It was not a camp beneath the cliffs of High King Barthogan, but a veritable field city, scattered with small military tents and large, gold-embroidered yurts, which could only be the lodgings of King Stark's distinguished allies. Not far behind Robb's huge yurt palace, surrounded by wolf-headed spears, stood a worn but still imposing stone wall. Rickard had previously said that it was the remains of Brandon's Gift, one of the fortresses of the Stark empire, from the time when wild kings still ruled this land. Jon Snow felt a strange sense of relief. His cousin was still as tense as a bowstring, but everyone was reassured that Robb had not posted archers on the edge of the cliffs or cut the throat of the warrior who had questioned him.
"I saw no falsehood in him," Rickard said dryly as he stopped in front of Jon Snow, who was waiting in the saddle. "No clouds covered the sun. No lightning struck the trees from the dry sky, and the rocks of Barthogan did not split in two. If he had lied..."
"But is it still possible, my lord, that he lied?"
Rickard was silent for a moment, as if resentful that Jon Snow had interrupted him. He formed his words slowly, as if speaking were difficult.
"My nephew will go to the septons' council to have his heart examined. Robb has agreed to let the septons put him to the test. I cannot decide; the God of the Seven will be the judge of whether he is guilty!
Jon Snow bowed his head.
"I respect your wise decision, Lord Karstark! Strife between brothers always breeds bad blood. May the God of the Seven grant that we always avoid it from now on!
Rickard nodded.
"No one can lie before the rocks sanctified by the blessed blood of our ancestors without bringing a curse upon their own head. That is why I suggested this holy place for our deliberations. He agreed, so here I am. Robb may be desperate, but he would not dare defy the gods; he is not that blind!
He rode on to give orders to his retinue. Jon Snow watched him go for a long time. Rickard, struggling with his thoughts, took a double-edged sword in his hand. Perhaps he had thrown off the burden of final decision, leaving everything to the judgment of the gods. How far did Robb's influence extend in the septons' council? Was it himself or his cousin that Rickard feared when he looked into Robb's eyes? How formidable could the power of the Stark king be, if just a few words were enough to bring about submission? The rocks looked down on him like grim stone faces, as if their immovability represented the justice of the gods here below, in the earthly world. Only they know the answer. By accepting the offer, Robb has chosen the best place for the sacred rocks to witness the eternal covenant being made on this landscape, or it will become a destructive wasteland. Jon Snow's gaze slid to Torrhen, one of Rickard's sons, who was now riding forward to meet Robb's men in leather shields, who were galloping toward them in small groups from the direction of the camp. Torrhen nodded when he caught Jon Snow's gaze.
- King Robb promised us all safety, Jon Snow. My father returned with the promise of bread and salt. Now he cannot attack us without bringing the gods' curse upon himself and his kin.
Jon Snow felt the weight of his sword at his side for a moment. Soon he would have to voluntarily draw this sword from its sheath and hand it over to Robb's guards.
"So be it, Torrhen Karstark. The power of the God of the Seven did not penetrate us so that we could tear each other apart.
The young warrior nodded stiffly.
"I believe that the strongest should lead us. And is not Robb Stark the strongest? Did he not win in the south, while Robert lost in the east? The gods do not grant victory to the base and the lying! In the end, they will cast the unworthy ruler from the high throne, he who dared to throw false bones into the fire of his ancestors. Only those who obey the one true God can rule over the Starks!
- I want to believe what you say.
Torrhen gazed into the distance.
"My father always knew that he had to lay down his arms before the stronger man. That is why he submitted to Tywin, and why he now submits to Robb Stark. There can be only one king, one warlord above us all!"
Jon Snow liked Torrhen's words. And what if Robb really was the murderer of King Baratheon? What did it matter if he had become the hand of the gods against a usurper king whom the gods had clearly stripped of his power? Who lost twenty thousand warriors of the great House Lannister in a single campaign because he attacked recklessly, drunk with his own arrogance? Strangely, Jon Snow suddenly remembered his time with Ryella. How they had embraced in the royal bedchamber of the castle, the heat, her lips, the male desire stirring in his body, the cool shadows of the forest that fell upon them like the protective fingers of their ancestors, how they had bathed naked in the river. The woman who had become his wife yesterday was suddenly so far away from him, as if she had disappeared into the fog of years. If Robb kept his promise, perhaps this thick fog would dissipate. He must father strong sons for the empire so that the Starks could regain the lands they had lost in the east. What could be more important, what else could matter more, than Eddard's soul finally finding peace in the afterlife? To see the unity of his house restored, and his sons rising as high as falcons soaring in the sky. What else could matter more than a body that had been divided many times finally becoming a true, battle-hardened unit? And the brother peoples? The Karstarks, the Greystarks, the northern clans, all descended from the kings of Stark? Jon Snow felt a pleasant sensation as he looked at Torrhen. It was as if Casta's face was looking back at him from behind the wolf helmet with the nose guard. We are brothers, sons of the kings of Winterfell, all descendants of King Barthogan. We belong together forever! We are one body, born of the same blood. The differences in military rank did not matter. Jon Snow looked at the members of the guard, but even as he walked among the simple Stark warriors, the fur-capped, cloth-clad archers, this feeling filled his soul. This is the predestined, vital alliance, the idea, the consciousness, whose service, if it strives for domination, will lead to the conquest of empires into infinity! The spirit of a single will, born into countless bodies to reverse the decline of the Seven Kingdoms, to fight against the all-conquering time. Does not the divine blood of Barthogan flow through the veins of this infinitely growing, many-legged, many-headed wolf? The great Stark empire, the great Stark idea, both body and soul, the incarnate spirit of the North, taking human form. And the stone walls are closing in, just as Eddard always said. The stone walls his father spoke of. All that is needed is a single royal voice, an unstoppable command from a ruler, giving the long-awaited signal for the flood to finally break forth, putting a stop to the corruption that is suffocating the roots of the oak trees. All those rising walls of ice that Eddard spoke of must be broken down before they completely cover the sky above Winterfell, so that the light can no longer shine!
"Robb chose this place well for us to form an alliance and seal a blood oath," he smiled warmly at Torrhen. "So that all brothers may now be united."
The guards stood at ease as the servants rolled up the felt doors of the huge yurt palace. Robb sat on a tall wooden throne carved with wolves in the middle of the square, under the banner of House Star. Unknown, curious faces looked at Jon Snow from all sides as he walked with Rickard, Torrhen, and the bodyguards across the crimson and yellow carpets embroidered with golden falcons and leaping deer leading to the high throne. The potbellied, bald Varys, wearing a medallion on a gold chain around his neck, stood up from a small platform and bowed. When he looked up, his bulging, watery eyes seemed to be searching for something in Jon's face. Jon Snow waited patiently for the other man to lower his eyes. Behind Robb's throne, Stark, Greystark, and pale, gray-bearded warriors looked at him. Their clothes sparkled with embroidered insignia, gold decorations, heavy embroidery, and dangling gold tassels. Robb's attire, however, in stark contrast to those around him, was completely unadorned, with a simple wolfskin cloak over his shoulders and a single ring on his finger as he raised his hands with his palms turned outward as they entered. When he spoke, he reminded Jon Snow particularly of their father. After everyone had bowed before him, Robb stepped down from his throne to greet them standing. Jon Snow saw that he had a strange mixture of gentle manners and ruthless harshness.
"I have much to show you, Jon Stark!" he said when he reached him. "And I need an experienced commander, someone who can conquer Dragonstone for me."
His voice rang with confidence. He addressed Jon Snow as Stark, acknowledging him as Eddard's heir. Robb smiled as he looked at him. Jon Snow bowed before him with an easy movement.
"Thank you for receiving me, High King, my brother!"
Robb allowed Jon Snow to kiss his signet ring with a deep bow. He could smell the finest Summer Island perfumes, befitting a ruler, on his strong, sword-wielding hands. Robb wore no unnecessary finery or adornments. A stern-looking king stood before Jon Snow, the man who had been victorious ever since he ascended the throne. With a lightning-fast movement, he grabbed his hand, squeezed his shoulder, and pulled him toward him.
"I am already a battle-hardened king," Robb whispered into Jon Snow's ear. "Jon, son of my father, only the gods know the future!
Jon Snow looked at the ground.
"I will need someone strong and experienced enough at Dragonstone. For Dragonstone is the ancient realm of the Targaryen kings, usurped by an enemy.
He looked up, and Robb smiled.
"I have great plans for you, son of my father."
"My king," Jon Snow said with due dignity, "command me."
"It's as if I see our father in you now!" said the king cordially, now in a loud voice.
As he opened his arms and his fur cloak fell open, everyone could see that he carried no weapons.
At the dinner held in honor of Robb and Rickard, Rodrik, Robb's son and heir, greeted them with a tall golden goblet filled with mare's milk. The fat Varys stood beside him and said some kind of table blessing. Jon Snow's eyes fell on a tall, dark-eyed young man who, despite his gilded Stark necklaces, clearly did not belong to Robb's court. His hair was brown and fell freely to his shoulders, his build was thin, and his beard had not yet grown on his chin.
"Jon Snow!" The young man bowed his head. "I am Robert, son of Jon Arryn," he said, and as he shook Jon Snow's hand, he immediately sensed the strength in it.
Jon Snow savored the names on his tongue. Both had a strange sound to them, and he couldn't decide whether Tully or Arryn was the better name. At the large, planed table, when the roasts and wine were brought out, he finally sat down next to him.
"May our alliance be strong!"
Robert raised his cup filled with sweet southern wine. Jon Snow looked at him.
"You are the Lord of the Eagle's Nest, if I am not mistaken, son of Jon Arryn."
Robert nodded.
"I am the Lord of the Eagle's Nest. I am King Robb's aide, envoy, and confidant." I have heard so much about you, Lord Snow!
The boy's dark eyes seemed clear, and not only in his hands, but also in his eyes, there was a strange power that radiated from his entire being. He reminded him of the septons. Perhaps this heir to the throne has magical powers?
"I haven't heard much about you, Jon Arryn's son."
The young man smiled, took a knife in his delicate hand, and cut the meat with it.
"If God wills it, you will hear more about me."
"Which God?"
"I believe in only one God, Snow," he said, putting down the knife. "Because there is only one God, whose name is the God of the Seven.
He made a strange gesture, as if touching his forehead first, then his heart and both shoulders. Jon Snow watched him with narrowed eyes. He remembered his amulet, a wolf's tooth that Robb had given him at Eddard's castle.
"But don't worry, Jon Snow," Robert continued courteously, "I know your gods well, even if I don't believe in them. King Robb also respects all gods, and I hope that one day the true God will enlighten his soul."
These were strange words to hear in Robb's great tent, surrounded by the crowd celebrating him. The Lord of the Eagle's Nest was brave to dare to say them. And it was almost certain that he enjoyed Robb's unlimited trust. Jon Snow only now noticed that Robert wore a star around his neck, though it was made of wood, not gold, like the one around the neck of the bald, fat eunuch. Eddard also spoke of the wood from which the members of the Faith of the Warrior made their star symbols. Perhaps now was the time to ask one of their followers how things worked in King's Landing? Patience. One thing at a time. First, he needed to find out who he really was.
"Why did you come here from the Eagle's Nest, and why do you serve King Robb if you don't believe in our gods?"
"I didn't come," the young man paused, then slowly emptied his golden cup before continuing, "I didn't come, Jon Snow, I was sent."
"King Baratheon sent you?"
Robert shook his head, his dark eyes betraying nothing, but Jon Snow sensed in his gaze an acknowledgment that he was not entirely unfamiliar with the ways of the Eagle's Nest.
"My father, Jon Arryn, sent me.
"For what purpose did he send you here?
Robert looked at him again, and Jon Snow felt him scrutinizing him. Robert's face was regular, hard, yet delicate. There was something familiar about it. But where from? Perhaps he had seen him at Jon Arryn's funeral? Jon Snow smiled.
"Do you find it strange that I ask so many questions?"
Robert's mouth seemed to harden, then he bowed his head.
"You are Ned Stark's son," he said simply, "it is natural that you ask many questions."
"What do you know about my father?"
"A lot. King Robb told me a lot about him, as he was his favorite son. Eddard Stark could have ruled in Robert's stead, but the God of the Seven wanted otherwise."
He nodded and reached for the wine instead of the milk.
"You speak our language better than if you were born a Stark. Why did your father send you here?"
Jon Snow tried to figure out the real purpose of his mission. If his father had sent him across the border, there could only be two reasons: either Jon Arryn wanted his son to be an ally, or a Lannister spy.
"The truth is," Robert continued after a short pause, "Tywin Lannister ordered my father to give me to the Starks as a hostage. I was a guarantee of peace. Someone Robb could execute if King Baratheon broke the peace.
"My father told me that the king is the lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Is Tywin his deputy? The eastern or western regent in King's Landing?
"Not exactly. There are two helpers, always two, but they are only elected for one year.
"Elected? Why?
"It's an old custom. The helper is the king's right hand. Being helper is an honor. There is no equivalent position in the Great Stark Kingdom. Ned Stark was also honored before the council pronounced his death sentence on behalf of the king.
Jon Snow felt that Eddard had told him little about King's Landing, which was bigger than the world. Perhaps if this Arryn stayed here, that situation might change.
"I don't think you're a prisoner."
"I don't know..." Robert said uncertainly. "Today, certainly, but I don't even know who or what I am anymore."
"Is that why you stayed here?"
"My father is dead," Robert's hand seemed to clench into a fist for a moment, "and Robert Baratheon is also dead. King Joffrey has surely forgotten me. Perhaps my mother is no longer alive either. I owe nothing to King's Landing anymore!"
Jon Snow felt that this boy, however likable he might be, was not entirely sincere. Perhaps he really did not know why he was here, but deep down he knew exactly why. He sensed his power, which stemmed from his nature and upbringing, in his confident, noble movements. Especially in the way he clicked his tongue at the Glover and Umber servants to refill his cup with wine. There was something intangible, a power that evoked forces from deep within, vibrating in Robert's voice. And his eyes were like a septon's. Perhaps the God of the Seven had sent him here to peer into the soul of the mysterious northern realm? Robb had just told him about Dragonstone, and Jon Snow already knew from Rickard where Dragonstone was and that it belonged to the realm of King's Landing. If the Iron Sword existed, could it really be there, in Dragonstone, occupied by the usurping Baratheons? This was the ancestral land where, according to the legends of the maesters, the fire of the Targaryen dragons fell from the sky, and the sword that the sons of the ancient king Cregan Stark had obtained and the families descended from them had guarded for a thousand years? Robert could help the Starks reclaim their heritage, which had been in the hands of their enemies for centuries. Perhaps he can help the Starks reclaim one of the sacred swords of ancient times.
"When you return to King's Landing, Robert," Jon Snow asked, "will you fight against the Starks or with them?"
The young man held his gaze.
"How do you know I'll return at all, Snow?"
"I know," Jon Snow replied, sensing Robert's hesitation.
Robb's yurt palace, the long, unplaned table, the smoke hole representing the endless sky, and the tall wooden pillar were all obscured for a moment. Jon Snow could only see with his soul the image emerging from the darkness, outlined on the silk curtains hanging from the wooden scaffolding around the table. He saw this boy in ornate armor, with a short sword drawn in his hand, galloping at the head of a hundred horsemen with a blue cloak fluttering like wings on his shoulders. A cloud rose before the setting sun, and stone bridges rose behind the green hills, as if they were the bases of towers reaching up to the heavens. Jon Snow drank from his cup and added:
"Our gods, Robert, the gods you do not believe in, they told me.