Chapter 113: The Lord of Sea Dragon Point
That night, they dined together in one of the rooms of the Tower of the Hand.
The meal was ample, the wine good, and the company made the whole thing feel more like a council than a supper.
Artos sat at the head of the table. Robb on one side, Loras at the other end with Margaery nearby Robb, Bjorn farther down, and Wylla beside him. Ethan stood near the wall until Artos gave him a look and motioned for him to remain where he was.
The room settled.
Artos took a sip of wine, set the cup down, and smiled.
"This is a feast," he said. "But it is also a meeting, and a useful one. You are in King's Landing now, representing your houses and your influence. It is a good time to reflect your image and reputation among the lords and men of the realm."
No one argued, as everyone was at least decent at politics by now.
He turned to Robb first.
"You are here as the heir of Winterfell. That means every lord in the city will look at you and judge the North by your posture, your words, your temper, and your decisions. You represent the future of the Starks and their strength."
Robb nodded once and smiled. He had heard this kind of lesson before.
"You, along with Margaery, will be the most dangerous thing in the room wherever you are. You need to be prepared for it. You both represent a unity and alliance that I myself forged in war. So be a couple that represents that, one that says unity among Starks and Tyrells. I know the old lady has given you enough lessons since childhood, Margaery, so this should not be a problem for you. Help Robb become familiar with it. You are more used to southern politics than he is."
That made her laugh softly.
"I am flattered. I will help him. Uncle "
"You should be," Artos said, smiling.
"Flattery is how women rule the court. You have learned from the best."
He was complimenting the Lady Tyrell. Although he did not like the woman too much, he could not deny her political acumen.
Robb hid a grin behind his cup. "I will be in your care, my lady."
He turned to Bjorn.
"As for you, you are here as a future northern lord. But people will want a lot of things from you. You are my heir after all. I know you do not like it being a Lord, but you are my son, my blood. Everyone in the city will want to know whether you are like me or more tamed. You will do for Robb what I have done for Ned. Be the big, bad wolf. But never let them think you are only muscle. I know you have a mind. Use it."
Artos felt nostalgic saying it. These were some of the words his father had once used on him. He smiled inwardly but continued.
"And that is why I said to bring Wylla along. She will help you along the way."
Bjorn made a face. "I know how to use a sword better than a quill."
"If I were a fool, you could have said that," Artos replied. "And I would have believed you. But I am not a fool, am I?"
That brought a low laugh from Loras and Robb, with Bjorn sighing.
Artos went on.
"Wylla, you will remain close to him and close enough to the rest of us when you can. Although he has brains up there, he also has anger and rage in his head."
Wylla inclined her head. "Yes, Uncle Arty."
"Good. Though You could call me father, rather than uncle," Artos said with a teasing smile.
That made Margaery's eyes brighten with amusement.
Then Artos turned at last to Loras.
"I have a request for you, if you would accept."
Loras looked up sharply. "I beg your pardon?" He had never known Artos to make requests.
Artos leaned back and smiled.
"This is the Hand's Tourney, and I thought there should be some representation of House Sea Dragon Point in the lists. You are my ward, and I have trained you myself. If there is to be a someone riding for us, it should be you. So I am thinking if you should wear my house sigil in the lists, representing us."
Artos's request shocked many.
For one heartbeat, Loras said nothing.
Then his face changed.
The surprise came first. Then joy. Then the sort of gratitude that came so fast it almost looked like relief.
He sat straighter in his chair.
"Me?" he asked.
"Yes, you," Artos said, smirking. "Unless you think otherwise. It is a request. If you want, you can still use the Tyrell sigil and fight in the tourney."
Loras laughed once, breathlessly, then half rose from his seat before remembering himself.
"It would be my honor, Uncle."
Artos smiled at that. "I am happy to hear it. Though I warn you, you will make some enemies when you wear that sigil."
"I am eager," Loras said, smiling now. "I do not mean to be ungrateful by refusing. I am honored. Truly."
Artos watched him for a moment, and something in his expression softened.
Good.
Loras had been raised in two worlds, and both had shaped him. Reach and North. He had admired Artos since childhood. He had made various attempts to get Artos to train him himself. It had taken a lot of effort, but in the end it had been worth it. So it truly was an honor for him to wear the sigil of the man who had been his inspiration and master especially in a tourney held in Artos's honor.
"Then ride well," Artos said. "I know you can win. I have trained you, after all," he added with a laugh.
Loras's smile widened. "Of course. I will make that name and sigil shine."
Margaery, who had been listening with interest, tilted her head.
Bjorn, on the other hand, looked as though he had no idea whether to be offended or impressed at that. He had a lot of anger in him.
Artos knew it. He also knew Bjorn was angry at him for a great many reasons. He wanted many different things, but Artos was pushing him into things he may not have wished.
Artos saw that and let it stand. He knew he would have to address it, and soon.
He finished the wine in his cup and set it down.
The conversation shifted after that, as it often did when the important matters had been placed on the table.
Robb asked many questions.
Loras and Margaery answered some of them before Artos could.
Bjorn spoke little, but when he did, it was plain he was listening hard.
Wylla remained quiet, but her eyes missed nothing. She also helped Bjorn understand a great deal more, giving him a new perspective on things.
Margaery, as Artos expected, began to understand the city almost as quickly as he spoke of it.
By the time the meal was over, Artos had a better sense of where each of them stood than he had before it began.
That, too, was the point.
It was days later, after the evening had faded, that Artos found Bjorn alone. He knew he had to address some things with Bjorn, and that night seemed as good as any.
The boy had gone out onto one of the quieter terraces, where the city lights below gave little comfort and the wind flowed cold.
Artos found him leaning on the stone wall, looking out over the dark shape of King's Landing.
"You are brooding," Artos said as he approached.
Bjorn gave a short snort. "No, Father. What are you talking about?"
"Do you truly think I would not notice if my own son were brooding or not?"
Bjorn turned a little, enough to show he was listening.
"It must be a misunderstanding, Father. I am okay."
Artos did not answer at once.
He knew exactly what Bjorn meant.
He moved close and put his hands on Bjorn's face and neck.
Bjorn tried to turn his face away, but Artos did not let it happen.
"You are angry at me, are you not?" Artos said.
"No." Bjorn shook his head.
Artos smiled mockingly. "Oh, I know, son. You are angry at me. Angry that I placed the burden of lordship on you instead of Jon. Angry that you wanted to be a warrior rather than a lord. Angry at how cold and harsh I am toward you compared to your siblings, Aldric and Sera. Angry that I am making you marry Wylla without your wishes. I know all of it."
"No, Father, that is not it. I have nothing like that."
Bjorn rejected the notion and pushed Artos's hand away.
Artos smiled mockingly after seeing this. "Come on. Hit me if you are angry."
"No." Bjorn shook his head.
Artos mocked Bjorn further. "Where is my famed wolf blood in you? Or your Skagosi anger? Hit me."
He slapped Bjorn across the face after saying it.
Bjorn took the slap but did not react, though anger burned in him. "You are my father. How could I hit you?"
Artos hit him again on the other side this time. "Afraid? Afraid to hit a retired old man who haven't touched a sword in years?" he said, angering Bjorn more.
Bjorn replied, angry, "You know it is not like that. You know I would not hit you, my own father."
Artos laughed at him. "Hahaha. I order you to attack me. I want to see how capable my warrior son is," he said, angering Bjorn beyond measure.
"HIT ME!" Artos shouted.
That seemed to break Bjorn's patience, and he attacked his father.
Bjorn came at Artos heavily. He was young, fast, strong, and large.
But Artos dodged and punched him in the nose.
Thud.
It bloodied at once. Blood began to flow from his nose. But that only seemed to anger Bjorn more, encouraging him rather than stopping him.
He attacked again, but Artos dodged and slapped him. He attacked again, and Artos dodged and slapped him again. It continued in a loop for some time.
Bjorn was on the ground.
"Enough for now. Pathetic attempt it was," Artos said, angering Bjorn even more.
Artos held out a hand to help Bjorn up from the ground.
Bjorn glared at it, uncertain whether to take it or not.
Artos smiled. "Take it, you fool. I am still your father."
Bjorn took it and grunted in anger.
"Do you remember my words from the feast?" Artos asked.
Bjorn, still angry and battered, asked, "Which words?"
"About your anger," Artos said.
Bjorn thought about it and said, "You said something like, do not ever let them think you are only muscle. I know you have a mind. Use it."
Artos nodded. "Aye. My father said something like this to me once."
"What did he say?" Bjorn asked in frustration at being battered by his father.
Artos smiled. "He said I was a clever lad, but that I always chose rage over reason."
Bjorn thought about the similarities between that and what Artos had just told him.
But Artos did not let him think for long.
"That was the last thing he ever said to me," Artos said.
The words shocked Bjorn.
Artos grew more solemn. "I regret that day. I know I could have gone to the Riverlands to my brother Brandon and sister Lyanna and maybe stopped the tragedy that happened to us. But I was a fool, fueled by pride, rage, wolf blood, and arrogance, so I chose to leave for the Umbers."
Bjorn listened seriously. He had never seen his father this vulnerable and emotional.
Artos smiled now, looking straight at Bjorn.
"When I saw you for the first time, you were not an infant but a child. But I knew one thing. You are my blood, my son. You resembled me so much. As you grew up, I could see my anger in you, my blood, my famed wolf blood in you."
He placed his hand on Bjorn's face again, but this time with fatherly love.
"I could see myself in you," Artos smiled. "You are my blood, my heir, my son, my pride, my everything." Artos smirked. "But I know you are also the Demonwolf that I once was."
Artos paused.
Bjorn took in all of it, his emotions swelling as well, seeing the love he had craved for so long now offered so freely.
"You feel your lordship is a cage for you. You grew up listening to your uncle Stig about my philosophy in life, living as a warrior until the end. I know, son, you wanted to be me from the beginning. You admired me, listened to your uncle Stig speak of my thoughts and how I saw life."
Artos continued, "And yes, those are my true thoughts about living as a warrior and dying as one. To never be caged by lordship. But right now I know better. You are right. It is a cage. A cage of responsibilities that I wanted you to be protected by, so you would not become as lost as I was."
"I am grateful I did not die as a warrior in Essos," Artos said. "I am grateful I survived, because I got to see you, Aldric, and Sera — my own blood and children, my legacy, my heart."
"So hate me if you will. But when you have your own child, you will know how I am feeling at this moment. How I feel for you and for the others I have raised or helped raise," Artos explained.
Bjorn looked at him then.
Artos continued, his tone even.
"You were born with a fiercer sort of heart. You were born out of wedlock, and some may call you a bastard, but that is no shame to me. You are my pride, son. You are my rage and blood now. You are my pride and arrogance. You understand?"
Bjorn was silent a long moment.
He let it settle. It was a lot to take in.
For a while, the two of them stood in silence, the city below them breathing in torchlight and smoke.
Artos looked out over the city again and let the moment remain where it was.
Then, after a pause, he added, "You understand, son. You are my pride."
Bjorn stared at him a little longer, then looked back out across King's Landing and nodded.
"Yes, Father. I understand."
Artos smiled. "Good. I would not want a stupid son, now would I?" he said, lightening the mood.
Bjorn snorted too.
Below them, the city burned with a thousand small lights.
Above them, the night stretched wide and cold.
And somewhere between the two, Artos Stark stood as if he meant to keep Bjorn from swallowing himself whole.
"You are right, Father. Wylla is too cute to live otherwise, anyways," Bjorn said, japing with a mixture of seriousness and humor.
"I know, right? That is a good gal. I knew I had chosen well for you. But I did not know my son would fall in love so fast with her,"
Artos said, teasing Bjorn.
Bjorn shook his head. "It is not love, Father."
"Of course," Artos said with a sarcastic face and tone. "I will believe you."
...
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