- Winterfell -
Artos knelt beside Catelyn, examining the deep cuts etched into her hand, the marks of a would-be assassin who had dared to strike at their family. His heart clenched with a mixture of rage and sorrow for the danger that had befallen his nephew.
He was returning to Winterfell's mighty walls with Lady and Nymeria when Rodrik, vigilant as ever, spotted him. The old knight hurried him to the solar, where he found his sister-in-law preparing to depart their ancestral home.
"What happened?" Artos inquired, his voice tinged with concern. Rodrik offered a brief explanation: a scoundrel had set fire to the library and attempted to kill Bran, thwarted only by Catelyn and the fierce protection of his nephew's direwolf.
Catelyn pulled on her riding gloves, concealing the wounds. "I went to the Broken Tower where Bran fell. The ground was clean, but I found a strand of golden hair."
"And?" Artos pressed, sensing the gravity of her discovery.
"It means someone with golden hair was up there. My Brandon was thrown; he didn't fall by accident. As you well know, he is a sure-footed climber." The realization struck Artos like a blow, and his face darkened with a grim expression.
"Only the Lannisters who accompanied the King possess such features," he concluded.
Catelyn's eyes gleamed with determination. "Exactly, as I surmised when I spoke with Robb and the others in the godswood."
Rage surged within Artos, directed at the golden-haired bastards who would dare harm a child. "Show me the weapon, Cat," he demanded. She retrieved the dagger from her pack, unsheathing it for him to see. The blade was Valyrian steel, the hilt and handle too fine to belong to any but a high lord.
"Ned needs to know," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of their discovery, as he handed the dagger back to Catelyn.
"That's why I intend to go to him. I sail from White Harbor within three days," she declared. Artos shook his head in disagreement.
"What? No, you are needed here with your sons, with Bran. I can go," Artos argued. It was dangerous for her to travel south, especially with daggers lurking in the shadows if the Lannisters were truly conspiring.
"After defying the King and his queen to bring the direwolves home, it won't be safe for you there," she cupped his cheek tenderly. "Ser Rodrik will accompany me, and it will be quieter because I need you to stay and help Robb rule until I return."
Artos could see the resolve in her eyes and knew her mind was set. With a heavy heart, he nodded, acknowledging the perilous path ahead. Winterfell would stand strong, but the storm was only beginning to brew.
The sun stood high in the sky, casting a warm glow over Winterfell as Rodrik and Catelyn embarked on their journey southward to White Harbor. The weight of their mission hung heavy in the air, but the stoic resolve of both Rodrik and Catelyn lent an air of determined purpose to their departure.
As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, the castle settled into its nightly routine. It wasn't until the moon reached its zenith, casting silvery beams through the high windows of Winterfell, that Maester Luwin arrived with the news that would change everything.
Artos, deep in thought by the hearth, was startled by Luwin's urgent knock. The old maester's eyes, usually calm and composed, now flickered with a rare excitement.
"Artos," Luwin began, his voice barely containing his exhilaration, "Bran has awoken."
The news hit Artos like a bolt of lightning. Relief and hope surged through him, dispelling the lingering shadows of doubt and despair that had haunted the halls of Winterfell. He rose swiftly, his heart pounding with anticipation, and followed Luwin to Bran's chamber, eager to see his nephew's eyes open and hear his voice once more.
The next morning, Artos personally brought his nephew his breakfast, knowing that Robb and Theon were busy attending to some lordly matters concerning a thievery problem in Winter Town. He opened Bran's chamber door and frowned at the sight before him.
Bran lay in his bed, quiet and sullen, the weight of Maester Luwin's words heavy on his young shoulders. The maester had informed Bran that the chances of him walking again were little more than dreams and prayers.
"I brought you some toast and two eggs, dear nephew," Artos said gently, setting the tray down on a small table by the bed.
"I'm not hungry, Nuncle," Bran replied, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Artos sighed but left the food there anyway. "Where is my mother? Or father?" Bran asked, his eyes pleading for some semblance of comfort.
Artos settled into the chair that Catelyn had brought in to stay at Bran's bedside. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, deciding to offer a measure of truth, though he knew the questions Bran had were ones he had likely heard too many times already.
"Do you remember anything, Bran?" Artos inquired, watching as his nephew absently petted Summer's fur, the direwolf newly named in the first hours after Bran had awoken. "Did you see who or what pushed you?"
"I already said I don't remember anything," Bran snapped, his frustration palpable. "Now, where are Mother and Father?"
"As you know, your father left with the King, serving as the Hand," Artos began, carefully choosing his words. "And your mother went to the Vale. She will return, don't you fret." He rose from the chair, trying to offer some comfort. "I think Nan could keep you company. And eat, nephew, you need your strength."
"Why? I can no longer walk or climb or do anything," Bran said, his voice filled with despair.
Artos grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Even Brandon the Builder had to eat his breakfast," he replied, hoping to spark a glimmer of hope in Bran's heart.
The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but Artos was determined to see his family through it, no matter the cost.
As the sun rose higher, casting long shadows across the ancient stones of Winterfell, Artos found solace in the familiar paths of the castle grounds. It was here, amidst the towering walls and ancestral trees, that he could momentarily escape the weight of his thoughts.
Maester Luwin soon joined him, his presence a welcome one. They walked side by side, their steps echoing softly in the silence of the morning. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the scent of pine and earth, a reminder of the North's enduring strength.
"Bran's condition is troubling," Luwin began, his voice carrying the burden of his concerns. "The boy's spirit is strong, but the road to recovery will be long and arduous."
Artos nodded, his mind lingering on his nephew's sullen expression and the weight of the revelation that he might never walk again. "Aye, Luwin. The lad is resilient, but this news... it cuts deep."
Their conversation turned to the fall itself, the shadow of doubt that now hung over Winterfell. "There are whispers," Artos said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Suspicions that the Lannisters are behind this treachery. Their presence here was never without purpose."
Luwin sighed, his brow furrowed with worry. "Treason against the King is a dangerous game, one that could plunge the realm into chaos. We must tread carefully, Artos. Accusations without proof could lead to dire consequences."
Artos glanced around, ensuring their words would not be overheard. "We need to gather evidence, something concrete that can be presented to Ned and Robert. If the Lannisters are plotting, we must be prepared." he can only hope Cat and Ned can do what they could not.
The maester nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation. "The library fire, the attempt on Bran's life... these are not mere coincidences. We must be vigilant and cautious in our pursuit of the truth."
Stopping, Artos looked around at the young chasing the old, their laughter echoing through the courtyard. "Robb wants action, I know it. I do too. But we have to rely on Ned to do what we cannot. Still, we should prepare the North."
Luwin, ever watchful, eyed him with a discerning gaze. "What action would you propose, Lord Artos?"
Artos tapped his toe thoughtfully on the ground, the weight of his decision pressing upon him. "Perhaps begin by sending men to fortify Moat Cailin. The place has been falling apart and is in need of good stone and wood."
The maester considered the suggestion, nodding slowly. "Fortifying Moat Cailin would indeed bolster our defenses. It's a critical stronghold that must be maintained."
Artos looked out over the castle grounds, a sense of purpose settling within him. "We'll make sure the North is prepared for any threat. Our duty to our people and our land demands it."
With their course set, Artos and Luwin continued their walk, their minds now focused on the plans to strengthen their home. Winterfell would stand ready, its walls a fortress against any storm that may come.