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It wasn't fair. Robb felt some invisible hands gripping his heart, squeezing tight and painful. Bile was raising in his throat and he even felt tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. But he took a deep breath and composed himself. He was the future Lord of Winterfell. And even though he was hurt by his mother's decision, he understood it perfectly. Jon was his father's bastard. His very existence brought shame onto their family, his mother the most. And even though she had to sit and suffer his presence at every ordinary meal, it was her victory to have Jon eating in the kitchens during this feast. Because he was a bastard and it really was unseemly to have him sup with the king and his family that was now visiting Winterfell.
Jon didn't seem to mind it though, at least not anymore. He did once, back when he was younger, when he still didn't fully understand his own station and when he still hoped and believed he was family just like any other of his siblings. It was a painful lesson he learnt then but it helped make him strong and indifferent, or he at least gave away that impression. But Robb knew better. He could still see traces of hurt and anger in Jon's eyes, he could notice the aggression with which Jon used his sword and all the violence he was putting into the blows during their sword practice, probably hacking off Lady Stark's head in his mind every single time he hit. And he couldn't blame him, because it really wasn't fair. Yet it was only proper. And that made it so hard for Robb, maybe even harder than for Jon, to accept it.
And so the dinner passed, in the Great Hall and in the kitchens, and they all retired to their chambers for the night. Robb was awake in his bed, his direwolf by his side, thinking how Jon must feel now. Is he sleeping? Or is he agonizing over the unfairness of the situation, feeling hurt and betrayed, alone in the world which held no place for him? Robb wished he could reach out and comfort him, but he suspected that his brother would shrug it off in his stubborn and sullen manner, too proud to admit it bothered him. But Robb knew it did, and it bothered him as well. Jon was still his brother, and he did not ask to be born a bastard. So he made up his mind. He will stand up to his mother, and show her, and all the world, king and queen and their royal brats too, that he won't have it. He knew where he will be breaking his fast tomorrow.
The morning came, and Robb hoped he still had the strength to go through with his plan. He washed his face and dressed, and slowly walked towards the kitchens. It took a while, he was practically dragging his feet, because he knew his mother will be furious and that he will probably earn himself a bloody good whipping from his father for embarrassing them in front of their royal visitors, but still he pressed on.
As he walked inside to the kitchen he could see Jon was already seated, eating his porridge. He raised his brow in surprise, question mark clearly visible on his face as Robb sat next to him: ''What are you doing here?''
''Breaking my fast, as you can see.'' Robb smiled.
''Shouldn't you be with all the others?''
''As should you.''
Jon sighed but his eyes lit up nonetheless: ''You're gonna get yourself in a real mess, you know.''
''I don't care.'' Robb forced himself to smile again. But he knew his brother was right. He was in for a thrashing of a lifetime. But he still had to do it.
They were now both chewing on their porridge, Robb could hardly swallow though, but the sunrays were coming through the kitchen window, the food smelled delicious and his brother's presence by his side made his stomach feel all warm and fuzzy with the beauty of the situation. There they were, two brothers, eating breakfast on a nice and sunny morning.
That did not last for long though. A serving maid stepped in, almost worried, and said:
''My Lord, you are required at the high table. Everyone's there already and your Lady mother has asked about you.''
Robb could hardly bring himself to speak, he needed a moment to calm himself. He saw how Jon nudged him with his eyes. Go! They were telling him. This is stupid, you know you can't win.
But he stood his ground:
''Please tell my Lady mother I will be happy to join them once I have finished my breakfast.''
The maid was stunned. As if she didn't believe what she heard, she repeated:
''My Lord, you are required at the high table. Your lady mother...''
''Tell my Lady mother I will see them once I have eaten. Go now and let me eat in peace.''
The stern authoritative voice of the heir to Winterfell worked and the maid lost herself through the kitchen door. Robb looked across his bowl to his brother. Jon has stopped eating. He waved his head as if to say You are a fool, Stark, there's no way in hell you can win this, but he said nothing. He just sat there, with spoon in his hand, looking at Robb. Then he chuckled: ''Gods! Father will skin you alive.'' And Robb saw how warm his gaze was and how full of love.
They continued eating, in silence, expecting a shit-storm. But it was only a maid who came:
''My Lord, your Lady mother fears you misunderstood and orders you to come to your senses. She says your place is at the high table, and the guests are there and they all have noticed your absence. Please, come or it will not be good.''
Jon threw him a questioning glance. Surely, he thought Robb would leave now, his tail between his legs, all sorry and obedient, good little boy. But Robb did not move from his chair. He looked around and said: ''This place is as good as any. I will finish my meal here.'' And then he added: ''With my brother.''
The maid stood in the doorway for few more moments, waiting, and then she left with a sigh, no doubt dreading the fury she was about to face as a conveyer of this insolent message.
They were both really quiet for what seemed like a long time. Then Jon looked at him and said:
''She will never forget this.''
''I know,'' Robb said, ''and neither should you.''
The warmth in Jon's gaze assured him that he won't, so they finished their breakfast and just sat there, waiting for the storm to come.