Chapter 139: Unorthodox Artos
"And he wants me to mentor Joffrey."
The solar went silent.
Eddard stared at him for a long, unblinking moment, as though waiting for the rest of the sentence—some crucial detail that would make the words he had just heard make sense.
None came.
Then, slowly and inevitably, Eddard Stark began to laugh—loud, genuine, helpless laughter that startled the guard stationed outside the solar door and left Artos scowling across the desk with the particular, wounded dignity of a man who had not intended his announcement to be quite this funny.
"What?" Artos said, slightly annoyed. "You don't think I can mentor him?"
Ned finally managed to stop laughing, though he still could not wrap his head around Arty mentoring Prince Joffrey.
"No. It's not that, Arty. It's just—you, raising him. It doesn't seem like a real thing happening to me. I've seen how harsh you are on your own blood. I'm laughing imagining what you would do to a prince. I can see you drowning the prince in water if he could not complete the tasks and exercises you gave him."
"I'd be gentler. I am training a prince, Ned," Artos said, entirely unconvincingly.
"Your men broke Bjorn's ribs when he was twelve just to train him. It was hell, Arty," Ned said with a scoff.
"He needed to learn to fight even through pain," Artos said. "And you cannot deny the effectiveness. What do you think made him win against the Mountain, or that mercenary in the trial?"
Ned shook his head, still grinning. "Gods help the prince. But still, you do not like the prince. What made you agree?"
Artos smiled. "Well, other than making that prick suffer, we do need our Next king with some capability. We still need influence over the next king after Robert. It does not matter much to the North, but it still helps."
Ned nodded, but an uncomfortable feeling rose inside him after listening to Artos speak about the next king. He thought of someone—someone in the North who deserved it more than anyone.
But he let the thought go eventually. There were regrets in doing that, but it was for the good of the realm.
At least, that was what Ned told himself.
Deep down, he knew he was not being honest.
They spent the better part of the next hour talking through the shape of it.
"Tywin's grip has slipped," Artos said, leaning back in his chair. "He is at his weakest now. So, Robert is freer to move than he has been in years. The queen will be less influential than before. She still gives him threats from time to time, but it is better than before."
He paused.
"Even if Robert does something against the Lannisters, there will be no Tywin Lannister as a creditor breathing down his neck, no queen with teeth sharp enough to bite back the way she used to."
Ned smiled at that. "That is good, then. Less trouble for you. I am glad for you."
But something else had settled behind his eyes, something that had not fully surfaced yet. Ned was hesitating to ask something.
Artos noticed it easily enough. He had spent a lifetime learning to read his brother's silences.
"Aye, I will be freer and able to focus on the Small Council. There is something I have been delaying. I suppose it is time for that." Artos paused, studying Ned. "But I do not think that is what you want to talk about."
Ned sighed. "Yes. I want to talk about something else, but…"
Artos smiled.
"Why are you hesitating, brother? I am your blood, Ned," Artos said, more direct now. "What is there to hesitate about between us?"
Ned exhaled slowly, some of the humor draining out of his face.
"I have doubts," he said at last. "About the decision you told me about before. Are you certain of it?"
Artos's expression changed completely, becoming more serious than ever. Something in his posture went still.
"There is still time," Ned continued. "It is early yet. Too early, by the realm's standards. It is not how these things are supposed to happen, Arty. I am not saying you are wrong. I am saying I worry what the realm will make of it once it is known."
He hesitated, then added, "This is not a simple decision. It will create a precedent among the lords. Many will talk about it."
Artos was quiet for a moment, turning the concern over the way he turned over most things—slowly, without rushing past it.
"Do not worry about the realm," he said eventually, trying to comfort his brother. "I believe it is the right decision. For me. For Bjorn. It is radical, aye. I will not pretend otherwise. But I believe in it."
Ned held his gaze, searching for something—doubt, perhaps, or the crack in his brother's certainty that would let him argue further.
He found none.
"Ignore the realm for now," Artos said again, quieter this time. "Just be there. Throne room, tomorrow. That is all I ask. Bjorn would want you there. You are his uncle, after all."
Ned nodded slowly and sighed.
"I'll be there."
---
The Following Morning
The throne room had been prepared with more ceremony than the occasion likely warranted. Banners hung freshly from the walls. The floor had been swept clean of whatever remained from the trials days before, though the memory of blood still seemed to linger in the stone, regardless of how thoroughly the servants had scrubbed it.
Robert sat upon the Iron Throne with more authority in his bearing than he had carried in weeks. His crown was settled properly for once, his back straight. The particular weight of kingship seemed easier to bear now that certain debts and certain threats had finally loosened their grip on him.
The hall had filled steadily since morning—lords and ladies still lingering in King's Landing after the trials, Northern banners mixed among Southern ones. Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd about what could warrant an announcement grand enough to summon half the realm's remaining nobility back into the throne room so soon after everything it had already witnessed.
Eddard stood near the front, with Stig and Yor beside him. Sansa and Robb stood among the Northern lords, exchanging quiet, uncertain glances. Neither had been told what this gathering was actually for.
Artos stood near the throne, hands folded behind his back, his expression carefully composed in a way that told Eddard—watching closely—that whatever was coming had been planned with far more precision than the casual conversation in the solar had suggested.
Robert rose from the throne, and the hall settled into expectant silence.
"We have gathered here today," Robert said, his voice carrying easily through the vast chamber, "for a very important occasion."
He paused, his eyes flicking briefly toward Artos. Something unreadable passed between them.
"One I imagine," Robert continued, "the realm did not expect to see. Yet it is an event that will eventually be written in the annals of history as a defining moment."
The hall's silence deepened, tension threading through the gathered crowd like something drawn tight and waiting to snap.
---
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