Chapter 102: Attack on the Prince
At last, the day came when Lord Artos Stark was to leave Winterfell with the king.
The castle stirred with the motion of departure. Men moved through the yard in disciplined ranks, horses stamped in the cold, and pack animals were brought up under the watch of stewards and captains.
The road south would be long, and the company was too large to make haste.
Artos had not come lightly.
He took with him a thousand men, most of them Winter Guards and Demons , hardened in the service of Sea Dragon Point and shaped by years of brutal drill. Others among them had followed him from different corners of the world — men from Braavos, a few from Essos, and even a handful of Dothraki who had sworn themselves to him and since learned the ways of Westerosi steel and discipline with help of Ned taken by Artos.
He had not brought them by chance. He had brought them because he trusted them.
There were also the four who rode nearest his person, the men he trusted most.
Raka, the mountain clansman from the North who had once been counted among the DemonWolf's own savage ranks.
Vakho, the former Dothraki bloodrider, who had served Artos long enough to be more loyal and Northerner in bearing than many born to the North.
Beron, a Northman with old scars and a hard face, one of the first men to stand with Artos through the war against Robert, through the years in Essos, and through the Greyjoy conflict.
And Ethan, the youngest of the four, a Winter Guard of the newer breed — trained to fight with the discipline of an Unsullied, but tempered with the freedom and judgment of a man rather than the empty obedience of a slave.
Artos kept his eyes on them all, and on his nieces too.
He did not like the thought of leaving Sansa and Arya under any risk, not when the road south was so full of strangers, grins, and daggers hidden behind courtesy. If he could he let say in Winterfell with Thier father, he would have done so.
The column finally moved.
Winterfell fell behind them in the grey morning, and the North gave them its silent blessing.
The journey south took weeks.
With so many men, the road moved slowly. There was little chance of the fast, easy travel that a smaller company might have enjoyed. Instead there was order, and baggage, and horses, and the long business of keeping a great host together. Artos rode near the king more often than not, though he also spent time among his own men when he could.
The closer they came to the Neck and beyond it, the more the world seemed to shift around them. The north gave way to softer lands, then to the broad roads and busy villages that marked the kingdoms below.
At last they came to the Inn at the Crossroads.
There the king's party stopped, as such hosts must sometimes do, and for a time the road seemed to pause around them.
That evening, Robert Baratheon sat in better humor than he had in many days.
Artos had provided him with a cask of ale from his own brewery — rare, rich, and costly enough that few men in the realm could drink it often. Robert tasted it, frowned in surprise, and then laughed.
"Well," he said, setting the cup down after his drink, " Damn it's good , it's so rare in the markets ."
Artos gave a tired smirk. "It's takes time to brew that's why rare and Lords pay more for a rare thing."
Robert barked a laugh at that and poured himself another cup.
For a little while, the two men drank and talked ,they are in better than good terms.
They spoke of old battles, of the Rebellion, of men they had lost, and of the roads they had taken since.
Lyanna's name came up too, as it always did when the past found its way into a cup.
Robert was quieter when he spoke of her, though no less sure that he had loved her.
Artos looked into his drink for a long moment before he said it.
"I was never sure you deserved her."
Robert's eyes lifted at once, but there was no anger in them yet.
Artos went on, calm and grave. "You are a good man, Robert, in your own way. But Lyanna was too precious, too bright, too sweet for the life and habits that waited around you. I did not think you deserved her then, and I do not think it now."
Robert stared at him a moment, then gave a slow, sad nod accepting the words he knew came from a good place as Lya brother
"She was precious," Robbert said simply.
That was all.
It was enough.
A moment later, the peace of the room was broken.
A message arrived.
Robert took it, read it, and his face changed at once.
Daenerys Targaryen is to be wed to a Dothraki khal.
For a heartbeat the room seemed to harden around Robert's fury.
"They would dare, Viserys has wed her in exchange of army" he growled. "A Targaryen with a horse Lord . I want them dead."
Artos took the parchment from him and read it once before handing it back.
Robert turned on him. "Why are you so calm? Are you not worried?"
Artos gave him a flat look. "About a girl crossing the sea with a khalasar behind her? Not really I would worry about the boy who may be used to rally the realm."
Robert's jaw tightened. "Viserys?"
"Aye," Artos said. "He is the one who matters. Kill him, and you cut the claim before it can be fed. A girl married to a khal is not a trouble, but a living prince gives every foolish lord a banner to hide behind."
Robert snorted. "You speak as though this were simple."
"It is not simple," Artos said. "But it is easier than you think. We can kill Viserys. He is the one men will gather around. The woman will be with the Dothraki, and the Dothraki do not cross the Narrow Sea in truth."
Robert's anger remained plain, but he listened.
Artos leaned back and continued, his voice low and practical. "This is Westeros, Robert. Especially the south. Not every lord will rally to a girl. Half of them would turn the other way if it meant safety. The Reach would be cautious with thier daughter married to North. The Riverlands is with us The North will not bend to a Targaryen child. The Stormlands are yours. The Vale can be managed. The Westerlands I don't like them, but even they with you , He is your Father in Law. Dorne will not move for them. They hate the Lannisters too much , but they are not fools to fight five Kingdoms"
Robert's face darkened. "And the Dothraki?"
"Will not cross," Artos said. "Not if they are made to understand what it would cost them."
Robert slammed his hand against the table. "And if they do?"
Artos did not blink. "Then we meet them with fire and steel. But they will not. They are riders, not conquerors of cities. I know them, Robert. Better than most men in your kingdom could ever claim. I have dealt with them. I will deal with this. Once they hear it's me they will back down."
Robert stared at him, anger and uncertainty mixed together.
"You have dealt with them?"
Artos's mouth tightened. "Aye. I did fought...."
He is about to say more, but the door was flung open before he could.
Queen Cersei entered in a fury, her voice high and sharp.
"They have injured our son!"
Robert turned immediately. "What?"
"They injured Joffrey!" she cried. "They have done him harm."
The king's face hardened at once.
"Enough," he said. "We will speak of this later." Robbert said to Artos about Dothrakis situation
Artos came out into the yard and saw Sansa near Lannister guards and his men already there and secured her though it took some glares
"Leave her , She is lady of Starks . Don't you know what happens if something has harmed her." Artos shouted.
His old reputation of DemonWolf or He is the Hand , he didn't knew which but they left her .
He took one look at the Sansa and knew.it somehow involved them, and the curse left him before he could stop it.
"Fuck."
His men moved immediately at the motion of his hand. They began to spread out, secure the area,
Artos's gaze had gone from Sansa to the others in a heartbeat.
He tried to ask questions and only get half baked answer. He knew she is shaken muttering her thoughts rather than answers.
"Get the Sansa away from this," he snapped
"Ethan take her to the camp and protect her and kill anyone who tries to enter"
Ethan nodded without any hesitation and take the men to set perimeter.
"And you three find Arya and secure her and ask what happened and ask her about any witness and secure them also if any. Kill anyone who tries to put hand on her."
Beron and Raka moved without hesitation.
Vakho already had one hand near his sword. He may become Westorosi in attire and language but still as eager to kill and die as a Dothraki
Artos's eyes remained fixed on the yard.
The south had not even properly begun, and already it was showing its teeth.
....
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