As the two walked through Winterfell's long stone corridors, Robb finally broke the silence that had lingered since leaving the training yard.
"Garon, you really shouldn't have ignored Theon like that earlier."
His tone carried the sa helplessness Ser Rodrik had shown before. Clearly, Robb still hoped the matter could be smoothed over peacefully.
"Theon is just…"
Robb hesitated briefly before continuing, "He's too proud sotis, and more than anything, he wants people to acknowledge him."
Turning toward Garon, he added sincerely, "Believe , his temper can be unpleasant, but if you spend enough ti with him, you'll realize he isn't truly a bad person."
"You two could eventually beco friends."
However, Garon stopped walking and slowly shook his head.
"On this matter, I'm afraid I cannot agree."
Robb frowned imdiately.
"Why?"
A trace of displeasure had already crept into his voice.
After all, he had never expected such a small matter arranged personally by his father to nearly turn into open conflict. If swords had truly been drawn earlier, soone would inevitably have bled within Winterfell itself.
And that was the last thing Robb wanted before King Robert's arrival.
Most importantly, he did not wish to disappoint Ned Stark because of this incident.
"Garon," Robb said seriously, "you clearly promised my father not to cause trouble."
"So why can't you step back one more ti?"
He stared directly at Garon, clearly wanting a proper explanation.
Seeing the frustration hidden in Robb's expression, Garon imdiately understood the danger.
"If I answer this poorly," he thought inwardly, "Robb may begin holding resentnt toward ."
Thus, after only a brief pause, Garon deliberately softened his expression.
"I'm sorry, Robb."
His tone beca earnest and apologetic.
"I acted too impulsively earlier and placed you in a difficult position."
Robb's expression eased slightly.
Then Garon continued calmly, "But as for why I refuse to yield…"
He paused deliberately before saying in a solemn voice:
"Because the North rembers."
The corridor instantly fell quiet.
Garon looked directly into Robb's eyes as he continued.
"You are right. I promised Lord Stark that I would not provoke Theon first."
"And I intend to keep that promise."
"But that does not an I must endlessly endure insults without limit."
When he spoke again, his voice carried obvious gravity.
"I am a Glover of Deepwood Motte."
"A son of a house that has shed blood for generations defending the North against Ironborn raiders."
"If even an Ironborn can insult openly inside Winterfell while I remain silent, then what right do I have to stand beside Lady Sansa as her future husband?"
Robb was visibly startled.
He had not expected Garon to raise the matter to the level of honor between noble houses.
Yet before Robb could respond, mories from half a year earlier slowly resurfaced within his mind.
He rembered accompanying Ned Stark to Galbart Glover's funeral at Deepwood Motte. At the ti, his father had specifically explained the hatred between House Glover and the Iron Islands, even warning Robb not to casually ntion the Greyjoys before the Glovers.
But after returning to Winterfell, Robb had gradually forgotten about the matter amidst his own lessons and responsibilities.
Only now did he realize the seriousness of what had happened.
"So that's why Father warned him beforehand…"
Robb sighed inwardly.
"No wonder Father looked so worried earlier."
Seeing the realization on Robb's face, Garon knew there was no longer any need to explain further.
Thus, he smiled faintly and deliberately eased the atmosphere.
"Don't worry, Robb. I'll only stay in Winterfell for a few days."
"During that ti, I'll do my best to avoid conflict with Theon and avoid causing trouble for you or Lord Stark."
Hearing this, Robb could only shake his head helplessly.
At this point, he had completely abandoned any hope of reconciling the two.
"There's no need to avoid him," Robb said with a bitter smile. "I'll speak to Theon myself and make sure he restrains his temper."
Then he waved the matter aside.
"Forget it. Let's stop talking about this."
"I'll take you to see Sansa now."
With that, Robb turned and continued walking through the corridor.
However, after only a few steps, Garon suddenly called out from behind him.
"Robb, wait a mont."
Robb turned back curiously.
"Before eting Lady Sansa, I need to retrieve the gift I prepared for her."
As he spoke, Garon waved toward a passing servant and instructed him to head toward the kitchens to summon Roger, the captain of his guard, along with the item he had prepared beforehand.
Once the servant hurried away, Robb's curiosity imdiately surfaced.
"What kind of gift did you prepare for Sansa?"
Garon rely smiled mysteriously.
"You'll know soon enough."
Then he added teasingly, "I guarantee you've never seen anything like it before."
That answer only made Robb even more curious.
Roughly the ti it took to drink a cup of ale later, Roger finally hurried over carrying a silk-covered wooden box in both hands.
"Lord Garon," he said respectfully, "the gift you requested."
Garon nodded before personally accepting the box.
Then he smiled toward Robb.
"Now you can take to Lady Sansa."
Robb glanced curiously at the silk-covered box.
Judging from its size, he guessed it could only contain jewelry, hair ornants, or perhaps a necklace.
"It isn't jewels, is it?" he asked tentatively.
Still, Garon only smiled without answering.
Instead, he dismissed Roger with a wave before continuing onward beside Robb.
After winding through several corridors and stairways within Winterfell, the two finally arrived outside the embroidery room.
At that mont, Septa Mordane was inside inspecting the girls' embroidery while occasionally criticizing Arya Stark's stitching in comparison to Sansa's far neater work.
The comnts caused Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole to giggle quietly among themselves.
Standing outside the doorway, Garon casually glanced inside.
With only a single look, he imdiately noticed Sansa Stark seated beside the window.
The auburn-haired girl held her embroidery quietly in her lap while gazing distractedly outside.
Worry was written plainly across her delicate face.
"Sansa."
Robb's voice interrupted the room's atmosphere imdiately.
The girls all looked toward the doorway at once.
Arya was the first to notice Garon standing beside Robb.
Her eyes widened instantly.
"Garon!"
Then she pointed dramatically at him.
"He's Garon Glover!"
At once, Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole both shifted their attention toward the young lord from Deepwood Motte.
Even Sansa herself could not help raising her eyes toward him.
Seeing every gaze fixed upon him, Garon stepped calmly into the room while holding the silk-covered wooden box.
There was not the slightest trace of nervousness on his face despite being scrutinized by several noble girls.
Instead, he smiled faintly and bowed politely toward them.
"I wonder," he said humorously, "whether my appearance satisfies all the ladies of Winterfell?"
His words instantly caused Beth and Jeyne to cover their mouths while laughing softly.
Even Sansa felt much of the nervousness in her heart ease unexpectedly.
Quietly, she began observing Garon more carefully.
Dark brown hair characteristic of House Glover.
A broad and powerful fra exactly as Arya had described.
Yet strangely, he did not appear clumsy or brutish at all.
Instead, his sturdy figure carried a reassuring steadiness unique to northern warriors.
His features were neither especially handso nor ugly, but there was a ruggedness about him that felt distinctly northern and dependable.
Without realizing it, Sansa quietly relaxed.
"Arya exaggerated again," she thought silently.
"He doesn't resemble so giant bear at all."
Although he was still far from the graceful princes described in songs and stories, he was certainly not the terrifying monster Arya had frightened her with earlier.
Thinking of this, Sansa could not help shooting Arya a subtle glare.
Then, regaining her composure, she rose gracefully from her seat and curtsied politely.
"Good day, Lord Garon."
"Welco to Winterfell."
Garon stepped forward slightly and returned the greeting warmly.
"Good day, Lady Sansa."
Then he gently lifted the silk-covered box within his hands.
"I brought a small gift for you."
Sansa instinctively glanced toward Robb.
Only after seeing her brother nod encouragingly did she finally accept the box and place it carefully upon the nearby table.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
Garon smiled faintly.
"Why not open it and see for yourself?"
Sansa slowly removed the silk covering.
Beneath it rested a beautifully crafted wooden box decorated with blue-and-white checkered carvings.
The craftsmanship imdiately caught her attention.
Her fingers brushed lightly across the polished surface while her gaze settled upon the small lock fastening the box shut.
The lock itself was made of pure gold.
Instantly, anticipation rose within her heart.
"Could there really be jewelry inside?" she wondered secretly.
However, the mont Sansa finally opened the box, the excitent in her eyes froze.
Inside were not jewels or ornants.
Instead, thirty-two exquisitely carved wooden pieces rested neatly within the box, divided into black and white sets.
A board ga.
Almost imdiately, disappointnt flashed through Sansa's heart.
"Mother was right," she thought helplessly.
"Deepwood Motte truly only has wood left…"
Naturally, Garon noticed the subtle disappointnt in her expression imdiately.
Chuckling softly, he drew her attention back toward himself.
"Lady Sansa," he said calmly, "allow to properly introduce this gift."
Then, with faint pride in his voice, he declared:
"Westerosi chess."
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