Three Weeks Later
“He has been acting rather strangely these past few weeks, wouldn’t you say?” Eddard Stark remarked.
“Strangely?” Luwin repeated this, as if he were nonplussed by the very suggestion, but he wasn’t finished.
Maester Luwin put the heavy book on his lap and folded his hands.
“My lord, to say he is acting strangely would be a narrow view, in my opinion,” he said.
“In truth, he has been acting precisely as I have wished any of my students in the past would act, extraordinarily.”
“From what I’ve observed, there is still a lot to anticipate.
He might even serve as an example for the other kids, just as he does for his brother Jon.
“Fair enough,” Ned conceded.
Yet he felt there was something queer about it all; the boy had not been like this three weeks ago, so why now?
He wondered if he had been like that at that age and whether such a change would have shown in the same way.
Luwin smiled thinly, comfortingly.
This, in my opinion, is growth rather than strangeness.
The boy is growing up and at last revealing who he really is.
Ned’s brow furrowed, and the lines in his face hardened with a quiet fatherly instinct.
“Yet I still wonder how growth happens in a fortnight, Maester,” he said.
“Winter takes a season to arrive, and a man takes years to find his footing, but Robb is not a man.”
Luwin nodded wisely in agreement before tilting his head to respond, the links of his chain clinking softly against his robes.
“It is also important to remember, my Lord, that the mind does not follow the seasons. It does not always turn slowly or consistently. Everyone is unique in their own way.”
“Really, and how should I think of Robb now?” he asked, his voice heavy with doubt.
“Because three nights ago, I discovered him reading by torchlight in the crypts by himself.
I didn’t want to spend time in those halls after dark when I was his age, much less read the Annals of Fallen Kings.
Luwin laughed softly and nervously, raising his eyebrows.
“A wise choice for a future lord, but perhaps a somber one for a boy,” ignoring the part about Robb spending the night in the crypts.
Ned turned slightly towards the window, his voice lowering into a curious whisper.
“There was something there, Luwin… a look in his eyes. A stare that offered more answers than that of a boy seeking a hiding place from his mother.”
Luwin’s expression softened with a flicker of distant memory.
“I used to hide in an old hollowed-out tree with my brother at night. We whispered of monsters and heroes just the same, and it didn’t make us any different, well.” He paused, a wry, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.
“With that being said… I became a Maester, and he became a drunkard.”
That made Ned snort with laughter.
“A drunkard,” Ned repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“I suppose there are worse fates, though I doubt your brother would agree on a cold morning.”
He turned back to the window, the humor fading as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by his quiet resolve.
“The point is, my lord, that Robb is just different,” Luwin went on, his tone returning to its steady, scholarly cadence.
I acknowledge that he is mature in a way that seems strange for his age.
However, he isn’t acting like someone he isn’t.
He’s a prodigy.
Back at the Citadel, I saw many young men who had grown up far too quickly, just like him.
Some felt compelled by their circumstances, but for others, outpacing the world was just in their nature, and that is a blessing.
Ned was not troubled by the boy’s brilliance; he could make peace with a prodigy.
He could welcome that thought.
It was the sudden, silent fissure in his intuition that gnawed at him.
The boy in the yard looked like Robb, spoke like Robb, and wore Robb’s face, but he was not the child of three weeks past.
Gone were the indignant complaints when Catelyn set him a chore and the boyish pouting over a bruised knee in the dirt.
There were no more requests to climb upon his father’s back, nor did he come seeking Ned’s counsel after a struggle with the wooden sword or his siblings.
Those jagged, endearing edges of childhood had been sanded away, replaced by a graceful, haunting kindness, humility, and an unsettling poise.
And it seemed he alone could see it.
What it was, Ned could not say, but there was something there.
“Well, Luwin, I’ll believe you. You’ve always had a clearer understanding of reality than I do.” That was the only truth he could offer, even though it was a half-lie.
It was a half-truth, a courteous defense against the Maester’s reasoning.
Aside from the emptiness in his chest and the cold prickle on his skin, Ned had nothing more to say or prove.
Luwin took a bow.
“I am here to advise you prudently, my lord.”
This time, Ned sat more correctly and paid close attention to the maester.
He was preoccupied with something else, and it naturally had to do with Robb, the nebbish young man who evaded trouble like the plague but was actually the mastermind behind it.
Vayon hadn’t been complaining about Robb per se, but his steward had told him that Robb would sometimes just show up unexpectedly and watch him for an hour, interjecting with questions that were both insightful and disruptive to Poole’s work.
“According to Master Poole, he’s been very curious lately,” Ned remarked.
“It’s possible he’s approached you with inquiries about things he shouldn’t have known—especially since you’ve clearly become his advocate.”
The last part was added by Ned with a hint of snort; after all, Luwin had strongly supported Robb in their previous meeting just as he did this one.
“A great deal, sir.” Luwin would not dispute it.
A subtle nod of his head indicated his understanding.
Robb deserved to know more, after all, because he was intelligent.
” Naturally, his inquiries regarding books, Southern politics, and history have increased.
What really gets to me, though, my lord, is the precise character of his interest.
He has been inquiring about the northern census records, the precise silver mine yields at White Harbor, and the New Gift’s eminent domain legalities.”
All set