Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus
The Celestial Wolf
Chapter 03: Consequences
– Robert Baratheon –
"You can't be serious?" Cersei screeched, sounding every bit like a fucking harpy. "He crippled your son, the crown prince."
"After the little psychopath tried to stab him. Who gave Joffrey the dagger? Who filled his head with rumours that Artos couldn't be cut by a blade?" Robert thundered, looking around the room at the ass-kissers that had followed him North.
Joffrey had a sword, but the dagger was new. He wouldn't trust the little shit to have something so easily concealed, not after the incident with Tommen's cat. Nobody responded, but he saw the way Cersei's face twitched. What game was she playing?
"My love," Cersei started, as if he didn't know she'd only call him that when she wanted him to do something. Hells, she'd probably try to warm his bed tonight if he didn't agree to whatever bullshit she was about to spout.
"No," Robert cut in, lessons from Jon rattling around in the back of his empty head. Gods be good, he might actually remember a tenth of the shit Jon had tried to teach him when he was young, dumb and only interested in hitting things with a hammer or sheathing his cock in the nearest pretty woman. "Guest rights might just be the one fucking thing everyone in this kingdom actually listens to. Even the fucking Dornish wouldn't be so crude as to try to stab the son of their host at their own feast. Fuck, even the dragon cunts didn't break them. Now, your 'perfect little lion' just broke something even Aerys wasn't mad enough to do."
Cersei looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, and now he was absolutely sure she had something to do with this. She hated the North, hated the Starks because she knew she'd always been second to Lyanna in his mind. She hated being the second choice, had done since the day they'd married. When all the tales about Artos and his gifts had spread south, Cersei had been the biggest disbeliever in them, calling them Northern nonsense.
Artos was loved by the North. They thought he was blessed by their bloody Old Gods, and maybe he fucking was. He'd seen that blade stab into Artos's back with zero effect. It was a proper dagger, sharp and dangerous, it should have cut through skin like butter even in the hands of a wimp like Joffrey, but it hadn't even scratched.
The only crime the North saw as equal to breaking Guest Rights was Kinslaying, and it wasn't much better anywhere else in the fucking kingdom. House Stark had come down on every broken Guest Right in the North like the wrath of the Old Gods themselves, something he'd once admired, but now it put him in a terrible position because it was his own useless, mad cunt of a son that had broken them.
Lancel came forward with a flagon of wine, trying to ply him with it so he'd be more amenable to Cersei's bullshit but he waved the ponce off. The entire room went still at him refusing wine, as if the end times truly had come. If this had been done in privacy, maybe he could have fixed it by dealing with Ned directly but the crazy bastard had stabbed Artos in full view of the entirety of the feast. All of Winterfell would know by now, and the entire North would know within a tenday.
Looking around the room, he mentally cursed at the amount of blondes. Cersei, Jaime, Lancel. Why was he surrounded by Lannisters?
"People have been sent to the wall for less, royal or not," Robert started, watching as Cersei paled rapidly before her face turned red from pure rage.
"You will not send my son to the Wall!" Cersei screeched, unable to stop herself. She was at least a little drunk, because the North had some damn good wine that he wished he was drinking right now, and her control lapsed.
"Your son?" Robert rumbled, watching her pale again at his words. "I'm the King, woman. I'll send him wherever I damn well please. If I want to stick a black cloak on him, he'll spend the rest of his days freezing his cock off at the edge of the world. If I want to stuff him in a crate and send him to Essos, he'll be on the first ship east. I am the King, not you."
He took a moment of pleasure at Jaime's face, the sheer conflict on it. He couldn't speak up against the King, not openly, though he was sure the siblings would be talking shit behind his back. When Cersei looked to him for support, Jaime froze, causing her to give him a caustic look that Robert thought she reserved for him when she thought he wouldn't notice. Maybe she was hoping the cunt would become a Kingslayer twice over.
By the Gods, he wished Jon were here. He needed his advice now, more than ever. Jon… Jon spoke often about stability, about not rocking the boat or offending any of the great houses. Robert wasn't stupid; his reign was built on a foundation of sand, with too many wanting a dragon back on the throne. It was only Aerys' disastrous rule that kept him on the throne, because people could remember how bad those days had been.
He was King because they didn't have a better option. But Joffrey had just broken one of the few laws that mattered. They wouldn't accept Joffrey as King over the hope of putting a Dragon on the throne. Fuck, the Dragon loyalists were probably thanking the Gods that Joffrey was such a mad cunt.
Joffrey could have done just about anything else, and it wouldn't have been nearly as disastrous. He could have taken a bow and hunted the smallfolk for sport. He could have spat at, insulted and just been an all-around cunt to the hosts. He could have taken Sansa's maidenhood in some alcove and left her with a stag in her belly.
Fuck, he could have pressured Cat to suck his royal cock, then fucked both Stark Daughters in Ned's bed, and it would have only been a fucking mess instead of a disaster. But no, he accepted Guest Rights from a Great House and then tried to stab their 'blessed' son. Anything else would have been an insult to the House Stark, a matter between men, but Guest Rights were seen as an insult to the Gods. The Seven and the Old Gods, alike. That, and slavery, were about the only things both religions agreed on.
Didn't mean shit to him, but it meant a hell of a lot to the rest of Westeros.
"If nothing is done, the North will rebel over this," Robert finally said, getting to the crux of the problem. The room felt heavy at his words, the harsh reality staring them in the face.
"Let them, we can put them in their place-" Cersei spat, cut off as he backhanded her. As bad as their relationship was, even she was shocked at his actions as she clutched her cheek. Even he was shocked.
"Don't speak about things you don't understand, woman. You think the other Great Houses are gonna raise their banners to defend a prince who broke Guest Rights? Maybe your cunt of a father, but the rest? You think House Tully will stand against their goodfamily? House Arryn will put aside their honour to fight for the side in the wrong?" Robert asked harshly. "Dorne wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire. The Reach are no lovers of my rule. All we could count on is Lannister, Baratheon and the fucking Squids. Assuming fucking Stannis and Renly don't side against us."
"More than enough," Cersei tried.
"You don't know a damn thing about war, woman, so stop talking," Robert commanded. "The Starks couldn't move south, true, but they wouldn't need to. You think your father could take the North when Winter is nearly upon us? The men of the North would just have to sit in their castles laughing at us as we froze to death. Invading the North in winter, what a fucking joke. And it's that joke that would make the Lords of the North call for Ned to rebel, to claim the North's independence. They know we couldn't do shit to stop it. Not when Joffrey just gave every other Great House a reason to refuse to aid us."
Cersei went silent, a rare blessing, as Lancel once again tried to ply him with wine. He took the flagon and tossed it at Lancel's head. Damn waste, but at least it made him feel a bit better. He made a note to get new squires when he got back home.
"Would Lord Stark truly rebel? He remains your closest friend, my love," Cersei tried again, her tone changing from the screech to a purr. Despite his best efforts, it made his cock begin to perk up. If she were half as beautiful, he'd have thrown her out of a window by now, but she probably was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and the bitch knew it.
"Aye, he is. He's also a father who just watched his son get stabbed and a Lord who has to consider both his House and the entire North," Robert replied with a grumble. "The fact that he's my friend might just be the only thing that stops the North from rebelling, but only if I convince him to let me handle Joffrey's punishment, before the rest of the Lords of the North start screeching in his ear."
Jon had once pointed out that the North hadn't been rewarded for their part in winning his rebellion. 'Robert's Rebellion' would have been dead in the water had House Stark not sided with him, but… at the time he'd waved Jon off, laughing that Ned could come and ask for anything. In his mind, Ned hadn't asked for a reward, so he didn't need to do anything.
But it wasn't that simple, was it? Ned hadn't, but the Highborn of the North hadn't missed him basically ignoring them once they'd finished winning him a crown. If Lyanna had lived, she'd have been Queen, and they'd have been satisfied, but instead the title went to Cersei, and the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms were worse off for it.
…Had he even rewarded House Stark for aiding in ending Greyjoy's Rebellion? He'd sent Balon's little shit of a son to Winterfell, then gone back home and put it all behind him.
"So, what are you planning?" Cersei asked, trying to hide how desperate she was to learn of his plans so she could start to work around them.
"All of you, listen up," Robert said, rising from his seat. "I, Robert Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros."
If he was doing this, he had to do it properly. Cersei paled, seeing that he'd made up his mind before she could whisper her venom into his ear, but with the entire Kingsguard and half the fucking royal retinue with them, she couldn't interrupt.
"Strip Joffrey Baratheon of his title of Crown Prince and declare Prince Tommen Baratheon as my heir," Robert continued, hearing the gasps of the crown and the shriek from Cersei. "Oi, grey robes. Send ravens, I want everyone to hear of this before they hear why."
"My love, perhaps you should wait until you're sober to-"
"I am sober, woman. And all the more miserable for it," Robert grunted. "Because just as I arrived at a feast that smelt so good my stomach was rumbling before I got to the hall, with all the fine wine the North prepared for me, Joffrey caused a fucking nightmare."
"My father won't stand for this-" Cersei tried instead, dropping the sweet tone and any cutesy names.
"Why not? He still gets a lion on the throne, doesn't he? Besides, I'm sending Joffrey to foster with the miserable old cunt," Robert announced, seeing Cersei freeze once more as her face went red. It was almost funny how she'd alternated between pale white and furious red.
He was a shit father, and Cersei might just be a worse mother. At least he was just absent, while she'd been there whispering all kinds of bullshit into Joffrey's ear and encoraging this shit.
"When Joffrey is recovered, I'm going to whip him myself. No whipping boy, this time," Robert continued, uncaring of her anger. "Now, should Tommen or Myrcella be fostered in Winterfell?"
"You cannot be serious?!" Cersei screeched.
"Oh, I haven't been this serious since I crushed Rhaegar's chest in with my hammer. I won't have Joffrey send the Seven Kingdoms into war, and that means punishing him and kissing the asses of the North so they don't feel the need to rebel," Robert scoffed. "If Myrcella were a couple of years older, I'd marry her off to Artos and make him the next King."
Cersei's shriek made him roll his eyes, calling for a maester to bring some dreamwine to medicate the hysterical woman. Her demands that she didn't want, or need, any went ignored because, as he'd mentioned, he was the fucking King and he said she did.
If he wanted to send his bitch wife to bed so she couldn't make things worse, he would.
"Lancel, wipe the wine off your face and go make yourself useful. Find Lord Stark and request that he give me some of his time," Robert grunted. He needed Ned on side with this shitshow before word spread too far. "And someone fetch me some parchment."
As much as he hated the old cunt, he needed to message Tywin before Cersei went crying with her version of events. Then, he needed to make sure that literally everyone knew his decision before Cersei could try anything because that look she gave him was downright hateful. If he didn't know any better, he'd call it outright murderous.
And as many people would inform you, he didn't know shit.
– Catelyn Stark –
She was almost grateful for the sheer shitshow that had happened, taking attention away from the biggest issue in her life.
"You don't have to say it, already know I shouldn't have beat him," Artos grunted as she entered his room. He stopped his pacing, turning to her with a scowl on his face. He always paced when he was stressed.
"I wasn't going to," Catelyn cut in. "Frankly, I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd killed him, even if it would have made this far worse."
Artos paused, before he slumped onto his bed with a heavy thud. Despite his reputation and 'powers', Artos remained her grumpy, often pouty son.
"How bad is it?" Artos asked, some guilt in his tone. He hated that he'd caused so much trouble for his family, but he didn't regret it and that was making him feel worse.
"Not as bad as you'd think, beyond crushing any chance there was of Sansa marrying Joffrey," Catelyn admitted, seeing the relief on his face. "I felt the same. It sounded like a good match until I saw how Joffrey truly was. I won't have my daughter marry a madman, no matter how good it could be for the North."
"Does Sansa hate me for ruining the prince's pretty face?" Artos asked, regaining some of his cocky confidence.
"No. She wasn't far from you when Joffrey… started that mess. She saw him pull a dagger and try to stab you. Believe me, as… idealistic as she can be, she doesn't see Joffrey as her perfect prince anymore," Catelyn explained. It was harsh, but she hoped that this would remove some of the… naivety from Sansa.
She'd been away from the south too long and had forgotten just how traitorous and cruel it could truly be. She'd told Sansa so many tales of the south, but she'd only mentioned the good parts. It helped that Artos was Sansa's favourite sibling, so she'd never blame him for this.
She went silent for a moment, a million questions on her tongue. She'd seen his immunity to blades, and Artos' reputation was only growing more and more. Where had his sudden skill for cooking come from? Why did they have unlimited wine?
"Can you really talk to the dead?" Catelyn asked quietly.
"I can," Artos admitted instantly. She knew when her sons were lying, and she knew when they were telling the truth. Artos was telling the truth. Not that she thought he'd made up the story with Lyanna, but she still had to ask him to his face.
Her conflicted feelings warred in her chest, relief and dread in equal measure. Eddard had never strayed, never taken a lover or spawned a bastard. He'd kept his vows, and for that she was grateful and relieved. She'd feared this unknown woman that Eddard had refused to even name, seeing her husband bring up his bastard alongside his trueborn children. She'd feared that she was second in his heart, that this woman was still alive, somewhere, ready to take her husband from her. That Eddard might even make Jon his heir, as ridiculous as it sounded. Jon was older than Robb and Artos, she was sure of it, perhaps not by much, but the timeline just didn't add up otherwise. She feared he'd rise up against the rightful heir of Winterfell, that Robb would be too blinded by affection to see Jon as the threat he was. It was why she'd taught Artos to suspect and hate the bastard. But, he wasn't a bastard, was he?
It left them in a situation where she almost wished Jon were the son of some whore Eddard had ploughed while at war. Jon was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. He wasn't just a threat to her children, he was a threat to the entire North. Ned's insistence that Jon be treated like a trueborn Stark made so much more sense, and filled her with fear all the more. That Robert had agreed to legitimise Jon only made it worse, in her mind.
Rather than looking to Winterfell, how long would it be until the boy looked to the throne with ambition? Sure, he claimed not to have such desires now, but in a decade? When it was clear he wouldn't inherit a damn thing in the North? If the truth came out, it would mean war, no matter the intentions or ambitions. Ned would never send away the son of his beloved sister, not when he saw himself as having failed to save her.
Jon was going to be an issue and one she had to work around, but she had some ideas for that and just needed to speak to Ned first.
"And your powers are still growing?" Catelyn asked, sitting next to him on the bed and placing her hand on his leg. Artos had always been the quiet one growing up, preferring books to swords. His 'powers' had brought attention to him, but he remained the quiet one. If left to his devices, he'd happily work away in his forge for days without bothering to talk to anyone. It wasn't that he was any less hot-headed than the rest of her sons, in fact a large part of the reason that he kept to himself was because dealing with people he didn't like tested his self-control and usually ended in a fight. If the Quiet Wolf wasn't Eddard's title, it would be Artos's instead. It also meant that he tended to keep his secrets unless she pushed for them.
"They are. Dunno where they came from, but they're still growing," Artos admitted, a frown on his face.
Septa Mordane has been clear in her beliefs that Artos' 'powers' were a curse, heretical and unholy. No matter how she looked at him, she couldn't see Artos as something bad. Reaching up to fix his hair, his attitude changed from grim and sulking to pouting as he tried to ward her hand away (and failed because he wouldn't use his far superior strength against her). If the Seven truly hated her son, then they weren't worthy of her worship. She was a mother first, a follower second. But, no matter what Mordane said, she had seen no evidence that the Seven had anything against her reckless, hot-headed son.
She really did need to tell him to stop having Cregan and Theon stalk Mordane at night, though. The poor woman was too afraid to go out past sunset. Of course, Artos's pranks were making her more convinced he was an unholy being, which meant she treated him worse, and Artos did the same in turn. Still, a Septa should know better than treat the son of her Lord like that, so she had a great deal of it coming.
"I don't know where your gift is coming from either, Artos, but I fear we will need it," Catelyn admitted, stroking his hair. "This power, it could be disastrous in the wrong hands, but I trust you with it, temper aside," she lightly scolded, pleased to get that flushed, embarrassed look that he used to give her after getting into a tussle with the Greyjoy or anyone else. "Winter is coming, Artos. In more ways than one. Your power will be needed."
She didn't outright say that she feared war, she didn't need to. Artos was smart enough to understand her words. Even before this mess with Joffrey had happened, his power would attract those wanting to use it… and those who feared it and wanted to kill him before he could grow stronger. Such power in the hands of a son of Winterfell was always going to be seen with paranoia from everyone south of the Neck.
Adding on the Jon issue? She didn't want a war, but she wanted to take every chance to make sure that if such a thing happened, they were ready for it, and it seemed that Artos was going to be key in defending the North.
"Stay away from the royal visitors unless the King requests your presence. You aren't in trouble with them, miraculously, because Joffrey was the obvious instigator, but we don't need you or your temper making things worse," Catelyn scolded, before she pulled his head down and planted a kiss on his forehead. It wasn't as easy as it used to be thanks to his height. It was easy to still picture Robb and Artos as the little boys who got into far too much trouble, usually at Robb's urging if she was being honest, but reality forced her to admit that they were already men.
"I'll stick to my forge and quarters until they fuck off back south," Artos agreed bluntly. While his powers might have caused some to wonder if he should be the heir, she knew all too well that he'd make a poor Lord. He didn't have the patience or tact for it. Robb, troublemaker that he was, did and had been taking his lessons more seriously as Artos grew more famous. "What about the kitchens? Don't want them accusing me of trying to poison anyone."
"Ha! Robert tried some of your boar, and if I know him, he'll all but demand you make his meals while he's here. At worst, you might have to deal with the eyes of a Kingsguard while you cook," Catelyn laughed. "Frankly, we owe the King a great deal for how reasonable he's being. I might have underestimated him. If plying him with your wine and food keeps him reasonable, then we should do it."
It was the Queen she was worried about.
– Artos Stark –
Huh, I didn't get scolded too badly?
There truly are Gods looking out for me.
100cp granted, 100cp total.
Feat Achieved: Beat Joffrey like a dog. 200cp granted. 300cp total.
Feat Achieved: Prevent Joffrey from becoming King. 300cp total. 600cp total.
I did the first, but what was that about the second? Ah, what do I care for southern bullshit? If the prick doesn't become King, he can't use it to get back at me when his old man dies. Wait, did he die? I didn't beat him that hard-
Nah, the feat would say if I killed him. I'm sure of it.
[Indefatigable] - 100cp, 500cp remaining
Psionics come with a steep cost that puts more strain on your body and mind than spellcasting or strength of arms, and years of practice have hardened both..Your body and mind are more resilient, recovering from exhaustion quickly, with fewer injuries from being overtaxed.
If it means I can talk to Aunt Lyanna more, recovering from the bloody headaches, I'll take it.
[Eiganjo Castle] - 200cp, 300cp remaining
The 'Eternal Rock' is a fortress that, even during the Kami War, was never broken, never infiltrated, and never successfully seized. In the heart of a small town, this land allows one to draw upon White Mana. The fortress itself is immutable, unchanged in spite of any attacks that would try to destroy it.
The lands of this world are rich in mana, which is the easiest way to cast without any risk to the self in many of the magic styles you can learn. Bonding with a normal land takes days, but these lands available to you will instantly have a bond, and their power can be 'tapped' once per hour, which may not seem like much, but mana from an entire land is enough to fuel army-killing spells at the least. You may 'tap' a land you are already bonded with for mana at any time, though the sudden upsurge of mana might intimidate some folks. Each basic land may only be tapped for a single mana, two for the named lands.
Power, I have a question. Where the fuck do you expect me to plonk down a castle the size of Winterfell?! Ugh, I need to talk to Father again but I can't risk it while these southern fucks are lurking around. I swear, I feel like people have been listening to every word I've said since they showed up. Clearly, they don't teach the ancient art of minding your own fucking business down south. Be a better world if they did.
[Mesektet] - 200cp, 100cp remaining
Even for the divine, this is a stylish way to travel across the skies. A great golden boat that can
traverse the lands of Egypt in a few minutes, large enough to comfortably fit a small party or tear through a sailing ship with just the gold-clad helm. The ship appears at your command, even only in part should you need a portion or require a shield. The radiance of the Mesektet vessel is visible, a shining aura that blinds many who look up while leaving your vision clear of obstructions, but it can also be turned to terrible devastation. The light produced by the ship can be focused by your mind at the helm, turning into scorching waves of heat that melt the earth and incinerate ordinary men. When honed closely, they can be turned into high-powered lasers that slice through stone and steel like they were just empty spaces. The vessel, for all it appears to be a luxury yacht of the Egyptian pantheon, is more than capable of reducing a city the size of modern Tokyo to ash in just hours.
Modern tokyo? Egyptian? I swear my power takes pride in confusing the ever loving shit out of me. I won't complain about a faster way to get around, however.
[Fae-Forged Armour] - 100cp, 0cp remaining
What you have here is a beautiful suit of armour perfectly sculpted to fit your form. It is harder than steel and serves as an excellent conductor for magical energy, allowing you to channel mana through it to increase its protective qualities. The precise details of your armour's appearance are up to you.
Focusing for a moment, I smile at the silver armour with a white fur cloak. Simple and sturdy. It's beautiful, but not overly designed because that's for idiots. The only piece of genuine 'design over function' is the helmet, shaped like a wolf's head.
Pacing around my room, I glare out of the window for a moment (half expecting to find some nosy southern cunt clinging to the windowsill). Why couldn't the Southerners have just stayed south?
– Next Day –
As I arrive at my father's office, I notice something a little odd. Firstly, two guards are posted directly outside, though they move aside easily and allow me to pass. Secondly, Mother is here, standing beside him. Robb and Jon are already here, but they were probably in the castle already, I was in my forge.
"You called, Father?" I ask respectfully.
"I've finished negotiations with the King over the situation with Joffrey," Father starts. "Don't look so grim. We came out on top. Joffrey broke guest rights and has been justly punished. He is no longer the crown prince, the position going to Prince Tommen instead."
"Don't think I even saw Tommen," I admit.
"You did, he was at the feast, but he tended to stay by his mother's side," Father explained, making me think. There was a blond boy around, I guess. "Princess Myrcella is to be fostered at Winterfell, to repair relations between the North and the Crown."
Again, I vaguely remember a blonde girl around, but neither of them really said anything.
"But that isn't the reason I called you here," Father continues. "To apologise for the actions of the former crown prince, King Robert has undone King Jaehaerys' decision to take the New Gift from the North."
We all go still at that. Admittedly, it's old news and an old wound at this point. Jaehaerys the Conciliator whimsically deciding to double the Nights Watch's land at the urging of his wife, taking the land from the North with barely an apology let alone any compensation for the stolen land. I've heard their history books talk about how happy the Starks were to help the Nights Watch and how the charming Queen Alysanne convinced the Lord Stark at the time to hand it over for free. Sure as fuck ain't the story I was raised with.
Hard to say no when there's a dragon sitting on Winterfell.
"Won't the Night's Watch take offence to that?" Robb asks, frowning thoughtfully as he shows that there is a brain rattling around in that ginger head of his.
"Some will, but I have already sent a raven to the Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont. We're on good terms with the Mormonts thanks to Artos finding their metal deposits, and the Watch doesn't have the manpower to rule the New Gift anyway. As long as we agree that the Lord who takes the New Gift will support them, they won't make too much of a fuss," Father says confidently. "Jon. It was lost in all the chaos of yesterday, but at my urging, King Robert has legitimised you as Jon Stark. As my son, you will be taking the New Gift. The holdfast of Queenscrown is yours. It is in disrepair, but once winter has come and gone, we will begin the rebuilding efforts."
I won't deny, it takes me a moment to get my anger under control at being passed over. Mother doesn't look angry, which means there's more going on. None of us say it out loud, but the further North the son of the Silver Prince is, the better for everyone.
"I won't disappoint you, Father," Jon says quickly, straightening up with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Robb elbows him while giving me a look.
"I know. Artos. You're no longer a child, and it is time to give you a chance to spread your wings beyond Winterfell. I'm giving you everything south of Moat Cailin. The Houses in the Neck will answer to you directly, while you answer to Winterfell," Father continues, my eyes widening. Robb's worry fades, and he gives me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "You've seen it yourself, Moat Cailin, once our shield against southern aggression, is in ruins. As with the New Gift, Winterfell will support the rebuilding once winter has passed. I hope it will never be needed, but if such a time comes, you will be the Aegis of the North."
"...what if I don't need help? What if I could replace the old ruin with a functioning castle today?" I ask, watching as he pauses. Sometimes, things happen for a reason, right?
"Go on."
– Cersei Baratheon –
She wanted to claim that everything about Artos was nothing but… Northern superstition. That the dagger had just been blunt already, in the hands of a child who didn't know how to use it.
Staring over the side of the ship, she couldn't ignore the truth anymore as Artos' flying golden ship carried them all the way to the Neck in a matter of an hour. Eddard had told Robert, Robert insisted on coming, and she'd refused to fall any further behind. After being drugged and sent to bed, she'd woken to find far too many things had been decided while she couldn't stop them.
"What a rush!" Robert laughed, closing his eyes and stretching his arms wide as the wind sent his hair blowing wildly. "I wonder if this is what the dragoncunts felt, flying above us mere mortals."
Perhaps it was. It would explain the arrogance of the Targaryens if this was what they felt every time they took to the skies. Even the forts they passed looked like children's building blocks. She hated it, but it was… amazing. And this wonder, this power, was in the hands of the bastard who'd broken her son and shamed him before the entire realm.
"We're approaching Moat Cailin!" Robb Stark shouted back to his brother, who was at the wheel of the luxurious ship. It wasn't even that it could fly, in truth, but the fact that a Northern barbarian owned something that made her look like a pauper. This belonged in Lannister hands, not in the hands of a fucking Wolf.
Artos gestured back, unwilling to bellow like his brother and with skill he shouldn't have, guided the ship to land. She made a note to have Boros Blount disciplined for making such a scene, having soiled his armour with piss after it took to the air. Barristan remained unbothered, only a hint of shock in his eyes and Jaime… Jaime looked worried.
He fucking should be, after refusing to help her last night as she'd beenforced to drink Dreamwine. She didn't reward betrayal or cowardice, so he'd be keeping to his vows for a while until he earned her forgiveness. Lancel was an adequate replacement anyway, she wouldn't go without. A worm of a man, no true lion, but he had a decent sword and knew how to use it. More importantly, he knew how to do what he was fucking told.
As the ship landed with incredible smoothness, Artos moved forward to speak with his father. She was too far to hear what was being said, unable to see his lips because his back was to her.
Turning away, he headed off the ship, the golden gangway lowering with a gesture, and the Starks followed as Robert did the same. Forced to play along, she followed suit to find out just what the hell they had all come down to this shithole for. She'd heard that Artos had been gifted it, and while him being rewarded for maiming Joffrey made her want to slit Lord Stark's throat, it at least pleased her to know he'd inherited swamps and a ruin.
"Well, it's your show, Artos," Eddard said, his cloak around his wife to help her with the cold. Even this far 'south', the North was still fucking freezing. She noted that Robert and Jaime didn't seem to react to her freezing.
"So, it's mine to do with as I please, yes?" Artos asked, getting a nod from his father. "Perfect. In that case, come forth, Eiganjo Castle, the Eternal Rock."
As he spoke, the land itself rumbled as the ruins just… vanished before being replaced in the blink of an eye. Her eyes widened, and she wasn't sure if it was her gasping or everyone else as a towering structure rose out of the very ground, the castle growing larger than Winterfell itself with an architecture she could only vaguely recognise from some paintings of Yi Ti.
It stood, uncaring of the impossibility she had just witnessed, and all she could do was gape as Artos turned to them and gave the King an almost mocking, playful bow.
"Welcome, Your Grace, to Eiganjo Castle, Aegis of the North. Good thing I brought some bread and salt with us on Mesektet, because I don't think we'll find any inside," Artos joked as Robert laughed loudly, accepting the guest right as they all entered the extravagant, luxurious threat.
Robert was a fool, hearing 'Aegis of the North' and thinking nothing of it. She knew better. Artos had just challenged them to try to attack the North with him standing between them and his people.
As she stared at the physical embodiment of the wolf pup's power, her mind began to race. She wouldn't let them threaten her position, she couldn't, but… would knives in the dark and poisons in the wine work here? This wasn't human, she couldn't assume that he could be killed like a regular human.
She hated him, hated everything he'd done, but above all else… she wanted it. She wanted the power at his fingertips. Whatever was showering blessings down upon him, gifting him with powers he didn't deserve, it didn't seem to be showing any signs of stopping, and that meant she wanted to be there to grab the gifts for herself. Artos was strong, blessed… but he was also a young man, barely old enough to no longer be called a boy. And she knew men well, knew what enticed them, what they longed for.
Alas, poor Lancel wasn't going to be keeping her warm after all.
— Bonus Scene — Tyrion Lannister
…was he more drunk than usual, or had a giant golden ship just flown over Winter Town?
He had the distinct feeling that he was missing something.
"Gotta be Artos," one of the whores said with a confident nod. "Blessed by the Old Gods, that one. Shame he never comes to the brothels, wouldn't mind giving him a blessing or three of my own."
As the girls gossipped, he paused his drinking and began to listen.