POV: Robb Stark
Wood clacked against wood again and again in the yard, sharp and fast like the clatter of hooves. Robb Stark ducked and spun, his boots skidding a little on the cold stones. He brought his wooden sword up just in time to stop Jon's next hit. The smack of it echoed across the yard.
"You're getting slow," Jon said with a lopsided grin, jumping on his feet like he always did when he was winning.
Robb made a face. "You're just lucky. And you've been sneaking extra practice."
Jon shrugged. "Maybe."
Their breath made little white clouds in the frosty air. Snowflakes clung to their hair and cloaks, but neither of them really noticed. Ser Rodrik watched nearby with his hands tucked into his thick cloak, only speaking now and then when he thought their feet were too wide or their swings too wild. The old knight didn't smile, but Robb thought he might've been enjoying himself.
Robb feinted left and then rushed in, trying to catch Jon off guard. Jon jumped back, laughing, then slipped a little and landed hard on one knee. Robb paused, worried, but Jon popped right back up, still grinning.
"You all right?"
"Better than you'll be when I win," Jon said, raising his sword again.
Robb snorted. They were both laughing now, swinging and dodging, the yard around them fading away. It didn't matter that Robb was Lord Stark's trueborn son or that Jon was a Snow. Out here, they were just two boys with swords.
Then a voice called out, and they both froze.
"Robb. Jon. Come inside before you freeze solid."
They turned toward the voice. Lady Stark stood in the archway, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Her eyes found Jon, and something about the way she looked at him made Robb blink. It wasn't angry. Not even annoyed.
"You've both bruised each other enough," she said. "The maids have warm water ready. Wash and dress. The lords will be arriving soon."
Robb let his sword drop to his side. "The Winter Moot?"
"Yes, and your father expects you both to be presentable."
Jon stayed quiet, wiping snow from his sleeve. Lady Stark looked at him again. Not sharp or cold, just... quiet.
"You too, Jon. You should see this. It's not every day the North comes together."
Jon gave a small nod. "Yes, my lady."
She turned and walked back inside. Robb stared after her, puzzled.
"That was... different."
Jon just gave a tiny shrug. "Maybe she's in a good mood."
The warmth of the keep hit them like a hug after the cold outside. The halls were noisy now—maids rushing around, fires crackling, smells of fresh bread and spiced wine drifting from the kitchens.
They washed quickly, splashing steaming water on their faces and scrubbing at their arms. Robb wriggled into his nicer tunic, the one with the direwolf on the chest. Jon wore one of his best too—plain, but neat.
They walked past the yard, boots thudding against the stone walkway slick with half-melted frost, on their way to the hall. As they neared the base of the old tower, Jon stopped and tugged Robb's sleeve.
"Look up."
Robb did.
At the top of the library tower, sitting on the very edge with his legs crossed and his long black coat with silver lining fluttering in the wind, was Lord Nhilux. He looked like he might slip and fall at any moment, but he didn't even sway. His eyes were fixed on the woods beyond Winterfell, unmoving as if he were listening to something only he could hear.
"He's always up there in the mornings," Jon said, voice low. "Even before the cook wakes. I've seen him a few times when I couldn't sleep. Just... sitting there. Like he's listening for something."
"What's he looking at?"
"Don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."
Robb squinted. The man looked oddly out of place—his long, dark coat with silver trim too fine, too foreign against the rough stone of the tower. He didn't blend in at all. If anything, he stuck out like a shadow cast from another world.
"Let's go up," Robb said.
Jon hesitated.
Jon grabbed Robb's arm, holding him back a step. "I don't think we should go up there," he said, eyes still on the dark figure high above.
Robb frowned. "Why not?"
"He's strange," Jon said simply. "Not like Maester Luwin or Father's other men. He barely talks. Sometimes I think he hears things nobody else does."
Robb grinned. "That's what makes him interesting. Don't you want to know what he's thinking up there all the time?"
Jon shook his head. "No. Not really."
But Robb was already tugging at his sleeve, the same way he did when he wanted to race through the godswood or sneak a honeycake from the kitchen—or get the cook to make them hot cocoa in secret before bed. "Come on, it'll be quick. We'll just say hello. Maybe he'll say something funny again."
Jon sighed, but he followed. He always followed. "If we fall off the tower, I'm blaming you."
"You can blame me when you're a ghost," Robb said with a smirk.
So they ran, boots splashing into half-thawed puddles as they raced across the muddy yard. The cold morning air stung their cheeks, but Robb laughed anyway, dodging a slush-covered cartwheel and nearly slipping as he ran.
"Come on!" Robb called, not slowing. "He'll be gone if we take too long!"
Jon groaned behind him. "We'll be soaked to the knees before we even get there."
Mud clung to their boots and splattered up their trousers as they cut across the open courtyard toward the library tower. Stablehands shouted for them to watch out, and a dog barked as they passed, but the boys just laughed, weaving around puddles like they were in a footrace.
By the time they reached the base of the tower steps, both were panting and speckled with muck.
Then they both laughed a little, and the nervous feeling slipped away just enough for them to keep climbing.
They turned toward the stairs and began to climb, boots thumping softly on the worn stone.
"Lady Stark's not going to like seeing our clothes like this again," Jon muttered, eyeing the mud on his trousers.
Robb waved a hand. "It's fine. We'll just tell Mother we were running around the castle and hadn't changed yet. She'll never know we got dirty twice."
By the time they reached the top floor landing, the wind was louder, and the narrow hallway felt colder. Robb tiptoed the last few steps, then peeked through the slit window in the tower door.
Lord Nhilux was still sitting on the edge, coat billowing like a flag behind him. But now, his lips were moving. There was no one near him. No one they could see. He was talking to himself.
Robb blinked. "Is he... speaking?"
Jon peered past him, eyes wide. "He is. I told you he's strange."
They watched quietly. Lord Nhilux's voice didn't reach them, but his mouth moved slowly..
Jon shifted closer to the wall. "We should go back. I don't want him to see us."
Robb shook his head. "We're already here."
"Robb—"
But Robb had his hand on the old iron handle. He gave Jon a firm look, then pushed the door open with a soft creak.
The wind rushed in at once, cold and sharp. Lord Nhilux did not turn.
Not yet.
Then, without looking, he said, "Little lords creeping up my tower. Should I be honored or terribly hurt that you didn't knock first?"
Robb froze for a heartbeat. Jon looked ready to bolt.
Nhilux turned his head slowly, just enough for them to see his pale smile and sharp, dark eyes. "Truly, I thought I had at least a few minutes of privacy left before being spied upon."
Robb stepped forward, clearing his throat. "We weren't spying. Just... wondering what you were doing."
"Talking to ghosts, of course," Nhilux said lightly. "Or maybe it was just the wind pretending to listen. Hard to tell these days."
Jon stayed back, half behind the doorframe. Robb could feel him fidgeting.
"Robb shifted awkwardly. "Sorry for not telling you we were near," he said first, brushing mud from his sleeve. "You talk to yourself a lot," he added then, curious despite the cold.
"Mmm. Only when I want good advice," Nhilux replied. "And occasionally, to frighten off nosy boys with wild hair and muddy boots."
Robb glanced down at his boots, which were indeed muddy. He grinned despite himself.
Lord Nhilux shifted slightly on the edge, then patted a spot on the stone beside him. "Come, then. You're already up here. Might as well enjoy the view."
Jon didn't move.
Robb did.
He stepped lightly over to the edge and sat where Nhilux had patted, careful not to slip. The wind tugged at his cloak, and he pulled it tighter around his shoulders. From here, the wolfswood looked like an endless sea of grey and green. Robb thought he could even see the smoke rising faintly from the trees—probably from Crofter's Village, hidden among the woods. Nhilux didn't say anything for a moment, just stared out at the horizon like it was something sacred.
"So...why do you come up here every day?" Robb asked.
Nhilux raised a brow. "Not every day. Just sometimes—when I'm bored or want to feel the morning air on my face. And to brood like an old wizard in a story. It's in the contract."
Robb blinked. "What contract?"
"The one all mysterious foreign advisors sign when they move into towers. Haven't you read your fairy tales?"
Robb laughed, and the sound made Jon finally step closer. He hovered near the door, arms folded.
"You're strange," Jon said.
"Thank you," Nhilux replied with a smile. "I work very hard at it."
Robb grinned. "Jon thought you might be a ghost."
"I've been called worse," Nhilux said with a mock sigh. "Warlock, spook, doom prophet... someone once mistook me for a very tall owl."
"You don't look like an owl," Robb said, giggling.
"I took it as a compliment. Owls are wise, after all. And they stay up all night worrying about things no one else cares about. Very relatable."
Jon finally moved to sit beside Robb, and Nhilux reached out to help him up with a surprisingly firm grip before settling back into place.
"Are you really from Essos?" Jon asked, now seated cross-legged on the stone.
"Oh yes," Nhilux said. "Very far away. Past rivers and deserts and mountains and too many bad inns."
"What's it like?" Robb asked.
Nhilux shrugged. "Hot. Loud. Complicated. They don't have snow like this. And the bread isn't nearly as good."
Robb nodded thoughtfully. "So why'd you come here?"
"Because your grandfather needed someone to tell him when the pipes were leaking, when the chickens were plotting, and when the wine cellar was mysteriously running low—though I suspect that last one was your uncle's doing."
Robb squinted. "Really?"
"No," Nhilux said. "But it's a much funnier story than the truth. And far more believable."
The boys laughed, and for a while they just sat, the wind whistling around them. Then Robb glanced sideways.
"You always stare at the woods," he said. "Why?"
Nhilux didn't answer right away. His smile faded, just a little, and his eyes seemed far away.
"I once had a house near woods like those," Nhilux said softly. "Not here, far far... away. In a place where the air bit your nose even in spring. The house had big glass windows—real glass, not the thick wavy kind—and they looked out at tall trees that never lost their green."
Robb tilted his head. "Like pine trees?"
"Yes," Nhilux nodded. "Pine trees, and snowbanks taller than you. It had a warm metal box that made heat without fire, and a kitchen full of lights you could turn on with just a flick."
Jon frowned. "You didn't have to light torches?"
"Nope," Nhilux said, amused. "And I had a box that could keep milk cold even in summer, and another that made music—real music, not just harp songs."
Robb blinked. "A singing box?"
"Of sorts," Nhilux chuckled. "And a bath that filled with hot water all on its own, like magic. I had a chair that leaned back, and a soft rug that your feet could sink into. And shelves filled with stories. Too many to count."
The boys stared at him, mouths slightly open.
"You're making this up," Jon said.
"I wish I was," Nhilux murmured. His voice got all soft, and Robb noticed he wasn't smiling anymore. He looked out at the woods again, like he was seeing something that wasn't there now. Robb didn't really understand what Lord Nhilux had meant with all that talk about magic baths and boxes that sing and lights you could flick on and off.
It sounded like a tale Old Nan would tell when the fire burned low—but Nhilux wasn't laughing anymore. He looked sort of lonely. Not sad like when Sansa scraped her knee, but a deep kind of quiet, like he missed something too big to fit into words.
"It was peaceful," he said after a pause. "Too peaceful, maybe. I miss it more than I care to admit. But I left. And now I'm here—fulfilling a very long contract and, hopefully, trying to find my way back."
Robb didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. And Jon, for once, stayed quiet.
Then, with a sudden huff, Nhilux clapped his hands together. "Right! Enough of that. You two didn't climb all the way up here to watch an old man sulk about hot baths and chairs, did you?"
Robb gave a little laugh. "You're not that old."
"Says the child with snow in his eyebrows," Nhilux replied, pointing at him. "I'm older than I look."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "How old?"
Nhilux leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Old enough to have outlived five contracts, three revolutions, two actual dragons, and one very angry goose."
"A goose?" Robb blinked.
"Oh yes," Nhilux said seriously. "Meanest creature I've ever met. White feathers. Soulless eyes. Peed in my boots."
Robb burst out laughing.
"You're making that up," Jon said.
"I wish I was," Nhilux sighed dramatically. "I still have nightmares."
Robb, still chuckling, nudged Jon. "Tell us a story then. From Essos. A real one. Not about haunted geese."
Nhilux raised a brow. "Ah, you want the good stuff. Fine. Let me tell you about Hyrkoon. Ever heard of it?"
Both boys shook their heads.
"Didn't think so," Nhilux said with a pleased hum. He adjusted his seat on the stone and stared eastward as if seeing far beyond. "You go east of Pentos, beyond the Dothraki Sea where the grass grows taller than a man's chest, and then beyond the great Bone Mountains, which cut the world like a broken jaw. Past those mountains lies a sea of golden sand so wide it swallows whole caravans. And within it, in a canyon so vast it makes the Vale look like a crumpled hilltop trail—this was a canyon wide as a kingdom, deep enough to swallow clouds, lies the Kingdom of Hyrkoon."
Robb leaned forward. "A kingdom in a canyon?"
"An empire, once," Nhilux said, voice dipping to something deeper. "Built across stone bridges and carved directly into the canyon walls. Towers that rise and fall with the cliffs, and gardens that hang in the shade like emerald waterfalls. They say the sun only touches the canyon floor at midday, and when it does, the whole place glows like fire."
Jon's eyes were wide. "People really live there?"
"Oh yes," Nhilux said. "Hardy folk, born of wind and sand. They wear long sashes and silver-dyed veils to keep the sun from biting, and wrap their feet in soft leather for walking the hot stone paths. Their colors are like flame—burnt orange, crimson, and gold—shimmering in the canyon light. Their temples echo with a thousand hanging bells that chime with every breeze, and their markets are thick with the scents of saffron, roasted dates, sun-dried citrus, and fire-grilled lamb. You never forget those smells—they cling to your memory."
He smiled faintly at the memory. "They're great carvers. Everything they build is etched with stories. Even their spoons tell tales. And they say—though no one's proven it—that their ancestors were remnants of the Great Empire of the Dawn."
Jon glanced at Nhilux. "So, where is it exactly? Could we find it on a map?"
Nhilux gave a soft chuckle. "Not on most maps. But if you know where to look… follow the old Steel Road, cross Kayakayanaya, and then turn south toward the Sand Road. There, beyond the last mountain passes, you'll find Bayasabhad—the last living outpost of the Hyrkooni line. The rest, like Samyriana and its cliff temples, are whispers, buried in dust and sun."
Robb frowned. "What's that?"
"A lost empire," Nhilux said, softly. "So old it makes Valyria look like a child's toy. Before the Long Night. Before even the First Men came west. The Hyrkooni believe they are descended from a bright-blooded king who once ruled half the world and talked to stars."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe it?"
Nhilux shrugged. "I believe in the stories. Whether they're true is another matter. Sometimes, stories last longer than truth, and that makes them just as powerful."
Robb was silent for a while, then said, "What happened to them? The empire."
"Same as always," Nhilux said with a sigh. "Time, pride, betrayal. Some say it fell when the sun itself turned against them. Others say they split apart, fought among themselves until all that was left were whispers and ruins. The usual end to things that burn too bright."
The boys sat quietly, letting that hang in the air. Then Nhilux leaned in and said in a low, amused voice,
"But you know what I remember most about Hyrkoon? The food."
"What kind of food?" Robb asked.
"Desert food," Nhilux said. "Dates stuffed with almonds and rolled in honey. Flatbreads baked on hot stones, brushed with oil and crushed spices. Lamb grilled over coals and served with pickled lemon. 'amber milk'—spiced, sweet, and cold even when the world outside could boil a kettle."
Jon made a face. "Better than Winterfell bread?"
Nhilux grinned. "Don't tell your baker, but yes. By a mile
The boys laughed again. The wind picked up, and the sound of bells—real or imagined—seemed to echo faintly through the tower walls.
There was a comfortable silence after that, just the wind and their laughter. Then Robb turned to Nhilux with wide eyes.
"Can you fly?"
Nhilux blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You said you saw dragons. Maybe you learned how to fly like them. Can you?" Robb asked.
Nhilux tapped his chin. "Well, not usually. Not unless I've had too much lemon wine. Then I believe I can fly, right until I remember gravity exists."
Jon chuckled. "That's not flying. That's falling."
"With style," Nhilux said, winking.
Robb's face was lit up with amusement. "Do you know magic?"
"I know how to make hot cocoa disappear," Nhilux said. "Is that close enough?"
Robb nodded solemnly. "That's pretty good."
"I can also make grown men stop talking by staring at them for long enough."
"Father does that too," Jon added.
"He must be very wise. Or very scary. Possibly both."
"Are you scared of anything?" Robb asked.
"Yes," Nhilux said at once. "Chamber pots. And wedding speeches. And worse yet—singing at weddings. Nothing strikes terror into my heart like an off-key drunk uncle belting out a love ballad while tripping over a dog."
Robb laughed again, nearly doubling over.
Jon smiled and asked, more quietly, "Do you miss your home a lot?"
Nhilux's smile faded just a little, but he nodded. "Yes. But it helps to laugh. And having little lords sneaking up towers helps too."
Robb looked out at the woods again, then leaned back on his hands. "If you ever find your way back, will you come say goodbye?"
Nhilux looked at him, surprised for a moment. Then he smiled softly. "Of course. I'd be a terrible tower wizard if I didn't leave a note behind. Or at least a riddle."
Jon nodded slowly. "You should leave both. That way Old Nan can make a story out of it."
"Now that," Nhilux said honestly impressed, "is a very good idea."
Jon tilted his head. "What do you actually do here? Besides sitting on roofs and talking to ghosts?"
"Ah, an excellent question," Nhilux said, rubbing his hands together. "A bit of everything. I fix things. I read things. I whisper in ears and tell people not to build their grain cellars too close to their outhouses. I make charts. I ask questions no one else wants to. Mostly, I get things ready."
Robb blinked. "Ready for what?"
"The future," Nhilux said with a mysterious little grin. "Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. It pays to plan ahead."
Jon looked unconvinced. "That sounds... boring."
"It is," Nhilux agreed cheerfully. "But it's the good kind of boring. The kind where things don't fall apart while you're sleeping."
Robb kicked his legs a little, looking down over the ledge. "People in the castle talk about you sometimes. They say you're smart and polite and you helped with the new road plans and the big library shelf that doesn't fall over anymore."
"And that you stopped the kitchen from catching fire," Jon added.
"Only twice," Nhilux said. "Third time, I'll just let it happen. Maybe it'll roast a decent chicken."
Robb giggled. "But Mother says you're... weird."
"Oh, I am," Nhilux said proudly. "Takes a lot of effort to stay this weird. Ask anyone. Normal in this world is exhausting."
"She says you wear strange shoes," Robb added.
"I do. Very comfortable. Made from the hide of the mythical 'rubber beast.'"
Jon stared. "That's not real."
"Neither is your sense of humor," Nhilux replied without missing a beat, and Jon actually laughed.
The boys looked at each other and then back at Nhilux. It was hard to tell where the jokes ended and the truth began—but neither of them really minded.
A faint voice carried up the tower on the wind.
"Robb! Jon! It's time!"
Robb recognized his mother's call and groaned. "We have to go."
Nhilux stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Duty calls. Come, my young lords, before Lady Stark comes up here and turns me into a toad."
He held out both hands, and with surprising ease, helped each boy stand from the edge. Robb clutched Nhilux's hand a little longer than necessary—partly because it was warm and safe, and partly because climbing down looked more dangerous than climbing up.
They walked down the winding stairs, the boys in front and Nhilux behind, humming some odd tune none of them recognized. Robb glanced back a few times, and every time, Nhilux winked or made a silly face. Jon stifled a giggle once, and Robb elbowed him playfully.
"He's not like the other lords," Robb whispered.
"He's not a lord," Jon whispered back. "He's something else."
"Something funny," Robb said with a grin.
When they finally stepped into the yard again, sunlight blinding after the tower's gloom, Robb turned to make another joke—only to find Nhilux already there, leaning against the outer wall like he'd been waiting the whole time.
Both boys jumped.
"How—?" Jon started.
"Wizards don't reveal their secrets," Nhilux said, smirking. "Now go get dressed before your mother turns me into soup."
Robb laughed and Jon shook his head, and they ran off across the yard, already arguing about whether Nhilux had really beaten them down or just tricked them with one of his "tower wizard" jokes.
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Chapter 6.5: The Winter Moot Feast
POV: Catelyn Stark
Catelyn Stark stood just outside the covered arch leading into the Great Hall, her fingers tucked into the fur lining of her cloak. She had sent a maid to find the boys nearly twenty minutes ago, and still they had not returned. She frowned toward the far end of the courtyard, where the last streaks of sunlight painted the stones in fading gold.
Then she saw them.
Robb and Jon came tearing around the side of the armory, their boots splashing through half-frozen puddles, faces flushed from cold and laughter. Robb's hair was a wild mess, Jon's cloak half-hanging from one shoulder.
"Mother!" Robb called, his grin too wide to be innocent.
"We met Lord Nhilux," Jon said as they skidded to a stop in front of her. "Up on the library tower. He was right on the edge again."
"He said he was talking to ghosts," Robb added, breathless.
Catelyn raised a brow. "Did he, now?"
"Then he helped us down," Jon went on. "And—this is the strange part—he was already in the yard before we even reached the bottom. Like magic."
Robb nodded. "We saw him near the library wall, just standing there. But look—"
He turned and pointed, but the space near the library tower was empty. There was no dark figure in a silver-lined coat. No trace of Nhilux at all.
Jon blinked. "He was just there."
Robb frowned. "He really was."
Catelyn looked from her sons to the empty space, then back. "That man... has a habit of vanishing when it suits him."
She fought the chill creeping up her spine. Essosi or not, there was something unnatural in the way Nhilux moved through Winterfell—as if the castle itself chose when to reveal him.
"Come," she said, gathering her voice. "You're both half-covered in dirt. Get changed. The feast will begin soon, and your father expects his sons to look like more than stable boys."
"But Mother—"
"No buts, Robb. Your tunic is soaked. And Jon, fix that cloak."
Jon muttered a soft "Yes, my lady" and tugged it into place.
As they made their way toward the inner stair, Catelyn walked between them. Their steps echoed off the stone, Robb still bouncing with excitement, Jon quieter but no less curious.
She didn't speak again until they reached the hall that led toward their rooms. There, she slowed.
"I know you both like him," she said carefully. "But remember—he is not like the rest of us."
Robb frowned. "He's funny. And kind. And he talks to us like grown men. Not like we're little."
"And he never tells us to go away," Jon added.
Catelyn hesitated, then said, "He talks to everyone like they're children, in that strange way of his. Even to your father, sometimes. It's... unsettling."
Robb's face pinched with a flicker of annoyance. "He doesn't talk to us like we're children. He listens. He laughs."
Jon crossed his arms. "He treats us better than some of the knights do."
Catelyn raised her hands gently. "I'm not saying he's cruel. Only that he sees the world differently. And sometimes, people who see too differently lose track of what others understand. That can be dangerous."
The boys didn't answer, but their silence was edged. She glanced at Jon then, more sharply than she meant to. "He knows things he shouldn't," she said softly, almost to herself. "Things no one told him."
Jon looked away, lips pressed tight.
She sighed, feeling the line she'd just crossed and already regretting it.
She softened her tone. "I don't want to take him away from you. I just want you both to be careful. That's all."
Robb still didn't quite look at her, but he gave a small nod. Jon followed suit, if only after a pause.
Catelyn gave a small nod, folding her hands. "I don't doubt he's been... helpful. But I grew up in a place where men wore their intentions plainly—even when they lied, you could read their motives. Nhilux is different. He sees the world like it's a story unfolding around him. Sometimes I think he's reading us all like characters in a book only he understands. Your father trusts him, and I trust your father. But still—"
She trailed off.
She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to be the Southern wife who whispered fears into her children. But Nhilux reminded her of old stories, of Lysene illusionists and the quiet masks worn by Braavosi contract-men. He was too quiet, too polished, and far too calm. There was something in his eyes that had seen too much—and still wasn't finished watching.
"Just be cautious," she said at last.
Robb looked puzzled but nodded. Jon didn't speak.
"Now," she said briskly, brushing the thought aside, "go. Warm water's waiting. And if you show up late with straw in your hair, don't think your father will let it pass."
Robb darted off toward his room. Jon gave her a short, respectful nod and followed.
Catelyn lingered a moment longer, glancing out a narrow window. The sun had just begun to rise, casting long golden rays over the frost-kissed stones of the courtyard and painting the high towers in pale light.
She scanned the edge of the library tower again.
Still no sign of him.
With a soft breath, she turned away.
The feast awaited.
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Catelyn sat at the head of the high table beneath the carved direwolf of House Stark, her husband seated at her side, his gaze fixed on the great hall below. The fires roared in the hearths, and the smells of roasted meat and mulled wine curled around her like a heavy blanket. The lords of the North had gathered—gray cloaks, fur-lined tunics, and old voices rumbling like distant thunder.
She rested a hand lightly over her stomach. It had been two moons now, and though she had told no one—not even Ned—she felt certain. The signs were all there. She would tell him tonight, after the hall quieted and the lords returned to their chambers. If it was a boy, she already knew what name she would speak: Bran.
A name from her father's house a long ago ancestor, yes, but one strong and northern too. A name that could belong to a Stark.
She looked across the crowded hall. Lord Wyman Manderly laughed at something Ser Rodrik said, the two seated near a steaming plate of honeyed trout. To their right, the tall, quiet Lord Reed of Greywater exchanged words with Greatjon Umber, whose booming voice echoed even as he chewed.
Members of the mountain clans were here as well—gruff men in boiled leather and wolf-pelt mantles. Several black brothers from the Night's Watch stood along the wall near the back, silent as shadows. They spoke little, and only with those they seemed to trust: a few from House Umber, several Mormonts, and two Karstarks seated nearby.
And even Skagos had sent a delegation: two grim-faced men with thick brows and scarred cheeks, their words few and sharp.
The North had come.
She turned her head, watching one of the side entrances—and smiled faintly as she saw Robb and Jon enter together, freshly washed and cloaked, both looking a touch too serious as they tried not to trip over their boots.
Then, the main door opened.
Lord Nhilux stepped through with his usual quiet grace. His black coat with the silver lining shimmered in the firelight as he moved, seemingly without haste, yet always ahead of the crowd's notice. He did not move to sit, not yet. He was watching, scanning the room with those strange eyes of his—as if weighing it all.
Robb noticed him first, nudged Jon, and both boys turned, clearly wondering if he'd appear again as suddenly as he had vanished.
But he was there. Solid. Real.
Catelyn looked down at her cup and took a quiet breath.
Whatever else he was, Nhilux was a part of their world now.
And today, he was part of the feast.
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Before long, Lord Nhilux found himself surrounded. It began with Lord Tallhart, who clapped him hard on the back and launched into questions about the shipment delays from the port.
"You'll want to speak with Baeron at the docks," Nhilux said without missing a beat. "He's managing schedules and shares. Tell him to check the fourth ledger—yes, the one with the green binding."
Then came a trio of lesser lords from the mountain passes, eager to request stonecutters for a road project that had stalled.
"Speak to Rhella in the Wintertown guild hall," Nhilux replied. "She has the work orders for the masons and knows which crews can handle froststone. She's the one with the braid down to her waist—can't miss her. They've just started sorting the new slates by region."
One by one, they came—lords and landed knights, tradesmen with questions, and messengers with sealed notes. And each time, Nhilux directed them to one of his people: scribes, builders, and officials he'd planted throughout the North.
Even more unsettling to Catelyn were the murmurs she overheard as she sat beside Ned. More than one lord, between cups of ale and roast mutton, hinted that they would be open to tying their house to Nhilux's—through daughters, nieces, or even widowed cousins.
Lord Hornwood, already well into his drink, leaned in with a greasy smile. "You'd be welcome in our hall, my lord. Lady Alira's daughter is of age now. Pretty, quiet girl. Good hips."
Nhilux merely raised a brow. "Alira is still married to your cousin, is she not?"
Hornwood laughed, unbothered. "Eh, details."
"Indeed," Nhilux replied with a faint smile, stepping away from the crowd toward the side, where he reached for some food and a cup of some wine.
Catelyn's gaze drifted back to her children. Robb was slumped slightly, resting his chin on one hand. Jon sat straight but blinked slowly, clearly struggling to stay alert. Their formal appearance had lasted minutes, and now they looked like caged pups itching to run.
They both looked toward Nhilux as he passed, eyes brightening even from across the room.
Catelyn sighed softly.
Then Ned stood.
The room began to hush, slowly at first, then all at once. The hall fell quiet as Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, stepped forward and raised a hand.
"Lords of the North," he said, voice steady, "tonight we are gathered not only for fellowship, but to mark a moment of union."
He glanced to his brother seated below the high table.
"I am pleased to announce the betrothal and coming marriage of my brother, Benjen Stark, to Lady Dacey Mormont of Bear Island."
There was a stir in the crowd—some gasps, others nods of respect. Catelyn saw Lady Maege raise her mug with a firm smile.
"In addition," Ned continued, "Benjen has been granted the lands and keep of Queenscrown, long abandoned, but now under repair these past ten moons."
More murmurs. A few raised brows.
Lord Karstark stood slightly. "Those lands lie close to the Gift. Are they not owed to the Night's Watch?"
Ned nodded. "The keep will serve as other vassal holdings do—but instead of raising banners to Winterfell, it shall support the Night's Watch directly. The new house established there will not owe taxes or military service to Winterfell, but instead will offer continued support—gold, supplies, and men—to the Watch. Forty thousand dragons have already been given to aid in building and securing the keep."
The room was quiet again, thoughtful now. Catelyn studied the faces: pride, curiosity, a few wary glances.
"The North stands strong," Ned said. "And we will make it stronger, not with swords alone, but with loyalty, with stone, and with sense."
He sat, and the room erupted into a mix of toasts and whispers.
Catelyn took another sip of wine and placed her hand back on her stomach.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Nhilux slip out through the main hall doors as quietly as he had arrived. No farewell, no flourish—just a shadow, swallowed by the stone.
She didn't need to ask where he was going. He never lingered.
Her thoughts drifted to a memory, a quiet one from early spring last year, when Ned had summoned Nhilux to his solar to speak about such a feast. She had passed the open door as they talked.
Flashback----
"It would be good for you to attend," Ned had said, his voice calm. "Let the lords see your face and hear your voice. Some still don't trust what they don't see."
Nhilux had been standing by the window, one hand resting on the edge of the map table. "And so they never will, no matter how many cups we share."
"You've done good work," Ned pressed. "They should know it."
"They already do," Nhilux replied. "They just don't know why an outsider is the one doing it."
"You could ease their minds."
Nhilux had smiled faintly. "And bore myself senseless in the process. You know what happens when I'm bored, Lord Stark. I start fixing things that aren't broken."
Ned had let out the smallest laugh at that. "Very well. But at least try to be seen."
"I'll make an appearance," Nhilux had said. "And then I'll make an exit. That's how it works, isn't it?"
Flashback End----
And he had.
Even now, as Catelyn looked toward the door where he had vanished, she wondered if he had already returned to that quiet tower, or if he was somewhere else entirely—someplace even Winterfell didn't see.
Author Thought's----
Yeah so tell me what you think of the chapter.
i am going to start doing small time skips. to show the parts of story which are important.
cause writing every little interaction is NOT something i can do.
i already struggle writing characters like Tywin and Ned Stark.
as always if there is a mistake pls do tell me.
also gimme any ideas you have to add in the story. at the end of the day i am just one man, so your ideas can help me make the story better and gimme a better idea to which direction i should take the story.