ASOIAF : Creed

Robb's arms burned, but he ignored the pain, driving his practice sword through another sequence of cuts. The familiar movements, the ones Ser Rodrik had drilled into him and Jon since they were boys, felt different now. The joy was gone, replaced by a grim purpose. He wasn't playing anymore. He was preparing. He didn't know for what, but a cold certainty had settled in his gut since Jon rode north: their childhood was coming to an end.

His days had become a relentless cycle of duty. Mornings in the training yard until his muscles screamed. Afternoons in the solar with his father, the words of farmers and the numbers from ledgers blurring together. He did it because he was the heir, and this was his life now. But he also did it because the work was a shield. It was the only thing loud enough to drown out the silence Jon had left behind.

He saw the emptiness Jon's departure had carved into his family. Arya was taking Jon's departure the hardest, her usual wildness turned quiet and brittle. Bran was more withdrawn, the usual cheer of the castle replaced by a quiet that seemed to make her uncomfortable. And his father… his father was a wall of silent grief, his eyes looking at something Robb could never see. He felt a surge of helpless anger. Jon had left, and in his place was a hole that was slowly swallowing them all.

He was finishing his drills, his tunic soaked with sweat despite the cold, when Jory Cassel approached him. "My lord. Your father requests your presence in the solar."

Robb nodded, his heart sinking. A summons to the solar usually meant more bad news. He cleaned his blade, the familiar ritual a small comfort, and made his way to the keep.

He found his father not at his desk, but standing by the window, looking out at the grey, snow-dusted landscape. A single, sealed parchment lay on the desk.

"You sent for me, father?" Robb asked.

Eddard turned, his face a mask of stone, but Robb saw the deep, weary sadness in his eyes. "A raven arrived from the Wall," he said, his voice low. "From your uncle. He sent a letter. From Jon."

Robb's breath caught in his throat. He crossed the room in two long strides and took the letter from his father's outstretched hand. It was Jon's handwriting, the familiar, slightly messy script a sudden, painful reminder of his brother. He broke the seal, his hands trembling slightly.

The letter was addressed to his father, but it was meant for them all.

Lord Stark, it began, the formal address a small, sharp pain.

I am well. I hope this letter finds you and the family in good health. My time at the Wall has been… illuminating. I have spoken with Uncle Benjen and with Maester Aemon. They are good men, and the Watch is an honorable calling. But it is not my path.

I have decided to travel east, to Essos. There is a world beyond these shores I wish to see, a life I wish to make for myself. I do not know when, or if, I will return. I ask that you do not look for me. This is a choice I must make for myself.

Please, tell Robb to take care of the others. Tell him to keep practicing his swordsmanship. He is strong, but he is slow. He will need to be better than that if he hopes to give me a challenge when I return. Tell him I am sorry I cannot be there to help him, should he ever need it. Tell him I will miss my brother.

To Arya... tell my little sister not to be sad for too long. Tell her that some wolves aren't meant for the kennel, and that my path is in the wild now. Tell her to keep practicing with Needle every single day, until she's faster than Robb and better than me. I will miss her most of all.

To Sansa, I wish her all the happiness she deserves with her prince. To Bran, tell him that I know he will succeed in becoming the knight he always dreamed of being.. And tell little Rickon… tell him his brother thinks of him.

The letter ended there, without a final goodbye, without a name. Robb read it again, and then a third time, the words blurring through the sudden, hot sting of tears in his eyes. Essos. He was gone. The strange finality he had felt in the courtyard was not a fear; it was a fact.

A surge of hot, helpless anger rose in him, followed by a wave of sadness. He was angry at Jon for leaving, at his father for letting him go, at his mother for making him feel he had no other choice. But beneath it all was the simple, crushing grief of losing his brother, his other half.

He looked at the words meant for him. He will need to be better than that if he hopes to give me a challenge when I return. It was a classic Jon move, a challenge wrapped in a jab, a way of reaching out across a vast distance with the familiar language of their shared childhood rivalry. It was a promise, however faint, of a future.

"He is a fool," Robb said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't name.

"He is a boy making a man's choice," Eddard replied, his voice heavy with a sorrow that seemed to fill the room. "All we can do is pray he finds what he is looking for."

Robb folded the letter, his hands no longer trembling. The anger was still there, a hot coal in his gut, but it was now joined by something else. A new resolve, cold and hard as northern steel. Jon was gone. He had left Robb in his place, with a final, brotherly promise: take care of the others.

He would not fail him.

He left the solar without another word and walked back to the training yard. He picked up his blunted sword, its weight familiar and grounding in his hand. He looked at the training dummy, but he did not see a man of straw. He saw a world of threats, a future full of dangers his family would have to face. And he, Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell, would be the one to face them.

He raised his sword, the anger and the grief and the loss all fueling a new, terrible fire within him. He would get better. He would get stronger. He would be ready for any challenge. And he would wait for the day his brother returned.