Chapter 99: Hand of the King
Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the mouth of the crypts as Artos came back up into the light.
The old knight's face was weathered, but not softened by age. There was still steel in him. Artos, seeing him there, smiled first.
"Greetings, old man."
Barristan answered with a small smile of his own. "Greetings, Lord Artos. You look well. It has been years now. Last I saw you, it was in King's Landing. We did not have the chance to speak."
"Aye," Artos said. "It was a busy time for both of us."
Barristan nodded, his manner easy and respectful. "So it is true, then. The rumors about you putting aside weapons and taking up a lord's life. I had not imagined a man with your temper for battle would choose peace so completely and live a Lord's life."
Artos gave a short laugh. "A marriage can do that to a man, Ser. You might have done the same yourself, if not for that white cloak and your vows."
Barristan's mouth curved. "Perhaps. Though I am quite content in mine."
"The finest knight in the realm," Artos said, "and not only for your sword. Although they are also the best in the realm"
Barristan chuckled. "High praise from the man who cut half my ear."
"Luck,Ser" Artos said with a smirk. "I nearly died that day, if not for my brother."
"There is no luck in combat, Lord Artos," Barristan said calmly. "You know that as well as I do. And it would have been both of us, had Lord Stark not come when he did."
Artos inclined his head. Barristan Selmy was one of the few men whose skill in battle he had always respected without question.
Barristan studied him for a moment before speaking again. "After Ser Arthur Dayne, you were perhaps the hardest opponent I ever faced . Which makes me wonder all the more how a man like you lost an eye. Especially you from Greyjoy Rebellion. I am not sure even Sword of Morning would defeat that version of yours."
Artos's hand rose almost unconsciously to the patch over his left eye. He smiled, though it was not a cheerful one but not grim either.
"Oh, that," he said. "Funny you should ask. He was much like you."
Barristan frowned. "Like me?"
"A loyal man," Artos said. "And far more dangerous than most who is just skilled in a sword. Would you not agree?"
Barristan gave a slow nod. "A loyal man can be the most dangerous of all. He may do the one thing no one expects."
Artos laughed softly. "Aye. And I paid for it."
In truth, the memory was still sharp.
A khal had been before him in the red waste, and the khal's blood rider had struck at him while the duel was still unfolding. The blade had opened Artos's eye before he could turn. The khal had nearly killed the rider for the insult, but Artos had stopped him. Later, after words and time and patience, the man had become Vakho, one of the most trusted men in his household. Treating him as the new Khal.
Artos let the thought go and clapped Barristan briefly on the shoulder before moving away.
There were arrangements to be made, and a feast to see prepared.
The Feast
By evening, Winterfell had been dressed for the king.
Great fires burned in the halls. Tables were laid with roasted meats, trenchers, bread, vegetables, and flagons of wine. The old castle, so often stern and cold, wore its hospitality well enough when it wished to. Servants moved in haste, stewards gave orders, and the sounds of a royal arrival filled the keep with life.
At the high table sat King Robert Baratheon, broad and loud and already well into his cups. On one side of him was Queen Cersei, pale and severe, with the look of a woman who would rather be anywhere else. Beside Robert sat Eddard Stark, grim as always but courteous, and near them Artos held his place with a calm that hid far more than it showed.
Lady Catelyn sat with the children and the rest of the Stark household. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Arty were all there, along with Jon, Bjorn, Aldric, and Sera. The queen's children were there too: Prince Joffrey, with his polished pride; Princess Myrcella, quiet and watchful; and little Tommen, soft-faced and far more innocent than his brother.
Margaery and Loras Tyrell were also in attendance, as were the royal retainers, the northern bannermen, and a fair number of household knights. Ser Barristan Selmy stood near the king's chair when needed, while the Hound watched with his usual sour silence from a little distance off, as though the whole hall had been built to offend him personally.
The feast was loud with toasts, laughter, and the usual northern hospitality. Robert drank freely. The younger children stared at the king and the queen and at the great spread of food with wide eyes. Arya looked ready to climb the hall if given half a chance. Bran watched the king with open fascination. Sansa, as ever, sat properly and looked every inch the little lady.
There was talk of old days, of the road south, of the warmth of the king's road compared to the cold of the North. Robert laughed loudly at nearly everything. He praised the food, the wine, the hall, and the memory of old battles, though not necessarily in that order. Ned remained mostly quiet, saying only what needed saying. Artos spoke when he had to, and when he did, it was usually enough to make Robert laugh harder.
The queen was less pleased. Cersei's eyes moved often, taking in the Starks, the northern customs, the size of the hall, the children, and the ease with which Robert filled the room. Joffrey watched the older boys with a dislike he made little effort to hide. His eyes drifted toward Sansa more than once, and the girl, though too young to fully understand the danger in that attention, noticed it all the same.
The Tyrells were more at ease. Margaery wore her composure like a garment, and Loras seemed almost amused by the whole thing. The feast, for him, was not unfamiliar, though Winterfell itself still carried the strange charm of a place far from the rest of the realm.
Bjorn ate with the steady appetite of a growing boy. Aldric watched more than he ate. Jon kept to himself, while Sera stayed close enough to her brothers to feel safe and close enough to her father to keep glancing his way whenever she could.
For a little while, the hall was only a hall, and a feast only a feast.
But then the king began to speak of more serious things.
A Solar Discussion
Later, after the feast had ended and the hall had quieted, Robert, Ned, and Artos met in a solar to drink and talk.
Each had a cup in hand.
The king did not waste time.
"Like I said before," Robert began, his tone already set in stubborn certainty, "I want a loyal man as Hand of the King. One who will not sell me to the snakes in King's Landing. That is why I have decided to wed Joffrey to your daughter, Sansa. It will bind us stronger. Baratheon and Stark together."
Ned exhaled slowly. Artos did the same.
Robert frowned at once. "What? That sounds like a good thing to me."
Ned spoke first. "Robert, it is not feasible."
"Aye," Artos said. "It is not."
Robert's temper rose at once. "Why?"
Artos set his cup down. "Because it would be political death for us. The North is loyal, aye, but loyalty must be fed, not merely expected. Ned's wife came from the south. I married a Braavosi. Robb is betrothed to a Tyrell. We cannot ignore the rest of the North and expect them to smile at it. Sansa cannot simply be given to Joffrey without consequences."
Robert looked irritated. "Then marry off your other children. This match is happening regardless."
Artos shook his head sharply. "The northern lords are proud men, Robert. If they see the Starks abandon the old ways, they will stop respecting us. We do not rule the North by force alone. We rule because they trust us. If they do not back the Starks, then no southron marriage means anything."
"Kill any who object," Robert snapped.
Even Ned's eyes narrowed. "That is not how it works, Robert. You know that. You fought beside northern men long enough to know that."
Robert leaned back, frustrated. "Sansa fancies my boy. You saw it at the feast. Let her decide for herself."
Artos's expression hardened. "She is a child. She fancies the prince from her mother's stories: a handsome boy on a white horse. You know damn well that is not the truth of him. She is innocent, and she is naive. I will not let my niece be handed a sword because she thinks it is a ribbon."
Robert's voice sharpened. "What do you mean by that? He is my son."
"You know exactly what I mean," Artos shot back. "He is also Tywin Lannister's grandson, and Tywin Lannister hates my brother and me with a fine and loyal passion. It was not your banner Joffrey carried, Robert. It was his mother's blood and his grandfather's name."
Ned's face had gone grim. "Artos speaks true. I will not put my daughter in danger. We all know what kind of man Tywin Lannister is. The man has killed a babe as it served him. I will not marry my daughter to his grandson."
Robert slammed his cup down. "Damn it all, Ned! You would be Hand of the King. Who would dare move against you? I'd smash the head of any man who tried. Sansa would be queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
The room had grown hot with anger by then.
Artos leaned forward. "It is not possible, Robert. I have already spoken with the Umbers about Sansa's marriage. Greatjon Umber is a loyal friend to the Starks, and his son, Smalljon Umber, is a good lad. A little older than Sansa, aye, but a fine match all the same. I have seen him grow up. It cannot be done."
Ned looked mildly surprised, though he gave nothing away. Robert, meanwhile, looked ready to explode.
"Then make some excuse to the Umbers," he said sharply. "I will write it myself."
Ned's answer was immediate. "No. We do not do that to the Umbers. They are loyal men. They bled for the Starks. They bled for you Robbert."
"Aye," Artos added, "and beyond that, there are other matches to think on. The Martells have a daughter near his age. That would soften the wound between crown and Dorne and give you a stronger alliance in the bargain."
Ned nodded once. "Artos speaks truth."
Robert's expression soured. "And you think the Martells would marry a daughter to any man tied to the Lannisters? Even a boy who looks like one?"
"We will see when the time comes," Artos said. "But Sansa will not be married to Joffrey."
Robert drank deep and then held out his cup for more. Artos took it and refilled it for him.
"Then what of Ned?" Robert asked.
Artos had already answered that once, but he answered again. "I have told you. I will not send my brother into the middle of the lions."
"So you are abandoning your king?" Robert said, rising in anger. "Is that the loyalty of the Starks?"
Artos shook his head. "No. The Starks are with you. Ned has bent the knee. That is enough for the North to follow. But I will not be a fool and let my brother be swallowed by the south when I know what it does to men. Starks do not do well there. That is why I will go with you as your Hand."
The words struck both men silent.
Ned turned toward him, startled. "Arty—"
Artos lifted a hand toward his brother. Not now. They would speak later.
Ned understood the gesture, though his expression said the matter would need far more than later.
Robert, for all his anger, laughed suddenly.
"That would be something to see," he said. "You in my court. I'd like to watch half my council and half the Lannisters lose their heads in a week. Gods, I would enjoy that. But not something I can or will do Artos "
Artos gave a tired exhale. "I am not the same man I was, Robert. I have changed. I do not even keep weapons now. I am more lord than warrior these days."
Ned, though still uncertain, nodded in support. "Aye. Artos has become more capable in this than I am. He has done much for the North in the last years. He knows the work, the roads, the harvests, the stores, the trade. He is a good Hand. Better than I would be. And he is loyal."
There was more argument after that, though not all of it loud. The three men spoke hard, drank, and spoke again. Robert cursed. Ned resisted. Artos pressed. At last the king gave ground, though not without making his own demand.
"All right," Robert said at last, grimacing into his cup, "I will accept Artos as Hand. But I want Sansa to go to King's Landing for a time. Let her stay there. Let her judge for herself. I will not back down on that."
Ned and Artos both agreed, though reluctantly. It stung them both, for the same reason: the south was still the south, and neither trusted it to keep hands off a Stark girl. But Artos would be with her.
Ned nodded. "That much is tolerable. But you will not press her toward Joffrey."
"Aye," Artos said. "And I want one more thing."
Robert eyed him suspiciously. "What?"
"I have seen the number of Lannisters in the capital," Artos said flatly. "Too many for my liking. If my niece is to go south, I want men of my own with her. Enough to discourage any foolishness. I will not trust Tywin Lannister with her safety."
Robert began to object, but Artos cut him off before the king could begin.
"I will pay the gold myself if need be , but I want them with her and me when we go.to Kings Landing
."
Robert grunted. "If you are paying, I care less. Bring them if you like. I am already sick of looking at those golden heads and thier smug grins."
Artos let out a slow breath and finally allowed himself the smallest sign of relief.
It was not perfect.
It was not what either Stark brother would have chosen.
But for the moment, it was enough.
And in Winterfell, in the shadow of the old kings, that sometimes had to be enough.
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Ah yes please check another book Jon 'The wild Wolf' it's a decent story and is of my friend . Please check the book out and Comment from Cregan Side . Show some love. Thanks
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