Lady Catelyn smiled faintly and raised her wine cup. "To His Majesty's health."
The whispers from neighboring seats instantly froze into silence, then everyone raised their cups as well and chorused, "Long live the king!"
King Gryn drank the wine with satisfaction. Though Robb had trampled upon sacred Guest Right, the northern nobles' support for the Starks still burned like unextinguished embers in a hearth.
That way, he would have fewer worries and could focus his efforts on the great cause of fighting zombies.
As for directly ruling the North... the rational King Gryn had never considered it. The battered Riverlands were already the greatest money pit.
And the North was too far away, whereas governing the Riverlands would directly affect the Targaryen-Crabb royal family's claim to rule.
"Digesting" the old Crownlands—the New Crownlands formed from the Riverlands and the Stormlands—was the foundation of the new dynasty.
Gryn could not help rubbing his brow. There was also the Westerlands waiting for the king's favor...
"Hee hee."
A silver-bell laugh suddenly rang in Gryn's ears. Arya, weaving through the banquet hall, had wandered over to his side.
She tipped up her rosy little face and studied him with large eyes sparkling like they held starlight. "You're finally drunk? Adi said the king can drink better than a dragon, hee hee hee."
Adi was Winterfell's smithing apprentice. At the moment, he was huddled on a bench by the hall entrance, squeezed in among the stableboy, smiths, and bastards.
They were all lowborn outsiders at Winterfell, yet they were the companions Arya was most eager to befriend. Most people—including her mother—seemed long accustomed to the Little Wolf Girl's unconventional behavior.
Gryn smiled and patted Arya's fluffy head. "That's a fine idea. I'll have a contest with him when I get the chance."