Chapitre 17: Chapter 17: Farewell Feast
2nd Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell
Jon/Aegon
This was it, they had spent nearly a month in Winterfell, but today was the final day that the royal party was going to be here. The final day had been one of much activity, there had been a hunt, a grand one, where they had killed a big deer that was now being sampled on the food lists of guests within the hall. The royal party had brought many things with them from the south, gifts, and jewels, books and many other things. He had learned the truth of who he was, and there was a knight who was to be there for him, working in the south it seemed. And yet the royal party had taken away more from him than they had given, Sansa was betrothed to the prince, the prince who he was not sure if he liked or hated, the prince who was charming and calm, and yet there was something about him that unnerved him, there was something about Joffrey Baratheon that made him stay up at night, and worry. No one else saw it, or if they did they turned a blind eye to it. It worried him, perhaps he was merely being paranoid, trying to desperately find a reason, any reason why Sansa should not marry Joffrey Baratheon. That his uncle had allowed the marriage to happen had shocked him, and yet the more he thought about it, the more he realised that perhaps there was some sense in what his uncle was doing. Still, it stung, it really did sting, and he was quite angry about that, it was just another thing that was making him angry these days it seemed.
Sansa, gods, he had never seen her like this, she was not swooning over the prince, but she was not refusing his advances either. She spent a great deal of time with him, and only ever had the nicest things to say about him. And that made him angry, he thought they had had something, and now she was giving her attention and her affection to someone else. By the gods it angered him. If only she knew, and yet she could not know the truth, not yet at least, she would be in danger if she knew. They all were, and yet he could not help it, the anger, the hurt, it was always there underneath the surface, and it was creeping up now, as he looked at her sat at the high table, laughing and joking with the royal family. BY the gods it angered him, by rights he should be there, by blood alone he demanded a place at the table, in the high seat if nothing else. And yet he had been relegated to the table where the bastards and other lowlier guests were to sit. It angered him, watching Sansa sit there, drinking and laughing with a boy who claimed a title that was his. It really did.
It was just another thing on the long list of grievances that he had slowly begun thinking of. He was a prince of the blood, that he knew, but he knew his history as well, knew that Viserys Targaryen-his uncle- had been named his grandsire King Aerys' heir before the sack of King's Landing. Why the mad king had done such a thing, he was not sure, but he did not doubt it had something to do with the Martells and their apparent treachery. And so, with that act being common knowledge throughout the realm, he was not truly the rightful king, and yet he knew none would support the son of the mad king. There was too much of a taint against that name, and yet there was not a taint against his father's name. That was a strange thought knowing that Rhaegar Targaryen was his father, the man had absconded with a woman who was betrothed to the fat man sitting at the high table. His mother, gods, she seemed so foolish, she really did, what was she thinking? What were they both thinking? He really did not know, and it was beginning to bother him. There was so much he did not know, and it was eating away at him.
"Who pissed in your cup lad?" he hears Arthor Snow, the bastard of Last Hearth ask.
He looks up and looks at the towering giant of a man and responds. "No one, but seeing your ugly mug is more than enough to make anyone grim Arthor."
That causes their table to burst out into laughter. "He's got you there Arthor. I'm surprised your wife hasn't left you yet."
Before the big man can respond, he speaks. "I did not even know you had a wife Arthor. I pity the poor lass, she clearly gets to look at that ugly face every day and night."
Another pearl of laughter erupts at that, and he begins to feel better. Arthor, to his credit does not bluster in response, he takes it all in good stride. "Ach, she takes it well does my sweet Marie. But she always knows how to get her own if she wants to. I have no complaints there."
"And what about those idiots down the south side of Long Lake? House Long or is it House Lake?" he asks.
"House Lake." Arthor responds. "What of them?"
"Are they still poaching those elks of yours?" he asks. "Last time I heard of it, they were causing quite the fuss."
The big man considers this for a moment before responding. "Ach no, they are behaving themselves now. But only after I went and beat Lord Lake himself."
He whistles then, Lord Lake is a big man, bigger even than Arthor who is near half giant himself. "And how did that come about? Did you cut his balls off?"
Arthor grins at this. "Ach no, I merely saw to it that he was drunk before I bludgeoned him. Mind that I was drunk myself at the time, so it was a messy business."
Jon-he can refer to himself as Jon amongst these people, they are his friends after all- smiles at that. "I can see that, you look even uglier than last time I saw you. So tell me, what are you making of all of this?" he gestures to the hall at large.
Arthor Snow, a big man, but by no means simple. He is quite cunning in his own way. Jon seems the man look around the room, and then look back at him. "Aye, I'd say Lord Eddard has hosted a mighty fine feast here. And that the southerners will never forget this."
"I don't think that was what Jon was asking Arthor." Helton Lake, a distant cousin to the main branch says.
"Och, shut yer gob Helton, I know what he was asking." Arthor replies. He takes a deep swig of wine before responding once more. "I think that whatever it is Lord Stark is doing here, it is working."
"What do you mean by that?" Jon asks curious.
"Look around you lad," Arthor says. "The southerners who came with the king are constantly talking about the north. They are both impressed and terrified of what the north has become under your uncle. And rightly so, for too long did the southerners laugh at the north. No longer, your uncle has shown them what will happen if they laugh at the north now. King Robert naming him his hand, has only gone onto confirm this."
Jon muses on this before saying. "Aye, and from what I have heard, uncle Eddard will need to use every ounce of smarts he has, because the king will not help him whatsoever." That word, king it grates on him, it really does.
Arthor is looking at him, and Jon does not know how to react to the look. Eventually the big man speaks. "There is more to that question is there not lad? Now tell me true, what is it you wanted to know."
Jon looks at the man and then responds. "What do you make of the prince? Joffrey, I mean, not Tommen."
"Ah, so that is what this is about eh? You are worried that the prince might be capturing Lady Sansa's heart, is that what is worrying you?" Arthor asks, in that blunt manner of his.
"You like Sansa?" Helton asks. "I thought you liked Jorelle Mormont?"
Jon looks at Helton surprised then. "I… what made you think that?"
"Well, everyone thinks you do Jon. It is all anyone amongst our little friendship circle speaks about. They all saw how you danced with her at the feast the other day." Helton says. "Why, do you not?"
If he is being honest with himself, there have been times where he has considered giving into the inevitable and merely accepting that Sansa has moved on, and taking his flirtations with Jorelle seriously, but he cannot, not until he knows for sure. "I… I like her as a friend nothing more."
He can tell Helton does not believe him, and yet thankfully the man does not press the issue. Instead, Arthor speaks. "I think Prince Joffrey is something, there is certainly some of his father in him. He is charming, and handsome. I could see how a girl like Lady Sansa could become enamoured of him, but I do not think it will last."
"And why do you think that?" he asks, not sure whether he wants to hope or not.
The man looks at him then, his grey eyes fixing Jon with a stern gaze. "Because I know that her interests lie elsewhere. It is just that right now there is someone new and shiny before her. The same with you and Lady Jorelle, and do not try and deny it. I am old, not foolish, I know what I know."
"So you think I should give it some time then?" he asks.
"Aye, I think you should. Meanwhile, I think we should all look to the high table, for there is something about to occur." Arthor says bluntly.
And so they turn their attention to the high table, where it appears a heated discussion is occurring between the king and his queen. "For God's sake woman, do not pour that drink here if you want to have some shit, drink the piss that comes from the Kingslayer's cock."
It turns out that the woman that the king-god he hates that word- is speaking to is not his queen, but instead a woman with brown hair and pale eyes, Jon has seen her around before, and now he sees her again, he feels a shiver go down his spine, where has he seen her before. The girl speaks then. "Forgive me Sire, I did not mean to do that."
The king snorts. "Pah, forget it girl, now tell me, where are you from? You do not sound like you are from Winterfell."
Jon sees the girl visibly stiffen, as he is sure others do if the way the Kingsguard move is anything to go by. "I am from the north Sire. And am proud to say so."
It is almost as if something is about to happen, Jon can feel the tension in the air, it seems that the fat man senses it as well, for the next time he speaks his words are more clear than they were before. "Say, have I seen you before?"
The girl is silent for a long time, so long in fact the queen speaks. "Your king has asked you a question girl, answer him."
The girl straightens her shoulders then and snarls. "You are no king of mine. Death to the usurper." She moves toward the king then, but is brought down by two of the Kingsguard, struggling she is dragged out of the hall screaming obscenities.
There is a lot of murmuring following this, but the hall falls silent when the fat man stands up and turning to Jon's uncle says. "Bring her back in here Ned, I want to hear what she has to say."
Jon sees his uncle pale then, and he hides a laugh, and yet when he looks toward Arthur, his silent shadow, he knows the knight is tense, still there is nothing they can do now. The girl is brought back in, her hair a mess, and her face bruised slightly. She is brought before the king and the king speaks. "What did you mean when you mentioned me as the usurper? Who are you speaking of?"
Jon feels himself tense then, he can feel the part of him that he knows is Aegon roaring in defiant anger. The girl speaks then her voice defiant. "Viserys Targaryen is the rightful king. By right of blood, and all the blessings of the gods. You are nothing but a waste, and you shall die."
The hall is deathly silent then, as they all watch the fat man for his reaction. Eventually he laughs, a great booming laugh. "Viserys Targaryen is nothing. He is somewhere in the east, living off of a cheese monger. There is nothing left for him here, he shall die a beggar and he will never see Westeros again."
Aegon wants to roar in anger then, but Jon keeps a hand on himself, makes certain that none are looking at him askance, and then the girl laughs. "You are a fool, a fool who will never know the truth. It is hidden right before you fat man. I will gladly die now, to make sure that you never sit easy again." Jon is not sure what happens next, but all he knows is that there is a great scream and then the girl is lying dead on the floor, and they are being ushered out of the hall rapidly.
Jon finds himself sinking into the wind at this point, Aegon coming forth much stronger than he did during the hall, he turns to his silent shadow. "What do you make of that?"
Ser Arthur is silent a moment and then says. "I think there are dark things coming this way soon enough my king."
"I am not the king, my uncle is, and I do not know where he is." Aegon responds firmly.
"Prince Viserys was not crowned in the right manner, and besides King Aerys did not know of your existence, you were chosen by the lords before you were born." the knight says.
"What do you mean?" Aegon asks.
Before Ser Arthur can respond, Jon finds himself facing Sansa. His heart stops for a moment as he looks at her. "Are you alright my lady?" he asks.
She looks at him with such revulsion he feels he might just cry. "You… what did you do Jon?"
"I didn't do anything, why do you think I did something?" he asks surprised, but somewhere deep down he knows she is speaking the truth.
"What happened in there, what was that?" Sansa asks.
"I don't know what you are on about. Are you referring to that girl, I do not know her." Jon responds.
"The words she said, at the end that was exactly what she said years ago. You know who I mean Jon, do not look so shocked. She said those words, and then it happened. And we've been suffering for it ever since." Sansa whispers.
"No we have not. NO one knows what happened there apart from Robb, uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn." Jon whispers back.
"Joffrey has the book, he has one of the few surviving copies." Sansa hisses back.
Jon feels the cold grip his heart then. "You must be mistaken. There are no more copies apart from one in Winterfell."
"I am not, he quoted the title to me and the writer. He must know something is wrong, and you, you are the reason for it." Sansa responds.
Anger grows within him then, and Aegon comes out. "I think if anyone is responsible for it, it is you. You are the one who has been cavorting around with him, acting as if you are some silly little girl. What do you think would happen?"
Sansa looks as if he has slapped her. "I think you are not hearing what you are saying Jon, there are things that we cannot do anymore. We are not children."
"That didn't stop you before. Is it because he actually has the title and I do not? Is that what it is?" Aegon snarls.
"I do not know what you mean." Sansa responds.
"Yes, you do. You always wanted to be married to a prince, and he is one. And I am not." Aegon responds.
"You cannot seriously believe that." Sansa protests.
"I have no reason to believe otherwise." Aegon responds.
"Then you are a greater fool than I thought you were." Sansa says.
"Fine, go be with your black haired shit. I don't care." Jon says.
Sansa looks at him a moment, the hurt clear on her face, but then she merely nods and walks off. Jon looks at her walking off, and feels something akin to pain throbbing in his chest. Sighing, he walks off, wandering aimlessly, knowing Ser Arthur will follow him, he walks and walks. What could happen? Who could know about the girl? It had been so long ago, he thought it had died years ago. Evidently not, that worries him, it truly does, and he walks and walks and finds himself in the godswood. He kneels before the heart tree and thinks, he thinks of everything, he does not know who he is anymore, is he Jon, or is he Aegon, what can he be? He really wants some answers, but he does not know who to get them from, he really does not. He feels the wind howling then, the tree shaking in the fierceness of the wind, he hears the roaring of beasts' long dead, and the chuckle of a girl with fiery red hair and haunting eyes. In that moment he sees the figure, skeletal in its form, a crown atop its head, and it whispers the word he dreads the most. King.
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