181. Lively Luncheon

As the feast continued, the cold and solemn expression on Eddard Stark's face gradually softened. After downing several large goblets of strong northern wine, even the unyielding stone of the North seemed to melt under its fiery touch.

"Come now, Lord of the East! Let's have a drink to celebrate your first feast with us northerners!"

Earl Seven, already heavily intoxicated, slurred his words as he raised his cup. His clothes were soaked in spilled wine, his face flushed red, and his excitement only grew as he urged Jason Liu to drink once more.

Jason, reluctant but left with no choice, lifted the oversized goblet. Clinking his cup against Earl Seven's, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, pouring the burning liquid down his throat.

"Hahaha!" Earl Seven burst into laughter at Jason Liu's obvious discomfort, clapping him on the back.

Throughout the hall, knights from different noble families drank heartily, paying no mind to the grandeur of Winterfell's great hall. Laughter and crude songs echoed, adding to the rowdy atmosphere.

Servants bustled around, clearing empty dishes and replacing them with fresh platters of roasted meat, bread, and stews. Maids carried pitchers, ensuring that no cup remained empty for long. The air was thick with the mingling scents of food, wine, and the sweat of feasting men.

In a quieter corner of the hall, Jon Snow sat among his companions—dicken, McCann, Marb, Bud, Kent, and Rubin—who were all knights sworn to House East. Chris, though not a knight, had his place among them as Jason Liu's personal guard.

Jon barely had time to lift his cup before a drunken voice sneered, "Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell! Who would've thought the Lord of the East would knight you? That's some fine luck, isn't it?"

It was a young knight from House Seven, his face flushed from drink, his lips curled in mockery.

Jon's grip tightened around his cup as he glared at the man, his temper flaring.

Dicken, McCann, and the others immediately turned their heated gazes toward the drunken knight.

"Enough, you're drunk and talking nonsense," another knight from House Seven said, hastily pulling his companion back and signaling him to drop the matter.

The other knights at the table, eager for entertainment, jeered.

"Oh, come on! Are you backing down now?"

"Yeah, don't be a coward. Why not settle this with a good old-fashioned duel?"

"Go on! Let's see some action! It's been too long since we had a proper fight at a feast!"

A few of the more inebriated knights banged their fists against the table, grinning at the prospect of a brawl breaking out. It was common for knights to challenge each other after drinking, and many found amusement in watching others fight.

McCann leaned in toward Jon, sensing his irritation. "Are you alright? If this is too much, we can step outside and wait for Lord Jason."

Jon took a deep breath. The old bitterness from being called a bastard still stung, but it no longer held the power over him that it once had. With a small, forced smile, he shook his head. "Don't worry about me, McCann. I've learned to let it go."

Seeing that Jon truly seemed unbothered, McCann nodded. "Good."

At that moment, a familiar voice called out, "Jon!"

Jon turned to see Robb Stark approaching, a goblet in hand, with Theon Greyjoy trailing behind him like a shadow.

"Robb," Jon greeted him evenly. The two had once been as close as brothers, but now Jon had pledged his loyalty to Jason Liu. He no longer obsessed over the Stark name, having accepted the reality that he would never be a true Stark.

Sometimes, letting go of an impossible dream made life easier.

For the first time in a long while, Jon met Robb's gaze without resentment, even managing a smile.

Robb raised his cup with a smirk. "You're drinking too, Jon? Careful now, I don't want to see you passed out on the floor later."

Jon chuckled. "I should be saying that to you. Drink too much and you might not make it off the table."

Robb scoffed, feigning offense. "I'm almost a man grown! My father allows me to drink now. And let's be honest, Jon, when it comes to wine, you could never outdrink me."

Jon grinned and lifted his goblet. "That's not necessarily true. I've had plenty of practice drinking with Lord Jason."

The two clinked cups. "To old times," Robb said.

"To old times," Jon agreed, taking a deep sip.

Theon Greyjoy stood beside them, watching their easy camaraderie with barely concealed bitterness. His grip on his goblet tightened, his knuckles turning white.

Jealousy burned in his chest. Why did Robb, the heir to Winterfell, treat Jon Snow like a true brother? Didn't he realize that Jon was his enemy? That his very existence was an insult to Lady Stark? That one day, Jon might return to claim Winterfell for himself or his descendants?

Even now, Jon had been knighted and had pledged himself to House East. But that didn't mean he wouldn't come back.

Theon forced a smirk, but his thoughts were venomous.

The Stark family was truly absurd. Lord Eddard Stark had raised his bastard in Winterfell, openly humiliating his wife, Lady Catelyn. And now Robb, the heir, continued treating Jon like kin, as if he weren't a threat.

No other noble house would tolerate such a thing. Any other family would have gotten rid of a bastard to ensure the rightful heir's inheritance. Yet the Starks treated Jon Snow as if he belonged.

Theon scoffed internally. This was not the way of the world.

Among the Ironborn, things were different. The Greyjoys understood that inheritance was a prize to be fought for. His own uncle, Euron Greyjoy—Crow's Eye—had once vied for the title of Lord of the Iron Islands. After failing, he had left with his fleet in anger, seeking fortune elsewhere.

Power belonged to those strong enough to seize it, not to those sentimental enough to share it.

But the Starks? They were fools.

Theon took another long sip of wine, hiding his scowl behind his cup, silently vowing that he would never be as blind as them.

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