The Crypts

Grabbing the torch from the side of the wall, Robb slowly moved down the narrow, spiral staircase, a cool wind rushing over him, a wind colder than the frigid temperatures of the outside world. Wrapping his cloak tighter around him and holding the torch a little closer, Robb finally came down an opening, looking upon the long line of granite pillars, some destroyed.

The Boltons had not been kind in the destruction of their ancestral crypts.

Tombs were destroyed, the remains of dead Starks left open and exposed, the iron swords that laid across their laps to keep vengeful spirits at bay laid scattered and broken across the floor. Robb felt his anger grow at the sight, the leather of his glove crunching as he gripped the torch tighter as Grey Wind growled by his side.

"By the Old Gods," Jon murmured in shocked horror as he too looked upon the sight. "Have the Boltons no honour?"

"None," Robb replied quietly, gaze sharpening as he moved, footsteps echoing in the empty crypts. "And I shall so them equally as much mercy, especially to Ramsay Bolton himself. I wish Roose was still alive to do this day, that I had not killed him back then. Even if his son did betray him, I would make both father and son pay the price for his desecration."

His words twisted, almost snarled, but strangely, Grey Wind was quiet, not reflecting his master's anger and rage. Jon could see it in Robb's eyes as he walked beside him down through the crypts. The torch caused his eyes to glint, they almost shining an unnatural blue colour that showcased his rage and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was something not quite right about the look in Robb's eyes, it was a look he had never seen in his brother's eyes before.

Another reminder of what this war had done to them both.

It's then they turned a corner, one belonging to the tombs of the most recent Starks to be buried and both came to a stop. The destruction here was even more prominent, the tombs were completely shattered and the skeletal remains were scattered across the floor. Compared to these, the previous tombs seemed to have been treated with some measure of respect.

There was none to be found here.

Jon moved forwards alone, Robb rooted to the spot and unable to tear the gaze away from the skull laying nearby. Whether it belonged to his grandfather, Rickard, uncle Brandon or aunt Lyanna, he could not tell, but the sight alone made him remain where he stood.

"Robb!" Jon called urgently, he finally tore his gaze away from the skull to see Jon moving some rubble aside. "Come look at this."

Moving forwards, Robb came to Lyanna's tomb, watching him clear rubble aside, revealing the broken, shining object hidden underneath. "It's a harp?" Robb questioned dubiously, unsure as to what he was seeing and why. "But why is it buried with Lyanna? And why did the Bolton's not take it with them?"

"Probably because it was broken when they broke the tomb apart, making it near worthless," Jon suggested.

Robb hummed in agreement, looking at the broken pieces of the harp closer. "But that doesn't answer why Lyanna had it in her tomb, she did not play the harp, not from what father said of her. She was more like Arya, preferring swinging a sword and learning to fight. A harp is more something that Sansa would have preferred."

"Perhaps it is something Ned kept hidden about her?" Then he paused. "...Or perhaps, it is Rhaegar's?"

There was a pause.

"You mean?"

Jon nodded his head. "What if the rumours of Rhaegar and Lyanna running away together are true? It would mean that she wasn't kidnapped and raped by him." Though Jon seemed curious and even happy that Lyanna had not suffered at the hands of Rhaeger, Robb's frown deepened. "It would change everything about Robert's Rebellion."

"Nay." He shook his head, tracing his fingers over the dragon carved into the harp, all the proof he needed to confirm that this was indeed Rhaegar Targaryens. "It changes only one thing. Lyanna was no longer the victim of Targaryen madness. Instead, she is just as guilty of what happened to our family as Rhaegar and Aegon."

With those words, Robb turned away, dropping the harp back in the tomb and continuing to look around the floor. Jon meanwhile, picked up the harp, tracing his fingers over the dragon, frowning at Robb's words.

They didn't sit right with him.

"She couldn't have known that it would start a war," Jon argued, placing the pieces gently back into the tomb, turning to wander around the crypts like Robb was. Both kept each other within hearing distance to avoid losing one another in the vast depths of the catacombs they were now in.

"Wars have been started for less. Ladies above all else should know how dangerous it is for them to run away with another man when they are betrothed to another. As do men know what it means to run away with another woman when they are already married." Robb replied sharply, undeterred. "Lyanna knew what would happen as it has happened many times in the past, there was no way she did not know what could happen, least of all how Robert would react. Yet she chose to do it anyway."

"Even so," Jon murmured quietly. "Could you not forgive her? She is your aunt, your family. What if Sansa or Arya were to do it?"

"If Sansa or Arya were to do as Lyanna did, I would certainly forgive them eventually," Robb admitted. "But I would never forget, nor trust them again. They have proven themselves unworthy of such things by choosing their own desires over that of this family."

"So why not forgive Lyanna?" Jon asked. "Eventually."

"Forgiveness is reserved for the living," Robb replied. "It means little to the dead."

Jon sighed, crouching down to move aside some of the tombs to reveal shattered bits of bone that once belonged to a skull. The sight made his head drop, this humiliation, this dishonour, the heartbreak that had come of the Bolton's desecration of their ancestor's tomb would forever leave a scar upon their family.

"Shall we return?" Jon eventually asked.

Robb shook his head. "No, we go deeper. I want to know how deep a wound I must leave the Boltons to equal the wound they have dealt us." Grabbing his torch, Jon rose to his feet, following his brother deeper into the crypts, the tombs all desecrated and destroyed, some more so than others.

Yet they kept moving deeper.

Jon dares not look at his brother's face lest he is reminded that under the cold facade, he portrayed to the world, there was deep anger and rage boiling beneath the surface. He was almost afraid to see how close Robb was to let that rage and anger off the tight leash he kept it under.