Winterfell buzzed with life.
Northern lords arrived with their families and retainers.
Famous bards wandered the halls.
Every corridor and side room held clusters of people talking, laughing, or waiting for the feast to begin.
Aragorn stood at the far end of one long hallway, staring toward the great hall.
He felt completely out of place.
It was like showing up alone to a friend’s wedding where you only knew the couple.
Everyone else seemed to belong.
He did not.
He had dressed in fine silk for the occasion.
His black hair was combed neatly.
From a distance he could have passed for a young noble.
Up close, the lost look on his face ruined the effect.
A short figure approached.
“Been a while, Aragorn.” Tyrion Lannister stopped in front of him, wine cup already in hand.
“Lord Tyrion.
You remember me.” “Of course.
Men like you are hard to forget.” Tyrion smiled.
“So you stopped wandering?
Planning to settle down in Winterfell?
Next thing I know you’ll be writing your memoirs so future generations can read about your adventures.” Aragorn laughed.
“I’m barely twenty.
Writing my life story now feels like tempting fate.” “Some men have already done great things by your age.” “Most of them were born to it.” Tyrion took a sip of wine.
“True enough.
Daeron Targaryen conquered Dorne at fourteen.
He was dead before he turned eighteen.” “That started like praise and ended like self-comfort.” Tyrion chuckled.
“Isn’t it?
If he had waited a few more years he might have lived longer.
Had a wife.
Children.
People to remember him properly.” “Sounds greedy.” “Most people are greedy when it comes to kings.
They want one who is handsome, brave, just, merciful, and wise all at once.” Tyrion spread his hands with a wry smile.
Aragorn folded his arms.
“Prince Joffrey looks the part on the outside.” Tyrion gave a short, sharp laugh.
“He does.
Thanks to my sister.
But if pretty faces were enough to rule, my brother would be sitting on the Iron Throne right now.” “Ser Jaime…” A burst of noise came from down the hall.
Jaime Lannister walked toward them in gleaming golden armor that caught the torchlight.
“Tyrion.
I thought you’d already gone looking for entertainment.” Jaime glanced at Aragorn.
“Or maybe you changed your tastes.” “Unlikely.
Every whore in the realm would riot.” Tyrion gestured toward Aragorn.
“This is Aragorn.
The man who sold Robert those ridiculously expensive sweets.” Jaime raised an eyebrow.
“A hundred gold dragons.
Most expensive candy I’ve ever heard of.” Aragorn reached into his cloak and produced one of the golden pieces.
“I still have some, if you’d like to try one, Ser Jaime.” Jaime watched the candy appear with open curiosity.
“Are you a conjurer?
Or does that cloak have hidden pockets?” “Just a small trick.” “I doubt that.” Tyrion cleared his throat.
“You said Cersei wanted to see me?” Jaime’s teasing smile faded.
“She does.
Something important, apparently.” He looked Aragorn over once more.
“We’ll speak again.
I’m curious about that trick of yours.” Tyrion sighed.
“Duty calls.
Another time, Aragorn.” He walked off with his brother.
Aragorn turned and nearly bumped into someone carrying an enormous wine jug.
“Jon.
Why are you hauling that thing by yourself?” Jon Snow shifted the heavy jug in his arms.
“Helping out.
It’s what bastards are for.” Aragorn took the jug from him without asking.
“Let me carry it.
You’ll throw your back out before you’re grown.” They walked together toward the hall.
“You seemed friendly with the Lannisters,” Jon said after a moment.
“We were just talking.” “About what?” “Daeron Targaryen.” Jon almost stopped walking.
The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.
“What did you think of him?” “I wish he had lived longer,” Aragorn said.
“Dying young is never a good thing, king or not.” Jon looked like he wanted to say more, but a servant hurried past them.
“The feast is starting!” The great hall glowed with hundreds of candles.
The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread.
Long tables groaned under platters of food, fruit, and wine.
A bard played a harp and sang of Robert’s great victories.
Aragorn ended up at one of the lower tables with the young servants and squires.
He poured himself a cup of summer wine.
“Why are you sitting with us, my lord?” “Don’t call me that.
I work here same as you.” “Never seen a common man dressed in silk before.” One of them leaned in.
“Is it true the coins from Lys have naked women on them?” Aragorn took a drink.
“They do.
Though gold dragons still look more impressive.” “Gold is gold,” another servant said with a grin.
“I wouldn’t care if it had a cock stamped on it.” The table burst into laughter.
“Keep dreaming,” someone else muttered.
“You lose every coin you get on dice anyway.” The gambler groaned.
“The gods hate me.” “Gamblers deserve what they get,” another said cheerfully.