Chapter 76: The Weight of Blood
Artos remembered the time his world collapsed. Collapsed what he knew or believed
Artos had been at Last Hearth long enough to let the place loosen him by degrees.
That was the danger of warmth. Fire in the hearth. Ale in the cups. Men who knew how to laugh without pretending the world was kind. GreatJon had been in one of his better moods, Benjen had been doing his usual work of making everyone around him suffer, and newly arrived Stig had sat with the same quiet severity he always wore, saying little and watching everything , not serious at all. Artos had almost begun to relax into it.
Then Stig had set his cup down.
"I came here for a reason," he said.
Benjen drunk hurled "That sounds suspiciously like the start of something inconvenient."
Stig ignored him and looked at Artos.
"Grandfather sent me due to the request of Yor."
That drew Artos's attention at once. "Yor?"
"Aye." Stig's voice was flat, unadorned. "She said you should know."
GreatJon's smile widened, though he had not yet been told anything. "Now this I like. A man travels all this way for a woman's message. That means trouble." Although he had an idea what is about to happen. He had heard the rumours about the Yor and Artos situation.
Benjen pointed at Stig. " So it's really true . The rumours isn't it. "
Artos really confused now "What rumours?"
Stig gave neither of them the satisfaction of a response. His gaze stayed on Artos. "You have a son."
GreatJon spilled his drink at the absurdity of how the news is delivered.
Benjen also shook his head at the behaviour of Stig.
But for Artos The words landed with brutal simplicity.
For a long moment, Artos did not move.
The hall continued around him. Fire burned but Artos went completely still.
"A son," he repeated at last, as if the words belonged to another man.
Stig nodded once. "Four years old."
Benjen made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh and then looked away, clearly trying not to enjoy himself too openly.
GreatJon, on the other hand, leaned back in his seat and stared at Artos with open delight.
"Well," Benjen said, "that explains a great many things. I always knew you had more trouble in you than sense. I am surprised that you don't have more."
Artos turned slowly toward him. "Don't Say another word, Benji . "
Benjen's grin sharpened. "Another word? I'm impressed you found enough time between vanishing , having turmoils with Ned and brooding to father a child and forget about it."
GreatJon slapped the table and laughed hard enough to shake the cups. "Old Gods save us, Arty , you look like a man struck by lightning."
"How, i am a father now?" Artos muttered. Totally confused and suprised and shocked.
That only made GreatJon laugh harder.
But Stig remained exactly where he was, steady and unreadable. He had not come to mock Artos, and that was somehow worse. He had come because Yor wanted Artos to know, and because that truth had to be spoken at last. Even Grandfather wanted him to know.
Artos dragged a hand over his mouth, trying to steady himself, but the shock had already gone too deep. "Why didn't she come herself?"
Stig answered without hesitation. "Because she didn't want to leave the boy. The Grandfather also didn't want her to come. "
Benjen barked a laugh. "That sounds like a woman with sense."
Artos shot him a glare.
GreatJon's amusement softened by a fraction. "You don't look good ."
"No," Artos said quietly. "I am not."
That was the truth of it. Not anger. Not pride. But Fear.
Because having a son means responsibility. Not something that could be ignored or set aside. He is A living, breathing piece of him somewhere in the world, growing without him, existing without his knowledge, and perhaps without his protection. That thought hit harder than any blade or enemy ever could.
Stig watched him with the calm of a man appraising a crack in steel. "he's safe with us , he is our family you know. Yor too." he said after a moment.
Artos's breath caught just slightly.
"Yor would not have sent me if it wasn't the case," Stig continued.
That eased something in Artos, though not enough to settle him.
Benjen, mercifully for once, did not press too far. Instead he leaned back and said, "Well. That is one way to announce the news. Atleast It was quiet."
GreatJon snorted. "Quiet? You call this quiet?"
"It is quiet , Stark started becoming a father, that's a gossips for the Lord even more than the thing Artos did." Benjen replied.
Despite himself, Artos coughed up.
Artos was on his feet before he fully understood why.
The chair scraped back. GreatJon's expression sharpened. Benjen's teasing fell away. Stig stood as still as ever, but his eyes moved toward the Artos with immediate attention.
Everyone waiting for Artos to recover from the news.
Artos now emotional and shocked " what's his name "
" Bjorn. Named after a Old Lord of Magnars."
Artos nodded at the name " Bjorn , it sounds strong."
Later, on the ship with the sea moving black beneath him, Artos could still hear Stig's voice.
A son.
Four years old.
His son
He sat alone with that truth and felt something in him split cleanly open beneath the weight of it. He had fought wars, bled in cold halls, and survived enough grief to think he understood the shape of suffering. He had been wrong.
This was different.
This was not a battlefield wound. This was a life he had never known he had been living away from. A child who carried his blood. A boy old enough to speak, to walk, to ask questions, and perhaps to wonder why his father had never come.
That thought made his stomach turn.
Not because he did not want him.
Because he did.
Because the very idea of a son had already taken root in him with terrible speed. Because now that he knew, he could not stop himself from imagining the boy's face, his voice, his habits, the look in his eyes.
Because every one of those thoughts came with the fear that he was already too late.
Behind him, the ship creaked softly.
Artos shut his eyes once, hard.
When he opened them again, the fear was still there. But now it had a shape.
Responsibility.
Dread.
A strange, unbearable awe.
And for the first time in a long while, Artos Stark felt truly unarmed.
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