Game of Dragonborn.

Chapter 49 - The Winterfell Banquet 08.

[Chapter Size: 2100 Words.]

Third Person POV.
Winterfell.

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The atmosphere at the table immediately grew tense as Jon maintained his calm gaze on them. Clearly, he noticed the men touching their waists, where they kept the knives they had used to eat that evening.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'd attract too much attention and be captured or killed before even attempting to leave the hall, especially here in Winterfell," Jon said, keeping a friendly smile that didn't match his words at all.

"..." Everyone at the table kept their intense gaze fixed on Jon after his words. Those who had been gripping the hilts of their knives began to withdraw their hands, realizing his words made sense, but still uneasy about what this stranger wanted with them. After all, no one here should know who they were.

Mance was deeply concerned now, but he decided to keep his composure as he looked at Jon.
"What do you want...?" he asked cautiously.

"Don't worry. If you're afraid I'll report you, I'm not interested in that. I just find this amusing. Two kings in the same hall—one posing as a drunkard and the other hiding as a bard. Where else could I witness such a scene?" Jon said, his tone laced with amusement, his gaze fixed on Mance, who still felt lost regarding this stranger's unknown intentions.

"How did you find us?" one of Mance's men asked cautiously, glancing around to ensure no one overheard their conversation.

"It's not hard. Your behavior gives you away. I'm not saying you don't know how to blend in—after all, you're here without anyone noticing—but the details betray you." Jon spoke calmly. They ate with their hands or didn't know how to use utensils properly, drank awkwardly, and always looked around suspiciously. No one else noticed, but to the dragonborn, it was obvious—even without the information he had received from Della and the others when Jon was at Mance's camp.

"You said you wouldn't report us, but you still haven't answered why," Mance said, choosing his words carefully.

"Let's just say I also came from beyond the Wall," Jon began, a smile spreading across his face. They raised their eyebrows skeptically—Jon clearly wasn't part of the Free Folk.

"What do you mean?" Mance asked again.

"I was at your camp. I must say, it's impressive—over 140,000 people." Jon revealed small details occasionally, just to gauge the reactions of the men before him.

"He saw it?! Is he a southern spy?!" one of the men growled, rising to draw a blade, but Mance himself stopped him.

"Stop it! Do you want to get us killed?!" Mance snarled, also standing as he grabbed the man's chest before he could lunge at Jon, removing the knife from his grip.

"But Mance...?!" the man protested.

"We have no choice but to listen to what he has to say here. Sit down and stop drawing attention!" Mance growled, noticing the surprised looks from the surrounding tables, while Jon remained seated, calm as ever beside another man at the table.

"..." The man, with no other choice, reluctantly sat down, glaring at Jon with anger and suspicion—a sentiment shared by Mance and the others.

"What were you doing there? A journey from there to here would take nearly a moon," Mance questioned again.

"A moon? I left a week ago. And before you ask, I have my methods. Anyway, I met your pregnant wife, Della. She was the one who told me you were here," Jon said, and Mance raised an eyebrow in astonishment. The stranger didn't seem to suggest he'd done anything to his wife—his tone remained friendly—but it was still disconcerting to hear that she herself had revealed his current whereabouts.