Turbulence at the Night Banquet

Inside the great hall, the hearth fire roared.

A singer stood amidst the clamor of clinking cups and drunken chatter, plucking his harp and singing a ballad.

Garon sipped his wine while listening to the singer recount the legends of the First Men.

"Oh, First Men, masters of stone and song,"

"Your footprints carved into the breast of the ancient earth,"

"Nameless gods gazing from between the weirwood trees,"

"Your legends whispering in the cold wind,"

"..."

The singing was melodic and weathered, drawing listeners into the atmosphere of the First Men as they first broke ground in The North.

But Garon's eyes shifted, keeping a constant watch on the movements of Catelyn and Theon; clearly, his mind was not entirely on the ballad.

At this moment, Ser Rodrik, sitting beside him, smiled and raised his cup.

"Lord Garon, why not drink more?"

"It is a rare feast at Winterfell today, after all."

Coming back to his senses, Garon raised his cup to clink it lightly against his, smiling as he explained: "My apologies, Ser Rodrik."

"I am not yet at an age where I can drink to excess."

Ser Rodrik was taken aback, only then remembering that Garon was of a similar age to Robb.

He shook his head and gave a wry smile: "After sparring with you these past few days, I had forgotten your age."

"It is truly shameful to say, but compared to you, my years have been wasted."

Garon laughed: "Ser Rodrik, you are too kind; I am merely relying on my youth."

"If you were a few years younger, Ser, I might not be your match!"

Ser Rodrik laughed heartily at this, draining his cup in one gulp, while Garon took a small sip to accompany him.

Just then, Garon noticed that Robert, sitting on the high seat, could no longer sit still.

He strode down toward the lower levels, challenging the vassals and nobles of Winterfell to drinking bouts.

Every time he drank a noble under the table, Robert would laugh loudly, ordering the serving girls to refill his cup before acting intimate with them, oblivious to everyone else.

He paid no mind to the fact that Cersei's expression on the high seat was growing increasingly ugly.

Seeing Robert in this state, Ned stood up and followed him down, urging him to show some restraint.

But once Robert was in high spirits, he cared nothing for Cersei, even trying to pull Ned into the fray.

"Ned, come, let us drink until we drop!"

Unable to refuse, Ned had no choice but to drink a few cups, and as a result, the other nobles joined in one after another.

The atmosphere in the hall grew even more boisterous and intense, with everyone clinking glasses and moving about.

Benjen stood up and looked toward Jon at the end of the hall; wanting to have a word with him, he began to walk in his direction.

The Imp, Tyrion, had enjoyed himself so much that afternoon that he found the fine wine before him rather dull.

Shaking his head, he sauntered slowly toward the exit of the hall.

Robb was engaged in a pleasant conversation with the princes, discussing the hunt for the morrow.

Meanwhile, Catelyn, seeing that Ned and Robert would not be returning to the high seat for some time, felt a stir in her heart and signaled to her handmaiden.

The handmaiden understood.

She walked quickly to Sansa, who was chatting with Myrcella, and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Lady Sansa, Lady Catelyn wishes for you to come over."

Sansa was startled, but she obediently stood up and went to Catelyn's side.

Garon noticed this scene from afar, his spirit sharpening: "Catelyn is finally making her move."

His gaze was profound as he glanced nonchalantly at Theon, who was talking to Robb, before focusing all his attention on Catelyn's side.

But to Garon's surprise, Sansa only exchanged a few words with Cersei before turning and returning to her seat.

At that moment, Robert drained his cup, his eyes shifting just in time to see Sansa stepping down from the high seat.

He immediately remembered the thought that had been interrupted by Benjen in the crypts.

"Seven hells, how could I have forgotten this!"

Robert muttered, slamming his cup heavily onto the long table.

The violent noise drew everyone's attention; the sounds in the hall gradually faded until there was dead silence.

"Your Grace?"

Ned felt a surge of doubt and could not help but look at him.

Robert was flushed with drink, a beaming smile on his red face.

"The ale at Winterfell is too strong; it actually made me forget the real business at hand."

"Ned, there was something I originally intended to discuss in the crypts this afternoon, but Benjen interrupted us, and it slipped my mind!"

Robert stood up, pointed at Ned, and announced to everyone present.

"You have a daughter, and I have a son. How about we join them in marriage!"

Robert's booming voice echoed through the Great Hall of Winterfell, and the expressions of everyone present shifted instantly.

Ned was startled, knowing that the daughter Robert referred to could only be Sansa; after all, Arya was still too young, far from the age of betrothal.

He had just opened his mouth to speak when he heard the Baratheon bannermen immediately respond to the King's words, shouting excitedly throughout the hall, "A marriage! A marriage!"

The sound was deafening, leaving Sansa in a state of panic.

Especially when Joffrey's gaze swept toward her, she found herself at a loss for what to do.

She wanted to find Garon, but the figures rising all around her blocked her view, leaving her unable to see anything.

Sansa could only lower her head in embarrassment, her hands nervously twisting the hem of her dress.

Meanwhile, Catelyn, sitting on the high seat, felt a surge of joy; she had never expected Robert to speak up before she even had the chance to plead with him.

However, this was exactly what she had hoped for.

"The Seven preserve us!"

"With Robert speaking first, I don't have to step in myself, and Ned won't be angry with me."

"And since the King has requested the marriage in front of so many people, surely you won't let the King lose face, Ned?"

Catelyn gloated inwardly, her eyes falling on Garon, wanting to see him flustered and desperate.

But as she looked, she found Garon still sipping the last of the wine in his cup, unhurried.

He seemed completely unbothered by the King's words.

"Hmph, I want to see how much longer you can keep up this act!"

Just as Catelyn was feeling contempt for Garon's pretense, the cheering in the hall gradually died down.

Taking this opportunity, Ned leaned toward Robert's ear, explaining urgently, "Your Grace, Sansa is already betrothed!"

"Already betrothed?"

Robert looked somewhat bewildered, asking instinctively, "To whom?"

The hall fell into a dead silence, and every eye turned toward Ned, making him feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.

Ned realized that if he didn't handle this well, the dignity of both the King and The North would suffer a blow.

He took a deep breath and looked toward Garon, preparing to explain the situation to Robert, when an unexpected turn occurred.

Catelyn, on the high dais, looked toward Theon Greyjoy and gave him a signal.

Theon understood, and at that very moment, he stood up.

In front of the King and Ned, he said loudly, "Your Grace, Sansa is not betrothed."

"Lord Ned has only considered it; he has not truly entered into a betrothal with the Glovers..."

Ned whipped his head around to look at Theon, angrily shouting at his ward to stop, "Silence, Theon!"

But it was too late; Theon had already achieved his goal.

The hall began to buzz with whispers and heated discussion.

"The Glovers?"

"The Glovers of the Wolfswood?"

"How presumptuous, does Deepwood Motte really think they can climb up to the Starks?"

"..."

Leaning against a wooden pillar in the hall, Jaime recalled the look Garon had given Joffrey earlier that day and finally understood why.

He looked at the old wolf not far away and continued to stir the pot, saying, "A mere Glover, worthy of marrying the Warden of The North?"

On one side, Jaime stoked the tension between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell.

On the high dais, his sister Cersei tilted her head toward Catelyn and said with a meaningful tone.

"Sansa is so beautiful and moving; wouldn't it be a great injustice for her to be married off to the Wolfswood?"

Catelyn was clever; she knew that if she kicked them while they were down, it would only make Ned suspect her involvement.

Therefore, she feigned a bitter smile and said nothing.

Seeing this, Robert felt he had grasped the truth of the matter; he patted his old friend on the shoulder and laughed.

"Since you are still considering it and no betrothal has been set, then it doesn't matter!"

"I think even if the Glover family finds out, they should know when to back down."

Ned felt a surge of anxiety and explained, "Your Grace, the truth is I have already given my word to Garon..."

But Robert, overcome by the rising tide of drunkenness, no longer wished to listen.

He raised his wine cup and said with unquestionable authority, "Alright, Ned, that settles it!"

"If that Garon fellow isn't satisfied, I'll help you convince him."

As the words fell, Garon stood up unhurriedly amidst the worried gaze of Ser Rodrik.

He scanned the crowd, first finding Roger among them to give a slight nod, before calmly and placidly introducing himself to Robert.

"Your Grace, I am Garon!"

"Garon Glover!"