Chapter 139: A Feast of Wolves and Lions
The great hall of Winterfell had never held so many lions.
Their crimson banners hung among the grey direwolves of House Stark. Golden-haired knights crowded benches beside northern warriors dressed in wool, leather, and fur. Servants moved continuously between the long tables, carrying roasted meat, freshly baked bread, bowls of vegetables, wheels of cheese, and flagons of wine.
Music echoed from the gallery.
The hall was warm, bright, and deafening.
King Robert sat at the centre of the high table with Eddard Stark beside him. Queen Cersei occupied the king's other side, her expression composed despite the laughter and shouting rising from the northern tables.
Catelyn sat beside Ned, though she had barely touched her food.
The words her husband had spoken outside the hall continued to trouble her.
Hand of the King.
A betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey.
And Robert's demand to meet Jon.
Each request carried dangers of its own. Together, they threatened to pull her entire family into a struggle whose shape she could not yet see.
Robert tore a leg from a roasted chicken.
"Gods, Ned," he said, "does everyone in the North eat like this?"
Ned glanced at the crowded tables.
"They are celebrating your arrival."
"They should celebrate more often. Your cooks understand meat."
Robert took a bite and reached for his wine.
Cersei looked at his already-stained doublet.
"You might attempt to eat like a king."
"I am eating like a king."
"You are eating like a starving dog."
Robert grinned.
"A starving king."
Tyrion Lannister, seated farther along the table, lifted his cup.
"I have known dogs with better table manners, Your Grace."
Robert barked with laughter.
Cersei did not.
Jaime Lannister smiled faintly as he watched his younger brother drink. He had removed his white cloak for the feast, but his polished armour still caught the firelight. His gaze occasionally travelled over Winterfell's guards, its doors, and the northern warriors gathered beneath the direwolf banners.
He appeared relaxed.
Ned did not believe he was.
At the lower end of the high table, Sansa sat near Prince Joffrey.
The arrangement had not been accidental.
Sansa wore her finest blue-grey dress. Her hair had been carefully brushed and arranged, and she sat with perfect posture despite the excitement she could barely conceal.
Joffrey looked every bit the prince from the songs.
His golden hair shone in the torchlight. His black doublet was embroidered with golden stags and lions, and his smile was polished enough to make Sansa forget almost everything else in the hall.
"You are even more beautiful than I was told," Joffrey said.
Sansa lowered her eyes.
"You are very kind, my prince."
"King's Landing will seem dull after Winterfell."
Sansa looked up in surprise.
"I have always dreamed of seeing the capital."
"Then perhaps you will find it beautiful."
"I have heard the Red Keep can be seen from across Blackwater Bay."
"It can. The throne room is large enough to hold this entire hall."
Arya, seated on Sansa's other side, stabbed a piece of meat with unnecessary force.
Sansa glanced at her.
Arya had changed into a clean dress, though Septa Mordane had been unable to completely repair the damage to her hair. Several strands had already escaped the braid.
Joffrey looked past Sansa.
"Do you not enjoy the feast, Lady Arya?"
"I would enjoy it more if I were allowed to sit with Bran."
"Arya," Sansa whispered.
"What?"
"You should be polite."
"I answered his question."
Joffrey's smile became slightly thinner.
"My sister has never enjoyed courtly occasions," Sansa explained quickly. "She prefers riding and playing with swords."
"With wooden swords, surely," Joffrey said.
"Sometimes," Arya answered.
Joffrey laughed.
"A sword is not a toy for girls."
Arya stared at him.
Sansa placed a warning hand upon her sister's arm before she could respond.
At a nearby table, Robb sat with Theon Greyjoy, Bran, Tommen, and Myrcella.
Tommen was eating a honey cake while Bran described Winterfell's towers.
"You climbed all the way to the top?" Tommen asked.
"Many times."
"Were you not frightened?"
"No."
"I would be."
Bran considered that.
"You stop being frightened after climbing for a while."
Myrcella looked toward the high stone walls beyond the hall.
"Mother would never allow us."
"Father does not allow me either," Bran admitted.
Theon laughed.
"That has never stopped him."
Robb gave Bran a serious look.
"It should."
Bran lowered his eyes towards his plate.
Tommen turned to Robb.
"Have you seen a giant?"
"Yes."
Tommen immediately forgot his food.
"Is it true they are as tall as towers?"
"Not towers," Robb said. "But some are three times the height of a man."
Myrcella's eyes widened.
"Do they eat people?"
"No."
Theon leaned closer.
"They swallow children whole."
Tommen froze.
"Theon," Robb warned.
Theon grinned.
"I am only telling him what I heard."
"You just invented it."
Tommen stared uncertainly at him.
Robb shook his head.
"The giants who serve Jon do not eat people."
"Have you visited his kingdom?" Myrcella asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because its location is secret."
"But he is your brother."
Robb glanced towards Ned.
"He left Winterfell when we were six. I have seen him since then, but I have never visited Winter's Heaven."
Tommen frowned.
"Does that make you a prince?"
The question surprised Robb.
"No."
"But if your brother is a king—"
"Jon and I are brothers," Robb explained, "but I am the heir to Winterfell. I have no title in his kingdom."
Theon lifted his cup.
"You should ask him for one. Prince Robb has a pleasant sound."
Robb gave him an unimpressed look.
"I have enough responsibilities without inventing new ones."
At the high table, Robert was listening to Greatjon Umber loudly recount his duel aboard Winter's Titan.
"And then the little bastard moved!" Greatjon shouted.
Several lords around him laughed.
Robert leaned forward.
"The soldier?"
"Aye! The man was half my size, and he moved faster than a striking snake. Turned my axe aside and put me upon the deck before I understood what had happened."
Robert stared at him.
"One man?"
"One injured man," Lord Wyman Manderly's representative added.
Greatjon scowled.
"He was well enough to fight."
"Barely."
"He accepted the challenge."
"And defeated you with one strike."
More laughter erupted.
Greatjon slammed his cup down.
"Aye, he defeated me! That is the point of the damned story."
Robert laughed until he began coughing.
Ned waited patiently while the king recovered.
"And Jon defeated thirty of these men?" Robert asked.
"Thirty at once," Greatjon answered. "With blunted swords."
Robert shook his head.
"Fourteen years old."
"To the world," Ned murmured.
Robert did not hear him beneath the noise.
Cersei did.
She turned slightly towards Ned, but he had already lifted his cup.
Robert tore another piece from the chicken.
"I would have liked to see that fight."
"You would have enjoyed it," Greatjon said. "The boy did not stand still for a heartbeat."
"A fighter, then?"
"One of the greatest I have seen."
Jaime finally entered the conversation.
"Against thirty soldiers in a demonstration."
Greatjon's expression hardened.
"You doubt it?"
"I was not present."
"No southerner was."
"Then I am expected to trust the judgement of men who returned speaking of a wooden city floating upon the sea."
"It is not a wooden city," Ser Wendel Manderly said.
Jaime raised an eyebrow.
"Your father's men described farms, livestock, homes, workshops, towers, and thousands of soldiers. What would you call it?"
"A ship."
"A ship four kilometres long."
"Aye."
Jaime drank.
"Then perhaps words have different meanings beyond the Neck."
Greatjon rose halfway from his seat.
Ned looked at him.
"Sit, Greatjon."
The northern lord held Jaime's gaze for a moment before lowering himself.
Jaime smiled as though nothing had happened.
Tyrion watched the exchange with obvious amusement.
"What interests me," he said, "is not whether the Titan should be called a ship or a city."
Jaime glanced at him.
"What interests you?"
"How it remains afloat."
"That," Robert declared, "is what I have been asking since we reached Winterfell."
"You asked how it was built," Ned said.
"Same question."
"Not quite," Tyrion replied.
Robert pointed a greasy finger towards him.
"Do not begin speaking like a maester."
"I lack the chain and the dreadful clothing."
"Then ask your question."
Tyrion turned towards the Manderly men.
"How many people live aboard Winter's Titan?"
Ser Wendel exchanged a look with another knight.
"We were not told."
"How many soldiers?"
"Enough."
"How much grain can it carry?"
"Enough."
"How many giants guard it?"
"More than I would care to fight."
Tyrion lifted his cup.
"At last, a precise answer."
Several men laughed.
Tyrion continued, "You spent days aboard the vessel and learned none of those things?"
"We saw what King Jon wished us to see."
"And nothing more?"
"We were guests, not spies."
"Most guests are merely spies who expect supper."
Ser Wendel smiled.
"Perhaps that is why his soldiers watched you southern visitors so carefully at White Harbor."
"I was not there."
"They would have watched you twice as carefully."
"Then they possess excellent judgement."
Cersei's voice cut across the conversation.
"You all speak of this boy as though he were Aegon the Conqueror returned."
The laughter near the high table weakened.
Cersei looked towards the northern lords.
"He possesses a large ship and unusual servants. Impressive curiosities do not make a great king."
Greatjon Umber leaned forward.
"He fed the North."
Cersei's green eyes moved to him.
"Did the North face starvation?"
"We faced southern merchants demanding five times the proper price for grain."
"Merchants demand whatever buyers are willing to pay."
"And Jon offered more grain at a fair price," Lord Karstark said. "Enough that no northern lord needed to beg the Reach."
The queen's expression remained calm.
"How generous."
"It was trade," Ned said. "Not charity."
Tyrion studied the northern lords.
"How enormous was this agreement?"
"The exact terms are for Lord Stark and those involved," Ser Wendel replied.
"You need not give me the price."
"Then what do you wish to know?"
"How many ships were required to deliver it?"
Ser Wendel smiled.
"One."
The answer made several southern nobles turn.
Tyrion glanced towards Jaime.
"One ship," he repeated.
"The Titan remained fifteen kilometres from White Harbor," Ser Wendel explained. "Its smaller vessels carried the grain to our ships. It required two full days to unload."
Jaime leaned back.
"Northern stories grow larger with every cup."
Tyrion shook his head.
"Men exaggerate victories. Merchants rarely exaggerate grain they have already received."
"You believe all of it?"
"I believe Lord Manderly knows the difference between an empty granary and a full one."
Tyrion's gaze travelled across the northern tables.
"The giants frighten men. The swords impress knights. But grain earns loyalty more reliably than either."
Cersei looked at him coldly.
"You appear very impressed."
"I am curious."
"You are always curious about things that do not concern you."
"Everything concerns me eventually."
At the lower end of the table, Joffrey had been listening.
"The North should not have needed grain from a wildling kingdom," he said.
Sansa's smile faltered.
"Winter's Heaven is not a wildling kingdom."
Joffrey looked at her.
"It lies beyond the Wall."
"Yes, but Jon rules it."
"A bastard ruling wildlings is still a wildling king."
Arya turned towards him immediately.
"Do not call him that."
"Arya," Sansa hissed.
Joffrey looked amused.
"Is he not a bastard?"
Arya's hands tightened beneath the table.
"He is a king."
"Because savages named him one?"
"Because he built a kingdom."
Joffrey's smile disappeared.
"My father is King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Winter's Heaven is not one of them."
Silence fell around the younger Starks.
Sansa's face paled.
Joffrey stared at Arya.
"A king rules every land worth ruling."
Robb heard the statement from the nearby table and turned.
"Jon built Winter's Heaven," he said. "No southern king gave it to him."
Joffrey shifted his attention towards Robb.
"Then perhaps he has merely been permitted to keep it."
Robb's expression hardened.
"You should not say that where his people can hear you."
"Is that a threat?"
"Advice."
Tommen looked nervously between them.
Myrcella lowered her eyes.
Theon was smiling, but the amusement did not reach his gaze.
Sansa seized Arya's wrist.
"My prince did not mean to insult Jon."
Joffrey did not correct her.
Arya pulled her hand free.
"You were listening. He did."
"You are being rude."
"And you are pretending not to hear him."
Sansa's face reddened.
"You are trying to embarrass me."
"Not everything is about you."
Septa Mordane hurried towards them after noticing the tension.
"Lady Arya, come with me."
"I have not finished eating."
"You have eaten enough."
Arya looked towards Joffrey once more.
"I would rather go."
She stood and followed the septa, though she glared over her shoulder before leaving.
Joffrey watched her go.
"Your sister requires discipline."
Robb rose slightly.
Sansa spoke before he could.
"She is young, my prince. She does not always understand what she says."
Robb stared at Sansa.
Arya was only two years younger than her.
Sansa refused to meet his eyes.
Joffrey's pleasant smile returned.
"Perhaps life in the capital will teach her proper behaviour."
Robb sat down slowly.
Theon leaned towards him.
"I already dislike him."
Robb kept his voice low.
"For once, we agree."
At the high table, Robert demanded another cup of wine.
Ned covered the king's goblet with one hand.
"You have had enough."
Robert stared at him.
"When did you become my mother?"
"When you began drinking as though you wished to drown yourself."
"I am celebrating."
"You have been celebrating since the Neck."
"Before the Neck."
"That does not improve the argument."
Robert pulled the cup away and filled it himself.
"Six months on the road, Ned. Six months of mud, broken wheels, complaining nobles, and Cersei telling me the wheelhouse was uncomfortable."
"It was uncomfortable," Cersei said.
"You had a feather bed inside it."
"The road remained beneath the wheels."
Robert drank deeply.
"Now I am finally in Winterfell, and you wish to deny me wine."
"I wish you to remain conscious."
"Consciousness is greatly overrated."
Tyrion raised his cup in agreement.
Cersei ignored him.
Robert pushed himself to his feet.
His chair scraped heavily across the stone floor.
The hall gradually quieted as nobles noticed the king standing.
Robert lifted his goblet.
"To Winterfell!" he roared.
Cups rose throughout the hall.
"To Winterfell!"
"To Ned Stark, the most miserable-looking host in the Seven Kingdoms!"
Laughter thundered from the tables.
Ned remained seated.
"You honour me."
"I know."
Robert turned towards the gathered northern lords.
"And to the North! Cold, enormous, stubborn, and filled with men who refuse to tell a simple story without mentioning Jon!"
The northern tables erupted.
Men shouted Jon's name and hammered their cups against the wood.
Joffrey looked displeased.
Cersei did not join the toast.
Robert laughed.
"A ship four kilometres long! Giants taller than houses! Lights without fire! Iron roads and carriages faster than horses! Thirty Valyrian steel swords displayed as though they were common castle steel!"
"Thirty publicly revealed blades," Ned corrected quietly.
Robert did not hear him.
"And a fourteen-year-old king who defeated thirty trained soldiers while his northern uncles watched!"
Greatjon raised his cup.
"I watched him!"
"We know!" someone shouted.
More laughter followed.
Robert turned towards Ned.
"Send the invitation!"
The hall began to quiet.
Ned remained motionless.
Robert raised his voice.
"Tell the boy to come to Winterfell. Tell him to bring his giants and those black-armoured knights everyone keeps boasting about!"
The northern lords cheered.
"And tell him to bring one of those trains," Robert added. "I want to see whether the damned thing is truly faster than a horse."
Tyrion coughed into his cup.
Robert looked at him.
"What?"
"Unless King Jon has taught trains to travel without rails, Your Grace, he cannot simply bring one to Winterfell."
Robert frowned.
"Why not?"
"A train requires an iron road," Tyrion explained. "Two precisely laid lines beneath its wheels."
"The railway," Ser Wendel said.
Robert stared at him.
"It cannot leave this railway?"
"No."
"Not at all?"
"It would fall from the tracks and become useless," Ser Wendel replied.
Robert looked offended by the idea.
"Then how did it reach the Titan?"
"The Titan has its own internal railway."
"Of course it does," Robert muttered.
Several men laughed.
Tyrion continued, "For a train to travel here, King Jon would first have to survey and build a railway from his kingdom to Winterfell. Across frozen wilderness, rivers, mountains, and the Wall itself."
"Every section must be carefully measured," Ser Wendel added. "The ground must be prepared, bridges constructed, and the rails kept properly aligned."
Robert looked into his cup as though searching for a simpler explanation.
"Then what use is the bloody thing?"
Greatjon roared with laughter.
"It carries more goods than a thousand wagons and moves faster than any horse, but only where the iron road has been built."
Robert grunted.
"Very well. Jon may leave the train behind."
Ned finally spoke.
"Even if Jon accepts, he cannot arrive quickly."
Robert lowered his cup.
"How long would it take?"
"No one here knows."
"You are his father."
"And I still do not know where Winter's Heaven lies."
Robert looked towards the northern lords.
"None of you?"
Heads shook across the tables.
"The Titan carried the envoys by sea," Ser Wendel explained. "We could not follow or identify its route."
Ned continued, "Jon's kingdom lies somewhere deep beyond the Wall. He may need months to reach Winterfell."
"Months?"
"Perhaps longer if he travels with giants and a large escort. There is no Kingsroad through those lands."
Robert glanced around the hall as if expecting someone to offer a better answer.
It had taken his royal procession more than six months to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell. They had followed established roads, crossed guarded bridges, rested at castles, and changed horses whenever necessary.
Jon would be travelling from an unknown land beyond the Wall.
"Then he should begin immediately," Robert said.
"We cannot send the invitation until his raven returns."
Robert dropped back into his chair.
"A hidden kingdom, unreachable ravens, and trains imprisoned upon iron roads. Nothing about that boy is simple."
Tyrion lifted his cup.
"That may be the first entirely accurate statement made tonight."
The hall laughed again, but Ned's unease remained.
Robert had made his invitation public.
If Jon refused, southern lords could call it an insult. If he accepted, he would travel into a castle filled with men studying his wealth, his soldiers, and his intentions.
Worse, Robert would not remain at Winterfell for months waiting for him. The invitation could pull Jon towards the south, perhaps even towards King's Landing.
Cersei leaned closer to her husband.
"You should not welcome another self-proclaimed king as an equal."
Robert looked at her.
"I welcomed your father often enough."
Several northern lords laughed into their cups.
Cersei's eyes turned icy.
"My father has never claimed a crown."
"He behaves as though he wears one."
"That boy rules savages beyond the Wall."
Greatjon began to rise.
Ned silenced him with a look.
Robert waved dismissively.
"He rules something, and whatever he rules appears better fed than half my kingdoms."
"That does not make him your equal."
Robert drained his cup.
"No. But it makes him worth meeting."
Jaime rested one hand upon the table.
"And if he comes with giants and hundreds of guards?"
Robert grinned.
"Then Winterfell will host a better feast."
Jaime did not smile.
Tyrion did.
Ned looked across the hall towards Robb.
His son had heard the announcement. Hope was visible upon his face, though it was restrained by concern.
Arya, standing reluctantly beside Septa Mordane near one of the side doors, appeared openly delighted.
Bran was already speaking excitedly to Tommen.
Rickon repeatedly asked whether Jon would bring a dragon, despite being told that no dragon had ever been publicly seen.
Sansa remained beside Joffrey, but she was no longer smiling as brightly as before.
Ned wondered what the prince had said to her.
The music resumed.
Servants brought more wine, and the feast continued. Yet the announcement changed the conversations throughout the hall. Southern guests questioned northern knights about Winter's Heaven. Northern lords argued over how long Jon's journey might require and whether he would travel by land or sea.
Tyrion moved from one table to another.
He spoke first to Manderly knights about the Titan's electric lights.
"They burned without oil?" he asked.
"Without oil, wax, or flame."
"Were they hot?"
"Not greatly."
"Could you touch them?"
"We were told not to."
"A sensible instruction to give visitors."
Later, Tyrion questioned a Karstark man about cement.
"It begins as a grey powder?"
"Aye."
"And becomes stone?"
"Harder than ordinary mortar."
"How?"
The man shrugged.
"Water is added."
"Water does not normally transform dust into castles."
"Jon's builders understand it."
"But you do not."
"I am a soldier."
Tyrion smiled.
"King Jon appears very careful about showing everyone the result and no one the method."
The soldier lifted his cup.
"That is why the methods remain his."
By the time the feast began to weaken, Tyrion had learned a great deal.
He had also learned almost nothing.
Every answer revealed another mystery. The lights required hidden machines. The machines depended upon power no northern visitor could explain. The railway moved impossible quantities of goods, but no one understood how its engines were built. The Titan carried farms, workshops, livestock, soldiers, and smaller steamships inside it.
Jon had shown the North wonders.
But he had shown them only what he wanted them to see.
That thought interested Tyrion more than all the giants combined.
________________________________________
Maester Luwin entered the great hall shortly before midnight.
Many of the children had already been sent to bed. Robert was singing a marching song with several northern lords, badly and loudly. Joffrey had left with Sandor Clegane, while Jaime remained near the queen.
Catelyn noticed Luwin standing beside one of the pillars.
The maester waited until she looked towards him, then gave a subtle motion of his head.
She excused herself and left the high table.
"What is it?" she asked once they were beyond the noise of the hall.
"A message arrived less than an hour ago."
"From whom?"
"The messenger would not say. He carried only this."
Luwin produced a small wooden box.
Catelyn stopped.
The box was carved from pale wood. A falcon decorated its lid, but beneath it someone had scratched two tiny fish facing one another.
Her heart began to beat faster.
"Where is the messenger?"
"Gone. He delivered it to a guardsman outside the eastern gate and departed before he could be questioned."
Catelyn took the box.
She recognised the marks.
She and Lysa had used them as girls at Riverrun, hiding childish letters from Edmure and their father.
"This is from my sister."
"I believed it might be."
"Come."
They went to Luwin's chambers and locked the door.
Inside the box rested a tightly rolled piece of parchment.
Catelyn opened it.
The writing appeared meaningless at first—broken sentences, misplaced names, and strange references to childhood games. Anyone else would have dismissed it as nonsense.
Catelyn understood.
Her fingers trembled as she decoded the first lines.
"What does it say?" Luwin asked.
She read farther.
The colour slowly drained from her face.
"Lady Stark?"
Catelyn looked up.
"Jon Arryn did not die from illness."
Luwin went still.
"What?"
"My sister says he was murdered."
"Does she name the killer?"
Catelyn returned to the letter.
Beyond the closed door, distant music echoed through Winterfell. Robert's laughter carried faintly along the corridor.
Her eyes reached the final warning.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Who?"
Catelyn thought of Queen Cersei seated beneath the direwolf banners.
She thought of Jaime watching Winterfell's guards.
She thought of Joffrey speaking softly to Sansa while his family smiled around them.
"The Lannisters."
Neither spoke for several moments.
Behind the closed door, Catelyn read her sister's warning again.
In the great hall, lions drank beneath the direwolf banners while Winterfell celebrated.
But the feast was no longer a welcome.
It was a table shared with suspected murderers.
End of Chapter 139
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