Game of Dragonborn.

Chapter 50 - The Winterfell Banquet 09.

[Chapter Size: 2700 Words.]

Third Person POV.
Winterfell.

...

...

Jon approached the stage at the front of the hall, while almost no one seemed to care about him going up there—after all, no one paid much attention to bards; only their music mattered at moments like these.

"What's your name, lad?"
Above the stage stood a man who introduced the performers; after all, everyone was curious to see if there was a famous bard among them.

"Dovahkiin," Jon said as the man nodded and turned back to the audience before him.

The man found the name strange, as did everyone else, but shrugged and spoke as Jon climbed up.
"We have the honor of meeting the bard, Dovahkiin!" he announced to the hall.

The people glanced at the stage, wondering what kind of name that was, but paid no real attention to Jon. They quickly resumed their conversations, expecting no more than a pleasant melody to cheer them up in the background.

Jon was closer than ever to the main table now, only 20 meters away, compared to the 50 meters to the table at the back. He shrugged as well; hardly anyone had truly looked at him after his name was announced. Taking up his lute, he played a few chords to test the tuning Mance had set up.

"Haven't you tuned your lute yet?"
The announcer wasn't pleased as Jon adjusted the strings.

"..."
Jon didn't respond to the man's irritation, continuing to set the lute to his liking. Jon had natural talents, most of which he had discovered in Skyrim. Beyond slaying dragons and being a bloodthirsty warrior, he also knew how to play a melody, move a maiden to tears, or inspire a crowd to revel to the sound of his music.

Finally, he was ready and began to play.

"You seem interested in that bard, Lord Reed," Benjen remarked, noting the lord's fixed gaze on the stage as they spoke.

Benjen recognized the man as the one causing a stir at the far end of the hall earlier, now standing on the stage. Lord Reed's gaze was sharp, moving from the tables to the bard, though Benjen couldn't understand why.

"Let's just say he reminds me of someone from a long time ago," Lord Reed said, recalling the tournament at Harrenhal, where a certain prince once made a Stark maiden cry with the beauty of his harp.

The sound finally emerged from the stage, beginning with simple chords. The melody started softly, drawing no attention at first. Jon, entirely immersed in his music, focused on the movement of his fingers, indifferent to the distracted crowd, who remained busy chatting and drinking ale.

Then he shifted the rhythm, his chords building into a new sound, as if the earlier notes had been a passive introduction. Now, reaching the part he wanted, he maintained the tempo and began to sing with a deep, captivating voice:

"In the icy mountains, where the wind howls endlessly,
Two young souls met, in a love pure and untarnished.
He, a soldier called to battle, she, a farmer's daughter,
Under the starlight, they vowed: 'Nothing will part us, my love.'

"On the day of departure, with tears in their eyes,
He promised to return, as spring brings the flowers.
'Wait for me in the grove, where the birds sing,
My heart will be with you, wherever I may roam.'"

Jon's voice quickly caught the attention of those nearest the stage. They looked at him in surprise, not expecting to hear such an eloquent voice from this bard. The murmurs began to quiet as people grew intrigued by the mysterious performer, listening intently to his music from the very first words.