Once the hosts and guests had all taken their respective seats, the atmosphere in the hall surged to another climax.
As a bastard, Jon was seated far away from his brothers and sisters, separated by the entire length of the hall.
They sat together with the princes and princesses, just one tier lower than the high table where Lord Stark and the King and Queen were seated.
On such special occasions, Lord Stark always granted each of his children one cup of wine—no more.
So, except for little Rickon, even Sansa and Arya had a glass of Summer Red in front of them.
Rickon had only a cup of warm milk.
Amidst the dancing lights and the clinking of goblets, drinks were passed around freely.
Jon wasn't sure if it was because he rarely had the chance to indulge, but he hadn't stopped drinking all night.
Bathed in the firelight, his cheeks were flushed red, clad in nothing but a thin leather jacket.
Unlike the tightly controlled seats up front, the end of the great hall was more relaxed—none of the direwolves belonging to Robb and the others were allowed to attend the banquet.
Ghost, however, benefited from his master's status and was clearly exempt from that restriction.
Jon reached under the table and stroked the wolf's head, quietly slipping it the entire carcass of a chicken he had picked clean of its bones.
After silently chasing off the other would-be competitors, Ghost enjoyed his master's offering all to himself.
The losers had no choice but to wander around between the tables, trailing behind the serving girls in vain.
Seeing this, Jon grinned smugly.
"You should learn from him," Kal remarked, having noticed Jon's covert actions under the table at some point and witnessed the little fellow's silent triumph with his own eyes.
It was only a third the size of that bitch, yet with a single show of dominance, it had easily claimed the food for itself.
Hearing this, Jon's once-proud expression faltered.
But just then, a familiar voice sounded beside his ear.
"So this is the famed direwolf?"
Jon immediately beamed and looked up in delight.
His uncle Benjen had placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair just as Jon had earlier tousled Ghost's fur.
"That's right," Jon replied. "His name is Ghost!"
Benjen Stark smiled at Jon's words, then turned his gaze to Kal, who was seated across from him.
"Ser Kal Stone, I've heard about you today…"
"I think I ought to thank you. Taking Jon as your squire is an honor for him."
Although Kal recognized who this man was, he still glanced at Jon out of politeness.
"Lord Kal, this is my father's younger brother—Benjen Stark. He's the First Ranger of the Night's Watch," Jon explained quickly, knowing proper manners.
Upon hearing that this was Lord Stark's brother, Kal respectfully stood up from his bench and placed a hand to his chest in salute.
"That's a noble order. The peace of the Seven Kingdoms depends on your efforts. It's an honor to meet you, Lord Benjen Stark."
Benjen raised an eyebrow in mild surprise at Kal's words, then smiled and waved a hand, signaling that Kal was being too modest.
"Past honors have long since faded into legend. What we once defended has been gone for thousands of years. These days, it's little more than a game of pretend with the wildlings beyond the Wall."
In response to Benjen's humility, Kal's expression was surprisingly serious. "I firmly believe the Night's Watch's glory has never withered with the passage of time."
Noticing the respect and courtesy his commander was showing—and hearing that the man before them was Lord Stark's own brother—Kossi, who was seated beside Jon, quickly gave up his seat.
And seeing that this knight genuinely revered the Night's Watch—and not just as polite flattery—Benjen's gaze took on a bit more gravity as well.
"Jon is a lucky boy."
With that, Benjen smiled and gave Kal a hearty pat on the shoulder before unceremoniously swinging his leg over the bench and sitting down. He reached out and took the wine cup straight from Jon's hands.
The atmosphere instantly lightened.
"Summer Red~" Benjen took a single sip and immediately recognized the flavor. "There's nothing sweeter than this wine."
Then he turned and looked at Jon's flushed cheeks, catching a whiff of alcohol wafting off him. "Jon, how many cups have you had tonight?"
Jon only gave a silly chuckle in response and said nothing.
"Just as I thought, heh…" Benjen smiled knowingly, then shook his head with mock resignation. "Fine. I think I was even younger than you the first time I got completely drunk."
He didn't scold Jon for his indulgence—on the contrary, it brought back fond memories of his own youth.
Turning to Kal Stone, who had now also sat down across from him, Benjen lifted the wine cup and opened up the conversation.
"Ser Kal, how old were you when you first tasted alcohol?"
Kal rubbed his chin, eyes twinkling with reminiscence.
"Can't quite remember. Maybe it was the time I got knocked out by a mule?"
"I still don't know if it was the hoof or the drink that did it."
He raised his cup and clinked it lightly against Benjen's, then shrugged.
"You're a funny man, Ser Kal. Hahahaha…" Benjen burst into laughter, then happily downed half the Summer Red in a single gulp.
Setting down the cup, he reached over to a nearby wooden platter and picked up a roasted onion dripping with brown meat juices. He took a big bite—crunch—as the skin cracked and the rich flavor burst out.
Kal also took a sip of his drink, then set his cup down with a smile, his eyes turning to the First Ranger of the Night's Watch.
Benjen Stark's features were sharp, his frame lean and angular—like the jagged cliffs of a craggy mountain.
He wore tall leather boots and a heavy silver chain around his neck. His velvet tunic was the same dark hue as the black worn by the Night's Watch.
Despite his composed and commanding appearance, there was a constant glint of warmth in his gray-blue eyes.
It made him seem like someone easy to talk to.
After the joking subsided, Benjen suddenly glanced at Jon beside him, his tone tinged with a hint of reflection.
"Maybe… it's a good thing Jon ended up heading south."
Kal only gave a quiet smile at those words.
But Jon, clearly not satisfied, leaned in with a bit of defiance.
"I actually wanted to go north with you…"
"I was planning to ask if I could go back with you when you returned!"
Benjen paused, caught off guard by the boy's earnestness.
Then he looked at the stubborn young bastard with a meaningful gaze. "Jon, the Wall is a harsh place—especially for a boy."
"And now, it's clear you've been given a better path." As he said this, Benjen turned his eyes toward Kal.
"I wouldn't make any promises on that," Kal replied, shrugging in a 'don't blame me' manner. "From where I stand, he's still got a lot to learn."
"At the very least, I've just prepared his first lesson. Only after that comes learning how to truly wield a sword."
That piqued Benjen's curiosity.
"And what's that?"
Kal's eyebrows twitched as he gave him a knowing look. "First, turn the boy into a man. That part's not so hard."
Benjen blinked in surprise at the unexpected answer.
"Fair enough~"
"Maybe once he's got two or three bastards of his own running around out there, he'll start thinking differently…"
"I would never father a bastard!"
Their conversation had clearly touched a nerve. The boy's cheeks flushed redder than ever.
With eyes burning and fists clenched, Jon Snow shot to his feet, glaring defiantly at his knight and his uncle.
"I'm almost a man grown! I don't want to be treated like a child anymore!"
"Next name day I'll be fifteen. And Maester Luwin said bastards grow up faster than other children..."
His sudden outburst made everyone at the table fall silent, instinctively turning to look at him.
But when Jon mentioned the word "bastard," his eyes landed on the knight who had just taken him on as a squire—and the rest of his sentence died in his throat.
He knew full well that the man before him was also a bastard—and a royal one at that.
That realization struck him like a slap. He had overstepped.
Trying to recover, Jon paused, then quickly blurted something out to patch the moment.
And just as he stood there, face tense with embarrassment and a touch of hurt, ready to flee the hall entirely, Hall—who was still seated beside him—reached out and gave a firm pat on the boy's empty belt.
"Is that so, kid?"
"Then do you still remember the longsword the boss gave you this afternoon?!"
Startled by Hall's question, Jon snapped out of his thoughts—but still didn't understand what he was getting at.
"I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?"
He remembered the whole scene clearly. It wasn't something he could forget, not after how badly Ser Kal had worked him over.
Thinking of it, his hand instinctively reached for his belt.
After taking Jon on as his squire, Ser Kal had gifted him a real sword—a proper one, not some training stick.
"Kid, I never use wooden swords. Anyone who's afraid of getting hurt will never become a true warrior!"
"This sword—I forged it myself. It doesn't have a name, but if you don't like that, feel free to give it one."
"It's yours now. And my first command for you is simple: learn how to care for your weapon properly."
Jon still remembered those words clearly—Ser Kal's voice, steady and calm, when he handed him the blade.
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