The feast for the king is in its fourth hour. A singer plays the harp at one end of the hall but no one can hear him above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the din of a hundred conversations. The long wooden tables are covered with steaming platters of roasted meats and baked breads. Banners hang from the stone walls: the dire wolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, and the lion of Lannister.

Ned and Catelyn host King Robert, who was already drunk at the time before the celebration began, but kept his moods up and started to order the musicians to continue on with the music. Queen Cersei, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Tyrion Lannister, and a few other luminaries at a table on a raised platform. The Stark and Baratheon trueborn children sit at a table directly below the guests of honor. On the main floor, so many soldiers, squires, and other commoners had been sitting on backless benches.

Jeren has been sitting with Theon Greyjoy, who was kissing Bessa, a fellow tavern wench who worked at the Smoking Log in the winter town outside of Winterfell. Jeren was a bit annoyed, but didn't say a word. Instead, he stands up and joins with Jon Snow, who was sitting alone in a table.

"You don't seem to happy," Jon said.

"I'm not use to these kind of celebrations," Jeren sighed, shaking his head.

"I can tell," Jon nodded, understanding how he feels.

"Father always loves to drink and laugh during celebrations," Jeren smiled a bit. "But, he raised me right. I respect it."

"Both our fathers share a great sense of honor and compassion, just like us," Jon smiled.

"So, have you changed your mind?" Jeren asked.

"About what?" Jon asked.

"Joining the Night's Watch," Jeren answered.

"I still need time to think this over with my uncle," Jon said.

"Well, take your time," Jeren insisted with a smile. "You carry patience just like your family."

The young men sitting around Jeren and Jon are telling the usual stories about fighting, singing, and sleeping. Jeren didn't admire all this, but it seems that Jon felt a sign of being comfortable in their midst. However, it turns out that Jon wasn't even paying attention to them. Jeren could tell that he's stealing a glance at his half siblings, at their table of honor. Jon downs his wine, and signals a serving boy for a refill, and watches his father and the King and the high table. Robert and Ned toast with tankards full of ale. Ned takes a healthy drink while Robert drinks the whole tankard.

A few seats down, Catelyn notices Queen Cersei staring at her drunk husband with plain disgust. A good hostess, Catelyn tries to distract Cersei.

"Your children are quite beautiful, my Queen," Catelyn remarked on Cersei's children. "They have the gift of the Lannister eyes."

Cersei, a little startled to be addressed, stares at Catelyn with her vaguely reptilian green eyes. "I heard a rumor we might share a grandchild someday."

"I heard the same rumor," Catelyn smiled, pleased by this."Of course, these decisions ultimately fall to our husbands," Cersei said. "As all important decisions must."

She glances past Catelyn to Robert, as he gnaws on a rib and leers at the buxum serving girl refilling his tankard. Only her eyes reveal her anger, and they only do so briefly. Jaime, sitting on the other side of Cersei, leans forward, his forearms on the table, flashing his white teeth at Catelyn. Many women have waited their whole lives for that smile, but it only serves to make her nervous.

"You'd enjoy the capital, my lady?" Jaime asked. "The north must be hard for someone who wasn't born here."

"I'm sure it seems very grim, after King's Landing," Catelyn smiled. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here the first time."

"You were only a girl," Cersei said. "I'm sure you were scared of many things."

But harsh as it is, I've come to love it," Catelyn added. "The north gets in your blood."

Cersei seems skeptical, looking around the rough-hewn Great Hall, which would fit in the kitchen of her own palace.

"Your daughter will take to the city," Cersei grinned. "Such a beauty can't stay hidden up here forever. It's time we introduce her to the court."

"Mm... of course, I have two daughters," Catelyn nodded.

If Cersei knew this at one point, she had forgotten. She sees Catelyn's distressed look and follows her gaze to the children's table, where Sansa looks as radiant as ever, chatting with young Princess Myrcella. Arya, on the other hand, has already ruined her evening dress. She uses her spoon as a catapult to fling a wad of pigeon pie at Bran, across the table. It hits him square in the forehead.

"The girl has talent," Jaime remarked.

Catelyn, embarrassed, begins to stand so she can take matters in hand, but Ned, passing behind her, grips her shoulders, leans down and kisses the side of her neck.

"I'll take care of it," Ned said, deciding to handle the matter himself.

Cersei smiles at Catelyn. To her credit, she has an excellent fake smile. The two women resume their conversation. As Ned passes behind Jaime's seat, Jaime pushes his chair back, momentarily blocking Ned's path. Jaime stands.

"Excuse my clumsiness," Jaime smiles down at Ned.

Jaime is taller and broader in the shoulders. They are considered two of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, and there can be little doubt that right now each man wonders who would win a fight.

"Not a trait most people associate with you," Ned said. "Your pardon-

Immediately, Ned moves to step around Jaime, but Jaime puts his hand on Ned's shoulder.

"I hear we might be neighbors soon," Jaime stated. "I hope it's true.

Ned would rather talk to any living man than this. "Yes, the King has honored me with his offer.

Again Lord Ned tries to pass, but Jaime continues to sidestep him once more.

"The King has promised a tournament to celebrate your new title... if you accept," Jaime smiled, but his actions seem to be shy. "It would be good to have you on the field. The competition has become a bit stale.

"I don't fight in tournaments," Ned expressed his disregard over one of those special events.

"No? Getting a little old for it?" Jaime asked.

Ned is tired of trying to get around Jaime. He stands very close to the younger man and looks him dead in the eye. "I don't fight in tournaments because if I ever have to fight a man for real, I don't want him to know what I can do."

The comment pleases Jaime immensely, judging from his smile.

"Well said, well said!" Jaime smiled even more. "I do hope you take the King's offer. Though of course, we all know the court hasn't been kind to Stark men.

Ned stiffens at the comment. Nobody wears swords at the banquet but his hand reflexively grips for the absent hilt.

"Your father and brother," Jaime began of a tale he remembered years ago. "Yes, I was a witness to that... tragedy."

"I know you were," Ned nodded.

"I suppose it's some consolation that justice finally came to their killer," Jaime added. "No need to thank me- oh, I'm sorry, you never did."

Ned wasn't really pleased of this action Jaime committed when he killed the Mad King. "Was it justice you were thinking of when you shoved your sword in the Mad King's back?"

"It was his kidneys I was thinking of," Jaime continued to recall more. "His liver and spleen. Was that terrible of me? After all the suffering the man caused?"

Ned has had enough. He pushes past Jaime. This time the Kingslayer lets him go, but not before one final remark. For an instant Jaime's air of perpetual amusement evaporates.

"The worst king in a thousand years... and people treat me like some back-alley cutthroat," Jaime spat.

Ned had already left, heading down the raised platform, leaving Jaime to be standing alone. The only one at the banquet table who has overheard the Jaime and Ned's conversation was Tyrion, who grins at his brother and raises his tankard in toast.

"If it came down to it, big brother, I'd bet on you, but I wouldn't bet much," Tyrion cleared his throat just as he downs his tankard of ale with a single, heroic gulp and wipes the foam from his mouth, pleased with himself. A second later it hits him: he's one tankard over the line.

Tyrion stands and staggers away from the royal table without a goodbye. Jaime retakes his seat beside his sister, who watches Tyrion stumble down the steps to the main floor.

CERSEI
"He is a vile little beast," Cersei responded in a sign of hate.

"He plays the hand he was dealt," Jaime remarked, just as his gaze floats over Cersei's shoulder, to Robert. "As do we all."

Tyrion lurches past Ned on the main floor, nearly bumping into him. Ned extends a hand to steady the little man but Tyrion brushes past him, not wanting any help, heading for the exit.

Ned turns for a second, from where Jeren Hill and Jon Snow were sitting. It seems Ned is staring right at Jon. Jon smiles at his father, eager for acknowledgement. A wink would suffice, but Ned wasn't looking at him at all. His eyes are on the table of trueborn children that lies between Jon and Ned. Ned heads over to break up the foodfight between Arya and Bran. Jeren knew that Ned always cared about Jon so much and dreamed of a day that Jon would eventually earn the Stark name in the future. He decides to rise from the table and go outside for some peace and quiet.

Slightly bitter, more than slightly drunk, Jon takes a large hunk of honeyed chicken from his trencher and chucks it under the table to his dire wolf puppy, Ghost. The way Ghost devours it in seconds is cute - until we remember the size of his mother. One of the boys at the table is filling wine cups from a flagon. Jon nods for another cup and gulps from it while watching his pup lick the chicken bones clean.

"You never stop eating, do you?" Jon grinned at his direwolf pup.

"Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much about?" A man's voice asked from behind him.

Jon looks up happily as his uncle Benjen Stark, who ruffles his hair. Benjen is sharp-featured and gaunt, but there's always a hint of laughter in his eyes. He wears the black garb of a sworn brother of the Night's Watch.

JON
"His name is Ghost," Jon smiled.

One of the squires at the table makes room. Benjen straddles the bench, takes the cup from Jon's hand and sips.

"How many cups have you had?" Benjen asked, wanting to get an answer from his nephew, but he could tell how Jon responded with a guilty smile. "As I feared. Well, I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk." He grabs a roasted onion from a nearby trencher and bites into it. He watches Ghost as he chews. "Don't you usually eat with your brothers and sisters?"

"Most times, but Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a baseborn among them," Jon said, sardonically.

BENJEN

"I see," Benjen nodded and glances over his shoulder at the elevated table, where Ned returns to sit with Catelyn. "My brother doesn't seem so festive tonight."

"He's sad about Jon Arryn," Jon said as his eyes go to the queen. "The queen is angry. Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. She didn't want him to go.

Benjen gives Jon a careful, measuring look. "You don't miss much, do you? We could use a man like you on the Wall, someday."

"Take me with you when you go back," Jon insisted in a sudden rush. "Father will let me go if you ask him. I know he will.

"The Wall is a hard place for a boy," Benjen began to describe about the Wall.

"I turned nineteen today," Jon told him. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch. I'm ready to swear your oath."

"You don't understand what you'd be giving up," Benjen explained about the Night's Watch. "Not many brothers are lucky. Some can be pardoned by their fellow lords or kings to change their oaths and do different tasks to please them, but those who remain in the Night's Watch, as of I, we have no families. None of us will ever father children. Its not easy for a brother of the Night's Watch to keep his oath. Those who desert the Night's Watch are not lucky to escape. For thousands of years, many brothers deserted the Night's Watch and used their skills to disappear, change their names, get married, start new lives, or even swear new oaths. The unlucky ones Very would be caught and executed. This is a warning, Jon. I would insist you remain here if any harm comes to our family."

"I don't care about that," Jon rejected his uncle's warning about joining the Night's Watch.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen stated if it was possible. "Come talk to me after you've dipped your wick a few times." He stands, grips his nephew's shoulder, and takes his leave.

Frustrated, Jon drains his cup, slams it on the table and rises from the bench. Too late he realizes how drunk he really is- he lurches into a SERVING GIRL, sending a flagon of wine crashing to the floor. Laughter booms all around. Jon flushes and runs for the door. Ghost follows at his heels.


The yard is quiet and empty. High on the battlements of the inner wall, a lone sentry takes brief notice of Jon as he storms from the banquet hall with Ghost close behind. The music and song spilling through the hall's open windows seem to taunt Jon as he walks away from the feast. He was unaware that Tyrion Lannister was sitting like a gargoyle on the ledge above the door to the great hall.

"Is that animal a wolf?" Tyrion asked in a drunken tone.

Jon turns around to address him. "A direwolf. His name is Ghost. What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?"

"I learned long ago that it's considered rude to vomit on one's brother," Tyrion told him. "Might I have a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon hesitates, nods- and gasps as Tyrion pushes himself off the ledge, falls twelve feet to the ground and lands roughly. Ghost flinches and backs away behind Jon's legs. Tyrion stands and dusts himself off.

"I've frightened the beast," Tyrion groaned. "My apologies."

"He's not afraid," Jon described his pup's behavior.

"He is," Tyrion told him of what he knows. "I am terrifying."

Jon commands his wolf. "Ghost, come here. Come on, boy..."

The pup comes back around front, keeping a wary eye on Tyrion. When Tyrion reaches out to pet him, Ghost bares his fangs in a silent snarl. Tyrion hesitates.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded for his pup to sit. "Hold." He focuses on Tyrion. "You can touch him now. He won't move. I've been training him."

Tyrion kneels and ruffles the white fur between Ghost's ears. "Nice wolf. Niiiiice wolf."

"He's not," Jon smiled a bit. "If I wasn't here, he'd have your throat out."

Tyrion cocks his head and looks Jon over, possibly impressed by the boy's bravado. Ghost is still far too small to tear out anyone's throat. "In that case, you'd best stay close." He stands and looks up at Jon. "I am Tyrion Lannister."

"I know who you are," Jon said.

"You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Tyrion asked, but then he noticed that Jon presses his lips together and says nothing. "Did I offend you? Sorry. Perhaps its best I call you a basborn instead rather than 'bastard'. Jeren, for example, doesn't like hearing that. He will get rather furious and will be ready to strike at the one who calls him a bastard."

"Well, Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon counted.

Tyrion steps in closer and examines Jon's face. "Yes... you have more of the north in you than your brothers."

Jon tries to hide his pleasure at this observation. "Half brothers."

Tyrion's mouth is fixed in a sardonic grin, but his eyes burn with intensity as he explains something. "Let me give you some advice my friend. Never forget what you are while the rest of the world will not. Make it your strength, and it can never be your weakness. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

Jon is in no mood for anyone's advice. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," Tyrion added.

Tyrion saunters back into the feast, whistling to himself. When he opens the door, the light from the hall throws Tyrion's shadow clear across the yard.