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GOT Chapter 54: One Step Behind the Crown
🕑 Added 2025-08-02 00:54:36 +0000 UTC“Come on! Fuck! Hit him in the nose! Use your damn fists! What, are those hooves?!”
“Kick his damn crotch! Harder! What, did last night’s woman suck you dry?!”
“Yeah! That’s it! Dig in! Rip him! Bite his ear!”
Over a hundred people were gathered in a tight cluster, faces flushed with excitement as they pressed forward, shouting obscenities and spitting as they screamed—just short of tearing off their shirts and jumping in themselves.
At the center of the chaos were two figures rolling through the mud, their faces obscured, locked in a tangle of limbs, trading blows and grapples in a brutal, primal scuffle.
The brawl had clearly been going on for a while. Both fighters were panting heavily, their strength nearly drained, their attacks sluggish and without force.
“Huff… huff…”
Jon strained to tilt his head back, trying to ignore the vulgar shouting all around him. He braced his chin against a hand that was reaching to grab his hair.
Meanwhile, both his hands were busy clutching the hair of the guy rolling with him through the mud, trying to keep the bastard from getting any closer.
Taking advantage of this brief moment of control, Jon gasped for breath, not even caring about the icy air burning his lungs—just desperately trying to recover some strength.
Then, three seconds later, just as Jon felt a sliver of strength return to his body, he suddenly kicked away the bastard’s leg that had been wrapped around his calf.
And in that fleeting moment—
He unleashed every ounce of strength he had left, grabbed the guy’s head with both arms, pulled it in tight, and smashed his face.
“Gyaaah…! Fuck!”
“I surrender!”
The guy, completely drained after taking that blow, hurriedly threw out his white cloth and admitted defeat.
Only then did Jon release his grip on the man’s head and collapse onto the ground, exhausted.
Though Jon had finally won, the cheers were surprisingly few. Instead, groans and curses rang out—and not just from the guy lying next to him.
“Seven hells! I actually bet on Harris to win!”
“Damn it, me too! I must still be drunk from last night!”
“Hahahaha! I told you Jon Snow would win. Made myself another tidy profit!”
“Fuck you, you bitch!!!”
Grumbling and gloating filled the air around Jon Snow, who couldn’t help but laugh even as he gasped for breath.
These damn bastards—after observing cautiously for the first three days, once they realized Ser Kal Stone didn’t mind their presence and even roped them into the action—
Naturally, a privately run betting pool had sprung up.
Half a month ago, thanks to his lack of real combat experience, Jon not only lost the matches but also ended up the unanimous underdog in their wagers.
So right now, Jon wasn’t just happy about the win—he was especially pleased that, over the past three days, he had made those smug bastards who’d pocketed a bunch of silver stags bleed hard for it.
While he was grinning like a fool at the thought, a large hand appeared in front of his eyes.
“Get up. I recall saying Lord Stark probably wouldn’t like anyone sleeping in his training yard.”
“My father never said that!”
“If that’s what’s bothering you, I wouldn’t mind if you called me Father.”
“Fuuuuuck!!!”
...
“Ned, your bastard is improving fast!”
“That’s because he’s taught well—by your bastard, Your Grace!”
On the enclosed bridge connecting the main keep to the armory, there happened to be a window offering a full view of the training yard below.
And right now, standing behind that window were two middle-aged men, exchanging teasing remarks with grins on their faces.
One had a long, horse-like face. The other was so rotund, he practically filled the entire window frame.
As their banter ended, they both let out a burst of hearty, knowing laughter. But then, King Robert Baratheon glanced down at the training yard, where a certain young man had become the center of attention, and suddenly let out a sigh.
“Damn it. That little bastard killed two of my Kingsguard, then turned around and walked off like it was nothing!”
“Maybe I should just issue a royal decree and force him to fill that damned vacancy!”
“And as for the other one... I think your bastard would be a perfect fit. What do you say, Ned? His name’s Jon, isn’t it? Seems you really care for him!”
Robert, in his infinite “wisdom,” was rather pleased with his own clever idea, thinking it nothing short of brilliant.
Lord Eddard Stark, who had been watching Jon Snow’s transformation with pride—especially given the boy had changed so much in just half a month—was momentarily taken aback by the king’s sudden proposal.
He hadn’t expected Robert to suggest something like this.
Almost instinctively, he turned to look at the king. When he saw that Robert wasn’t joking, he hesitated for a moment in thought, then finally shook his head slightly and said: “Thank you for placing your trust in Jon, Your Grace. If he’s willing…”
“But Jon isn’t a knight yet, and he hasn’t earned any honors worth mentioning, so I think…”
It was unclear what was going through Lord Stark’s mind, but his tone hinted at some inner hesitation.
This soft, hesitant attitude immediately irked the king.
What, was becoming a Kingsguard something to be ashamed of?
Why did all these people keep refusing a position that knights across the Seven Kingdoms would kill for?
Annoyed, Robert barked at his old friend: “That’s what I can’t stand about you, Ned. You’re always such a bloody buzzkill!”
“I’m the king! I do whatever the hell I want!”
Faced with the king’s frustration, Eddard could only respond with a helpless, bitter smile.
What could he say—that not only did he not want Jon in the Kingsguard, he himself, the soon-to-be Hand of the King, didn’t want to wade into this mess either?
Of course not.
If he said that out loud, Robert would undoubtedly blow up in fury and generously shower his friend’s head with royal spittle in the process.
Catching the bitter smile on Ned’s face, Robert realized his friend was in a tough spot, so he softened his tone a bit.
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have a boy spend his days watching over a fat pig who does nothing but drink and whore around.”
“I’ll wait until he comes of age and is officially knighted by Kal… Until then, I’ll leave that position open for him.”
Faced with yet another 'honor' Robert tossed his way, Lord Stark could no longer bring himself to refuse. He simply nodded in silent agreement.
'Catelyn was right. I can’t strip the king of his dignity.'
That was the excuse Ned used to console himself.
Seeing that Ned hadn’t turned him down and ruined the mood again, Robert brightened immediately. He let out a loud laugh and turned to walk across the covered bridge toward the main keep.
“Come now, wipe that long-ass mule face of yours. Sometimes I honestly wonder how your woman puts up with you! Does she make you do it with your back to her or something?”
“Oh—and the party leaves the day after tomorrow. I haven’t had the chance to enjoy myself in this gods-forsaken place, and it's driving me mad!”
“So, I’ve decided to add a wild boar feast to tomorrow night’s banquet. What do you think?!”
The moment he mentioned hunting, the king got even more excited, declaring it with great cheer—as if it were already decided.
Though it sounded like he was asking his Hand for an opinion, it clearly wasn’t a request.
And of course, Lord Stark couldn’t afford to deny him again—he’d just done that a moment ago.
Besides, this wasn’t anything serious.
“I’ll have the men prepare everything,” Ned nodded in reply.
“And make sure to bring your children along—except for the girls—and your brother, too!”
“Bran and Rickon are still very young…” Ned hadn’t even officially started the job yet, and he could already feel how exhausting it would be serving this king.
He found himself wondering how his foster father, Jon Arryn, had ever managed to put up with Robert’s whims.
Hearing Ned’s reply, Robert scowled in annoyance.
“Of course I wouldn’t bring them along! Do you take your king for a fool?”
“Maybe I should have you punished!”
'Please do. Strip me of this damned job already,' Ned thought, not quite able to suppress the fantasy.
“You’re not much to look at, yet you sure have some wild dreams.”
“…”
The two of them bickered like always—just like they had more than ten years ago. It was as if time hadn’t changed a thing.
Only now, the one who once walked shoulder to shoulder had deliberately fallen half a step behind, their head slightly bowed as they spoke.
