[Chapter Size: 2700 Words.]
Third Person POV.Winterfell.
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"Go! Go!""Go! Go!""Go! Go!""Go! Go!""Go! Go!""Go! Go!""Go! Go!"
The chorus quickly caught the attention of most of the hall as they tinued shouting, watg both testants try to win the drinking petition. Jon remained calm as he gulped down the beer made in these nds—something, to be ho, he had ried before. After all, he had only been a child whe lived here, uo taste such things, and now he tried to behave properly in front of the Starks. Even so, it seemed like weak alcohol pared to much stronger ones he'd had before. This made him drink calmly until his body ed the st drop.
When he finished, he smiled at the chorus cheering him on while watg the man from the North still struggling to finish his mug.
"e on, give me another one!" he demanded as the men quickly handed him another drink.
"e on, Dovahkiin!" they excimed as Jon moved on to his seug, his challeill trying to finish the first.
When Jon fihe seug, he was already halfway through the third while the people ughed at the Northerner, who was visibly losing. heless, an assed to him.
"Ricked, looks like someone drinks more than you! Are you going to give up already?!" his friend teased, pg an in his hands. Ricked quickly grabbed it and raised it to his lips, trying to keep up with the Dragonborn.
Jo drinking until he fihen opened a smile as he looked at the man struggling with his seug.
"e on, you challenged me, and now you're drinking like a girl," Jon taunted with a grin, elig some ughs from the men around them.
Jon drank his third mug while the man barely managed half of his sed before starting to cough and choke, having rushed too much after Jon's mog.
"Looks like the Dovahkiin won," a friend ented, g the Northerner on the shoulder as he was still trying to recover amidst the crowd celebrating Jon's victory.
"Looks like it... How you drink so much?!" Ricked, still coughing, looked at Jon, who simply shrugged.
"No one beat me at this game," Jon said.
"I doubt you could beat the Greatjon. I guarantee he drinks more than an ox," a Northerner soldier from House Umber ented from nearby. There were many soldiers from various Northern houses present.
Jon shrugged. "Bring him, or anyone else for that matter. Let them e and try to beat me."
He issued the challenge.
"Let me try!" said a man who didn't seem to belong to any house—a southern merary. "I'm great with drinks. I beat you without choking like this Northerner here. After all, they barely drink anything," the man openly mocked.
His fellow meraries ughed and cheered for him, while the Northerners at the table began to boo, clearly displeased with the man's ent.
"Then prove it. Give him a drink, and bring me another one," Jon challenged as he watched the maids pce more drinks oable, their gazes intense upon him.
"Alright, let's do this!" the merary excimed, and both began drinking rapidly.
They tinued drinking, the merary proving to have a stroomach tha oppo. Both drank evenly while Jon maintained his pace, sav the alcohol. They moved on to the sed, third, and fourth mugs and were already on the fifth.
"Hey, what's going ohere?" someo the Umber table, also visiting Winterfell, ented, notig the otion drawing more attention than anything else in the hall.
"Lord Umber, two outsiders are having a drinking petition," the guard who had spoken with Jon earlier returo his lord's table, answering his question and inf him of the situation. "Both are mog the Northerners' ability to drink. One is from the South, and the other from beyoeros. Though the tter is good enough to win most of the matches, the merary won't st much lainst him."
"What?! They dare mock the North when it es to drinking?!" Greatjon immediately stood up.
"What are you going to do, Father?" his daughter asked.
"I'm going to teach these Southerners and whoever else es from outside a lesson," Jon Umber said in a firm voice, beginning to stride toward the back of the hall, several men quickly following in his wake.
"Why are these people so loud..." Jeyne Poole ented beside Sansa Stark, gng at the table in the back with some dissatisfa.
"Yes... how they allow this kind of lowly crowd in the presence of royalty? I feel unfortable with it," Sansa added, her expression equally displeased as her friend's.
"These people disgust me. They're savages! How a them be here, in my presence?" Prince Joffrey was also not at all pleased, his gaze falling upon his personal guard, while his siblings beside him merely shrugged.
"Hound, make them stop!" he said angrily, though he didn't yell. Sandor nodded, rising from the high table and heading toward the back.
"How there be barbarians here..." the queen's lips murmured softly as she let those words slip.
"..." Catelyn overheard and frowned, her gaze meeting her husband's across the table. He nodded, uanding what she meant.
"Look at that table..." Robert's voice rumbled as he ate and drank some more, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes lingered on the se.
"I apologize for this, Your Majesty. Many Northerners are gathered there. I'll ask them to settle down," Ned said, already signaling to a Stark guard to deliver the warning.
"No, don't do that, Ned. And I've told you to call me just Robert. Besides, that table reminds me of the days when we were just boys in the Vale. I mean, you were the shy one, but it was always a party whe up with the others," Robert began to ugh.
"But, Robert, your family doesn't seem to enjoy it much," ried to persist.
"Don't be foolish, Ned. 't you see the men are just having fun? It's so lively over there, I'm tempted to leave this table," Robert replied. He go the side and muttered, "Here, all I see is a sour-faced woman. At least over there, the talk is of men—they're enjoying themselves, drinking, probably reminisg about battles. Ah, I miss those days." He mented slightly about his current state but still ughed, while Ned frowned.
Catelyn Stark observed the se, while the queen maintained her rigid expression. Catelyn's gaze shifted back to her husband, silently urging him to do something about that table. Ned nodded, knowing that while Robert might appreciate the revelry, it wouldn't be long before someohere caused trouble in his hall. He feared the men might get out of trol.
Meanwhile, Greatjon arrived at the table just as the merary, who had given up on the fifth mug, began vomiting on the floor. Cheers and excmatioed, ughter eg through the space. Jon finished his fifth mug, smming it oable with a smile.
"Is there no one here who challenge me?" he asked fidently, the crowd tinuing to chatter and drink. Even the meraries, though disappointed by their rade's defeat, admired Jon's audacity, and the Northerners couldn't help but ugh as well.
"I am here to challenge you, stranger!" a deep voied. Jon turo see a massive man, nearly two meters tall and a few timeters taller than himself, bearded and middle-aged, approag with a steady gait. The man's pierg eyes locked onto him.
"And whose presence do I have the honor of being in?" Jon asked with i, though he didn't reize the man beyond seeing him earlier at the table with House Umber guards.
"Jon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth," the man replied. "You call me Lord Umber. reatjon, if I like you," he added calmly.
"Very well, Lord Umber. Let's see if you beat me," Jon replied with a challenging tone.
"These outsiders think they outdrink a Northerner? Don't get cocky. I'll see you vomiting soon," Greatjon mocked.
The Northerners quickly raised their mugs, cheering with excitement. Despite Jon's impressive victories over his previous oppos, he had already downed more tha mugs of ale. Who could possibly endure more?
Jon said nothing, simply waiting for someoo pce the filled mug in front of him. Lord Umber also received his, staring intensely at the stranger with a serious expression, while Jon maintained a smile, log eyes with him.
"Let's begin," Greatjon said simply. Both picked up their mugs and started drinking, p the liquid dowhroats.
"Go! Go! Go!" the crowd ted once again as they emptied their first mugs and moved on to the sed, third, fourth, aually the fifth. The first fs went down easily, as though they were travelers drinking after days in the desert. But as they tihe hall grew even more animated, and everyoched the two men closely. They had already surpassed a staggering number of mugs for any normal drinker.
Everyone was astoo see Jon tinuing steadily, drinking without faltering, while Greatjon began tle on his sixth mug. He seemed to realize that Jon was no easy oppo, trary to his initial assumption after downing so much himself.
The test went on as the shoutied. By the ninth ah mugs, Greatjon finally faltered, swaying slightly as he pced his mug oable, trying not to vomit. Jon, still finishing his ninth mug, repared for the tenth but stopped upon seeing his oppo cede.
"You're one hell of a drinker!" the rge man slurred, visibly drunk, pointing at Jon.
"And you're one hell of a loser," Joed with a grin, somewhat drunk himself. After all, his stomach wasn't made of steel, aill relished the slight intoxication—a man had to enjoy his drink, after all.
"I 't beat you... Tell me your name!" Greatjon muttered, his words slurred, as the surrounding crowd ughed.
"I'm the Dovahkiin, Lord Jon," Jon replied.
"No, no... no more 'Lord Jon.' Call me Greatjon from now on, because you've earned my respect, Dovahkiin!" Greatjon excimed, prompting everyoo raise their mugs and cheer all at once.
"e, my lord, I think it's best if you leave now," one of the men from House Umber murmured to his lord, who nodded, still swaying.
"Dovahkiin, e to my table ime. I'll beat you then!" Greatjon called out, ughing as he stumbled away, the hall erupting into ughter with him.
Jon swirled his mug in his hand until his eyes nded on a man standing nearby. He had already noticed him earlier: a man with half his face burned, covered in scars. Jon stared at him, noting how the room fell silent. Everyhe man—the loyal sword of the royal family, the Hound, Sandor Clegane.
"What do we have here?" Jon ented curiously, finally meeting the man's intense and intimidating gaze.
" I ask you all to stop this damned shouting? Some people are getting bothered by it," Sandor said bluntly.
"And who might you be?" Jon asked calmly.
"I'm Sandor Clegane."
"I see, Sandor Clegane. But if you ask like that, I'm not sure I ply," Jon replied with the same smile.
"I don't give a damn what you think. Stop this shit now, or you won't like what happe, you little shit," Clegaed directly, knowing Jon had been the ter of attention during the petition.
The atmosphere grew teer Sandor's words. Those nearby watched anxiously, expeg a fight to break out at any moment. After all, Jon had already intimidated a Southern knight earlier, but this man seemed different—more dangerous. He was the personal guard of the prind future king of Westeros.
"Well, Sandor Clegane, what I say to you?" Jon began, looking directly into Sandor's eyes as though trying to uncover his secrets. He saw something intriguing there and smiled. "I feel like you're afraid of something. Something that terrifies you... perhaps the reason behind that scar on your face. You fear my fire, don't you?" the Dragonborn asked bluntly.
For the first time, Sandor was taken aback. Jon's remark uled his sharp, defiant expression, causing him to hesitate.
"Look at my hands, Sandor. Tell me what you see," Jon said, raising his hand in front of him. A fme suddenly flickered to life between his fingers. While no one behind them could see, a few people nearby noticed. Sandor stared, not uanding what Jo until he saw the fmes clearly appear out of nowhere.
Sandor's eyes widened as Jon cast a simple fire spell, extinguishing it moments ter to avoid drawing too much attention. Sandor took a step back, stunned.
"Of all the people you might fa your life, Sandor, I am the worst of them," Jon said calmly, his soft tone carrying the weight of his warning. His words suggested that he was something Sandor couldn't tend with, and the Hound furrowed his brow. This time, Sandor didn't look fident—there was a hint of fear in his gaze. Jon had infused a bit of the power of the Thu'um into his words, as he had taken a dislike to Sandor and wao end the exge without res to violence or causing a sdal so early in the evening.
"Screw this," Sandor muttered before turning and walking away. Everyone around them was stunned, watg the Dovahkiin intimidate yet another knight. Sandor didn't eveurn to the prince; instead, he exited through the back door without inf anyone.
"Well, where were we?" Jon asked with a smile, leaning ba his seat. The crowd around him began to cheer again, the atmosphere returning to its earlier excitement.
At that moment, Winterfell's casteln, Vayon Poole, appeared, his expression serious as he approached.
"Gentlemen, please, I must ask you to stop all this 's disrupting the feast and could reflect poorly on you in the presence of the royal family..." he said openly, addressing no one in particur.
"You heard him, everyone? We'll have to calm down a bit," Jon said to the group, supp the casteln's words. He wasn't keen on remaining at the table anymore. He had doly what Sandor had demanded, but Vayon Poole's polite request made him more willing to ply.
At that moment, Jon's gaze fell on the casteln, who also looked at him in surprise. Poole frowned, sensing a familiarity iranger before him. To Poole, the man resembled the boy who had fled Winterfell so many years ago. Yet, he now saw not a boy Robb Stark's age, but a fully grown man. Deg to say nothing, Poole dismissed the thought, as the ages didn't seem to match.
The men began to settle down, and the otion at the table dissipated. The hall returo a retively calm state, with people chatting without causing much disturbance, while the bards tiheir performance. Even so, Jon didn't remain at the Northerners' table. Instead, he moved to another nearby, where Mance Rayder and his Free Folk were seated, waiting patiently for their turn oage.
The wildlings were visibly surprised wheranger who had caused such a stir in the hall approached and sat beside them. All eyes turoward him immediately, wary and clearly displeased with his presence.
Maared at Jon attentively, a bit uneasy. He began to suspect that this man might know more about his identity tha on. Johe same curious gaze as before and finally addressed them.
"Hey, hey, don't look at me like that," Jon said with a slightly drunken grin. "I'm just curious..." He paused for a moment. "...Curious to see wildlings in the middle of Winterfell's hall, in the presence of the king on this side of the Wall... I must say, it's quite an unusual sight."
Jon maintained his smile as he observed each person at the table. Mance's men, along with the King Beyond the Wall himself, were speechless, uled by Jon's boldness.
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