Chapter 16: The King's Feast (Part II)
The clamor within the hall died down instantly. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the Lord of Winterfell escorted the Queen into the hall first.
Before transmigrating, Egger had heard a theory: the Game of Thrones production team had limited funds and couldn't hire actors who were simultaneously attractive, the right age, and highly skilled, so they prioritized acting talent. Consequently, many characters in the TV show were older or less attractive than their book descriptions, while some minor roles were surprisingly stunning. The Queen before him confirmed this theory; she was far younger and more beautiful than on screen, lacking that somber, venomous look that screamed villain at first glance. A gem-encrusted crown rested atop her golden hair, sparkling brilliantly, and the emeralds set within it matched her radiant green eyes perfectly. She wore a smile of pure innocence, walking straight ahead without so much as a glance at the Warden of the North beside her. Without knowing her true nature, who could imagine the malice hidden beneath such a lovely face?
Following closely was the King, walking arm-in-arm with Catelyn Stark, who also looked much younger than her silver-screen counterpart. Robert was indeed red-faced with a thick beard, but he was much taller than Egger remembered—a mountain of a man who had run to fat.
Then came the swarm of Stark and Baratheon children... they all differed slightly from the original show's appearances, and Egger neither had the energy nor the intention to distinguish them one by one. Taking advantage of the distraction as everyone watched the procession, he finally found a moment to feast on the fish and meat on the table. For the sake of that obsidian dagger that had saved his life, he hadn't had a proper meal of meat—outside the Night's Watch mess hall—in a very long time.
The Lannister brothers entered behind the children. Jaime Lannister was truly tall, handsome, and imposing; in his crimson silk tunic, high black boots, and black satin cloak, he looked more like a king than anyone else. And the little man beside him... if there was anyone in this world Egger could identify without needing a setting, costume, or sigil, it was Tyrion Lannister. Not because his appearance was particularly striking or impressive, but simply because he was a dwarf.
This is probably the one person in the entire story worth befriending. If I can strike up a relationship with him, perhaps I can use... no, leverage his connections and power to leave the Night's Watch in a way that doesn't involve deserting?
A flash of inspiration struck Egger's mind. But how could a common soldier of the Watch strike up a conversation with a Lannister? He fell into deep thought as he watched the brothers pass by toward the high table in the guest area.
The last of the high nobility to enter were Benjen Stark and the Lord of Winterfell's ward, Theon Greyjoy. Once these two had taken their seats under the gaze of the hall, everyone raised their cups in toasts and well-wishes, and the feast officially began.
Jon and the young squires still wanted to hear Egger's tales of encountering wildlings on patrol, but Egger's heart was no longer in it. "My stories are mostly told. What about you? Tell me yours. Since coming to Westeros, I haven't been south of the Neck. Who will tell me about life in the South?"
There is one advantage to being with these guileless young men—after a few cups of wine, everyone becomes an old acquaintance. Under the influence of alcohol, a squire serving House Lannister was soon egged on to brag about the adventures of himself and the knight he served. Beneath the table, the bastard's little direwolf happily gnawed on the marrow bones tossed to it by the group; at the table, Jon Snow listened with rapt attention to the other boys' stories of war, hunting, and trysts. Only Egger, dressed in his black velvet, had his mind wandering elsewhere.
"Jon, how is the evening treating you?" A familiar voice sounded nearby. Benjen Stark had left his seat to find his neglected bastard nephew.
"Very well," Jon replied happily. "Uncle, Egger tells me the Night's Watch is desperate for men? When you depart, take me with you."
The squire who had been loudly recounting a passionate tale involving a widow outside King's Landing stopped, making room for the newcomer to sit. Benjen Stark swung a leg over the bench and took the cup from Jon's hand. "Summer wine," he said slowly after a taste. "Nothing is as sweet. Jon, how many cups have you had tonight?"
"I'm not drunk."
"I didn't say you were." Benjen set down the cup, glanced toward his brother's position, and then turned back to study Jon intently. "To be honest, the Wall truly does need young men like you right now."
Jon lifted his chin with pride. "I'm better with a sword than anyone I train with, and Hullen says my riding is among the best in the castle."
"Impressive."
"Then you agree?" Jon grew suddenly excited. "If you just speak to Father, he'll agree. I know he will."
Benjen glanced at Egger, who shrugged—he hadn't been the one to goad the boy. The First Ranger turned back to scan his nephew's face. "Jon, the Wall is a hard place for a boy."
"I'm nearly a man grown," Jon argued. "I'll be fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children."
"That much is true." A slight smile touched the corner of Benjen's mouth as he picked up the cup, filled it from a nearby pitcher, and took a deep breath.
"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne."
"That war lasted a whole summer," Benjen shook his head. "The Young Dragon you speak of lost ten thousand men to take Dorne, and fifty thousand more trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war is no game." He took another sip and wiped his mouth. "Besides, Daeron Targaryen died at eighteen. Surely you haven't forgotten that part?"
"I haven't forgotten," Jon's face flushed, though whether from the wine or his temper was unclear. He squared his shoulders to look taller. "Uncle, I've made up my mind. I want to serve in the Night's Watch."
The table fell silent. Indeed, many of the young men were drawn to Egger's stories of ranging beyond the Wall and fighting wildlings, but this was the only one who had decided then and there to join. The squires might not have been high-born, but most were legitimate heirs to their families; unlike someone who, as he grew older, felt increasingly out of place with his siblings and had nowhere else to go.
Benjen smiled. "Jon, I fear you don't know what you're asking. The Night's Watch is a brotherhood that looks death in the face. We have no family ties; we shall never father children. Duty is our wife, and honor is our mistress."
"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to take the vow."
"You are still a child of fourteen," Benjen remained unmoved. "Until you have known a woman, you cannot imagine the price you are asked to pay."
"I don't care about women!" Anyone could see Jon's temper rising; he felt insulted.
"You might, if you knew what they were for," Benjen said, still playing the role of the kind elder. "My boy, if you knew the consequences of that vow, you would not be so eager to take it."
"I am not your boy!"
"More's the pity." The First Ranger stood up and patted Jon on the shoulder. "Come see me after you've fathered a bastard or two of your own, then tell me what you think."
"I will never father a bastard!" Benjen Stark might have been mature, but having grown up in a loving family of brothers, he had never experienced life as a bastard. The boy's eyes burned with fire as he spoke each word with the weight of a blood oath: "Never!"
Not just at this table, but even the neighboring tables fell silent as everyone stared at Jon. The bastard youth felt tears prickling his eyes, and finally, he stood up.
"I beg your leave," the boy said with the last shred of his dignity, then sprinted away like a whirlwind before the tears could fall. On his way out, he collided with a serving girl, oversetting a bottle of wine. The hall erupted in laughter. Jon brushed away the well-meaning hand of a squire in a yellow surcoat and bolted out without looking back. Ghost followed close behind, vanishing into the falling night.
Egger nearly sighed and buried his face in his hands. Here he was, racking his brain for a way to escape his status as a Man of the Watch, while this "chuunibyou" youth was desperate to crawl inside. Benjen's well-intentioned warning had been clear enough: he wanted to tell Jon that by joining the Watch, he would lose everything but his honor. But the young man didn't just fail to understand—he thought his uncle was insulting him.
They call you Jon "Know-Nothing" for a reason... you certainly haven't been wrongly accused, Egger thought with a trace of amusement. But suddenly, he remembered something and stood up abruptly. "I'll go check on him."
"Let him be, let him cool his head," Benjen Stark waved a hand, but quickly changed his mind. "Actually... fine. Go see to him. Don't let the drunken lad hurt himself."
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