Robb studied the sepulcher. "Whose grave is this?"
"Here lies Tristifer, the Fourth of His Name, King of the Rivers and the Hills." Her father had told her his story once. "He ruled from the Trident to the Neck, thousands of years before Jenny and her prince, in the days when the kingdoms of the First Men were falling one after the other before the onslaught of the Andals. The Hammer of justice, they called him. He fought a hundred battles and won nine-and-ninety, or so the singers say, and when he raised this castle it was the strongest in Westeros." She put a hand on her son's shoulder. "He died in his hundredth battle, when seven Andal kings joined forces against him. The fifth Tristifer was not his equal, and soon the kingdom was lost, and then the castle, and last of all the line. With Tristifer the Fifth died House Mudd, that had ruled the riverlands for a thousand years before the Andals came."
"His heir failed him." Robb ran a hand over the rough weathered stone. "I had hoped to leave Jeyne with child... we tried often enough, but I'm not certain..."
"It does not always happen the first time." Though it did with you. "Nor even the hundredth. You are very young."
"Young, and a king," he said. "A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her." His mouth tightened. "To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north."
"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest... it might have been a Templeton, but..."
"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons."
She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. "A Snow is not a Stark."
"Jon's more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell."
"If Jon is a brother of the Night's Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life."
"So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon's place, I'll wager they find some way to release him from his vows."
He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. "A bastard cannot inherit."
"Not unless he's legitimized by a royal decree," said Robb. "There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath."
"Precedent," she said bitterly. "Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon
legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe."
"Jon would never harm a son of mine."
"No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?"
Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer's crypt, his teeth bared. Robb's own face was cold. "That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon."
"So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa... your own sister, trueborn..."
"... and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father's head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice."
"I cannot," she said. "In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this... this folly. Do not ask it."
"I don't have to. I'm the king." Robb turned and walked off, Grey Wind bounding down from the tomb and loping after him.
