Returning to the City

By the time Jon found Robb, it was already around three in the afternoon.

Because of the wager made that morning, Robb had spent nearly the entire day hunting in the Wolfswood.

When he saw Jon, he assumed Garon had sent him over to check on his haul.

So, without a word, he pulled Jon over, happily showing off his day's catch.

But when he heard that Bran had fallen from a tower and his life hung in the balance, his expression changed instantly.

He didn't care about anything else; he leaped straight onto Jon's horse, and the two rode together, racing madly back toward the camp.

As they neared the camp, they happened to see the knights of House Baratheon returning in triumph, a massive bear being dragged into the center of the encampment.

Under normal circumstances, Robb would have certainly gone over to join the excitement.

But now, he only wanted to know the condition of his brother's injuries.

"Garon!"

Robb leaped from the horse's back, asking anxiously, "Has there been any new word from Winterfell?"

"Has my father sent anyone else with a message?"

Garon stepped up to meet him, his voice low and grave: "No. Since Lord Ned left, no one has come."

Robb's anxiety deepened, and the worry on his face could no longer be contained. "Let's go, we're returning to Winterfell!"

But Garon stepped forward and grabbed Robb, his voice stern: "Robb, calm down!"

Robb nearly shook him off, just as Jon had done moments before, and roared, "How do you expect me to be calm? That is my brother!"

His voice was so loud that those nearby turned to look at them.

"What are you looking at!"

Robb glared at them angrily, leaving the others confused.

Seeing that Robb still intended to leave, Garon's voice turned cold.

"Robb, before Lord Ned left, he tasked me with telling you to take care of the King and the Prince!"

"If you leave now, what is to become of the King and the Prince?"

"Do you intend for me, a vassal, to explain this to the King, or do you expect Jon to do it!"

"Don't forget, Winter is Coming!"

Garon's words successfully halted Robb in his tracks. He clenched his fists, unable to speak for a long time.

"I know you are worried about Bran, and I am worried about him too!"

"But will our worrying help Bran escape danger if we return?"

"Robb, neither you nor I are maesters; we don't know medicine. We would only be a hindrance if we went back!"

Garon took two steps forward, meeting Robb's eyes, and said sincerely, "But staying here—this requires you!"

"You are the heir to the Starks. Aside from you, no one else has the authority to speak directly with the King!"

Robb gradually regained his composure.

He knew Garon was right. If he were to abandon the King and leave, then for Ned, The North would have lost its honor.

"But... but I am still so afraid. What if Bran dies?"

Garon patted Robb on the shoulder, comforting him: "Bran is protected by the Old Gods; he won't die so easily."

"Trust me, stay here and do what we must!"

Robb's lips trembled, but in the end, he nodded heavily and agreed.

Garon felt a slight sense of relief, thinking to himself that he had finally managed to settle Robb.

At that moment, the area outside the camp began to grow noisy.

"Let's go, it looks like the King has returned!"

"Robb, it's time for you to take the stage!"

Robb stepped forward to meet him. Only after Robert had driven his spear into the ground did he offer a salute.

"Robb, where is your father?"

"He said he was escorting Garon back to camp, but I haven't seen him return to continue the hunt."

"Is he afraid of losing to me?"

"Haha..."

Robert was still laughing, but Robb said with grief, "Your Grace, word came from Winterfell this afternoon. My father was told that my brother, Bran, fell from a high tower and his life is unknown!"

"My father is worried about my brother's injuries and has returned to Winterfell early, instructing me to remain and attend to you, Your Grace."

The smile on Robert's face froze instantly.

"Seven Hells!"

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. He looked around, and the joy of the hunt had vanished without a trace.

"Robb, tell everyone to pack up. We're heading back to Winterfell first!"

The King issued his command, and Robb, eager to return home, kept urging everyone to pack their belongings.

Soon, the heavily laden hunting party was hurrying back toward Winterfell.

Meanwhile, inside Winterfell.

In the guest chamber, Jaime said coldly, "Someone notified you to go to the Broken Tower?"

"Who was it!"

Theon looked fearful and shook his head. "I don't know. After the banquet yesterday, someone left a letter in my bedroom."

"It asked me to meet at the Broken Tower!"

He glanced at Jaime furtively and added, "But as soon as I arrived at the Broken Tower, I discovered you and the Queen were there too, so I hid."

Jaime ignored Theon's nervous gestures. "You said there was a letter? Where is it?"

Theon whispered, "I burned it."

"What!" Jaime's expression froze. "How could you burn it!"

Theon stammered in reply, "The letter said it was a matter of great importance, so I thought I should burn it to prevent anyone else from seeing it."

Jaime stared at Theon, speechless, seemingly trying to judge how much of his story was credible.

After a long while, he withdrew his gaze, pacing back and forth in the room, lost in thought.

Could someone have deliberately lured him there to catch me and Cersei in the act?

No—that's impossible!

Cersei and I only decided to go there on a whim; how could anyone else have known?

Was it a coincidence?

For some reason, a strange feeling rose in Jaime's heart. He couldn't shake the sense that there was something fishy behind this incident.

But even if he tried to put his finger on it, he couldn't find anything.

After weighing it over for a long time, Jaime could only conclude that Theon's appearance, just like Bran's, was purely a coincidence.

He turned and walked up to Theon, warning him, "The Stark boy is still being treated, and your foster father will be back soon."

"When he returns, he will certainly send people to investigate Bran's fall from the tower."

"What we must do is ensure that everyone knows we were both elsewhere!"

Theon nodded.

Jaime glanced at the bite mark on Theon's wrist, which was hidden by his sleeve. He walked over to a nearby table and picked up a dagger with a lion-head hilt and a white towel.

"Put the white towel in your mouth!"

"I am going to turn the bite mark on your wrist into a knife wound!"

Theon instinctively took a step back, exclaiming, "Ser Jaime, that's not necessary!"

"You fool!" Jaime suddenly snapped coldly. "If someone discovers the bite mark on your wrist, how will you explain it?"

"Are you going to tell them you were bitten by a whore!"

"Get over here!"

Jaime's presence was overwhelming, and for a moment, Theon dared not defy his order. He could only shrink back and extend the wrist that Bran had bitten.

When Jaime handed the white towel to Theon, Theon took it and slowly placed it in his mouth.

Jaime watched with impatience and barked, "Hurry up! Use the same energy you use on women!"

Theon's face twitched, and finally, resigning himself to his fate, he stuffed the towel into his mouth and closed his eyes.

Jaime grabbed Theon's wrist, plunged the dagger directly into the bite mark, and roughly scraped it back and forth.

Theon felt a wave of intense pain and instinctively tried to open his mouth to struggle.

But Jaime's warning voice rang in his ear, "If you don't want to be found out, then hold it in!"

Theon bit down hard on the towel, enduring the agony.

In just half a minute, he felt as though he had endured hours of torture.

"Done!"

Jaime released his wrist. The flesh was a mangled mess; no one would ever be able to tell that Theon had been bitten.

"Go back and apply some medicine to bandage it yourself."

"Remember, no matter who asks, just say you accidentally cut yourself with a dagger!"

Theon nodded, his face pale, and pressed the towel against his wound before turning to leave the guest chamber.

At that moment, Garon and his party had just returned to Winterfell.