fierce general, he represented the attitude of the North to some extent.
His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the hall to hear.
Davos's eye twitched as he quickly scanned the surroundings. Although the other nobles didn't speak, their eyes—filled with disdain, anger, and confusion—said it all.
They might be thinking that if this bastard had taken the opportunity to crown Robb after capturing King's Landing, the influence of the Northmen would have reached a historical peak. As for the realm falling into deeper war? That wasn't their concern.
However, if one looked at the hall as a whole, that wasn't entirely true. Most people looked at Jon with awe and curiosity. A young noble of about ten years old kept grinning foolishly at Jon, but Jon had no time to look at him.
Davos's gaze fell back on Jon in front of him. The young man's back was straight, his steps steady. His grey eyes calmly met every gaze, as if those invisible arrows couldn't hurt him in the slightest.
Jon, Davos's palms were sweating, facing your family and countrymen, being seen as a traitor... what exactly are you thinking?
At the end of the hall, sitting on the wooden throne, was the "King in the North," Robb Stark. His face was tense, the greenness of youth gone, leaving only the heaviness and fatigue of a king. To his left was his mother, Lady Catelyn Stark. When she saw Jon, a complex emotion flickered in her eyes—after all, he had saved her two daughters from King's Landing. To his right was Robb's newly wedded Queen, Jeyne Westerling.
"Robb." Jon stopped at an appropriate distance and bowed slightly. Davos followed suit.
"You should address him as Your Grace!" Greatjon roared again, his thick fingers pressing on his sword hilt.
Jon seemed not to hear him. His gaze turned to Catelyn: "Lady Catelyn."
Catelyn nodded slightly to him, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Rickard Karstark, one of the Stark family's closest bannermen, spoke coldly: "If you're here to persuade us to give up our King, you can turn around and leave now, Snow."
If the Starks met with misfortune leading to the extinction of their line, someone would be chosen from the Karstark family to inherit the Stark name; the two were essentially one. In his view, peace talks aside, Jon's "Stark" name was obtained through Stannis. Rickard believed this was not only illegitimate but an insult to the Stark bloodline.
Harrion looked at his father, then at Jon, not daring to say much.
Roose Bolton, on the other hand, had a cold smile on his lips, looking like he wouldn't mind watching the world burn.
Jon ignored Rickard's warning as well. His gaze remained on Lady Catelyn's face. His voice was clear, piercing through the hall: "My Lady, do you remember the day I left Winterfell for the Wall? What did you say to me?"
Catelyn's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and a flush of shame crept up her pale cheeks.
She remembered. Of course she remembered. Bran had just fallen from the tower, his life hanging by a thread. Heartbroken, she had taken her anger out on this bastard.
Davos swallowed hard. He could tell from Catelyn's expression that it hadn't been anything nice.
Jon didn't wait for her to answer. Word for word, he said it for her: "You said, 'It should have been you.' That the one lying there broken should have been me, the motherless bastard."
A suppressed commotion spread among the nobles. Some shifted uncomfortably. Bringing up such a harsh past 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 heard that Jon slapped Ramsay as soon as he arrived at Riverrun, which made him feel slightly offended.
Now that Jon was publicly accusing his mother, Catelyn, it was intolerable to him.
Jon slowly turned to Robb, looking at him with those grey eyes that so resembled Eddard Stark's. "No, Robb. I just wanted to tell her that I don't hate her."
He looked at Catelyn again, his tone becoming unusually soft, even carrying a hint of nostalgia: "Just as you said, I am a motherless bastard. I have no memories of a mother in my head. But I remember once when I was small, I had a fever and lay in bed for days. When I woke up in the middle of the night, it was you leaning over my bedside. I will never forget that feeling of warmth for the rest of my life. It's a pity it only happened once. So, whenever I hear or think of the word 'mother'... the image that comes to my mind is yours."
The hostility in the hall leaked away silently, like air from a punctured skin. Greatjon opened his mouth, but ended up just muttering and turning his head away. Lady Catelyn lowered her head, her fingers gripping her dress tightly, her shoulders trembling slightly. The tense line of Robb's jaw also seemed to soften for a moment.
Jeyne, who had been exceptionally nervous and uneasy, also relaxed a little.
But this moment of warmth was completely shattered by Jon's next words.
"However," Jon's voice became cold and hard again, like the walls of Castle Black, "I now serve His Grace, King Stannis Baratheon the First. He granted me the Stark name, so that I am no longer 'Snow'. My payment for this is to dedicate my loyalty to him."
He looked straight into Robb's eyes. The brothers' gazes collided in the air, no longer avoiding each other.
"My purpose in coming here is by His Grace's command: to ask you to lay down your crown and submit to the Iron Throne."
"And if I don't?" Robb's voice was cold as ice.
"Then 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, then I will not live alone. I will follow you in death. 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 off my acting skills, Jon thought to himself. He paused, his voice now clearly choked with emotion: "Because killing you would feel like killing my mother's son. And the blood spilled by our fratricide will dye the entire Trident red. The North and the Riverlands have already bled too much."
A sorrowful atmosphere enveloped the hall. Sitting among the lords, Lyman stretched his neck, unconsciously clenching his fists. He didn't know why, but Jon's words made his chest feel tight and heavy.
Rickard couldn't bear to watch anymore. Brother killing brother—he believed this was a tragedy Eddard Stark would never want to see. He finally stopped caring where Jon got the "Stark" name.
Since he could say such words, he was a Stark.
Roose Bolton's mouth curved in an imperceptible arc. This flavor was just right. Back at Harrenhal, Jon had used this same "I'll just die with you" momentum to render him helpless.
"I will wait outside for your answer." Jon's gaze swept over Robb, Catelyn, and every lord present. "Whatever your decision is, Robb... before swords are drawn, I want to hug you one last time. Like when I returned to Winterfell."
With that, he turned resolutely, just like when he had tried to dissuade Robb from being crowned. The difference was that this time, he shed a few tears.
Jon deliberately lingered on the motion of wiping his tears so more people could see clearly.
Politics might not care about human feelings, but human feelings were a weapon of politics.
Under the gaze of everyone, he walked out of the hall alone. The heavy door frame framed his retreating figure, separating the inside and outside of the hall into two worlds.
The pressure suddenly fell entirely on Davos, who remained behind. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and faced the crowd with their varied expressions.
"My lords," his voice wasn't loud, but it carried the steadiness honed by years 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 man I, Davos Seaworth, have ever met."
He looked around, his gaze meeting every face: "His Grace, King Stannis, offered him the Stark name and the title of Duke of Casterly Rock three times to keep him. He only accepted the last time. Why? Because he feared exactly this situation today—he feared facing Robb, whom he sees as his own brother, on the battlefield!"
Davos strengthened his tone: "Now, Duke Walder Frey of the Twins has declared loyalty to the Iron Throne. The Redwyne fleet is gathering and will soon move to crush the self-proclaimed King Balon Greyjoy! The blood in the Riverlands has not yet dried, and the children and elderly in the North are still waiting in the bitter cold for their fathers, sons, and brothers to come home!"
He finally looked at Robb on the throne, his words earnest but carrying undeniable reality: "Your Grace, my lords, lay down that crown that does not belong to you. It is too heavy. It will be forged with the lives of countless good men of the North and the Riverlands. Go home. Go back to the winter lands that truly belong to you. That is where the things you should protect are."
That was all he had to say. Davos bowed deeply, said no more, and turned to walk out of the hall, leaving the dead silence and the incredibly difficult choice to the lords.
Outside, the cold autumn rain continued. Davos saw Jon standing in the courtyard, looking up at the grey clouds over Riverrun, as if trying hard to find a crack where the sunlight could shine through.