Chapter 38 — "The Feast"
The great hall was loud and warm and smelled of roasted meat and spiced wine and ale.
Robert was already on his spree of drinking and whoring.
He sat at the high table with the comfortable authority of a man who had been the most important person in every room he had entered for seventeen years and had stopped noticing it. Beside him Ned — composed, present, doing what Ned did at feasts which was manage the room with the quiet authority of a lord
Alaric sat with the family, Although that pissed Lady Catelyn but it is the King's Wishes.
First time at this table in four years.
It felt strange in the specific way that familiar things felt strange when you had been away long enough.
The chairs were the same chairs. The table was the same table. The banners were the same banners.
Everything exactly as it had been.
But at the same time Everything completely different.
Robert was telling a story about a hunt.
A bear. Three years ago somewhere in the kingswood. The bear apparently of legendary size and temperament. The story growing with each telling as Robert's stories always grew — the bear achieving near-mythic status by the time it finished.
"Snow," Robert said suddenly, pointing his cup across the table. "You've hunted in the mountains. Tell Ned about the hunting in the mountain passes. He doesn't believe me about bears."
"I believe you about bears Your Grace," Ned said politely
"Oh really," Robert said.
He looked at Alaric. "Tell him boy. Aren't you famed as a great hunter"Robert roared in the halls
Alaric looked at Ned across the table.
Ned looked back with the expression of a man waiting to see what Alaric would do with this.
"The bears in the mountains are considerable," Alaric said carefully and told the story of a hunt modesty to the whole hall.
Harys and Ser Damon are now fully drunk and are enjoying themselves and now are boasting about themselves and thier company. Mostly the feats of thier commander.
Ned almost smiled at the environment.
Catelyn, seated further down, continued her conversation with Sansa with the composed focus of a woman who had decided exactly where to put her attention for the evening and was keeping it there.
Arya had ended up beside Alaric.
This had not been the seating arrangement. Seating arrangements in Winterfell were Catelyn's domain and were produced with the specific care of someone who took the politics of who sat where seriously. Arya had been placed between Sansa and Bran.
She was now beside Alaric.
The mechanics of the transition remained unclear.
"Tell me about the Reach," Arya said. She had been asking questions since the soup course and showed no signs of stopping. "Is it true it's green everywhere. Like actually green. Not just a bit green."
"Very green, it felt like North just flowers and greenery instead of Ice here in North" Alaric said.
Arya considered this seriously. "And the tourneys. You won all of them."
"Not all of them. But aye, I did have some some glory here and there"
"Robb says you won all of them."
Robb, three seats down, was listening to this while eating and maintaining a completely innocent expression.
"Oh really young Lord, " Alaric said.
"I don't exaggerate," Robb said pleasantly. "I emphasise the stories of the Merchants that they told here in Winterfell, you know quite a popular stories here."
Jon, beside Robb, said nothing but grinned.
Robert asked Alaric about the mountain campaign during the third course.
Not casually — with genuine interest, the specific attention of a man who had loved war and missed it and found the next best thing in hearing about it done well.
Alaric gave him the shape of it.
The night march. The ridgeline. The Painted Dogs.
Robert listened with the forward-leaning attention of a man who had forgotten his flagon for a full five minutes which was its own kind of tribute.
But somewhere in the middle Harys took over the story " The battle was just the start. It all comes down to the fuel between Goryn and Commander Alacric. It was brutal and ruthless. " Harys describes the duel and making the story seems alive with details.
Everyone in the room intersted in the story.
" And then Commander grabbed his throat and pulled it out with his bare hands. The blood flowing. It was all over Commanders face and body. He really looked like a Demon of the old stories made to scare the boys. " Harys described the story.
Now for a moment a silence in the hall until..
....
Robert picked his glass of ale and cheered."Ayeeee, to the Wolf of Passes. "
"To the Wolf of Passes " " To the Wolf of Passes."
'Brandon would have done something like that,' Ned thought but keep it to himself
He smiled at that thought. Thinking how much they resemble each other.
Alaric said nothing at stories of Harys and his men. He just smiled
The feast wound down slowly the way feasts wound down.
But not everyone in the Hall is charmed and happy with the stories.
With Lady Catelyn being one . She grunted everytime Alacric even mentioned.
But she wasn't the only one Her Grace Queen Cersie is also drinking her wine with scoff and hatred on her face. A disgust clearly there for the Snow Bastard.
Robert louder and warmer.
Robb and Jon exchanging the quiet commentary of two people who had developed shorthand over years of sitting through the same events.
Arya fell asleep against Alaric's arm somewhere after the fourth course.
He didn't move.
Bran watched this happen with the open curious face of a boy taking notes on everything and enjoying. Although not as the knight stories he heard but they are interesting stories he heard today.
Ned rose eventually and made the appropriate noises about rest and the king's journey and the long road behind them.
Robert accepted with the ease of a man who was drunk enough to welcome the suggestion.
The hall began to empty.
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