Galon remained unaware of Sansa's rosy-cheeked assumptions.
But Robb?
Robb was easy to read.
The mont Galon ntioned strategy, battle planning, and commanding forces, the young wolf's eyes burned with excitent.
Chess ant little to him—war, however, was another story.
Robb leaned forward eagerly.
"Galon, how do the rules work?"
"How do the pieces move? Teach while we play. Co—let's start a match."
He reached to touch the board, only for Sansa to swat his hand away.
"Robb Stark!" she scolded, eyes wide.
"This is my gift. You cannot simply grab it."
Robb froze, half-sheepish, half-defiant.
Galon nearly laughed aloud.
"Of course," he thought. "No matter how perfect the invention, soone must make others desire it."
He stepped between them smoothly. "Westerosi Chess requires two players, so why not begin together?"
"Lady Sansa may play first while I explain the rules."
Neither sibling objected, so Galon began.
"Westerosi Chess contains thirty-two pieces. Sixteen per side. These—" he gestured to the front line, "—are soldiers. They guard the ranks."
He tapped another piece with a carved crown. "And this is the king. When he is trapped beyond escape, the war is decided."
He explained slowly and clearly, enough that even Septa Mordane, who had never cared for gas, found herself listening.
Soon, Robb and Sansa began their first hesitant match.
Both were instantly absorbed.
While Galon guided the pair through their first moves, Winterfell bustled elsewhere.
.....
In the guest wing, Lady Catelyn inspected rooms prepared for the royal family.
With Maester Luwin beside her, she directed servants.
"More candles here."
"Fresh flowers for the table."
Luwin adjusted his sleeves. "I have already fetched eight barrels of ale from the cellars, my lady. Two more will be brought up later."
"Good," Catelyn murmured.
"Robert loves his drink. And the queen…"
She hesitated at Tyrion's na, grimacing. "And the king's brother by marriage—Lord Tyrion. He will require accommodations as well."
"Already prepared," Luwin said calmly.
"And as he is… shorter than most, his chamber is on the ground floor."
Catelyn nodded absently. Her mind was elsewhere—on Ned's promises, on the Glover boy, and most of all, on Sansa.
The marriage felt like a thorn beneath her ribs.
Luwin noticed her silence but did not pry.
When they reached the lower stairwell, footsteps suddenly echoed around the corner.
A boy nearly collided with them.
"Seat—" Luwin began.
Catelyn recognized him first. "Theon."
Her brows narrowed. "Weren't you in the training yard with Bran?"
Theon straightened quickly, adopting a respectful posture. "Ser Rodrik sent to assist you, my lady. He said you needed help."
Catelyn stared at him, expression sharpening.
She had not seen Ser Rodrik since breakfast. So why would he send Theon?
Suspicion flickered behind her eyes.
"Theon," she said quietly, "what do you need? The truth, if you would prefer to skip the excuse."
Her tone was not unkind—simply direct.
Theon hesitated. His first instinct was to tell her about Galon insulting him.
But then another thought struck him—sharper, aner.
A path.
A chance to wound.
A chance to sabotage.
His lips curled faintly. "My lady… do you know about Galon of House Glover?"
"I do."
"Then you should also know what he did today."
He spun a tale—mostly true, but sharpened deliberately. "He flattered Jon Snow—called him a true Stark, spoke of wolf blood in his veins."
"He compared him to Robb. As if they were equals."
Catelyn went still. Her eyes darkened.
Few things stirred her temper faster than the na Jon Snow standing beside her trueborn children.
"And then?" she asked, voice steady but edged like cold steel.
"He ignored ," Theon continued, letting bitterness lace his voice.
"Mocked publicly. Said I was no true Northerner and no brother to this household."
He lowered his head. "Such a man wishes to wed Lady Sansa."
Catelyn's jaw tightened.
Two nas tangled together in her mind—Jon and Galon—like a sickness she could not spit out.
Her stomach twisted.
Robb. Sansa.
Inheritance. Danger.
When she finally spoke, her voice was flat. "I understand... You may go."
Theon bowed, schooling his expression until he turned away—then a satisfied smile spread slowly across his face.
'With Lady Catelyn standing in your way…'
His eyes narrowed, cold with spite.
'Let us see how you marry Sansa now, Galon Glover.'
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