Robb's eyes snapped open, his breath hitching in his chest. He expected to feel the cold, wet floor of the Twins and the burning sting of Frey arrows. He expected the taste of copper and the sound of his mother's final, broken scream.
Instead, there was only silence and the scent of pine.
He felt the weight of heavy Northern furs against his skin. He looked at his hands—they were small, smooth, and unscarred. No calluses from years of war, no white lines from old training wounds. He was a boy again.
He quickly opened his right hand. The weirwood charm was there, pulsing with a faint, white light before turning invisible. He closed his fist, and immediately, he felt the Archive inside his mind—thousands of years of history, magical books, and lessons waiting for a single thought.
"Robb! Wake up! You'll be late for your own feast!"
The door creaked open, and Theon Greyjoy sauntered in. He looked impossibly young, his smirk arrogant and full of life. He hadn't yet been broken by the Dreadfort.
Robb didn't think. He lunged out of bed and threw his arms around Theon in a fierce, desperate grip.
"Seven hells, Robb!" Theon laughed, startled. "I know it's your tenth name day, but there's no need to go soft on me. You're squeezing the breath out of me!"
Robb pulled back, wiping his eyes. "I'm just glad you're here, Theon. Truly."
"Where else would I be?" Theon joked, though he looked at Robb with a puzzled expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Get dressed. Your father is waiting."
When Robb entered the Great Hall, the noise nearly knocked him back. It was full of life. At the high table sat Eddard Stark, his face grave but his eyes kind, his head still firmly on his shoulders. Beside him, Catelyn looked vibrant and proud.
"Happy name day, my son," Ned said, standing to greet him. He handed Robb a small, beautifully forged dagger with a hilt of white weirwood. "A gift for a future Lord. May you never have to use it in anger."
"Thank you, Father," Robb said, his voice trembling as he felt the cool wood.
"And from me," Catelyn added, handing him a cloak of fine, heavy wool, dyed the deep grey of their house. "To keep the winter away."
"I have something too!" Arya shouted, pushing past a laughing Bran. She handed him a stone she had found in the courtyard, shaped vaguely like a wolf's head. "It's for luck. So you don't fall off your horse."
Robb laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and ruffled her hair. He looked over and saw Jon Snow standing quietly by the wall, trying to remain unnoticed. Robb walked straight to him.
"And you, Jon? No gift?"
Jon looked down. "I have nothing like theirs, Robb."
"You have yourself," Robb said firmly, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. He turned to the servants. "Bring another chair. My brother sits with me today. At the high table."
The hall went silent. Catelyn's face turned pale. "Robb, dear, that isn't the custom. The lords—"
"The lords can see that the Starks are one," Robb said, his voice dropping into a low, cold tone that made even Ned sit up straighter. "Jon is my blood. On my name day, he sits at my side."
Jon looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, but as he took the seat, the Northern lords began to murmur. Greatjon Umber let out a booming laugh. "The lad has a spine of winter-ice! I like it!"
As the feast continued, Robb watched Roose Bolton from across the room. The man sat still, his pale eyes watching everything. Robb felt a surge of cold power in his veins—his Ice Magic reacting to the traitor—and the wine in his cup began to hiss as a thin layer of frost formed on the surface. He forced himself to calm down.
Finally, Catelyn stood, her voice clear. "Now that we have eaten, let us all walk to the Sept. We must thank the Mother and the Father for the blessings of this family."
She looked at Robb, expecting him to lead. Instead, he remained seated.
"Mother," Robb said, his voice echoing. "I will not go to the Sept. Not today. Not ever again."
Catelyn's smile faltered. "Robb, don't be difficult. It is a day for grace."
"The gods of the south are not my gods," Robb stood up. He looked out at the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Glovers. "We are the North. Our gods do not live in stone houses with candles. Our gods are in the earth, the trees, and the wind. I invite you all—every lord and every soldier—to the Godswood. We will pay our respects where we belong."
"Robb, this is enough!" Catelyn whispered. "The Sept is a place of peace—"
"The Sept is an intruder," Robb said coldly.
As the words left his lips, a low, deep rumble shook the ground. Outside, a sudden, screaming wind began to howl. Everyone rushed to the courtyard.
A massive white root, thick as an oak tree, burst from the earth directly beneath the Sept's foundation. The stone walls cracked like eggshells. With a roar, the entire building collapsed into a heap of rubble and dust. The statues of the Seven were crushed into powder.
Silence fell over Winterfell. Robb turned to the stunned crowd. "It seems the Old Gods have reclaimed their ground."
The walk to the Godswood was silent. Catelyn clung to Ned's arm, her eyes red with tears. She looked at her son as if he were a stranger. Ned looked at the ruins with a strange, dark realization, but he followed his son.
They entered the woods, and the noise of the castle faded. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient pine. Robb led them to the center, where the great Heart Tree stood. Its bone-white bark glowed, and its blood-red leaves rustled.
Robb knelt at the edge of the black pool beneath the tree. One by one, the others followed. Ned knelt with a sigh of relief. Catelyn was the last to go down, her knees hitting the dirt with a reluctant thud.
Robb reached out and touched the smooth, white root. The moment his skin met the wood, the Archive in his mind hummed.
"Old Gods," Robb spoke aloud. "Lords of the earth and the stone. We thank you for this day. We thank you for the strength of our blood."
He felt the presence of the Kings of Winter watching through the red eyes of the tree.
"The North remembers," Robb whispered, a phrase that made the lords behind him gasp. "And we are yours once more."
For a minute, there was no sound. Then, a single red leaf drifted down and landed in the center of the black pool. As it touched the water, the surface didn't ripple—it froze. A thin sheet of ice spread across the pool in seconds, sparkling like diamonds.
Ned Stark breathed out, his breath fogging in the air. "The gods have heard you, Robb," he said.
Robb stood up, his legs feeling stronger than ever. He had broken the first link to the south. He looked at the red eyes of the tree and knew this was only the beginning.
"The feast is not over," Robb said, turning back toward the castle. "Let us celebrate. "