The Main Hall still had candlelight and was full of life once I got back.
The musicians had started playing the Moat's tavern songs.
"𝆕I got a hangover! Ohh ohhh oh𝆕 𝆕I've been drinking too much for suuure𝆕𝅵"
The people still in the Hall were singing loudly, and badly, along the music.
At this point in the night mead and ale were served along firewater. Lords and knights grouped themselves mostly by region. Each group wars raising their tankards on every 'hey!' and 'yeah-eh' of the song.
It was hilarious.
Stuffy lords and knights being just as dumb and spontaneous as any of their 'lessers'. Maybe the gods were right to give me my 'vodka making' gift if only to let me see this bunch of noble drunkards.
As I made my way to my table, the King noticed me.
"Ned! There's your boy," Father gave me a nod and so, I approached the table trying my hardest to suppress my giddiness (I was being called by the man, the myth, the Robert).
"Lad, you really know how to throw parties! Haha!"
"You honor me Your Grace," I kneeled, as was proper, in front of the King.
"Come on lad, no need to kneel! You may be a bastard, but you are Ned's son," the King paused to empty his tankard. "'Sides, this feast you threw? It's the best I've seen in a while. No offense Ned"
"None taken Your Grace. I share that belief, Jon did a great job and obviously he did it well under budget. Am I right Lord Steward?"
My chest inflated with pride at my Father's words, until I heard the last part.
*Gulp
"Well, I admit the spices were a bit overpriced," just now, I noticed my hand went to the back of my neck. I sheepishly put it back down and went to my report-making mode "But fret not Lord Stark. While we did went over our initial budget, I expect to recover the Moat's coffers by the next turn of the moon. And, of course, not a copper of Winterfell's dues were touched."
"Ha! You heard the lad Ned, no need to make him sweat I say."
Father hummed, "Of course Your Grace." He turned his head and gave me one of his proud smiles. "I admit Lord Steward, this feast was in fact, very much filling."
I found myself smiling, "I thank you for your kind words Lord Stark."
"Now Jon, there's one last thing before you can return to your ta- Ah! Ned has something to discuss with you boy."
"Of course Your Grace," I bowed as was proper.
"Jon, your King asks you-Nay! This is a royal command lad," I instantly straightened and squared my shoulders. "Your King commands you to write down the recipes of the food served on this very feast and send them to King's Landing as swiftly as possible."
I almost sagged in relief. Seems being paranoid paid out.
"Your Grace, the Moat's cooks and scribes have already prepared a book with the recipes and detailed instructions to make any and all the dishes they prepared. I'll ask them to highlight the dishes served in tonight's feast," I raised my head to see a satisfied King Robert. "If I may ask Your Grace, who should we give the book to?"
"Hhmmm, give it to Theo Estermont," he gazed through the Hall. "Preferably on the morrow as I can see him having a merry time over there."
I recognized the Estermont colors on one of the groups close to the musicians.
"It shall be done Your Grace," this was my chance, I may not have another opportunity to ask. "Your Grace, I… I humbly request to make an inquiry."
"Hhhmmm? I ate your food and drank your wine boy. You may ask."
"Thank you Your Grace," this is it, I could ask about the magical warhammer. "If it is possible, I'd like to see with mine own eyes the legendary weapon Your Grace used to vanquish the Dragon Prince, and mayhaps try to lift it."
"Bahahah! I thought it was something serious boy. You may not be a Stark, but you are just as serious as one," the King raised his tankard. "For the Starks and the Moat Cailin!"
"For the Starks! For Moat Cailin!" the Hall rumbled.
Once the Hall calmed down, the King answered.
"Unfortunately boy, my warhammer is in King's Landing," I almost sunk but the King wasn't finished. "However Jon, since you've been a good host, hereby I decree if you ever come to King's Landing, you will have a room and you can see and try to lift my warhammer."
That was not what I expected, but it was better than nothing, waaay better than nothing. "You honor me Your Grace."
Robert hummed, "Ned, you asked my leave for a moment with your boy, go. Go before I finish the firewater alone. Hahaha!"
We went out of the Main Hall through one of its side doors. Two Winterfell guards followed.
We found ourselves in the training courtyard, with the fortress' wall dominating the horizon some fifty and one hundred yards away.
"Should we go to my office my lord?"
"Aye, I believe the contents of our talk are best to be kept private."
I nodded and turned right, "To the Keep it is then. This way, Lord Stark."
We started walking through the yard outside the Main Hall.
We were half way there when Father said, "Jon, these apartments… they are… well done. Sansa had a 'hot shower' to clean herself from the dirt and grim of the road and wouldn't stop commenting on how elegant and relaxing the shower felt."
The apartments were to our right, a brick, steel and quickstone three-and-a-half-story buildings with a tiled triangle shaped roof. The 'half' part, is the floor where the water tanks and boilers are.
"When I went to give them their gifts I thought to ask their opinions but, I think Aria would say something like 'it's best' while Sansa would probably say 'it is acceptable' with a very dignified nod."
Father chuckled, "Aye, that sounds like them."
When we were close to the Keep, Lord Stark started talking once again.
"Jon, those hot showers, I liked them too. However the fixed chamber pots each room has are the best part of the apartments. I once denied your plan to install 'plumbing' on Winterfell I can see now I was wrong. Or at least not entirely right," Lord Stark said with half a grimace.
"The costs?"
"Aye, but I can see that 'limiting the scope', as you say, can give us some luxury while not draining our coffers too much."
We entered the Keep, the arched gate opened for us. Servants bowed at Lord Stark. Soon, we were climbing the stairs to my office.
"I have good news on that front Lord Stark, the Moat's artisans learned to make quickstone, clay and copper pipes," and what a development that was, without the clay pipes the apartments plumbing would've cost a fortune. "The costs are lowered, so you may want to reconsider plumbing in more rooms."
"We'll see, for now I'm thinking of adding plumbing to the Stark family rooms."
The guards at my office's door straightened once they saw us, and soon we were on front of them.
"Starting from the Lord's room?" I said more than asked.
"Starting from the Lord's room." Father said with a smirk.
"We'll figure out the logistics and workers and send them to Winterfell then." I said while opening the door to my office. "Please." I invited Lord Stark in.
My office was spartan.
A big ample desk with no ornamentations, bundles of parchment and paper on top. The walls were bare except for a big Stark coat of arms to indicate mine and the Moat's allegiance as well as the higher authority we answered to. On the left side from my desk was a bookshelf filled with documents and reports past and, directly in front of the shelves, the hearth.
We sat close to the fire, side by side. The Warden of the North was probably organizing his thoughts, I was letting myself get hypnotized by the flames.
"Jon," he said, he was doing his best to measure his words. "We need to talk about Bran."
"Yah, when I heard about what happened, I was ready to leave everything and ride to Winterfell," the only thing that stopped me was the specific instructions on the letter to stay put. "I've been mailing Maester Luwin on updates. Bran is a strong boy, he'll wake up."
The fire crackled and the wind howled before he started speaking again.
"That's the hope…"
I could see him hunching onto himself, just slightly, but still noticeable. I was about to change the subject but he started again.
"Jon, I'm sorry to ask you for this, but…" his eyes fell to the flame before he gathered himself. "I'm thinking of making Bran the Lord of Moat Cailin."
Oh, that was it?
I saw the moment the lord mask fell out of the Warden of the North, he gave me a confused look and it dawned on me.
"Ohh, I said that out loud," I let out a sigh. "Father, I already had a talk with Robb before. Back when we were two and ten name days, Robb promised me he'd give me a Keep and a name, that he would have a lord he could always trust." My brother didn't understood the political capital he would spent raising his bastard brother to nobility, based on his face I could tell Lord Stark does. "I was truthful and told him how much of a pain in the arse being a lord would be, that when the time came to deal with stuffy lords, he'd have to do it on his own."
I chuckled at remembering Robb's face, very similar to the face Father had right now.
"Ahh, don't get me wrong Father, I was grateful Robb promised something like that."
"But?"
Ahh, he knew me well, "Well, at first Robb didn't budge, I explained how bad it looked from the perspective of his bannermen, of his family in the Riverlands. In the end, what convinced him to not raise me to nobility was that I don't want to be a lord."
Eddard Stark sagged on his seat. It didn't seem like he would talk soon, so I did.
"Ever since I sent Hatten here to start the renovations, I knew that this was going to be Bran's seat," I paused to see Father's reaction, nothing. He had calmed himself and once again he was made of ice. "My brother has a good head on his shoulders, and the Starks have a good, some would say great even, potential castellan." I finished pointing at myself.
The fire crackled and the flames demanded a new log to caress. I complied.
Lord Stark let out a sigh, "Jon, you deserve an apology."
I tilted my head. What?
"What?"
"Son, ever since your drive to build the Winterfell Steelworks, I've heard time and time again about how natural sons are ambitious, jealous of their trueborn siblings. I started hearing more and more of this after I appointed you as Lord Steward of Moat Cailin," he paused and locked eyes with me. "To my shame, I gave those voices a place in my head, and for that sin, I apologize Jon."
I could think of a certain someone who may or may not have repeated 'bastards are bad' to Father's ear for years. I can understand her feeling insecure of her position, I can understand her ignoring and snubbing me time and time again. But to poison a father against his son… specially when said son has done anything to deserve that…
Thank the gods I'm not in Winterfell. Peace and quiet sure is nice.
It was nice receiving an apology for that, even if the one who is apologizing has never showed anything other than support and paternal love.
However, it is a hard thing to accept. Father may have, at some point, considered something like 'bastards bad' because we were 'born of sin' but he never showed it.
It hurts knowing that he, even for a second, could think that of me. I think my face showed it because Lord Stark bent forward his torso and once again locked eyes.
"It was but a moment and it being a moment does not excuse me thinking that way of someone who did me nor mine wrong of any kind. What makes this sin all the worse is that I could consider something so heinous of my family. Jon, I hope you can forgive this foolish father of yours."
He lowered his gaze as I held my breath. I didn't know what to say. I haven't been harmed, but…
"I-It's alright, I-," I don't think it's a big deal right? He may have had that thought in his head but he never did me any harm. Or maybe it is a big deal and I'm desensitized? I don't know. What I know however, "I… I forgive you father."
The Warden of the North crumpled on his chair and with a soft sigh he whispered, "That went well."
Silence fell on the room, like the heaviest of mantles, almost suffocating.
It didn't last long as we both laughed to tears after a few breaths.
After our laughter died, comfortable silence enveloped the room for a while, alas we still had issues to solve.
"Now that we cleared the air," Father gave me a confused look. "I think we should keep talking about Bran."
"Hhhmm, but before that, Jon are you completely certain you don't want to be a lord? A small keep between Winterfell and the Manderly's holdings could fit you well."
It appears I'll have to repeat myself, "I'm honored you think so highly of me Lord Stark, but I still think being a baseborn gives me a lot of advantages while not giving me the weight I'd have to carry if I were a lord."
"I understand then. I will not push you to do something is not your call son," the 'unless you are doing something to bring dishonor to yourself or our family' was heavily implied. "But, tell me what is your calling."
"Honestly, I aspire to be Rob or Bran castellan, if the position is too high in the eyes of the other lords, then a steward for either of them would suffice. In practical terms they are the same."
Father sighed, I don't really understood why but, meh. "Jon Snow, henceforth you are Moat Cailin's castellan, in addition to your current duties you have the responsibility of any and all military matters concerning the Moat, once Bran is of age he will be the Moat's lord, so I ask of you to prepare his lands."
Huh, just like that I'm castellan of one of the most fabled fortresses of Westeros, nice.
"I'll honor the Stark name Father" I bowed to accept my new position.
"I know you will Jon," he stood up and grabbed me from shoulders to make me stand."I know you will."
We spent the next half an hour talking about nothing, it was relaxing.
It was still early evening for my standards.
So I found myself outside of the Main Hall, after leaving Father to the feast. Most lords and knights would've been knocked out cold by now, pacing oneself with a new tasty drink is hard.
And no, I'm not talking about any personal experiences.
I walked past and entered the small hall next. But Jon, why would you built a smaller hall right next to the Main Hall you say? Well this was supposed to be the Main Hall, we had built the kitchen right next to it afterall, but since the construction was faster and cheaper than anticipated the crew got excited and wanted to built a bigger, better Main Hall and since I also wanted to know how fast brick, quickstone and wrought iron rods could build something we built the big hall.
What brought me here after my talk with Father was something mundane. I needed some fried chicken for my albino friend.
I could've asked one of the servants to bring it directly to my room, but everyone was busy as all hell. And so I was to the side trying my best to not be a nuisance, patiently waiting for my grilled chicken, when I saw someone of interest through the door.
The hall opened to allow passage to the White Cloak. I imagine the reaction would be similar to most Kingsguards, if lacking the reverence with which people made way for this particular knight.
Being honest, I too was suffering of a grave case of fanboying. It is rare to see one of the most famed knights of Westeros this close, afterall.
Ser Barristan Selmy strode his way to the kitchen bar with the aplomb his decades of living a most exceptional life rewarded him.
Was he in shift change? Did he preferred to have his meal in a more private setting? Maybe he simply disliked some lord or another in the Main Hall?
The last one I can totally understand.
I seriously want to talk to him, but… being honest he probably just wants a hot meal and go to bed. If it were me, after a full day guard duty, I'd treat anyone between me and my bed as an enemy.
I guess just a regular greeting then, anything less would be disrespectful.
I got up from my sit, stretched my shoulders and got on my way.
"Greetings Lord Commander, I hope you enjoy your meal-."
I was cut off by a maidservant with my grilled chicken tray.
"Ah Lord Steward, well met. I was going to ask for a mutton stew, but if the Warden of the North's son himself offers me one of those new dishes, what can I do but accept."
What is he sa-. I gave the maidservant a silent command, she left with a curtsy.
"Don't feel pressured to eat Ser Barristan, it just so happens that this dish was available."
"Having a hot meal before bed is better than most get. Let's eat."
Just now I realized the chicken was cut in two. Well you can't say no to the Lord Commander right?
I asked for drinks, mostly to rid myself of the nerves.
It didn't work.
For some reason or another, my ability, rather my inability to talk to strangers followed me to this life.
Well, Ser Barristan isn't all that great to be honest. I mean, yes he got his knighthood after unhorsing the legendary Duncan the Tall, slew Maelys Blackfyre in single combat, did a James Bond on Duskendale and saved Aerys II in such a way that it sounded as one of Old Nan's wildest stories, but it was a historic fact.
Crap, I'm just making him sound great. Think, think, ah right. In Duskendale he should've left Aerys. He is obviously the reason the Rebellion happened. No Aerys, no Rebellion… except of course if you consider that Rhaegar was the hei-
"So, I heard you wanted to see Robert's warhammer?"
Ser Barristan Selmy the knightiest knight to ever knight, threw me a lifeline.
"Yes, Ser Barristan. Lord Stark told his children how he had to use both hands to barely lift it. I'm a bit doubtful myself."
"Heh. Well lad I can confirm you father's words," the Lord Commander grimaced but hid it quickly. "That thing is indeed that heavy." He finished a bit somber.
For a moment I had forgotten he had fought against the rebels on the Trident.
Gods damn me and my mouth. My lack of skill to hold a conversation with a stranger bites me again.
"You don't seem like a man who wields a warhammer yourself lad. Why did you ask His Grace for his weapon?"
Ser Barristan the Bold threw me yet another lifeline. A true knight indeed.
"It's about my weapon Ser. Swords, I like them, but we are not meant to be."
"A man who prefers warhammers or mayhaps spears then? I've known a man who wielded the spear as an extension of his own body."
He's probably talking about Lewyn Martell. Add another tragedy to the pile of misery that was Aerys' reign.
"Something like a spear, but not exactly a spear either. I call it halberd."
"Oh? So a Northman can't be seeing using a Dornish favorite."
Huh, I haven't thought about it, but I guess that's an additional benefit. It was a weird mix of xenophobia and maybe racism that people felt towards the Dornish.
"That and I believe my halberd has advantages over swords."
"What a daring lad! To say something like that in the presence of a Kingsguard, the Lord Commander no less."
Shit, did I offend him? I wasn't measuring my words as usual, but that was because I thought Ser Barristan wasn't like those stuffy lords. Did I judge him wrong?
Before I could apologize for my careless words, Ser Barristan the Bold continued. "Now lad, I can't let it pass. You see, I happen to have some time early in the morrow and I think having a different sparring partner would do me good," the Lord Commander gave me a teasing smile. "What say you?"
Once again he showed why he is so highly regarded among nobles and smallfolk alike.
My eyes were as big as saucers, but I summoned all my willpower to make my mouth move. "I'll be there Ser Barristan."
"Good lad," he emptied his tankard of ale and gave me a small slap the back. "His Grace was right, this chicken is indeed good."
I was admittedly stunned for who knows how long.
A maidservant gave me another chicken. I could only blink sheepishly.
"Thank you Lori."
First step, free my albino friend and give him his chicken. Next step… I don't know. But after that, a spar with Ser Barristan the Bold.
Robb is gonna be so jealous.
A/N: Barristan was hard to write, I'm not entirely sure why. Next time I think we finish this arc and advance the plot.