Jon returns to the feast

Jon stepped back into the great hall's roaring warmth, Tyra at his side, hand in hand, her platinum waves swaying with each stride as the heavy doors groaned shut behind them like a final punctuation on the night's chill.

The feast had swelled in their absence—tables groaned under fresh platters of boar ribs slick with honey glaze, minstrels struck up a lively jig that had smallfolk stamping feet on the lower benches, and ale flowed in foaming rivers from barrel to horn.

No heads turned as they crossed the rush-strewn floor; no whispers rippled at the sight of the new Lannister woman, tall and golden, moving with a fluid grace that should have pulled eyes like a magnet.

The power's earlier weave held firm—no one noticed, no one cared, their presence slipping through the crowd like shadows through smoke.

The Queen, as if sensing his approach through the feast's chaos, turned her head first from the high dais, her green eyes locking on Jon and Tyra with a flicker of surprise that melted into pure, radiant joy.

Her lips curved in a warm, welcoming smile, the possession in her gaze softening to delight as she rose halfway from her seat, gesturing them forward with an elegant wave.

Jocelyn's bright expression stumbled for a breath, her lips pressing thin at the sight of Tyra, a spark of jealousy flashing in her stare—but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by an overjoyed grin that lit her face like morning sun.

She clapped her hands once in excitement, her goblet forgotten as she leaned forward, hand tightening not in tension but in eager anticipation.

A servant hurried forward at Cersei's subtle gesture, dragging a high-backed chair from the shadows and slotting it into place between Jon and Cersei.

Tyra sank into it with a graceful dip, her crimson gown pooling like spilled wine, the low neckline drawing fleeting glances from nearby lords before they averted their eyes.

"You brought company," Cersei murmured, leaning close to Jon, her fingers brushing his under the tablecloth in a hidden claim, her voice a silken thread of amusement and heat. "And such striking company at that. Tell me, love, where did you find this one?"

As the feast's clamour swirled around them, mismatched eyes sparkled while Tyra turned to Cersei, her full lips curving in a knowing smile. "Sister," she said softly, the word carrying layers of shared history now rewritten, "it's good to see you haven't gotten too bored." Reaching across Jon, she squeezed Cersei's hand briefly, then settled back, her thigh pressing warm against his.

Jocelyn let out a dignified but quiet huff, her gaze flicking between Tyra and Jon, the incense fading into a grudging nod. "As long as she doesn't steal all your time," she said, her voice light but edged, leaning in to rest her head briefly on Jon's shoulder, her fingers tracing circles on his knee. "You've been gone too long already."

From her post behind them came Jaime's chuckle, leaning down to murmur in Jon's ear, her breath a teasing warmth. "Looks like you've collected another admirer, Snow. Careful, or we'll have to start drawing lots for your attention."

Standing slightly behind Jocelyn, like Jaime, with her newly flawless face half-shadowed, Sandra remained silent, her storm-grey eyes watching Jon with quiet intensity, a faint smile playing at her lips as she raised her horn in a subtle toast.

Cersei's fingers danced across the trencher, spearing a tender sliver of venison slick with its own juices and sliding it onto Jon's plate, her green eyes fixed on him with a softness that made the hall's clamour fade. She leaned in, her breath a warm puff against his ear as she murmured, "Your presence lights the hall like a new torch. Without you, it's all just noise."

Beside him, Jocelyn's goblet tilted with a gentle clink, Arbor gold splashing golden into his cup until it brimmed, her bright eyes sparkling as she set it down and whispered, "The feast dragged until you returned. What kept you so long?" Her hand brushed his arm, lingering there as if to anchor him.

Tyra's mismatched gaze gleamed under the torchlight as she tore a morsel of honeyed bread, the crust flaking between her fingers; she held it to his lips, her touch sending a jolt through him like static from wool on stone. The sweetness melted on his tongue as she teased, "Northern feasts are hearty, but southern banquets linger on the palate—much like good company." Her thigh nudged his under the table, a subtle press that spoke volumes.

From behind, Jaime's gloved hand squeezed his shoulder, firm and possessive, her low voice weaving tales of Casterly Rock's echoing halls where lions roared in cavernous depths and hidden vaults gleamed with gold. "The Rock would suit you," she added, her chuckle rolling soft. "Endless passages, waves crashing below—you'd never want to leave."

Leaning closer, Tyra let her eyes sparkle with mischief as she murmured, "Whatever it was that kept us out in the yard, he's back now—and we've claimed him." With a quick glance at Jaime, she added, "Haven't we, sister?"

Jaime's chuckles deepened into a rich rumble as they accompanied her fingers giving Jon's shoulder another squeeze. "Oh, yes," she agreed, her voice laced with amusement.

Their words washed over Jon like a gentle tide, the loving looks from Cersei and Jocelyn warming him like the hall's great hearths, while Tyra's gaze added a spark of mischief.

Jon let their words wash over him, the loving looks from Cersei and Jocelyn warming him like the hall's great hearths, Tyra's gaze adding a spark of mischief, even Sandra's silent regard a steady anchor.

As the minstrels struck up a fresh tune and the hall's energy swelled around them, he noted inwardly how well the feast was going—the laughter freer, the conversations brighter, as if his return had breathed new life into the night.

The King's laughter boomed again from the head of the dais, cutting through the minstrels' lively jig like a thunderclap, his massive frame shaking as he slapped the table, ale sloshing from his horn.

He hauled himself up with a groan, one arm slung around the serving girl's waist, pulling her close as he waved a dismissive hand at the hall.

"Enough of this northern chill for one night," he bellowed, his voice slurred but commanding. "I've got warmer company waiting off to bed, the lot of you can drink without me!"

The girl shot a **** glance toward the shadows, but the King lumbered off, dragging her along, his excuses trailing in a haze of guffaws and half-hearted toasts from his men.

Cersei's green eyes flickered with a gleam of calculated opportunity, her lips curving in a subtle smile that held an edge of triumph as she watched her husband depart.

Tyra's mismatched gaze mirrored it, the green and black depths sparkling with the same opportunistic spark, a shared understanding passing between the sisters in that instant.

They turned to each other first, eyes locking in a silent exchange—Tyra's brow arching slightly, Cersei's nod almost imperceptible—before both shifted their focus to Jon, the look deepening into something hungry and inviting, a promise glinting like hidden steel.

Cersei leaned in, her voice a silken murmur amid the fading laughter. "It seems His Grace has opted not to warm the royal chambers assigned to us tonight. Say, Jon, would you do me the honour of escorting me there?"