The hall was warm with blazing hearths.
Amid the din of clinking cups and drunken conversation, a singer plucked at his harp and sang a ballad in a ringing voice.
As Garon savored his wine, he listened to the singer's tale of the First Men.
"Oh, First Men, masters of stone and song"
"Your footprints carved into the ancient earth"
"The nameless gods watched from among the weirwoods"
"Your legends whispered in the cold wind"
"..."
The singer's voice was rich and timeworn, drawing listeners into the vision of the First Men settling the North.
But Garon's eyes kept shifting, watching Catelyn and Theon closely. His attention was clearly not entirely on the song.
Just then, Ser Rodrik, seated beside him, smiled and raised his cup.
"Lord Garon, why not have some more wine?"
"Winterfell doesn't often hold a feast like this."
Coming back to himself, Garon touched his cup to Ser Rodrik's and smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, Ser Rodrik."
"I'm not old enough to drink to excess yet."
Ser Rodrik was taken aback, then remembered that Garon was about the same age as Robb.
He shook his head with a wry smile. "After sparring with you these past few days, I'd forgotten how young you are."
"I'm ashamed to say that compared to you, I might as well have spent my whole life in a dog's belly."
Garon laughed. "You flatter me, Ser Rodrik. I'm only relying on my youth."
"If you were a few years younger, I might not stand a chance against you!"
Ser Rodrik laughed heartily at that and drained his cup. Garon joined him with a small sip.
Just then, Garon noticed that Robert, seated on the dais, had finally had enough of sitting still.
He strode down into the hall and started drinking with Winterfell's vassals and nobles.
Each time he drank a noble under the table, Robert loudly called for a serving girl to refill his cup, then flirted with her without a care.
He paid no heed to Cersei's increasingly sour expression on the dais.
Seeing Robert like this, Ned got up and went down to urge him to show some restraint.
But Robert was too caught up in the festivities to care about Cersei—or anything else—and even tried to drag Ned into the drinking.
"Ned, come on! Let's drink till we drop!"
Ned couldn't refuse, so he had a few cups with him. Then the other nobles joined in as well.
The atmosphere in the hall grew livelier and more boisterous. Everyone raised cups and moved about, chatting with one another.
Benjen stood and looked toward Jon at the far end of the hall. Wanting to talk to him, he made his way over.
The Imp, Tyrion, had enjoyed himself so much that afternoon that the wine before him seemed dull by comparison.
He swayed as he walked and ambled slowly out of the hall.
Robb, meanwhile, was happily chatting with the princes about the hunt planned for the next day.
Seeing that Ned and Robert would not be returning to the dais anytime soon, Catelyn had an idea and signaled to her handmaid.
The handmaid understood.
She hurried over to Sansa, who was talking with Myrcella, and leaned close to whisper in her ear.
"Lady Sansa, Lady Catelyn would like you to come over."
Sansa was startled, but obediently rose and went to Catelyn.
Watching from a distance, Garon's expression sharpened. "Catelyn is finally making her move."
His gaze was deep. He glanced unobtrusively at Theon, who was talking with Robb, then focused all his attention on Catelyn.
But to Garon's surprise, Sansa exchanged only a few words with Cersei before turning and returning to her seat.
Just then, Robert drained his cup. His gaze wandered, and he happened to see Sansa coming down from the dais.
He suddenly remembered what Benjen had interrupted in the crypt.
"Seven Hells, how could I have forgotten about that?"
Robert muttered, then slammed his cup down on the long table.
The loud crash drew everyone's attention. The noise in the hall gradually died away until all was silent.
"Your Grace?"
Ned looked at him in puzzlement.
Robert's face was flushed with drink, his cheeks bright red and a broad smile on his face.
"Winterfell's wine is so strong, it made me forget why I came here."
"Ned, there was something I meant to bring up in the crypt this afternoon. Benjen interrupted me, and then it slipped my mind!"
Robert rose and pointed at Ned, announcing to the hall:
"You have a daughter, and I have a son. What do you say we have them marry?"
Robert's booming voice echoed through Winterfell's hall, and everyone's expression changed.
Ned was startled. He knew the daughter Robert meant could only be Sansa; Arya was still far too young to be betrothed.
He was just about to say something when Baratheon's vassals eagerly echoed the king, shouting, "A match! A match!"
Their deafening cheers left Sansa in a panic.
Especially when Joffrey looked over at her, she had no idea what to do.
She tried to find Garon, but the people standing around her blocked her view. She couldn't see anything.
All Sansa could do was lower her head awkwardly and twist the hem of her dress between her hands.
Catelyn, seated on the dais, looked delighted. She had never expected Robert to speak up before she even had to ask.
But that suited her perfectly.
"Seven bless us!"
"Robert brought it up first, so I don't have to get involved myself, and Ned won't be angry with me."
"And with the king asking for a match in front of so many people, surely you won't embarrass him, Ned?"
Catelyn rejoiced inwardly. Her eyes settled on Garon, hoping to see him squirm under the pressure.
But when she looked over, she found him calmly sipping the last of his wine.
He seemed not the least bit troubled by the king's words.
Hmph. Let's see how long you can keep up the act!
Just as Catelyn was sneering at Garon's pretense, the cheering in the hall began to fade.
Ned took the opportunity to lean close to Robert's ear, urgently explaining, "Your Grace, Sansa is already betrothed!"
"Already betrothed?"
Robert looked confused and asked instinctively, "To whom?"
The hall fell silent. Everyone's eyes converged on Ned, making him feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.
Ned realized that if he handled this badly, both the king's and the North's honor would suffer.
He took a deep breath and looked toward Garon, preparing to explain the circumstances to Robert, when another unexpected turn of events occurred.
On the dais, Catelyn looked at Theon Greyjoy and gave him a meaningful glance.
Theon understood and stepped forward at that very moment.
In front of the king and Ned, he declared loudly, "Your Grace, Sansa has no betrothal."
"Lord Ned was only considering it. He never actually made a betrothal with House Glover..."
Ned whipped around and angrily cut off his foster son. "Enough, Theon!"
But it was too late. Theon had already achieved his aim.
Murmurs immediately spread through the hall.
"Glover?"
"The Glovers from Wolfswood?"
"How presumptuous. Does Deepwood Motte really think it can marry into House Stark?"
"..."
Leaning against a wooden pillar in the hall, Jaime recalled the way Garon had looked at Joffrey that day, and finally understood why.
He glanced at the old wolf in the distance and added fuel to the fire. "A mere Glover, fit to marry into the family of the Warden of the North?"
While Jaime stirred up trouble between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell, his sister Cersei turned her head toward Catelyn on the dais and remarked meaningfully,
"With Sansa's beauty, wouldn't it be a shame to marry her off to Wolfswood?"
Catelyn was clever. She knew that if she took advantage of the situation now, Ned would suspect she had been involved.
So she merely gave a rueful smile and said nothing.
Seeing this, Robert figured he understood the situation. He clapped his old friend on the shoulder and smiled.
"If you're still considering it and haven't made a betrothal, then there's no problem!"
"I'm sure House Glover will know better than to press the matter once they hear."
Ned grew anxious and explained, "Your Grace, actually, I've already agreed to Garon..."
But Robert was feeling the wine and didn't want to hear any more.
He raised his cup and declared with finality, "Enough, Ned. It's settled!"
"If this Garon fellow isn't happy about it, I'll talk him around myself."
As his words fell, Garon rose unhurriedly under Ser Rodrik's worried gaze and stood tall.
He surveyed the room, first finding Roger in the crowd and giving him a slight nod. Then he calmly introduced himself to Robert.
"Your Grace, I'm Garon."
"Garon Glover!"
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