Chapter 75: Threads Tighten
Artos did not linger in the North for long.
Last Hearth had seen enough of him by now, enough blood, enough laughter, enough silence. The hall still remembered the fool who had spoken too freely, and men still lowered their voices when Artos passed.
That, more than anything, told him what he needed to know. He had made his point. The North had heard him. The rest could wait.
So when the time came to go, he did not make a ceremony of it. He spoke a few words with GreatJon, clapped Benjen once on the shoulder, and let the rest be understood without being said. Seraphine came with him, as she always seemed to now, wrapped in fur.
Artos introduced her to Benjen who suprised at the introduction.
Artos settling seems odd to Benjen but Nonetheless he met her. Benjen like her. She was beautiful, graceful and everything a man could ask for. Benjen teased Artos about this which annoyed Artos a lot.
Artos now sailing back to Bravos thinking back to Last Hearth.
"Are you sure you want to leave again so soon?" she asked him , her voice muffled under her cloak.
Artos glanced at her and gave a crooked smile. "No. But that has never stopped me. I need to do a lot of things back there. So do you. You can't be absent from there for a long time. Even this much would be already causing a scandal in the Bravos."
That was answer enough for her and she nodded agreeing with him.
Behind them, the North stood cold and unbending, but Artos did not look back too long. Essos still had unfinished business for him, and he knew it. Braavos had not forgotten him, and neither had the people there who had begun to measure him as more than just another sellsword.
In Braavos,
Glaro Sythan stood with his hands behind his back and listened while men far better paid than they should have been spoke to him about numbers, routes, and names.
He did not interrupt them often. That was not his way. He had learned, through patience and bruises both, that men revealed more when they believed themselves important enough to speak freely.
A trader from the eastern docks wrung his hands. "The Valens still have support in the harbor circles, yes. But the Sythan influence is growing. More quietly. More steadily. Faster than the rumours of the Valen Princess."
Glaro gave the smallest nod. "Good."
The man hesitated. "Although There are still some who remain loyal to Lady Valen's house. Believing that they would survive the storm that lays ahead."
"Of course there are," Glaro said dryly. "There are always fools who remain loyal to old names long after those names lost thier relevance. Like the Valens" he speaks with arrogance
Another man, older and more cautious, spoke next. "But if the Sythans press too hard, my lord, it may cause resistance."
Glaro turned his head just enough to look at him. "Everything causes resistance remove them . We would win this game by hook or crook" he spoke with hatred and his bashed pride and ego.
No one answered that.
He walked slowly toward the window, looking out over the canals and rooftops, his mind already moving ahead of the men who served him. "The Sythans are growing, Valens are losing its relevance. It's the best time for us to be the new Elite family and become the influencial power in Bravosi Politics."
The first trader bowed his head. "Yes , My Lord."
Glaro smiled faintly. "Exactly."
One of the men, braver than the rest, asked, "And what about Lady Seraphine? Are you still pursuing her My Lord."
That made the room still a touch more.
Glaro's jaw tightened, though only slightly. "She has made herself a problem but I would claim her when the time will come. I would keep that bitch as my personal bitch." He said with a creepy and crazy look on his face
A pause.
Then he added, "For now, Let the Sealord think he is balancing something useful. Men like him prefer to watch the board before moving a piece. I can work with that."
The men nodded. They understood enough to know that their lord was a crazy and psychotic person.
In another chamber of Braavos,
Lord Valen was not nearly so calm.
He sat with a letter crushed in one hand and a goblet untouched beside him, his expression stiff with frustration. One of his household men stood nearby, silent and sweating, which only made the mood worse.
"She is still with him?" Lord Valen asked.
The answer came carefully. "So the reports say, my lord."
Valen let out a hard breath through his nose. "Then the girl has gone and made a mockery of her own name."
The servant did not respond.
Valen rose from his chair and paced once across the chamber. "Hal . A northman with blood on his hands and a reputation that seems to attract fools and trouble in equal measure. And she chose him. Or let herself to be with him without telling me, which may be worse."
He stopped and turned. "Do you know what the city says?"
The servant swallowed. "It says many things, my lord."
"It says enough," Valen snapped. "It says our daughter has gone wandering with a mercenary. It says we have not kept her close enough. It says the Valens do not control their own blood."
He threw the letter onto the table with more force than was needed. "And all of it makes us look weak."
The servant bowed his head.
Valen's voice dropped, though the anger remained in it. "The Sythans are moving carefully. That is what this scandal does. It gives other houses room to breathe around our throat."
He rubbed at his face, then muttered, "I should have seen this sooner."
A voice from near the door spoke at last. "What would you have me do, my lord?"
Valen looked up, and the weariness in his face was plain for a moment before it hardened again. "What can be done? Quiet the talk where you can. Strengthen the accounts. Tighten the household. Speak to the merchants who still remember who stood above them before these new games began."
He paused, then added bitterly, "And pray that my daughter remembers she is a Valen."
No one spoke after that.
Outside, Braavos glittered in evening light, rich and beautiful and hungry. Inside, three men sat with their thoughts, each one trying to hold a different part of the same
unraveling thread.
And far away to the north,
Artos Stark sail Essos again, carrying his troubles with him like he always did. But this time he has a trouble that making him nervous.
Seraphine" Are you sure you are okay. You seemed troubled from past few days " asked who was standing nearby.
"It's nothing Sera, " Artos said to her with her new nickname
She sighs " You know you could talk to me if there is anything. You seemed lost and troubled. Is it the Feast incident " Seraphine said hinting.
Artos smiled" No, it's okay , nothing like that Just Homesick. It's getting late you should go and rest "
Seraphine nodded and moved to rest.
Artos smiled seeing her going away but immediately thinks back to Last Hearth when he met with Stig and heard to the most surprising and unbelievable thing he heard.
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