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The dungeons of the Red Keep had four levels.
The uppermost level, the first floor, contained cells with narrow, high windows, used to hold common criminals.
The second level consisted of small individual cells reserved for noble prisoners. Being underground, the hall was lit at all times by torches, and their light filtered through the bars, dimly illuminating the interiors.
The third level consisted of cells with no windows and no torchlight whatsoever. Their doors were made of thick wood, and the prisoners inside were left in complete darkness.
For that reason, they were called the black cells.
The most vicious and dangerous criminals were kept there.
As the jailers cared nothing for their lives, those prisoners either died of hunger, thirst, or cold, or slowly lost their minds beneath the weight of endless darkness.
Clack.
An empty black cell was opened, and the harsh light of a torch tore through the absolute darkness.
Clink, clink, clink.
At the sudden appearance of light, chains began rattling all around.
"Pssst!"
"Pretty boy, come here. I'll have you climbing the walls."
Following Varys through the corridor, Robb heard two grotesque prisoners press their faces against the small wooden slits in their doors, hurling crude taunts at him.
"Heh, interesting. A man with two faces. Another one fit to serve the Many-Faced God."
Varys was already accustomed to the noise and continued forward at a steady pace.
But one sentence made Robb pause.
He turned his head.
A man with half-red, half-white hair, a slender, almost delicate face, was looking at him with a faint smile.
Jaqen H'ghar.
One of the Faceless Men of Braavos. The man who would guide Arya onto the path of the Faceless.
When it came to key figures of the original story, there was no way Robb would ever forget them.
"Ahem!"
Up ahead, Varys coughed sharply, drawing Robb's attention.
Seeing his father was what mattered most.
Robb said nothing to Jaqen. He simply turned back and continued following Varys down the corridor.
Jaqen's gaze lingered on Robb's back until the torchlight vanished from sight, and then his smiling face sank once more into darkness.
Clack.
At the far end of the black cells, Varys unlocked a door.
Robb took the torch Varys handed him and was about to step inside when Varys raised an arm to stop him, speaking in a low, hoarse voice:
"At dawn, the jailers begin changing shifts from the first level downward. You have, at most, less than half a sandglass."
"You're worried I'll stay too long and try to force things. That's why you chose this time.
Don't worry. I'll say what I need to say and leave."
"You may enter."
Varys nodded and stepped aside.
Clack.
The wooden door shut behind Robb as soon as he entered.
He wasn't worried in the slightest that Varys might trap him inside.
With Ice on his back and the strength in his arms, that door was nothing more than a slightly thicker plank of wood.
The final cell was unexpectedly spacious.
Inside, everything was damp and dark, the bluish stone walls covered in moss.
Holding the torch, Robb passed through two turns before finally seeing that familiar figure sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees.
"Father."
His voice came out low, faintly unsteady.
At the sound, Eddard raised his head sharply, lifting an arm to shield his eyes from the torchlight.
Shock filled his expression as he stared at Robb.
"Robb? How… were you thrown into the black cells as well?"
"No. Lord Varys brought me here. Father… you've suffered greatly."
Robb shook his head, his chest tightening at the sight of Ned.
In his memories, Eddard Stark had always been imposing, stern, unyielding.
Now he was pale, worn, with dark circles under his eyes. It was clear he had barely rested these past days.
His hands and feet were bound in chains.
At least in this life, his leg had not been pierced by a Lannister spear. He had been spared that pain.
"Leave. Get out of here. Find your sisters and take them back to the North immediately."
As if finally convinced it was real, Ned reacted at once, pointing toward the door, his voice firm.
"I will, Father. But I'll also take you back to Winterfell with me."
"I cannot return."
Ned shook his head.
Then, recalling that Robb had said Varys brought him, he continued:
"Did Varys send you to persuade me to confess to treason? To acknowledge Joffrey as Robert's rightful heir?"
"Yes. That is what Lord Varys wanted me to do."
Robb saw the disappointment appear on his father's face, but continued:
"But I won't do it.
When I learned you had stepped down as Hand of the King, I feared something had gone wrong in King's Landing, so I came here disguised as a merchant.
Winterfell is already prepared. Once news of your imprisonment reaches the North, things will begin to move.
By now, Mother should already be gathering the bannermen. When several thousand men of the North assemble, we will march south."
"War? No, Robb. You are still a boy. You do not understand the horror of war.
Listen to me. Leave this place. Find your sisters and take them back north."
Ned shook his head immediately, his tone firm and unyielding.
"Father, in your eyes I may still be a boy.
But I am the son of Eddard Stark, the man who helped overthrow the Targaryen dynasty, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell.
Roose Bolton, incited by Tywin Lannister, sought to sow chaos and tear apart the order of the North, to uproot House Stark entirely.
A month ago, I went to war against House Bolton. I took the Dreadfort and executed Roose Bolton."
Locking eyes with his father, Robb finally revealed everything he had done.
"Catelyn wrote to me that you defeated Roose Bolton. When I read it, I feared you had been wounded.
You act decisively and leave your enemies no time to respond. In that… you already surpass me."
Ned listened in silence.
A faint smile appeared on his face, and he praised his son without reservation.
Then his gaze drifted, as if recalling the past.
"Once, Roose Bolton answered my call and fought at my side.
Now he has been executed by you.
Time passes too quickly. Before we know it, the men of our generation grow old, or die.
Heh. Especially that damned Robert. Dying on top of whores and leaving me this mess to clean up."
"Father, from what I've learned, Lord Arryn, your foster father, was poisoned by his wife, Lysa Arryn, in collusion with Baelish.
And King Robert's death, though it appears natural at first glance, was also Cersei's doing."
Hearing his father speak of it, Robb saw no reason to hold anything back any longer.
And so he revealed the truth without hesitation.
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