Jeyne Westerling and Winterfell's master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik, both took their seats near the foot of the long table.
The old master-at-arms looked as sturdy as ever, his graying hair neatly combed, his clean leather vest washed pale and framing arms that were still strong.
He was not a man who enjoyed silence, and he had always helped liven up feasts in the North. Tonight, however, he blamed himself somewhat for Robb's injury and said little, merely holding his cup and drinking slowly, sip by sip.
His stern gaze kept straying involuntarily to Robb's wounded shoulder. Only when he realized he was betraying himself did he look away again, his throat bobbing as he swallowed the reminder to take care of his wound.
Jeyne Westerling sat beside Ser Rodrik. She should actually have been sitting in Maester Luwin's place, but her concern over Robb's injury had prompted her to let the maester sit beside him and tend to him.
Moreover, ever since she had become pregnant and followed Robb to Winterfell, Robb had assigned Ser Rodrik, Winterfell's strongest fighter, to protect her and ensure her safety.
Jeyne wore a soft cream-colored woolen dress that evening. She was not from Winterfell; indeed, like Catelyn, she was not even from the North.
She had also rarely gone out since coming to Winterfell, not merely because she was pregnant, but because she did not want to face the hateful looks directed her way.
Her relationship with Robb had directly led House Frey of the Riverlands to withdraw its troops and refuse them passage through the Twins to cross the Green Fork.
Many northern soldiers had died as a result during that time, so even now, many northerners still disliked Jeyne.
Thus, Jeyne was not particularly familiar with the people of Winterfell either. She spoke