New Book Announcement
Announcement: A New Book!
I've started working on a new book, so make sure to check it out in my profile!
The book will be updated regularly as usual, so don't worry about long waits between chapters.
For my old readers, I might also try to reboot The Bloody Pack. I'm not completely sure about it yet, but I'll keep you updated.
As for the new book, I've taken a different approach this time. Expect more power struggles, political maneuvering, and action surrounding the Iron Throne—and this time, the MC is a Baratheon. 👑
So, go check out the new book on my profile, give it a read, and let me know what you think in the comments. Don't forget to add it to your library if you're enjoying it!
I hope you all enjoy the new story!
Regards,
Cregantheblackwolf
Chapter 133: Son of Artos
Robert shifted in his seat, looking distinctly unhappy about being forced to truly preside over something for once. He cleared his throat loudly enough to settle the murmuring hall into silence.
"Bjorn Stark," Robert said, his voice carrying with reluctant authority, "you stand accused of continuing an assault against Ser Gregor Clegane after your king ordered the fighting stopped, in violation of the King's peace, during a sanctioned tourney. How do you answer?"
The hall held its breath.
Bjorn's chin lifted, steady despite the weight of every eye in the room resting upon him.
"I—"
Bjorn took a huge breath and continued. "I did harm Gregor Clegane after the king called for peace," Bjorn said, his voice steady and carrying easily through the hall's expectant silence. "I do not deny it. I will not stand here and pretend otherwise."
A murmur swept through the assembled lords, quickly silenced as Robert raised a hand.
"You admit it, then." Robert's brow furrowed, some part of him clearly hoping for a more complicated answer than the one he had received.
"I admit the act. It was an unintended attack that all of you witnessed. I had already slowed my axe, but what happened after was out of my hands," Bjorn said. "So I will not acknowledge guilt, because I have none."
He said it plainly, shocking the lords and ladies. What happened was not truly surprising, but the way he said it was.
That distinction rippled through the hall louder than the admission itself had. Tywin's eyes sharpened with interest despite himself, and Lady Olenna's mouth curved into something that might have been approval, had her expression allowed for anything so generous.
It was Tywin who spoke first, rising just enough to be seen clearly by every judge present.
"A curious defense. The boy admits striking a man after the king's own voice called for peace, and yet claims innocence. Perhaps he would care to explain how those two things coexist."
"I think I have already said enough, Lord Tywin. It was unintentional. I respected the king's words. If not for that, I would have directly cleaved through the man's head for putting any of my family and friends in danger," Bjorn said with a scoff, before anyone could stop him.
Lord Edmure Tully shifted forward slightly, trying to put the focus back on the situation rather than the boy's words. After all, it was his nephew who had requested that he speak in Bjorn's favor.
"The boy raises a fair point. The order of events has already been discussed, and it matters greatly in a matter of this nature."
"Order of events," Tywin said, his tone flat, "does not excuse a second act of violence simply because it follows a first. If it did, every tourney in Westeros would end in a battlefield."
"With respect, Lord Tywin," Oberyn said, swirling a cup of wine he had somehow acquired despite the solemnity of the occasion, "your own knight nearly killed a man. I find myself struggling to summon much sympathy for the fine legal distinctions of who struck whom in what order, when that man is currently sitting in chains awaiting his own trial by combat for precisely that offense."
Oberyn seemed quite happy to speak against the monster, and he continued with his final blow.
"And of course, who could forget or deny his—and yours—past in these kinds of violence?"
He said it, making everyone in the room quite uncomfortable. A ripple of quiet, uneasy laughter moved through parts of the hall.
Tywin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, though his voice remained level.
"I hope Prince Oberyn can refrain from such slander. This trial concerns the boy, not Ser Gregor. I would ask the court to keep its focus where it belongs."
"The court's focus," Lady Olenna said, her voice dry as old parchment, "belongs wherever the court decides it belongs, Lord Tywin. Everyone here has been appointed a judge by His Grace. Everyone can speak their opinion, no matter how bitter it may seem."
Robert, looking increasingly like a man who wished very much to be anywhere else, cleared his throat again.
"Let's move this along, shall we? I require facts in this trial, not speeches."
For the better part of the next hour, that was precisely what the hall received—facts twisted and reframed by a dozen different tongues, until Bjorn could feel the irritating politics behind every word. He finally understood why his father had hated it in his younger days.
Well, until Lady Seraphine arrived in his father's life. Good lady she was. She had never treated Bjorn unfairly in his life.
Tywin's men pressed the same argument in a dozen different shapes: violence answered with violence was still violence, along with other different bullshit.
Bjorn stood through all of it, jaw tight, saying nothing further, trying to calm his blood and take the quieter way out. This had not been his initial plan, but his mother, Yor, had made him promise.
He sighed. After all that training and power, he still could not refuse his mother. Even his father backed down before her; what could Bjorn do?
It was Renly, oddly enough, who finally tipped something loose in him.
"Surely," Renly said, smiling that easy, practiced smile of his and addressing the judges rather than Bjorn directly, "the lords from the West jest. This trial has extended beyond what it needs to be."
"Sure they do. What else can they do?" Oberyn said lazily.
Laughter came again, sharper this time, and Renly's smile shinning brightly.
Lord Tywin stood.
"Do you think the king's words are a jape, Lord Renly? I am simply doing everything to protect His Grace's authority. Do you think any explanations and words could forgive someone who acted against His Grace's command? Do you think your brother's words are so fickle that anyone can go against his will?"
Renly scoffed at that, and so did everyone supporting Bjorn.
But they could not say much against it. It was a fact—molded, yes, but still an image that could be exploited, especially by a man who had served as Hand of the King to the Mad King for two decades.
But something in the phrases—optics, message, what does it say—settled wrong in Bjorn's chest, a small and sharp splinter that had been building through every careful word.
After all, he had listened to slander, facts, and japes, but he had little patience for it anymore—especially after all the bullshit Lord Tywin was speaking.
They were not talking about what happened.
They were talking about what could be made to look like it happened, and what story served each house best in the retelling.
"I think this is enough."
The words left him louder than he had intended, cutting clean through Tywin's sentence. The hall's attention snapped toward him all at once.
Bjorn had had enough of this bullshit. His voice was flat and hard in a way that made more than one lord in that hall go still.
"I hail from Skagos, in the North. We do not bow. We do not bend. We do not let anyone judge our actions."
He said it to the shock of the lords present.
Bjorn continued, ignoring everyone, and moved his eyes toward his uncles, Lord Eddard Stark and Stig, Chieftain of Skagos.
He put his hands toward them.
"I am here because I know how both my uncles, along with my father, fought for King Robert Baratheon and his throne. I wanted to respect that. But I have had enough of worthless lords and ladies judging me and my actions when I do not care for their judgment. I am Skagosi by blood. I cannot let myself be judged by those I do not acknowledge."
His eyes moved directly to Lord Tywin Lannister and the other western lords.
Eddard's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. Yor had gone utterly still. Stig had a smile on his face, seeing the Skagosi in him.
"You can debate the order of events," Bjorn continued, "or debate legal distinctions, debate what message my actions send to the realm. But you will do it after, because I am done standing here."
He turned deliberately toward the raised dais where Robert sat, crown on his head, seated upon the most powerful seat in the realm.
Bjorn grabbed the wooden pillar of the stand where he was being judged. He pulled it apart with his bare strength, showing the savage force in him.
"I am done standing here. For I am Bjorn, son of Artos Stark. I am my father's son. I am a warrior the realm would fear to forget. So, hereby, I invoke trial by combat."
Everyone was shocked. It could be taken as disrespect toward many in the hall, including the king.
Hearing this, Stig raised his hand and slammed it into his chest, joined by the many Skagosi warriors standing behind him.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye!"
All of them shouted.
"Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye! Aye!"
All of them shouted.
Normally, it would have been done with a weapon and shield. This was a warrior's challenge, and the Skagosi respected it more than anything. But they had none, so they had to improvise.
Robert stared down at Bjorn for a long moment. Something unreadable passed behind his tired eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something closer to grim respect for a boy who had just done what Robert himself had wanted to do more than once in his life.
"You sure, boy?"
The hall went utterly, completely silent.
"Let a blade decide what a hundred careful words cannot," Bjorn said. "I would rather face a man in the yard than a court full of men arguing over what my honor is worth in gold and favors owed."
Tywin's expression had gone carefully, dangerously blank.
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