Chapter 150: A King at Another King's Table
For the first time since Jon's arrival, the doors closed upon the southern court.
The noise of soldiers establishing their camp became distant. The armoured giants remained outside Winterfell's walls, while most of the enormous direwolves spread across the snowy perimeter under the supervision of Jon's men.
Ghost alone entered the Great Keep.
Even inside the private family chambers, the white direwolf appeared impossibly large. When he settled near the hearth, his body occupied nearly as much space as a dining table.
Rickon immediately sat beside him.
"Ghost wants to remain here," he announced.
Jon removed his cloak and handed it to Alex.
"Ghost has not said that."
"He looked at me."
"He looks at everyone."
"Not like that."
Ghost rested his great head upon his paws, offering no support to either side.
Arya dropped into a chair opposite Jon.
"You have become too formal."
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"I allowed you to throw yourself at me before two kings, a queen, the Kingsguard, and half the southern court."
"You caught me."
"Would you have preferred that I stepped aside?"
Arya considered it.
"No."
"Then I remain sufficiently informal."
Robb laughed as he poured wine for Jon and himself. Sansa sat beside Catelyn, while Bran had positioned himself close enough to begin asking questions the moment an opportunity appeared.
The opportunity came almost immediately.
"How strong is Torghal?"
"Very."
"Could he lift a horse?"
"Yes."
"A horse with a knight wearing armour?"
"Probably."
"Could he lift two horses?"
"Bran," Catelyn warned gently.
"I only want to know."
"One horse is enough for now," Jon said.
Bran reluctantly nodded.
"Are all the giants soldiers?"
"No. Most have ordinary occupations. Some farm. Some raise mammoths. Some work in construction, and several assist in the mines."
"Mines?" Robb asked. "Giants work underground?"
"Not in the smaller tunnels. They are useful when we must clear large sections of stone or move loads that would otherwise require machinery."
Bran's eyes brightened.
"Can I see the machines?"
"When you visit Winter's Heaven."
Catelyn looked at Jon.
"You continue offering my children reasons to cross an unknown sea."
"They already possess several reasons."
Arya grinned.
Catelyn attempted to maintain her stern expression, but it softened when Jon turned toward her.
"Your Grace—"
"Jon."
She paused.
Jon leaned back in his chair.
"Before the southern court, I am the King of Winter's Heaven. Inside this chamber, I am still Jon."
Something complicated passed through Catelyn's face.
For many years, she had struggled to see him without remembering the wound his presence represented. Yet the boy before her had returned as a king, commanding soldiers, giants, ships, and creatures out of legend.
He could have demanded that she bow.
Instead, he offered her the familiarity of family.
"Jon," she corrected.
He inclined his head.
Ned stood near the hearth, watching them.
"Why did you bring such a large escort?"
The warmth in the chamber diminished slightly.
Robb and the younger children turned toward Jon.
"A thousand soldiers is not a large escort by the standards of my kingdom."
"It is large enough to frighten every southern lord who accompanied Robert."
"That was part of its purpose."
Ned's expression hardened.
"You expected trouble?"
"I expected pride."
Jon accepted the cup Robb offered him but did not drink.
"Robert invited a son of Winterfell. His court expected to meet a bastard they could ridicule. I decided to disappoint them."
Arya smiled fiercely.
Sansa did not smile, but satisfaction entered her eyes.
Ned released a quiet breath.
"You have frightened the Lannisters."
"Good."
"Jon."
"Frightened enemies make fewer careless decisions."
"Fear can also provoke them."
"If the sight of ten giants and fifty direwolves does not teach them caution, nothing I say will."
Ned could not deny the truth of that.
He glanced toward Sansa.
"The prince is already angry."
"He was angry before Jon arrived," Sansa said. "He is angry whenever someone receives more attention than him."
Her voice held none of the admiration she had once shown Joffrey.
Jon looked at her.
"You are certain of your decision?"
"Yes."
"No one pressured you?"
"No. I do not wish to marry him."
"Then you will not."
The simplicity of his answer made Catelyn straighten.
Ned met Jon's gaze.
"The king has made no formal proposal."
"And if he does?"
"Then I will refuse."
Jon studied his father for a moment before nodding.
"Good."
Sansa lowered her eyes, hiding her relief.
Ned waited until Arya began questioning Alex about the direwolves before moving closer to Jon.
"Is Robert's invitation the only reason you came?"
"No."
Ned's expression became guarded.
Jon lowered his voice.
"I wanted to see the royal family myself."
"And what have you concluded?"
"Robert is not the man he was at the Trident."
"That should surprise no one."
"The change is greater than age alone. He has surrendered the work of ruling to those surrounding him. The crown is deeply in debt, the court feeds upon itself, and his heir possesses neither courage nor discipline."
Ned glanced toward the children, ensuring they were not listening.
"Joffrey is still young."
"He is only a year younger than me."
"You were forced to mature earlier."
"Kingship will not wait for him to become worthy."
Jon finally drank from his cup.
"When Robert dies, do you believe Joffrey can hold the Seven Kingdoms?"
Ned did not answer.
Jon studied his silence.
"That is what I thought."
"You speak as though Robert's death is near."
"All men die. Wise rulers prepare for what follows."
"And what do you intend to do?"
"For now? Watch."
There was something in Jon's voice that prevented Ned from believing watching was all he would do.
Before he could press further, a servant arrived to announce that the feast was prepared.
The Great Hall of Winterfell had hosted kings before.
Yet it had rarely hosted two kings who appeared so different.
Robert Baratheon occupied the central place upon the raised table. He ate heavily, drank even more heavily, and filled the hall with booming laughter.
Jon sat at an equal place of honour beside Ned.
He spoke little.
He did not need to speak loudly. Whenever he answered a question, nearby conversations quietened as people strained to hear him.
Robert commanded attention through noise.
Jon commanded it through expectation.
The Stark children remained close to their family. Robb sat beside Jon, while Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon occupied nearby places. Catelyn sat beside Ned, and Cersei remained on Robert's other side.
Joffrey sat near his mother.
Myrcella and Tommen were farther down the table, both still whispering excitedly about the direwolves.
Jaime stood behind the royal family in his white cloak. Barristan remained near Robert, while Sandor Clegane occupied a place close to Joffrey. Tyrion sat with the other Lannisters, watching Jon with unmistakable curiosity.
Renly was not present.
Neither was Stannis.
Robert's youngest brother had remained in King's Landing as master of laws, while Stannis had withdrawn to Dragonstone after Jon Arryn's death.
The remaining royal company was still enormous. Knights, guards, squires, servants, courtiers, and minor nobles filled the hall beneath the crowned stag and direwolf banners.
Outside, one of Jon's direwolves howled.
Several southern horses answered with frightened cries from the stables.
Conversation briefly faded.
Jon continued eating as though nothing had happened.
Robert watched him over the rim of his cup.
"Tell me the truth, boy. How many of those monstrous wolves do you have?"
"Enough."
Robert frowned.
"That is what you said about the giants."
"Because you asked the same kind of question."
"And how many giants do you command?"
"Enough."
Several northern lords concealed their amusement.
Robert placed his cup upon the table.
"You intend to answer every question with that one word?"
"Only the questions I have no intention of answering, Uncle Robert."
The Great Hall fell silent.
A spoon slipped from a noblewoman's hand and struck her plate.
Cersei slowly turned toward Jon.
Jaime's eyebrows rose. Barristan remained expressionless, though surprise entered his eyes. Even Ned stared at his son.
Joffrey's mouth opened.
Robert lowered his cup.
"What did you call me?"
Jon met his gaze calmly.
"Uncle Robert."
No one spoke to the king in such a manner.
His brothers might call him Robert in private, but even they observed some degree of royal courtesy before the court. Jon had discarded the distance between them with two words.
Joffrey found his voice first.
"You cannot address the king like that!"
Jon did not look at him.
"You consider my father your closest friend," Jon said to Robert. "From everything I have heard, you have called him your brother since you were both fostered in the Vale."
Robert glanced at Ned.
Jon continued.
"If my father is your brother, then you are my uncle. That makes me your nephew. The reasoning appears simple."
For three heartbeats, Robert stared at him.
Then his lips curved.
A deep laugh burst from his chest and rolled through the Great Hall.
"Aye!"
Robert struck the table, causing cups and plates to jump.
"Aye, the boy speaks true!"
He turned toward Ned.
"I have called you brother since we were boys, haven't I?"
"Many times," Ned admitted.
"More than many!"
Robert lifted his cup.
"I trust this solemn northern fool more than I trust either of my own brothers. Stannis looks at me as though every cup of wine is a crime against the realm, and Renly spends more time choosing silk than studying law."
A few nobles laughed cautiously.
Robert looked at Jon with growing delight.
"If Ned Stark is my brother, then his son is my nephew."
His voice rose until it reached every corner of the hall.
"Let all of you hear it! King Jon of Winter's Heaven may call me Uncle Robert whenever he bloody pleases."
Jon's lips curved.
"Thank you, Uncle."
Robert roared with laughter.
"There! The boy has the courage to say it twice!"
Even Ned could not entirely hide his amusement.
Robert raised his cup toward Jon.
"To my nephew—the only man in this hall bold enough to claim me as family without first asking what lands I intend to give him!"
The northern lords raised their cups.
Jon lifted his own.
"To Uncle Robert, who has finally found a relative he enjoys."
Laughter spread through the hall.
Joffrey did not join it.
He watched Robert beam at Jon with a pride the king had rarely shown his supposed son.
Robert noticed none of it at first.
He continued questioning Jon.
"How much land does your kingdom possess?"
"More than I have properly measured."
"And you claim you do not desire anything south of the Wall?"
"I possess more land than every lord in this hall combined. Why would I covet their smaller territories?"
Several southern nobles stiffened.
Robert laughed.
Tyrion leaned forward.
"Land is useful only when it can feed the people living upon it."
"Winter's Heaven produces more food than it consumes."
"With snow falling across much of your territory?"
"We learned to overcome the climate."
"How?"
Jon looked toward him.
"I came to share my uncle's table, not empty my kingdom's libraries."
Tyrion smiled.
"So there are libraries worth emptying."
"Many."
"And schools?"
"In every settlement large enough to support one."
"For nobles?"
"For children."
The answer created more surprise than the giants had.
A northern lord frowned.
"Even the children of farmers?"
"Especially them. A kingdom that leaves most of its people ignorant wastes most of its potential."
Robert stared at Jon.
"You teach peasants to read?"
"I teach my citizens whatever knowledge allows them to serve themselves and the kingdom."
"And this does not make them difficult to rule?"
"It makes them easier to govern intelligently."
Tyrion's interest sharpened.
He asked about roads, grain storage, mines, healers, and communication. Jon answered selectively, revealing enough to demonstrate Winter's Heaven's strength without exposing the technology behind it.
He spoke of railways connecting settlements, healers preventing outbreaks before they spread, and distant stations communicating rapidly.
He did not mention the mechanics of radios.
He did not reveal the true number of his soldiers, the extent of his industry, or the secrets hidden inside his libraries.
Across the table, Cersei watched him.
She noticed how naturally the hall listened.
Robert possessed the Iron Throne, yet half the people present waited for Jon's next answer. Tyrion studied him with open fascination. Barristan regarded him with respect. Even Jaime's usual carelessness had faded.
Several women watched him as well.
Young daughters of northern lords. Married southern ladies. Servants who believed no one noticed where their eyes wandered.
Cersei noticed all of them.
Her irritation was unreasonable.
Jon did not belong to her.
He had looked at her twice and exchanged a few concealed words. That gave her no claim upon him.
Still, when a young noblewoman laughed too eagerly at something Jon said, Cersei's fingers tightened around her cup.
Jon's eyes shifted toward her.
For the briefest moment, his gaze descended toward the neckline of her crimson gown before returning to her face.
Cersei's irritation changed direction.
She offered him a cold, regal look.
The amusement in his grey eyes told her it had failed.
Robert began telling a loud story about Thoros of Myr and a burning sword. While the hall's attention moved toward him, Cersei leaned slightly closer to Jon.
"Do you examine every woman seated at another man's table?"
Jon continued looking toward Robert.
"Only those who continue watching to see whether I will."
Cersei became still.
Before she could reply, Jon lifted his cup and listened to the remainder of Robert's story.
He had caught her watching him.
Worse, he had left her without an answer.
Cersei drank her wine and told herself that the warmth beneath her skin came from the crowded hall.
Time passed.
Robert drank, laughed, and spoke, but his attention repeatedly returned to Jon.
At first, he watched openly.
Later, he attempted to conceal it.
Jon did not boast about his kingdom. He answered challenges without becoming defensive and listened before speaking. When Lord Karstark disagreed with one of his policies concerning educated commoners, Jon explained his reasoning without insulting him.
When the lord continued arguing, Jon ended the matter with a single calm sentence.
"There is value in tradition, Lord Karstark, but I will not preserve ignorance merely because our ancestors suffered from it."
Lord Karstark frowned but accepted the answer.
Jon's siblings gathered around him naturally.
Arya interrupted him without fear. Bran asked questions until Catelyn ordered him to eat. Rickon spoke seriously about his plan to convince Ghost to stay. Sansa thanked Jon quietly for supporting her decision regarding Joffrey.
Jon gave each of them his attention.
Robert felt pride rising inside him.
That is Ned's boy.
The bastard the realm would have dismissed had crossed the sea and built a kingdom. He had returned commanding armoured giants, disciplined soldiers, enormous ships, and direwolves larger than horses.
He had begun with nothing.
Now he sat beside kings as an equal.
Then Robert looked at Joffrey.
The pride soured.
Joffrey sat with resentment twisting his face. His eyes moved between Jon and Robert, growing darker each time the king laughed at something his newly declared nephew said.
A serving boy approached to refill Joffrey's cup.
His hand trembled.
A few drops of wine struck the table.
Joffrey slapped him.
The sound cracked through the nearby conversations.
The boy staggered and fell to one knee.
"Forgive me, my prince."
Joffrey smiled at his fear.
"You stained my sleeve."
"No wine touched your sleeve," Myrcella said quietly.
Joffrey turned upon her.
"Did I ask you?"
Myrcella lowered her gaze.
The serving boy hurried to wipe the table.
Joffrey deliberately knocked the cup onto the floor.
"Fill it again."
Robert's expression darkened.
Across the table, Jon had witnessed everything.
He did not intervene. This was Robert's household and Robert's supposed son.
But the quiet disgust in Jon's eyes was unmistakable.
For the first time, Robert felt ashamed that Jon had seen it.
Joffrey was only a year younger than him.
Yet Jon carried himself like a man who had survived war and ruled for years. Joffrey behaved like a spoiled child who confused cruelty with strength.
Robert searched for a word to describe his disappointment.
Coward?
Joffrey enjoyed tormenting servants, children, and animals, but had gone pale at the sight of the direwolves. He mocked the giants only when walls and soldiers stood between them.
Cruel?
It was not the hard cruelty sometimes demanded of kings. There was no purpose behind it. Joffrey simply enjoyed the suffering of those too weak to retaliate.
Weak?
That was the word Robert hated most.
Joffrey had received everything—royal privilege, wealth, masters-at-arms, servants, and the greatest position any boy in the Seven Kingdoms could inherit.
Jon had received a bastard's name and whatever place Ned could protect for him.
Yet Jon had made himself a king.
Robert's gaze moved to Robb.
Honourable, disciplined, and dependable.
Then Bran, whose curiosity seemed endless.
Arya possessed more courage than half the squires Robert had known in the Vale. Even Sansa, once captivated by songs and appearances, had found the strength to reject a prince after recognising his nature.
Robert looked toward Ned.
For the first time in years, he envied his friend.
How did you do it, Ned?
Robert had once believed Ned foolish for raising his bastard among his trueborn children.
Now that bastard possessed more authority at fourteen than most crowned men achieved in a lifetime.
Joffrey pushed the cup from the table again.
The serving boy scrambled after it.
Robert's hand tightened.
"Enough."
Joffrey froze.
Robert's voice was not loud, but the anger within it carried.
"Leave the boy be."
"He spilled wine upon me."
"No, he did not."
Joffrey stared at him, stunned that Robert had contradicted him publicly.
"Sit down and keep your mouth closed before I send you from the hall."
Cersei turned sharply.
"Robert—"
"I said enough."
Joffrey sat.
Hatred burned in his eyes.
Robert looked away from him before he did something he might regret.
Jon watched Robert across the table.
"Something troubles you, Uncle?"
The word eased some of Robert's anger.
He forced a rough smile.
"I was wondering how a miserable northern bastard managed to raise a king."
Ned frowned.
"I did not raise him alone."
"No," Robert agreed. "But you gave him his beginning."
"My father gave me more than that," Jon said. "He gave me a family when the realm would have preferred I remain an embarrassment hidden from sight."
Ned's expression softened.
Robert felt envy stab through him again.
Joffrey called him Father because custom demanded it.
Jon called Ned Father because Ned had earned the name.
Robert raised his cup toward his oldest friend.
"You did well, Ned."
The hall had grown quiet again.
Ned inclined his head.
"He did much of it himself."
"Aye," Robert said, looking toward Jon. "But a good man must first be shown what one looks like."
Joffrey heard every word.
His face tightened further.
Robert noticed.
For once, he did not care.
The mood shifted when Joffrey heard two northern lords discussing Torghal.
"They are merely beasts," the prince said loudly.
Silence spread around him.
Cersei closed her eyes briefly.
Joffrey continued, emboldened by the attention.
"Any creature can be trained with enough chains and food."
Jon turned toward him.
He did not appear angry.
That made Joffrey less comfortable.
"Would you repeat that to Torghal's face?"
Joffrey hesitated.
"He is an animal. I have no reason to speak to him."
"You had reason enough when he was outside the hall."
Robert gave a drunken laugh.
"Bring the giant here! Let the boy repeat himself."
Joffrey paled.
"I will not converse with a beast."
"A fortunate decision," Jon said. "Torghal dislikes conversations with cowards."
Several northern lords failed to hide their laughter.
Joffrey half-rose.
"I am the crown prince!"
"And Torghal is a commander in my army and a citizen of my kingdom."
Jon's voice remained calm.
"The giants are neither beasts nor slaves. Insulting one beneath my protection is no different from insulting any lord seated in this hall."
Joffrey looked toward Robert, expecting support.
Robert drank from his cup.
"You began it, boy. Either repeat your words to the giant or sit down."
Joffrey slowly lowered himself into his seat.
Robert snorted.
"I thought so."
Cersei's face remained controlled, but fury burned in her eyes. She could not blame Jon without appearing to defend Joffrey's cowardice.
Barristan looked toward Jon with renewed respect.
Tyrion smiled into his wine.
Jaime remained silent.
Joffrey spent the rest of the feast staring at Jon with helpless hatred.
Jon promptly forgot him.
Robert's mood improved after several more cups.
"I want to see your soldiers fight."
Jon glanced at him.
"You saw them march."
"Marching is not fighting."
"No. Marching is considerably less bloody."
"A demonstration, then. Blunted weapons. No deaths."
Robert turned toward Barristan and Jaime.
"Ten of my best men against ten of his."
Jaime smiled.
"I volunteer."
Barristan was less enthusiastic.
Robert slapped the table.
"Excellent! The Kingslayer, several Kingsguard, and the finest knights in my company."
Jon looked toward Alex.
"Choose ten soldiers."
Alex inclined his head.
"From the elite companies?"
"No. Ordinary ranks."
Jaime's smile faded slightly.
"Ordinary soldiers?"
Jon looked at him.
"You wished to test my kingdom. A kingdom is not measured by its ten greatest warriors."
"And if your ordinary men lose?"
"They will learn from the experience."
Robert grinned.
"And if they win?"
"You will learn from it."
Laughter filled the hall again.
Robert pointed his cup toward Jon.
"Gods, Ned. I truly am beginning to envy you."
This time, he was not joking.
The feast ended late.
As nobles and knights departed, Jaime found Alex speaking with ten soldiers in the outer courtyard.
They were younger than he had expected.
None carried ornate weapons. Their armour was identical to that of the other men outside. There were no commanders among them, no giants, and no famous warriors.
Jaime smiled.
"Those are Jon's chosen ten?"
"They are," Alex answered.
"They do not look particularly dangerous."
One soldier accidentally disturbed a metal cup resting upon a barrel.
It fell.
Before the cup had descended a hand's breadth, the youngest soldier caught it without looking and returned it to the barrel.
The movement was so fast that Jaime almost missed it.
Barristan did not.
The old knight's eyes narrowed.
He turned toward Jaime.
"Do not mistake their youth for inexperience."
Jaime's smile widened.
"I was beginning to fear tomorrow would be dull."
From a balcony above the courtyard, Robb watched the ten soldiers return to camp.
Jon stood beside him.
"Are your men going to win?" Robb asked.
Jon looked toward Jaime, Barristan, Sandor, and the southern knights gathering below.
"That is not the question."
"Then what is?"
Jon's grey eyes moved across Robert's proud court.
"The question is how much dignity I should allow Uncle Robert's knights to keep."
Far beyond Winterfell's walls, a giant's war horn sounded through the night.
Fifty direwolves answered with a chorus of howls.
The southern knights looked toward the darkness.
Jon smiled.
End of Chapter 150
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Author's Note
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