Chapter 140: Lord of Sea Dragon Point
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.
Robert gestured, and the announcement passed from king to Hand without further ceremony.
Artos stepped forward, boots echoing against the stone, and let the silence stretch a moment longer before he spoke.
"I stand before you today looking to announce something that may have various consequences in the future and despite knowing that, I Artos Stark , Hand of the King. I wish..." Artos said, voice carrying easily to every corner of that vast hall, he took a huge breath and continued"..to relinquish my seat as Lord of Sea Dragon Point."
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward through the assembled lords in a wave of murmured disbelief.
"In my stead," Artos continued, unmoved by the noise rising around him, "my seat, my lands, and my titles passes to my eldest, Bjorn , effective from this second, before gods and witnesses both."
The murmuring sharpened into open, startled conversation. Never, in living memory, had a lord willingly abandoned his seat while still breathing, still capable, still holding every reason to keep what was his. Lords died in battle, in bed, in fevered sickness, and passed their titles down through the natural order of things. They did not simply hand them away. Especially Without any unforeseen circumstances no Lord ever has and It also create a precedent and a pathway for Young Man to be bit more reckless, A truly reckless decision that could drown the realm in battles of succession. A decision truly worthy of Demon of the North.
Tywin's eyes had narrowed with open, calculating interest. Lady Olenna's fan had stilled mid-motion. Oberyn leaned toward Lord Eddard, murmuring something too quiet to carry, though his expression had shifted into something closer to fascination than surprise.
Eddard exhaled slowly, a quiet, resigned sound only Stig beside him caught. He had known this was coming. Still he couldn't come to acceptance of this.
'Gods, Arty. What are you thinking.'
He did not know entirely what his brother was thinking, not really, not the full shape of it, and that uncertainty sat uneasily in his chest even as he understood, on some deeper level, exactly why Artos might have choose this and he didn't like one bit. His brother is not very sane sometimes.
Robert rose again, letting the murmurs settle before continuing. "Let it be known, then, that House Stark's hold on Sea Dragon Point passes intact, and Whoever rules the Seat of Sea Dragon point are the direct Vassals of the House Stark of Winterfell." His eyes found Bjorn among the crowd. "Come forward, boy. You also Lord Eddard Stark."
Bjorn stepped out from among the Northern lords, and walked the length of the hall toward the dais with every eye in that chamber following him.
Eddard moved as well, stepping forward from where he'd stood at the crowd's edge, some understanding passing silently between uncle and nephew as they came to stand facing one another before the throne.
Bjorn knelt towards his Uncle.
It was not the reluctant, hesitant kneel of a man forced into ceremony he didn't respect. It was deliberate, controlled, the same rare gesture the Skagosi reserved only for moments that mattered—the same gesture he'd offered his uncle once before, in that same hall, asking permission to risk his life.
"Lord Eddard Stark," Bjorn said, voice steady, carrying clearly through the silent chamber. "As Lord of Sea Dragon Point, I come before you to swear my allegiance, as is owed from vassal to liege."
Eddard studied his nephew for a long moment, something complicated moving behind his eyes—pride, certainly, but also the particular weight of watching a boy step fully into a role that would follow him for the rest of his life.
"I swear," Bjorn continued, "my sword, my service, and my loyalty to House Stark and to Winterfell, from this day until my last. I swear upon the Old Gods That I and my son's and His Son's after him and his son's after him will all serve The House Stark of Winterfell with our utmost Loyalty. Let Your enemies be ours and Yours Wars be Ours. "
"I Eddard of House Stark accepts your oath," Eddard said, voice firm and formal, "and I offer in return the protection and support due to any lord who serves House Stark faithfully. Rise, Lord of Sea Dragon Point."
Bjorn rose.
Robert watched the exchange with something almost fond behind his tired eyes, then spoke again, voice carrying that particular, teasing weight he reserved for moments he found genuinely amusing. "Well then. A new lord needs a name to carry, if he wishes one distinct from his father's. Custom allows it, given the circumstances." His mouth curved slightly.
"Have you thought on it, boy, or do you intend to simply borrow your father's in full?"
The hall's attention sharpened further, curiosity threading through the lingering shock of everything that had already been announced.
Bjorn was quiet for a moment, and in that pause, unbidden, a memory rose behind his eyes—not words, not conversation, just image, sudden and vivid.
A yard, half-lit by torchlight, years ago. Artos standing over him, sword lowered, sweat and blood mixing on both their faces after a training session that had left Bjorn barely able to stand. Artos hadn't spoken. He'd simply reached down, pulled Bjorn back onto his feet, and held him steady until his legs remembered how to work on their own.
Another memory, older still—Artos teaching him to swim in water colder than anything Bjorn had felt before or since, refusing to let him drown, refusing to let him quit, the two of them emerging soaked and shivering and somehow, despite everything, closer than they'd been before it started.
And Ice. The weight of it in his hands, days ago, blood drying on his face, his father's voice quiet and certain. Make it count.
The hall waited.
Bjorn opened his mouth, the name already forming, already decided somewhere deep beneath all those memories crashing together at once.
Another memory came, This one is quite new. The memory of his father coming to him and asking him for this. A memory to chrish and one that also left a bad taste.
---
Please, please join the Patreon. Its really a genuine request. Please join it.
Thank you for your lovely support
Please join the patreon and join the pack
www.patreon.com/Cregantheblackwolf
Thank you for your support and I am really grateful