- The Kingsroad -
Artos Stark landed himself into the feathered bed, tired, and sore from the road and they have yet to even reach what Ned called a cesspit.
The cold northern winds had bit at his face as they rode southward, the landscape familiar but unforgiving terrain. Artos had taken some solace in the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the frozen ground.
The days then started to blend together as they made their way through the North.
A few days more and they approached the Neck, the treacherous expanse of marshland. The air started to grow humid, and the ground beneath their horses' hooves turned to muck. Navigating the narrow causeways, Artos couldn't help but reminisce as a boy, marveling at the ancient ruins of Moat Cailin.
Artos hadn't been through the fort for almost six years, the last being when he accompanied Lord Cerwyn to find House Reed's moving castle, Greywater Watch.
Artos closed his eyes, and drifted to the memory of reading the countless books on the countless battles fought to protect the North. He had imagined the warriors of old, standing firm against the Andals, their courage echoing through the ages. As they passed through the Neck, Artos felt a renewed sense of purpose, a determination to honor the legacy of those who came before him.
Leaving the marshes behind, the party entered the Riverlands. The initial number of the caravan grew near five hundred as merchants, smallfolk, and freeriders flocked and felt secure with the King.
For Artos, the change in scenery was a welcome relief, he had never been to another of the Seven Kingdoms and smiled seeing the vibrant green fields and bustling villages a stark contrast to the North. Artos marveled at the rivers glistening under the warm sun, fresh and cool as he bathed when they were camped, the wheelhouse being why at the time and his brother and his grace were often riding off before dawn on hunts and such.
The Riverlands were teeming with life, the air filled with the sounds of birdsong and laughter. Artos had found himself captivated by the simple joys of the people they encountered along the way.
He even started to enjoy the company of the kingsmen, just common soldiers. He shared laughter and heard new stories that lightened the burden of their journey.
After weeks on the road, the sight of the Crossroads Inn was a welcome relief. It was midnight when Artos dismounted, stretching his aching muscles.
His Grace and his family made themselves welcome to the nearby Lords of Darry, a once powerful house up to the rebellion when Lord Darry chose to remain loyal to the Targaryens.
Ned and his family made themselves a camp with their people and he made himself welcome to the inn and he turned over to shut his eyes, falling fast asleep.
The next morning, Artos walked the road and was tending to his duties.
He and Jory inspected some of the men who will be protecting his brother and nieces. "Lord Stark picked these men himself," and he is sure that Ned picked well but he is Captain and will decide who gets positioned where and who to protect.
Jory, he put on his brother. Jory fought at Pyke, fought fiercely and a lot more vicious than most of the men in Winterfell.
Heward and Wyll, good men but they are slow, better to put them at the entrance of the Tower of the Hand where his family will be residing. Alyn is alright, a good left hand to Jory who is his right.
Fat Tom... Artos would have left him at home and just brought a man from House Umber. Desmond is a good sword, dutiful, and single-minded like Wyll.
Harwin, Porther, Varly, good men while the rest are new in the last year he's been away from home.
He expected Ned to pick great soldiers, the best in their household but there are only twenty-three out of the fifty men that are escorting them down to the capital.
"I'm sure everything will be well, Artos, you worry too much." not enough, then again maybe it's his wariness of Starks going South as every time it happens thousands of Northmen seem to die.
It's a gut feeling.
The day was starting to end as Artos Stark settled down to eat in the Stark camp at the Crossroads Inn, the night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and distant howls of Sansa or Arya's wolf. He was on the cusp of finishing when Harwin's voice cut through the stillness, laden with urgency. "Arya is missing, Artos."
In an instant, Artos was on his feet, the fatigue of the day forgotten. "Go get my brother!" he commanded of the man, he then went to the rest of the men.
The camp sprang to life around him, men rousing from their seats with determined looks on their faces. Alongside Ned, Artos followed in the search, their calls for Arya echoing through the woods, piercing the night's calm with desperation.
"Arya!" Artos called, his voice a mixture of worry and hope. The trees, dense and shadowed, seemed to close in around them, concealing the young Stark girl from their view. Every sound, every rustle, set their nerves on edge, hearts pounding with the urgency of their mission.
They pressed on relentlessly, refusing to let the encroaching darkness hinder their search. The forest, vast and labyrinthine, felt like an enemy, swallowing their shouts as they desperately sought any sign of Arya or Nymeria, her wolf.
It wasn't until nightfall that Jory rode up to them, his face a mix of relief and concern. "She's been found," he panted, catching his breath. "By Lannister men. They've taken her before the King."
Artos felt a wave of emotions crash over him—relief that Arya was alive, but also a surge of anger and protectiveness. The Lannisters had her, and that meant trouble. With a grim nod, Ned hurriedly went to the inn where she was taken but Artos knew their quest was far from over. The night's search had ended, but a new challenge had just begun.
Artos heart raced, following his older brother Ned into the inn, his shoulders brushing past the Lannister and Baratheon men who crowded the entryway. The room was a tempest of tension and authority, the air humming with the unspoken conflict that had brought these formidable families together.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the towering figure of King Robert, standing imposingly at the center. Beside him, Queen Cersei's cold gaze scanned the room with a mixture of disdain and scrutiny. But it was Prince Joffrey who captured Artos's full attention. The young prince stood clutching a wounded arm, his face twisted in pain and anger. Even from a distance, Artos could see the fresh bite marks, the unmistakable work of a direwolf. His mind raced—Nymeria. Arya's direwolf was nowhere to be seen, neither with her master nor at the camp.
The tension in the room was palpable as Arya, standing alone and visibly frightened, hurled defiant retorts at the sneering prince. The memories of the Ruby Ford incident, the recent conflict along the Trident River, seemed to fuel the angry exchange. Artos's heart ached seeing his niece so vulnerable, yet so fiercely brave.
When Arya's eyes locked onto her father's, she broke free from the clutches of fear and ran to him. Ned knelt, his strong arms wrapping around Arya in a protective embrace, his face a mask of fatherly concern. The warmth of their reunion was a stark contrast to the icy stares of the courtiers around them.
Ned straightened, his voice a thunderclap of authority. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"
King Robert's imposing presence seemed to waver for a moment, a flicker of discomfort crossing his rugged features. Cersei, ever the ice queen, remained unmoved, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the Starks.
"It was an incident by the Ruby Ford," Cersei spat, his voice dripping with venom. "The direwolf attacked my son without provocation!"
Artos felt a surge of anger and protectiveness rise within him. He knew Nymeria would only have acted if Arya were in danger. He stepped closer, his presence a silent declaration of his support for Ned and Arya.
Ned's gaze remained fixed on the King, his question hanging in the air, demanding an explanation. The room's silence was a fragile thing, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. Artos knew that this confrontation was far from over, and he was prepared to stand by his family, no matter the cost.
"I didn't mean to frighten the girl, Ned, we just want to know what happened."
Arya started on, "He hurt my friend Mycha, I had to stop him."
"Lies!" Joffrey screamed in response, "They both hit me with sticks and she threw my sword in the river!" Arya rebuked such a claim and Joffrey shouted at her to shut up.
Each passing moment kindled a fire of anger within Artos Stark. The more he listened to Joffrey's wild explanations, the more his blood boiled.
Hard to believe he thought the boy bright but now see him a cruel child, Arya never acted in violence before and must have only done so in defense of a friend.
The King told all to be quiet then turned to his friend, "Where is your other girl, Ned?"
"In bed asleep."
The Queen, with her icy composure, ordered Sansa to come forward and defend the prince's claims, Artos's fists clenched at his sides.
Sansa, his gentle and dutiful niece, stepped forward, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. Her voice wavered as she stuttered through her defense of Joffrey, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was caught in the impossible position of loyalty to her family and the manipulative demands of the Queen and Prince.
Artos's heart ached for both his nieces. Arya, fierce and defiant, had been through an ordeal and now stood in the shadow of her father's protective presence. Sansa, on the other hand, was visibly breaking under the pressure of this scrutiny. The injustice of it all gnawed at him, his anger simmering beneath a veneer of calm.
He took a step forward, to shield her from the cruelty she was being subjected to. His jaw tightened as he watched the Queen and her twat of a son.
Ned's stern voice cut through the tension once more, addressing the King with barely restrained fury. "This is madness," he declared, his gaze unwavering.
The tension in the inn remained palpable, even as King Robert declared the matter settled, "These are just children, they fight and now it is over." he commanded. He had agreed that Ned would discipline Arya, and he himself would see to Joffrey's punishment. It seemed the incident might finally be behind them. But just as a sense of resolution began to settle, Queen Cersei's voice, cold and insistent, cut through the room.
"And what of the direwolf?" she demanded, her gaze icy and piercing. "The beast that caused such irreversible damage to our son?"
Artos felt his anger flare anew, his fists clenching at his sides. He watched as King Robert turned to one of the Lannister men, asking if they had found the wolf. The man shook his head. "No, Your Grace," he replied.
"So be it," Robert said, his voice heavy with finality. He turned, ready to wash his hands of the entire affair.
But Cersei was not done. "I will give one hundred gold dragons to the man who brings me its pelt," she announced, her tone laced with venom.
King Robert scowled, shaking his head in exasperation. "Expensive furs indeed," he muttered. "I will have no part of this."
A smirk curled on Cersei's lips, her eyes flashing with contempt. "The Robert I married would not hesitate to hunt the beast down himself," she mocked. "Have you grown so soft?"
Artos felt a surge of fury at the blatant insult. His eyes locked onto Cersei's, his silent defiance a mirror to his internal rage. He could see the strain in Robert's face, the internal struggle as he grappled with his authority and his wife's goading. "They saw no wolf, damn you!" Robert shouted.
The room's charged atmosphere became even more oppressive as Queen Cersei's cold, calculating voice rang out. "Since Nymeria cannot be found, we must have the pelt of Lady, Sansa's wolf." there was a pit in the stomach of Artos, soon enough Sansa realized what the Queen said and started to plea for the life of her wolf, condemning Arya's and shouting how it was Nymeria who bit Joffrey, not Lady who wouldn't do such a thing. -
Artos's anger flared, a searing, helpless rage burning within him. King Robert, already weary and regretful, seethed as he uttered, "So be it." His voice was thick with sorrow and resentment, directed as much at himself as at Cersei.
Ned stepped forward, desperation lacing his plea. "Robert, please, do not do this." His voice was a raw blend of anguish and imploring, the bond of old friendship resonating in his words.
The King's eyes, filled with hate for his own circumstances, shifted toward his queen before he spoke again, this time with bitter remorse. "Get your girls some dogs, Ned. They will be happier for it."
Eddard's face tightened, his pain evident. "For the love you bore Lyanna," he pleaded, invoking the memory of Robert's lost sister. "Do not do this." But it was clear that the King's resolve, as regretful as it was, would not be swayed. The weight of the crown bore heavily upon him, and he could not—or would not—defy his queen in this matter.
Seeing that Robert would not be moved, Ned's expression hardened. "If it must be done," he said, his voice steeled with determination, "then let His Grace carry out the sentence himself." Robert wouldn't, and left abruptly.
The room fell into a hushed silence, the gravity of Ned's words hanging heavy in the air. Artos felt his heart clench as he watched the tortured decision unfold. It was a somber reminder of the harsh realities of their world, where even innocent lives could be claimed by the whims of power.
The tragedy was written across the faces in the room—Sansa's tear-streaked despair, Arya's silent fury, Robert's tormented regret, and Cersei's cold satisfaction.
Artos stood resolute, his anger a quiet storm within him, vowing silently that he would protect his family, no matter the cost.
Queen Cersei's lips curled into a satisfied smirk as she ordered, "Ser Ilyn Payne, do the deed. Kill the animal."
Artos's fury flared anew, and he stepped forward, placing himself firmly in front of the mute executioner. His eyes burned with righteous anger as he stared down Ser Ilyn, a silent declaration of defiance. The mute knight's expression remained impassive, but the tension in the room was palpable.
Before the situation could escalate further, Eddard placed a calming hand on Artos's shoulder. The simple gesture spoke volumes, and the intensity in the room softened slightly. "I will do it," Ned said, his voice resolute, yet laced with sorrow.
Cersei's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?" she demanded, her tone sharp. "Is this some trick?"
Ned met her gaze unflinchingly. "The wolf belongs to the North," he stated, his voice firm and unwavering. "She deserves more than a butcher's sword."
The Queen's skepticism hung in the air, but Ned's words carried a weight that could not be easily dismissed. Artos, standing by his brother's side, felt a sense of profound sorrow mingled with pride. Ned's unwavering sense of honor and duty was a beacon in the darkness of their current plight.
Artos Stark handed his nieces over to Jory's care before leaving the hall. He hurried through the camp, the cool night air biting at his skin as he made his way to where Lady was chained. The direwolf, although only known to him for a few weeks, sensed his purpose and approved of his approach. As he scratched her ear, a soft, approving growl rumbled from her chest.
Unshackling the chain, he whispered, "A wolf should be allowed to roam free, not be tied up like a dog." Lady, sensing his intent, followed him willingly. He led her to his horse, quickly readying it for their departure when a voice called out, halting him in his tracks.
"Artos, stop!" Eddard's voice echoed through the night, filled with a mix of shock and concern. He approached swiftly, his eyes wide as he realized what his brother was doing. "You're going against the Queen's command, freeing Lady no less. Why?"
Artos turned to face his older brother, his expression resolute. "The wolf doesn't deserve to die, Ned. She doesn't deserve to be a trophy of the Queen's ego."
To Artos's surprise, Eddard's stern expression softened, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. "I cannot argue with you there," he said quietly. "But you know what this means, don't you? Parting ways with our family, at least for now."
Artos nodded, a mixture of sorrow and determination in his eyes. "I do. But it's the right thing to do."
Ned stepped forward, placing a hand on Artos's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, brother. And take care of her," he said, glancing at Lady. The bond between the Stark brothers was unspoken but unbreakable, a testament to their shared honor and integrity.
Artos mounted his horse, whistling for Lady to follow. As he urged his horse forward, Ned's voice called out one last time, filled with both pride and sadness. "Go swiftly, and may the Old Gods watch over you."
With a final nod, Artos rode off into the night, Lady at his side. They started the journey back North to Winterfell, far from the cruelty and whims of a vengeful queen.