Game of Thrones: The Dragonborn - Chapter 47 - The Winterfell Banquet 06.

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]

Third Person POV.
Winterfell.

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...

Jon raised his mug, slamming it forcefully on the table, drawing everyone’s attention once again.

“Listen to what I say,” Jon began, flashing a grin at everyone. “Never sleep with a woman after you’ve broken things off with her. Trust me, tell her you don’t want anything to do with her and leave. Because if she tries to seduce you saying it’s the last time, you might find yourself in the middle of the night with a knife at your throat!” he said to everyone.

“Hahaha!”

“Why didn’t you go straight to a prostitute?”

“Let me guess, you didn’t die?”

The northern men who worked as guards for House Stark and had taken the night off to enjoy the feast alongside the servants laughed at the tales of the stranger called Dovahkiin. Jon continued sharing his experiences—especially the funny ones—entertaining them with stories from his love life.

“I didn’t die, luckily,” Jon went on, lifting his mug again, mimicking the motion of wielding a sword. “She didn’t just have a dagger; she pulled out a sword, my lords! And she wasn’t aiming for my neck or my heart. Her words were…” He raised his mug dramatically, imitating a slash. “‘If you won’t stay with me, you won’t stay with anyone!’ So, she aimed directly at my dick!” he exclaimed, making everyone burst into laughter.

“Hahahaha! I hope you weren’t castrated; that’s worse than the Wall!”

“Hahaha! Tell us the rest, please.”

Jon grinned. “Of course not! I was quick enough to draw my weapon and stop that crazy woman from castrating me. I tell this story with a smile now, but I swear, few things scare me, and that night I found one of them,” he said, laughing and drinking.

The outburst of laughter and comments from that table quickly became a highlight of the room, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. People turned to look at the men of Winterfell laughing and seeing Jon, for the first time, as the life of the party.

“Who is that?” people murmured, whispering at their tables. Other guards, servants, bards, and performers, whose attention had been drawn to the lively table, watched Jon drinking, laughing, and making witty remarks.

“Where did you find him, Ebarke? He might talk more than a northerner, but he’s definitely more fun than any southerner!” The men laughed, drinking and making comments. They recognized Jon as a true northerner, despite his unusually talkative nature.

“Look at his eyes…” a few servant women murmured, noting how Jon was quickly becoming the most handsome man in the room. While he didn’t possess the prestige of someone like Jaime Lannister—whose status could make any maiden swoon—they had to admit that Jon’s bright purple eyes and charming smile made him even more captivating.

“These southern guys… they talk too much,” muttered someone at another table.

Mance, sitting with other Free Folk disguised as performers, also noticed the commotion at Jon’s table, which had become livelier than even those near the king.

“Leave them be; it’s none of our concern,” Mance said, though his companions seemed more focused on drinking southern ale than anything else. However, Mance took a moment to glance at the table, observing the younger man laughing and talking animatedly.

Then, Mance noticed something that unsettled him. The stranger with the exotic appearance turned his gaze toward them, scrutinizing each of them before locking eyes with Mance himself. It was as if he was silently toying with them, his expression gleaming with amusement.

‘He knows!’ Mance couldn’t help but feel a pang of panic as the stranger returned his attention to his table, making more comments that elicited laughter from the crowd.

‘Am I losing my mind?’ Mance wondered briefly, dismissing the idea that a random stranger who had just arrived could possibly know who he was. Shaking his head, he tried to push the thought away, though his wary gaze lingered on the man at the other table, unnoticed by his companions.

The impact reverberated once again as Jon slammed his beer mug against the table, and the chatter at the table gave way to laughter and curious murmurs. Even the southern mercenaries, drawn by the commotion, subtly joined the growing crowd around the table as Jon spoke and drank with the men.

"Listen well, companions!" Jon exclaimed, his deep voice resonating so strongly it carried a commanding tone across the room. "Tonight isn’t just for the lords and kings of this hall but also for us—the men who keep this world standing while they drink wine and maintain their dull conversations full of ‘my lords,’ ‘your majesties,’ and the like!" he declared.

The guards and mercenaries erupted in cheers and laughter, banging their own mugs against the table. Jon was treading on dangerous ground by mocking the nobility, but he was among the lower social ranks here, and no one minded poking fun at the aristocracy.

"Don’t forget ‘My Lady!’" another man mocked, sending the crowd into fits of laughter.

"Hahaha! ‘My lord, please honor me with your enormous dick!’" a mercenary began to act out, drawing roaring laughter from everyone.

"Hey, you!!!" someone shouted, grabbing their attention as they turned toward the source of the interruption. Jon stood at the center of the commotion with his cup freshly refilled by someone at the table.

The room fell silent as a man with the emblem of some southern house—one Jon didn’t recognize—stood, clearly displeased. “I’ve been hearing your filthy talk,” the man said, trying to sound eloquent. “If you keep speaking of noblewomen in such a manner, you’ll face my sword!”

"Look!" Jon’s voice cut through the silence, drawing the attention back to himself as he began walking toward the man, who appeared to be a knight. "We have a defender of ladies!" Jon’s voice boomed, echoing across that part of the hall as everyone remained quiet for a moment.

"Why isn’t anyone clapping for the defender of ladies? Come on, clap!" Jon demanded, his tone almost commanding, and the crowd obeyed, clapping mockingly in front of the knight.

"Now, shout with me: ‘Defender of ladies!’" Jon ordered.

"Defender of ladies!" the crowd roared in unison.

"Are you mocking me?!" the knight quickly realized he was being ridiculed by this strange man, with everyone laughing and shouting.

"Yes, I am. And what are you going to do about it? Come at me with your sword—I dare you. It might just be the last thing you do in your life," Jon said, stepping closer until he was face-to-face with the knight, fearless, as everyone watched the interaction. The crowd was surprised at how boldly this bard challenged a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

"You!!!" The knight was ready to punch him but paused when he looked into Jon’s eyes. It wasn’t just their unusual color but the burning determination and challenge they radiated. The knight faltered, questioning whether he was imagining things as a sense of fear crept over him.

"..." Jon simply stared at him, the tension growing as the room held its breath, waiting to see if a fight was about to break out.

"..." The knight hesitated, torn. He was afraid but unwilling to back down, knowing it would forever tarnish his reputation—a knight’s honor often meant more than his life.

"Let’s get out of here, Lifel," someone said, placing a hand on the knight’s shoulder. The voice belonged to a man in a Lannister uniform who shook his head at the situation. Meanwhile, Jon continued to stare at the knight with an amused expression.

The knight, identified as Lifel, nodded reluctantly, glaring at Jon with pure hatred. “You’ll pay for this!” he spat.

Jon merely regarded the threat as hollow, watching the two walk away. The knight’s fear was so evident that Jon could practically see the sweat dripping from his face.

Jon turned back to the crowd, now staring at him in silence, the room filled only with the faint hum of other conversations and the bards’ music in the background. He smiled and raised his mug high. "Looks like the defender of ladies has left! Now we can continue!" he exclaimed, flashing a charismatic grin.

“OHHHH!!!!” Everyone shouted, bursting into laughter, finding the whole thing wildly entertaining.

“Man, you’re really strange, Dovahkiin. You made that knight crap his pants! How did you do that?” one of the Stark guards exclaimed, amazed at how Jon had practically chased the knight away after he dared to disrupt their fun.

“Keep your gaze locked on them, as if you’re about to drive a sword through their heart. Works every time,” Jon remarked casually, taking another sip of his drink.

“Hahaha, I’ve never heard of that one!” a mercenary said, laughing crudely.

“Hello, sir… would you like more beer?” a serving girl approached timidly, her eyes fixed on Jon’s, clearly nervous as she addressed him.

“Hm? Oh, thank you,” Jon replied, accepting her offer without paying much attention to her.

“Someone’s taking a woman to bed tonight!” the mercenaries began shouting, teasing Jon about how much attention he was drawing from the women in the room. The serving girl turned bright red and scurried off, though Jon didn’t seem particularly interested. He just laughed along with the men.

“What’s going on over there?” Queen Cersei’s voice cut through the hall. She had noticed the commotion after Jon’s altercation with the knight, the uproar loud enough to draw the entire hall’s attention for the first time.

“Who knows, woman? Let the men shout and drink—it’s a feast, after all!” Robert Baratheon responded dryly, his voice impatient as he continued smacking the backside of a serving girl passing near his table.

“...” Cersei glared at him in anger but said nothing further, while Catelyn Stark focused on tending to her child.

“Things seem lively over there. Perhaps I should join them…” Tyrion Lannister murmured at his table, eyeing the crowd gathering at the back of the hall. He was seated with a few companions, including Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, who was eating and drinking quietly, as stoic as ever.

“They do seem to be having fun over there. Shame it’s just a bunch of men…” Theon Greyjoy commented from the table of young nobles, glancing toward the rowdy corner.

Robb Stark and the others didn’t seem particularly interested, but Mance Rayder couldn’t help but let his cautious gaze drift back to the stranger who was now creating more of a stir than anyone else in the hall. More and more people were gathering around Jon’s table as he stirred up the crowd even further.

“He certainly knows how to make a southerner tuck his tail,” one of the Free Folk muttered with a hint of respect, having watched Jon face down the knight and send him running.

Meanwhile, Jon continued riling up the crowd, aware of the many eyes now on him. Among them was his uncle, who had turned his attention to the uproar, wondering what was happening back there.

“Hey, Dovahkiin! How about a drinking contest? Think you can beat a northerner?!” someone shouted.

“Of course. Hey, miss, bring more beer over here,” Jon called to another serving girl, who blushed shyly before hurrying off to fetch more from the stockroom.

It didn’t take long for her and a few others to return, carrying armfuls of drinks to the table and spreading them out.

“Damn, with this handsome guy here, we won’t be running out of beer anytime soon! Hahaha!” a mercenary laughed, noticing how eager the serving girls were to please Jon, despite Lord Stark’s order to ration the flow of drinks.

“Let’s go then! Don’t lose too badly,” Jon said to his challenger as the competition began, the two of them quickly downing mug after mug.

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

“Go! Go!”

The crowd chanted in unison, their cheers so loud they drowned out the bard’s music. Once again, the entire hall turned its attention to the back table, now overrun with rowdy men shouting and drinking.