Jon Snow had seen dead people before he was a child. But all but one were from the North. Most of them had gray hair or white beards, and the women's faces were like wilted yellow fruit. It was the one young woman who the women of Winterfell claimed had been 'carried off by the grey plague'. Her skin was as rotten as animal fur when skinned, but beneath her black eyebrows Jon Snow could not miss the deep blue eyes. He had not seen Jon Arryn as a young man either. It was the last month of the long winter. The trees were budding. Jon Arryn, Protector of the Vale, had been dead for three days. The septons said his soul would remain near the realm for seven more days before moving on to the God of Weeks. During this time, the dead man can still see and hear everything that happens in his former kingdom, see his wife, his son, the people of his house, his retainers bearing the white falcon crest, even his master, who anointed his corpse with holy oils, slowly burning his body with pungent-smelling tree branches. He makes sure that everyone does what the gods want them to do, so care must be taken not to anger the dead. And Casta of the Outlands, who was three days younger than Jon Snow, spoke to the master. Master Colemon told him: the soul has eternal life. Lady Stark said the same when she called her children to her after her father's death.
- Your grandfather's soul was going fast, - she said, - the gods had constricted and stopped his heart. I felt the last beat of his heart when he stopped. Lord of the Roaring did not suffer much.
Eddard spoke calmly of the untimely passing of the King's Helper as he laid his massive arms, both palms on Jon Snow's head. Casta did not cry, nor did he whimper. The shedding of tears was the weakness of girls and women, but Casta was a man now, nearly twenty years old, just as Jon Snow would soon be entering the ripe old age of manhood. After the mourners had all paid their respects, the septons also told us that many would follow the Helper into the afterlife. Women, harlots, kings and slaves. Jon Arryn's arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers, jewelled with gold and silver rings, were on his now faded robes, bound together with lion clasps. Among the crowd of mourners were relatives everywhere, men and women, his widow's sister's children, his extended family. But his wife and son, who were among the first to pay their respects, had already paid their respects. Now only Catelyn stood with her children, the bearer of her sister's legacy. Her eyes stared at the broad, muscular backs of Jon Snow and Casta, then her gaze drifted to the folds of her own snow-white robe. The bastard siblings were dropping freshly cut spring flowers on Jon Arryn's still, death-clad body. Jon Snow sought his stepmother's gaze, but she turned her head away. Jon held his breath for a moment. Lady Stark stared into space as she slowly dropped her own flowers. Jon Snow felt his throat dry and bitter, but there were no tears in his eyes. Nor did Casta weep as he looked for the last time at the dead man's face, his lids closed.
The first guests arrived from the north. They approached in packed, felt-planked carts and on the backs of stocky, thick-maned, spotted horses. Most of them were Karstarks, underlings of House Stark, but Jon Snow soon learned that his uncle Benjen, scout of the Night's Watch, was expected to attend the funeral pyre, where warriors, family members and servants would bid the Lord of Eagle's Nest a final farewell. For a long time he had wanted to meet his uncle, whom his father had described as a more experienced warrior than anyone else. A man in royal attire stood beside Jon Arryn's crypt. From beneath his fur cloak, sheltering him from the cool winds of early spring, Jon Snow's eyes flashed upon a field of gold and the crowned black stag within. The man was shorter than his father, his face as round as a boar's, but the strong nose and the black, well-groomed beard reminded him of him. Even at a fair distance, Jon Snow could see that his eyes were sharp and clear, shining with intelligence like a wolf's. The man seemed oblivious to the fact that someone in the crowd gathered around the casket was watching him. He wore the mark of the extended-winged hawk over his leather cloak and stepped up beside his helper's body on the seven carved steps.
- I am Robert, son of Steffon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms of the clan Baratheon. I am here representing the Andal nobility and the God of the Seven, who is Lord of us all!
His voice was rough, like a hunting horn blaring through the trees. Those in the front row put their right hands over their hearts and bowed reverently. Seven times Robert's white-robed knights struck their spears to the ground at the name of the King of the Mountain and the Valley.
- I am here as a king who mourns his helper. You know that I loved the Governor of the East, Protector of the Valley! Jon Arryn was like a brother to me, and I broke my first horse with him. He was my first hunter. I won my first jousting tournament with his help. We all remember him with reverence, the gracious prince who subdued the rebellious vassals to House Baratheon!
There was a shout of approval from those present.
- "My adopted brother was called to the gods in the prime of life," continued Robert, "not because of his sins, but because Jon Arryn soon earned his reward from the heavens.
There was another shout, some Lannister standing nearby whispered something about a helper, but Jon Snow could not understand. The knights who had arrived with his uncle surrounded the tomb. Some of them, closest to Benjen, he could judge to be from the popular House of Royce. Others, who wore double belts and wore long staves, were probably the Hunters, sons of another noble house, of which both his father and Master Luwin had told him. A few of Benjen's retinue stood close around the tomb, but they had no swords, only a single weapon in the hands of a single warrior, and that was the grey sun-disc set in a black field on the crest of the Karstarks, his father's kinsmen.
- I will ask Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, to lead the Seven Kingdoms as the Blood of Wolves. I, in the name of the Baratheon Kings, have accepted this sacred charge! Honorable assembly! By the laws of the old gods, I take to myself my new helpmate's eldest son, Robb, born a noble. I take two of Eddard's bastards, Jon Snow and Casta of the Outlands, to be my courtiers, to give them wives, protection, lodging, and knighthood worthy of their blood and lineage. I will therefore do the gods' bidding, as ancient custom and law require! As God is my witness, I will take good care of Eddard Stark's daughters and sons until they grow up!
There was another murmur of approval. So unexpected was this that Jon Snow had no time to protest, and was led away by the arm. His stepmother's glance was piercingly sharp as she ordered him to kneel before Robert and kiss his ring. Jon was followed by Casta, but unlike his brother, he only touched his lips to the man's calloused fingers as he swung his sword. He looked up and caught the King's glance, flashing like a blade.
- "That's just as well," said Robert, his shaggy moustache drooping to either side, and a smile of satisfaction flashed across his face.
Jon Snow was glad to be standing up at last. Robert hugged them one after the other, Jon feeling his grip like that of a wild boar.
- "I'll make men of you," he said. "You have the blood of Cregan Stark, the Ancient of the North! Soon you will know what manhood is!
The wake lasted until late in the evening. Jon Snow and Casta settled down on the fur coats prepared for Robert and his entourage in front of the tents that had been set up. Casta was happy to drink wine with the other men. It was strange to see the wide fields in front of the castle and the river like this. Even the veil of moonlight seemed lost among the many unfamiliar faces. As they twirled their spit-drawn oxen over the blazing fires, a singer, brought by their uncle, sang a song to their father, and the older and younger knights raised their wine cups to their foreheads when he finished. Robert stood up at the end of the feast and said one last blessing for the dead. His deceased retinue, the late aide's day and night guards, struck their cattle-skin shields. Jon Snow watched Robert, who stood with cup in hand, receiving the tribute of the hymn singer. As he stood and listened to the singer's song, his eyes narrow and his arms thick with muscle, Jon Snow felt as if he were the Mad King himself incarnate on earth. He stood steadfast and deeply still, like the Sunset Sea that encircled the Iron Islands on all sides. This sudden calm, however, was not long felt by Jon Snow in his soul.
- "And what will happen next, mother?" asked Robb, as he lay in his bedroom, between the soft animal skins. - Will everything belong to the King? He will take over our kingdom with his warriors and we will do nothing against him? All of our father's wealth, his horses, even his own children will belong to Robert. And all the daughters of Winterfell he chooses for himself.
Robb looked at the deer-embroidered felt rug on the wall with an unreadable look.
- It is not for you to judge the king's actions. Nor is it your place to judge your father's actions.
He felt his mother's voice was measured. Catelyn's face broke into a wan smile. Without the glittering jewels, which she wore mostly around her neck and ears, nothing seemed to distinguish her from the other women of the North. But Robb saw her as more beautiful than any of them.
- Robb, nothing here will ever be the same again!
Robb looked at her in astonishment.
- Why not?
- Because it is the law. The Helper is dead. And the Lord of Mount Casterly could not come, so the closest ally must take care of those who remain after Jon Arryn. It is the law!
- Where is he taking us?
- 'To King's Landing,' sighed his mother, 'to Lannister House. I don't know exactly where. Following your father's appointment as the king's aide, Robert will offer our warriors the opportunity to join him. There will be no other choice. See to it that it is the will of the gods.
Robb felt a strong tightness in his chest.
- And what of the castle keep?
- It will be given as a gift to the king's manor. We'll take nothing from here. You'd better get used to the idea. The gods will take care of us.
- Will the Lannisters take possession?
- They might.
Robb turned and stared at the stone walls. He was left alone when the embroidered horse-skin curtains were drawn. For a long time he was unable to sleep. He stared at the black and brown stones of the bedroom ceiling in the darkness. The light filtered in, but the moon outside was pale, its silver ghosts pondering in the silver, caressing the leather fastened to the window frames. Robb imagined those arrogant lions burning to ashes in the all-consuming fire, and King's Landing Castle crumbling. If he was indeed of the blood of Cregan Stark, and if he was indeed of the Northern Wolf clan as his father had said, then he could not be harmed by the enemy. Now here is Robert, who wants it all for himself. He may drag them into his realm as slaves. The Great King Baratheon, who now reigns as supreme king of all the Seven Kingdoms, can afford to do so. The future. To Robb, the mysterious future seemed unknowable, vague, like a great churning sea of fire.