Archmaester Ryam nodded, and the Northern King followed the man as he led him inside the Scribe's Heart. It was a small plaza bereft of people. Supposedly the acolytes opened stands offering their service here, but he saw none of that. There seemed to be a handful of scholars here out of curiosity more than anything else. Jon was still clad in his full armour beside the helmet, which was replaced with his crown. A long dark mantle bearing his personal sigil, made by the experienced hand of Sansa, fluttered behind him in the wind.