Leaving the lord's hall, Robb Stark walked alone into the deep corridor behind it, his steps heavy.
There was only the cold wind threading between the stone walls and the pale daylight filtering through the narrow slits of the high windows. The air carried the damp chill and scent of stone dust peculiar to an ancient castle.
His straight back looked somewhat slight in the empty corridor, and even his heavy cloak could not dispel the chill within him.
"Young master!"
An aged voice rang out, suppressing its anxiety.
Maester Luwin hurried out, deeply worried, and his wrinkled hand urgently gripped Robb's arm.
"Young master, why didn't you pass on your lady mother's orders? Summoning the vassals to march south is a risky, reckless move. If... if these vassals learn the truth, they will certainly voice their displeasure with House Stark, and especially with you!"
Robb's body instantly went rigid.
He did not pull free of the old man's hand, but abruptly raised his head. His blue eyes were filled with conflict and pain, so like those of a trapped young wolf.
Suddenly, Robb slammed his clenched fist hard into the cold, rough stone wall beside him.
The dull impact sounded especially jarring in the corridor. A sharp pain shot through his knuckles, and a trace of crimson seeped into the cracks in the stone.
His voice was dry and hoarse. "Maester Luwin... you know it too. Father is imprisoned, and Mother is still stuck in the Riverlands. I'm the eldest Stark son. I have to shoulder the responsibility..."
Maester Luwin looked sorrowfully at the beads of blood seeping from Robb's fist and took a deep breath. "Then, young master, you should follow your lady mother's instructions. Send Jon to King's Landing for the king to judge. That will secure