- Winterfell -

Artos stood in the stables, the rhythmic motions of the brush against his horse's black coat the only solace he could find. The soft, earthy scent of hay mingled with the warm aroma of the horse, offering a semblance of peace.

Yet his heart felt heavy, a storm brewing inside him as he fought to keep his thoughts away from his nephew Bran.

The image of him lying still, pale and fragile, clinging to life after the fall from the broken tower, haunted Artos. He could still hear the panicked whispers of Maester and the silent prayers of the family. The future seemed so uncertain, shadowed by the tragic accident.

But as Artos continued his task, his mind couldn't help but wander to his older brother, Eddard.

Ever the honorable and dutiful one, was preparing to leave for the South with the King. The weight of responsibility and the promise of a new position as the Hand of the King loomed over him. Artos was a little resentful, thinking his brother should be here and where his family needed him, not away and taking Arya and Sansa too.

In the quiet of the stables, Artos felt the ache of impending separation. The North would feel emptier without Ned's steady presence. He feared for the family, scattered by fate's whims. As he brushed his horse, Artos found himself wishing he could hold everything together, protect those he loved from the cruelty of the world. But all he could do was continue brushing, finding momentary peace in this simple task while the world outside spun in uncertainty.

"Hodor?"

Artos turned and saw Walder, or Hodor as the simpleton could only ever speak that single word for everything. "All yours, Hodor, brush him gently." he said and patted the tall man before leaving for the great hall.

As Artos Stark left the stables, the crisp air of Winterfell greeted him. The walls of the ancient castle loomed around him, solid and enduring, much like the Starks themselves.

As he entered the Great Hall, his eyes caught sight of his niece, Sansa. She stood near the hearth, her hair a cascade of auburn curls, a stark contrast against the fur-lined cloak she wore. By her side, the elegant and poised direwolf, Lady, stood sentinel, her watchful eyes reflecting the loyalty she held for her human companion.

Ned had said that the King wanted to betroth her to his heir, Joffrey. Artos thought it was a good match, only a prince was worthy of her if not another great lord's son.

"You write to me if any little lordling makes a pass at you, Sansa." he said and took a seat beside her, the girl blushed embarrassingly at the crude comment, "I guess I shouldn't have to worry, not with this one keeping watch."

"You aren't coming with us, Uncle?" she asked and he didn't know yet, he's sure that his brother would ask but if not then he wasn't troubled.

"Why, sweet girl, are you unsure about leaving? Or perhaps Joffrey doesn't meet your standards?"

"No, he's gentle and gallant, I am honored to be his future Queen." he wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder a little and letting go.

"As I am honored to one day give respect to you, Your Grace." It was a tender moment, a brief respite from the harsh realities that awaited them. Artos felt the weight of his thoughts lighten, if only for a moment, as he watched Sansa with her direwolf.

In that instant, he found a semblance of peace, a reminder of the bonds that held their family together even in the darkest of times.

He was in his room a while later when a knock and turned to see Ned walk inside. "Is Bran alright, brother?" he asked, worrying all over again with his brother wearing that grim frown.

"No, he's fine, I am here to ask a favor of you."

"Anything, Ned, though I must insist you at least stay home until your son is well."

Eddard narrowed his eyes, "I already gave my word to the King, his Grace had even stayed the whole month and Luwin says that Bran is away from danger." Ned huffed and Artos crossed his arms, "The Realm needs a Hand, trust me when I say this... His Grace needs me." so does his family, a grieving wife and six children, two leaving south with their father and one leaving for the Night's Watch.

"What did you need, brother?" he asked.

"I want you to come South with me and the girls, to be Captain of my Household Guard." such responsibility, he was unsure of what to say. "Robb is almost a man and will be acting Lord of Winterfell in my absence, he will also have Cat, Luwin, and Rodrik but I need you, brother."

"You have me. Always."

He packed a few things, closed them in a chest, and had them taken below where the wagons were being loaded up.

Artos Stark felt a mix of apprehension as he readied his horse for the journey south to King's Landing. He wanted to spend just a few more days home before even thinking about leaving on horseback, again.

As he adjusted the saddle and checked the bridle, Artos took a moment to scan the bustling yard. The air was filled with the sounds of preparation – the clatter of armor, the murmured farewells, and the neighing of horses. Servants moved swiftly, attending to their duties with practiced efficiency, while the household guards double-checked their gear.

Among the organized chaos, Artos' eyes fell upon his nephew, Robb, who was saying farewell to his brother, Jon. The two stood close, their expressions a blend of sadness and determination. Artos could see the bond between them, a brotherly connection that transcended their different paths. Robb, the heir to Winterfell, and Jon, the solemn and steadfast bastard of Ned Stark, were both about to face their own challenges.

The sight tugged at Artos' heart. He knew the journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, and the future for the Starks was clouded with unknowns.

Mounting his horse, Artos steeled himself for the road ahead. He would protect his family, uphold his duty, and face whatever trials awaited in King's Landing. As the procession began to move, so did he.

Riding beside Jory, he cleared his throat, "I hear the capital is a rat's nest, it can't be so bad."

"Did Braavos stink?" he was asked and Artos had to think for a moment before he answered.

"A little, the lower city you could only smell fish, and sewage. I made a den in the nicer part where the brothels were, or feasting with the Sealord." he's sure the King will be having a feast day and night when they reach the city.

Stopping just short of cresting a hill on the kingsroad, Artos took one last look at Winterfell, the ancient stones holding centuries of Stark history. The journey would test them all, but the North had a way of forging strength from adversity. Artos carried that strength with him as they departed, determined to stand by his brother's side.

Jon and Ned were behind, talking and then parting with his nephew riding to catch up with Benjen, a fellow Watcher, and the Queen brother and his guards.

Eddard and he rode side by side for a mile before he turned to ask, "So what did you and Jon say to each other?"

"He asked about his mother, not the first time but it was hard not to say anything." even he often wondered who the boy's mother was, from some Dornish noblewoman to a fisherman's wife or daughter.

"He should know, not that it would change anything, it would be a comfort," he said and remembered a moment when he was younger.

Catelyn asked once, he was returning to his chambers when he heard his brother's booming voice tell her within their own chambers to not ask him again and that all she should know was that Jon was his blood.

So he kept his own inquiries to himself... Until now.

Eddard turned away and sighed before eyeing him, "You are right, I told him when next we see each other is when I would tell him about her."

Artos found himself turning back again, missing home already.