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 02: Lyanna
– Artos Stark –
I am going to murder Theon Greyjoy.
100cp granted, 100cp total.
I trust Robb with all my secrets. I even trust that Jon knows when to keep his mouth shut. I trust that the Stark men we took on the hunt with us know when to stay quiet and not gossip like children. Do you know who I don't trust?
Fucking Theon Greyjoy. Father should have thrown him overboard on the trip back from Pyke, not brought him to Winterfell. It took one night for Theon to drunkenly gossip about the fact that I can't be harmed by blades. One fucking night until he stumbled into a brothel and gossipied like a Highborn lady to everyone and anyone who would listen.
"Is it true?" Father asks simply as myself, Robb and Jon stand in his office. Robb goes to speak before he goes silent and gives me a look.
"I was going to talk to you today, but I suppose it was too much to hope that the Squid could keep his mouth shut for a single night," I admit, pulling my dagger from my belt. Father stands with a look of panic on his face as I calmly slash at my own hand before pausing in shock as the deadly-sharp blade, from my own forge, doesn't even scratch me.
"Don't worry, you don't need to beat Theon for this. I've kicked his ass," Robb grunts, a scowl on his face. "I told all of them to keep their mouth shut."
"Probably for the best. I might just kill him," I admit, giving Robb a grateful smile. "But yes, I am immune to regular weapons."
"What about Valyrian steel?" Jon asks quietly.
"Still works on me. I… uhh, tested with Ice when I realised," I admit, getting a sigh from Father and a quiet laugh from Robb.
"There's no silencing the rumours at this point. Everyone in Winter town has heard them, and soon the rumours will spread further to the entire North… and then the South," Father sighs, stroking his beard. "If it were anyone else, nobody would believe them, but you already have a reputation, Artos. In the North, at least."
"I don't suppose the royal visitors will pass it off as just Northern superstition?" I ask with a sigh.
"Most will," Father agrees with a deep frown. "But not all. As I said, King Robert had already heard of your wolves and wants to see them. He's always been more… accepting of the North than most southerners. We can't lie to the King either. The truth will come out eventually. Your powers are only growing, aren't they?"
"They are," I admit. I'd rather Snow not be here for this, but I won't lie to my father's face. "During the ranging, I gained a new power. The ability to sense and communicate with the spirits of the departed, and to channel their skills for myself."
The room goes deathly quiet for a moment, but everyone in this room knows that I would not joke about such a thing.
"Ghosts are real?" Jon asks, sounding disturbed.
"Nobody tell Old Nan she was right," Robb cuts in, making me snort, and even Father smiles ever so briefly.
"Have you used it?" Father asks simply, as I shake my head.
"I've… sensed the spirits in the crypts, and I swear they're calling to me, but after we got back, the only thing I did was collapse in my bed. I woke to find that Theon had run to a brothel and immediately flapped his gums," I explain.
"Calling for you? Is that bad?" Robb asks, looking worried as his hand goes to his blade before he realises how silly he's being. He can't stab a ghost.
"The spirits in the crypt are our kin. I don't think they mean me any harm. I- I think it's Lyanna," I admit, watching Father freeze in place. "They can tell that I can sense them, that I can communicate with them, and I heard a female voice calling for me. I can tell, roughly, how long they've been dead, and this one feels… fresher than most. A decade or two at the most."
Father doesn't respond, closing his eyes before he surprises us all with a deep laugh. It isn't entirely a happy one, but it reminds me of how he treats Arya when she inevitably gets into trouble.
"Of course," Father finally says, closing his eyes in thought. I share a look with Robb and Jon for a moment, caught off guard and unsure what has Father so deep in thought, but knowing better than to interrupt. After a moment, he opens his eyes and stands. "Follow me, all of you."
We can all tell that this is no time for questions, doing exactly as he demands. Robb almost misses a step as he realises that Father is leading us to the crypts, grabbing a torch to light the way. Seeing no reason to hide things now, I focus my Ambient Magic and ignite the torch with a touch as we head into the ancient crypts of my ancestors and kin.
Almost every Stark is buried here, with Statues of all the Lords of Winterfell watching us as we delve through the pitch-black passages. Robb and Jon are more nervous than they want to admit, knowing that ghosts are real, but Father sets a demanding pace, and we all follow behind. They've got it easy; they can't feel the gaze of the dead prickling their skin.
We used to play in the crypts. It was the best place for hide and seek. Guess there were more seekers than we thought.
Father's destination is clear to anyone who knows the crypts as well as we do, as we come across three tombs with a statue at each.
In the centre, the statue of an older man who looks so damn familiar stares down at us. Lord Rickard Stark, our Grandfather, with a face that looks so much like our Father's. On each side, his children. Father broke tradition by having statues of Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Brandon built since it was normally reserved for the Lords, but it isn't the first time the tradition has been broken.
"Is she here?" Father asks simply, stopping before his sister's grave. I focus my powers, which I'd been trying to ignore because of just how many eyes I can feel on us, and watch as a figure begins to form in front of the statue of Lyanna Stark.
As the spectral, white figure takes form, all I can think is this… the statue got her nose wrong. Lyanna stares back, her head tilting slightly as we make eye contact. She… looks like an older, prettier Arya. Not that Arya is ugly, just young. In fact, Lyanna looks like someone took all of Sansa's beauty and mixed it with Arya's wildness, the best traits of my two beloved sisters in one body.
"Can you hear me?" I ask, seeing my Father, Robb and Jon freeze as they see me addressing the air.
"I can, nephew," Lyanna agrees, a look of almost relief on her face. "Tell your father he kept his promise."
As she says this, her gaze moves from me to the silent Jon behind Robb.
"She says you kept your promise," I say, watching Father take a deep breath.
"Can she hear me?" Father asks, getting a nod from me as Lyanna responds to his words. "I trust you, Artos, but I need to confirm that this is no game. Lyanna, tell him what I promised you."
"To protect my son," Lyanna answers immediately with a soft smile on her face. "Aegon. But… Jon is a good name. A strong name."
I already suspected from the way she looked at him, and suddenly, so much makes sense. My father is the most honourable man in Westeros and beyond. So, why would he return home with a bastard? The simple answer that nobody considered. He didn't. He brought his nephew home.
"To protect her son, Aegon," I answer, watching father let out a deep breath he'd been holding, which is visible in the cold crypt air. "My cousin. She says you picked a good, strong name for him. Jon."
Robb and Jon freeze at my words, but if Father didn't want them to learn this, then he wouldn't have brought them down with us. This is why he always tried to get us all to get along with our 'half-brother', why he insisted on Jon being raised as if he were a true Stark. Because he is.
"I'm- my name is Aegon?" Jon asks, sounding frankly bewildered more than anything else.
"Your name is Jon," Father cuts in instantly. "Because if the King even suspects you are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, your life would be forfeit, even if it meant war with the North."
Jon goes still, his already pasty face growing paler than ever before, and he nods shakily.
"So you brought him back as 'your bastard', because a King like Robert could easily believe that you'd failed your vows and taken a lover," Robb says, well aware of Robert's reputation. To a lustful, drunkard King, it's easy to imagine that even a man of honour would find comfort in another when away from his wife.
"Robert would stop at nothing to murder my son," Lyanna speaks up, getting my attention. "Not only does he despise everything Targaryen, but he was also my betrothed and would see Aeg- Jon's existence as the ultimate insult. His love for Eddard wouldn't stop his rage. Ours is the Fury."
"There are still those loyal to House Targaryen who would seek to put Jon on the throne if his true identity were revealed. Prince Rhaeger was a popular man, with many supporters," Father explains.
As much as Jon has an ambition to him, I can't help but find it funny just how much he blanches at that idea. Whatever he wants, the Iron Throne isn't it. Or, maybe he just hates the idea of the North being plunged into war over him so distasteful.
A pressure in the back of my mind tells me that I can't keep communicating with her for much longer. This power is still new to me, and I can only communicate with the dead directly for a short time.
"I can't speak to Lyanna for much longer," I warn. "I'll need rest soon, this is… straining."
Jon goes to speak, but then he goes silent. I understand his position. I'm sure he simultaneously has a million questions and yet no idea where to start when told he doesn't have much time. Robb places a hand on his shoulder.
"I will keep my promise, Lyanna. I swear it," Father says grimly. "I'm going to have King Robert legitimise Jon as a Stark."
Jon freezes at that, but Lyanna just gives her older brother a fond smile. I keep my mouth shut.
"Tell Jon I love him, Artos. And do try to be nicer to your cousin," Lyanna scolds, in that same playful way Arya likes to talk, as I flush. The dead have been watching, for far longer than I have had this power. "Jon is a true son of Winterfell. This is where he belongs."
With her piece said, she fades again. I get the feeling we could have talked more, but she could tell that it was starting to hurt to try to keep communicating with her.
"She says she loves you, Jon, and that you're a true son of Winterfell. That you belong here, with the rest of us Starks," I say. I won't apologise for how I've treated him, but this is the first time I've acknowledged that he is a Stark. Years of dislike aren't going to vanish in one conversation, and I still don't think I was wrong in how I treated him. "Now, a question, father. Why, in the name of the Old Gods, haven't you told Mother that he's not your bastard?"
Father freezes at that. Lyanna almost certainly didn't marry the prince so he remains a bastard. He just isn't my fathers.
"I couldn't risk-"
"Well, now three more people know the secret, and Mother knows how to keep secrets better than you," I counter, hitting Robb as I hear a cough of 'Momma's boy'. "She might be from the South, but she's the Lady of Winterfell."
Father goes to speak again, but he once again just stops himself and chuckles quietly.
"You're right. I don't regret keeping her in the dark, but she should know. About you, as well," Father admits. "I'll handle it. This is a problem of my own creation, and I'll bear her anger."
"Won't she be happy that Jon is your nephew, not son?" Robb asks.
"Jon is my son, in every way that matters. And yes, she'll be happy that I did not break my marriage vows but it is hardly that simple. It won't save me from her fury for lying to her for sixteen years, however," Father admits bluntly. "She'll understand, but your mother can be as icy as the winter itself."
"And winter is coming," I add with a quiet grin, getting a tired look from Father as Robb chuckles. "But what do we do about the royal visit?"
"I have a plan," Father admits, giving me a look. "We need to keep Robert distracted so he doesn't look at Jon too closely. Fortunately, Jon looks like a Stark and not a Targaryen, but we can't risk him looking too deeply."
"And we have one hell of a distraction right here," I finish, gesturing to myself. "So, I get to be a circus act for the royal visit and hope they don't look beyond me?"
"I know you don't like the attention," Father says simply.
"Don't hate it either. I just find it annoying, wastes my time," I admit with a shrug. "If it protects my family and the North, I'll put on whatever act I need to keep them looking at me."
"I'll stay out of the way-" Jon starts, but Father shakes his head.
"No. If you're being legitimised, and you are, then it would look strange for you not to be with your siblings. Don't draw attention to yourself, but as far as anyone needs to know, you are just another son of House Stark. Robb, the heir, and Artos will draw most of the attention," Father counters. "As the third son of House Stark, your job will be to keep your siblings out of trouble. Bran and Arya especially."
"And that should keep you busy for the entire visit with those two," Robb snorts.
"Which leaves one issue," I say, getting their attention. "If I draw too much attention, the whispers are only going to get louder."
I don't elaborate, but I don't need to as Father nods grimly and Robb pauses, a hint of anger crossing his face. He's no fool, he knows how many of the Bannermen are already wondering if the wrong twin was made heir. If we were just brothers, it wouldn't be so blatant, but we're twins, separated by a minute at the most, according to Maester Luwin. He once joked that Robb and I were competing from the first day, racing to be born first, with how easy the birthing was.
If my powers keep growing, and I go out of my way to draw attention to myself, those whispers are only going to grow stronger.
"I know, but your powers are only going to cause that regardless of your actions if they keep growing," Father admits. "But for now, I simply want to get through the royal visit without a war starting."
"I could step down as heir-" Robb starts, his tone very reluctant.
"Shut up or I'll punch you," I cut in simply. "You want our honoured ancestors and kin to watch me beat your ass?"
"It would solve-"
"You're the heir of Winterfell. Step down, and I'll step down, join the Night's Watch and declare Arya the heir," I threaten, getting a genuine laugh from him.
"I'd give it a week before the Lords of the North beg for us back," Robb jokes, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "She'd eat them alive."
"Or she'd have Theon and Cregan do it," I agree with a laugh. "At the end of the day, the whispers aren't going to mean a damn thing when they can't get me to rise up against my brother. Wouldn't be much of a rebellion if the person they're rebelling to put on the seat is the one beating their asses."
Feat Achieved: Learn the truth about Jon 'Snow'. 200cp granted. 300cp total.
With our work done, we begin to head back as Robb and I argue.
[So... You Like to Party?] - Free
So this is awkward, but to address another elephant in the room... Mutants, superhumans in this world in general, if we're being honest, have always had a rather liberal attitude toward sexuality and related topics and Krakoa has decided to lean into that as part of creating their own national identity. Just in case you are interested in such things, here's a blanket immunity to any and all sexually and socially transmitted infections, perfect control over your own fertility and any related bodily functions, and a guarantee of perfect cleanliness and comfort for all involved parties when you are with a romantic or sexual partner. Everything else is up to you.
The fuck is a mutant? Or Krakoa? Ugh, I'll never understand this damn power.
[Infinite Wine] - 100cp, 200cp remaining
A collection gathered from decades or centuries of personal interest from your family, you have a rather large wine cellar connected to any property you own. The wine from the bottles stored here will never run out and has a vast range of flavours and years to pick from. If you found any such things from the outside world that you had a particular taste for, you could store them in the many open racks here to give them the same never-ending effect, too.
"Just a heads up, Father. I think my power just added an endless wine cellar under Winterfell," I admit, getting a tired sigh from him and a laugh from Robb. "Allegedly, any wine put on the open racks will become never ending as well."
"Well, at least the royal visit won't be so damaging to our coffers," Father says pragmatically.
[To Be Alive] - 200cp, 0cp remaining
Is to eat. While this is rarely a central theme in the tales of Heroic Spirits, they are also rarely without an episode associated with food. Whether as a great king who has participated in many banquets, a writer interested in all kinds of subjects, or something else entirely, it seems that you have a particular talent in the culinary arts. As you stand now, there would be few chefs in the world who could outshine you in the kitchen when you are cooking at your preferred school. And outside of it, you are also quick to take notes from the local ingredients and recipes and incorporate them into your own.
Finally, even when it is not the main focus of your legend, it seems that you have a particular talent when it comes to putting your supernatural abilities into your cooking process.
"And I just became a master chef," I continue, seeing their blank stare. "Oi, don't look at me like that. I don't control this damn power. Sometimes it's ghosts, sometimes I just know how to make a damn good steak."
"Clearly, you're just hungry and your power is answering your empty stomach. You skipped breakfast to try and hunt down Theon," Robb reminds me, my stomach rumbling in agreement.
"Damn it, you might be right. Race you to the kitchens? Maybe if I make a really good dinner, Mother will spare Father a little," I laugh as we escape the crypts, the eyes of the dead finally leaving me.
"She won't," Father admits simply.
– Days Later –
The ranging really was last-minute, it seems. Watching the royal caravan approach, I frown to myself. I can't say I love the fact that all of Winterfell has had to change their plans and schedule just because a King we barely know has decided to come visit. Life would be a lot simpler for us if the South stayed in the South and didn't come up here to bother us.
Still, none of my annoyance is shown on my face as the lead rider comes to a stop and I get my first look at King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros. He doesn't live up to his titles or reputation, as he struggles to get off his horse. This is the Demon of the Trident? The man who was set to marry Aunt Lyanna? Red in the face from already drinking this early, bloated at the waist.
As he approaches, we all kneel before I see him gesture for Father to rise. We all follow suit, as I watch the pair stare at each other for a long moment. I'm painfully aware that Jon is just two steps to my left, but Robert doesn't give the rest of us so much as a glance.
"Your Grace," Father greets.
"You've gotten fat," Robert grunts, everyone pausing in shock before Father just takes a long look at Robert's belly causing him to burst out laughing as the pair embrace. I know they were raised together, basically brothers, but I can't help but dislike him.
Maybe it's Aunt Lyanna's influence, as I've visited her each day since. She wasn't happy with her betrothal to a man who already had bastards, drank all day and ate enough for ten men. Sure, he was stronger then, handsome too, but her distaste for him is clear in every conversation.
She told me more about how she ended up with Jon to begin with. Prince Rhaegar had shown interest in her at a tourney, which I knew as even in the North, the tourney at Harrenhal is a source of gossip, with him crowning her the Queen of love and beauty instead of his own wife. In her words, he later came to her when she was travelling, ten leagues from Harrenhal, where he 'requested' she come away with him.
Despite his charming nature and good looks, both better than her betrothed, she didn't run away with him out of some delusion about love but because he was the Crown Prince and the son of Aerys the Mad, fearing for her family if she refused. Rhaegar claimed to love her, but she also claimed he was as mad as his father, and clearly, she has no love for him herself. She also admitted that he 'divorced' Princess Elia and forced a Septon to marry them, but she didn't see it as legitimate, as she was his captive at the time. For all the stories of the Silver Prince, he kidnapped my aunt, locked her in a tower away from her family and repeatedly violated her, so I can't say I like the Targs either.
She told me that she didn't even know there was a war until Father found her, kept in the dark by someone who claimed to love her. She has no love for Stags or Dragons, and I don't blame her.
Jon always goes with me, the most time we've spent together in years, and her stories and explanations have left him with his own distaste for dragons and stags. Knowing he is the product of rape has certainly spoiled any interest he has in his dragonsblood.
"And these must be the twins," the King says, knocking me out of my thoughts. Mother gives me a scolding look for zoning out. "I'm guessing… you're Robb, which makes you Artos."
"That's correct, your Grace," Robb replies confidently. He's the heir, so I let him do the talking. He's more diplomatic than me, anyway. Not that that is saying much.
"Aye, thought as much. You've got a smith's build, Artos," the King comments, eyes that once belonged to a powerful warrior looking over me critically. "Heard you can work wonders in the forge."
"I try my best, your Grace," I reply simply.
"Where the wolf?" an annoying voice asks, and I see the King sneer for a moment as a short blond boy approaches. This must be the prat prince I've heard about. Joffrey, I think. I've heard nothing good about him, which makes me worry about how Sansa is looking at him.
"Quiet, boy. You'll get your chance," the King grunts, as Joffrey scowls and goes to complain, but a hand on his shoulder from an incredibly beautiful blonde woman silences him.
"Take me to the Crypt, Ned. I want to pay my respects," the King orders, his good mood soured.
"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," Queen Cersei tries, a frown on her face.
"Ned," Robert repeats, his tone firm and unyielding. Cersei's frown only grows, and I don't blame her. Lyanna is long dead, but Father warned us that the King still carries a flame for her despite being married with three children of his own. With a wife as beautiful as Cersei Lannister, he's still rushing to see the grave of his once-betrothed. Even a humble woman would find that offensive, and I do not think Cersei is such a woman. The sneer on her lips, the way she holds herself, tells me she's got her pride, and it's been wounded.
Father agrees, taking the King away with an apologetic look to the Queen as the Kingsguard follow. My eyes linger on Sir Barristan the Bold. I'm glad that Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent met their end, because they were the pair of Kingsguard that the silver prince used to kidnap Aunt Lyanna, and I can feel my own wolfsblood burning at the thought. If they were here, I might just kill them myself. Or try to, at least. I need to remember that I'm strong, not invincible.
Still, with Robert so focused on Lyanna, he didn't even glance at Jon, so things are going as planned for now, at least.
How long will it be until the other shoe drops?
– Lord Eddard Stark –
"I'll think about it, that's all I can promise, but you know I'm needed here," Eddard finally said, feeling his honour sting at refusing the King. Robert, for all his power, grunted and didn't seem too angry at being denied. "You'll have your answer before you leave, I swear it."
"I better," Robert grumbled, clearly unused to people not agreeing immediately. In any other situation, he might have agreed to the request instantly but with everything going on in the North he was more than hesitant to go south to be the King's Hand. Especially with Lysa's letter warning them that she thought the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn. "Now, what's all this I hear about Artos? Even as far south as King's Landing, we've heard the rumours, even if most don't believe them."
"They're true, Robert. I can't begin to guess at how or why, but he's… blessed by the Old Gods. Some call him the second coming of Brandon the Builder, the way he works that massive forge, and he has a way with metal even before it's smelted. If there's ore in the ground, he just… knows where it is," Eddard admitted, walking a fine line between telling his King the truth and not telling them the whole truth. It was a game he was unfamiliar with, but Robert wasn't an adept player at this game either. "We still don't know where he found Theon, his largest wolf, but that monster was tamed from the first day."
"You should hear the Septons down south babbling about Northern heresy," Robert grunted.
"I don't need to. We have a Septa here, and I've heard it all already," Eddard admitted with a scowl. Septa Mordane had learnt quickly to keep her opinion to herself, as even Cat wouldn't tolerate her disparaging Artos. It was why Cat never really punished Artos when Cregan or Theon had just 'happened' to stumble on the woman late at night, sending her screaming. "Will you do as I asked?"
"Aye, I'll do it. Should tell you where to shove your request after you refused mine, but I'll legitimise your bastard," Robert agreed, with the indifference Eddard was relying on. "He's the gloomy-looking one, right? Saw him lurking behind the twins."
"He's a quiet one, yes," Eddard agreed as they made their way back out of the crypt. "Lets get inside. A feast is waiting. Not sure it's fit for a king, but the best of the North is waiting for you."
As he spoke, he gave Robert's belly another look, teasing him lightly and getting a laugh from the distracted King.
"As long as there is wine and meat, it's good enough for this King," Robert laughed loudly.
"Of that, there is plenty. Robb and Artos hunted some fine boar in preparation," Eddard boasted proudly. Artos wasn't wrong about just how good a chef he had become, and over the past week, he'd all but taken over the kitchens, teaching the serving staff with knowledge and experience he simply shouldn't have.
He was right about the wine as well, and Robb had realised something and come up with a scheme of his own. The wine was good. Much of it was on par or better than the Arbor Red and Gold, and they were truly endless. The bottles could be emptied endlessly, and still remained full, so Robb had gathered barrels to empty the different bottles into both for the use in the North and as a trade good. They had to be careful not to reveal the endless source, and he'd requested Wyman Manderly's aid in the matter as he trusted the Lord of White Harbour.
Robb was shaping up to be a fine Lord of Winterfell, thinking ahead. He suspected that Artos' growth had only pushed Robb to study and train harder to keep up with his twin.
As they left the crypts, he heard Robert yell in surprise. Again, right on time as they spotted the massive Theon prowling across the yard, the Kingsguard moving in front of Robert. Despite their lofty titles, aside from Barristan he could see the shock and fear on the others' faces as Theon turned to them and tilted its head. Cregan padded behind his 'brother', spotting them and rushing over. Cregan ignored the swords and men, instead moving to the closer Eddard and bumping its pure white head against his hand.
"My apologies, your Grace. This is Cregan, and that is Theon. I assure you, they're safe unless Artos orders otherwise," Eddard swore, kneeling down to fuss Cregan. Theon let out a deep huffing sound, turning and walking away without a care.
"Seven hells, Ned," Robert let out before laughing. "Seven bloody hells. What a beast that one is. I'd say he'd be a help on the hunt, but the big bastard looks like he'd eat everything we hunted and then us for dessert."
"Artos has a 'one for us, one for Theon' strategy where he feeds every other thing they catch to the wolves," Eddard admitted, getting a loud laugh from Robert, who was thoroughly distracted as he moved closer to Cregan.
In truth, Eddard had forgotten just how intimidating Cregan himself could be with his almost glowing icy blue eyes and impressive size. After getting used to Theon and seeing Cregan being used as a mount by Arya, it was easy for the natural intimidation to fade away, but the reaction of the Kingsguard reminded him of how scary Cregan alone could be.
"Your Grace, it's not safe-" Boros Blount said quickly, clearly not loving the idea of fighting Cregan if it came to it.
"Oh, shut it, you wet blanket," Robert ordered, placing his hand on Cregan's furry head and ruffling the fur as Cregan sat obediently. "If it wasn't safe, Ned would have said something."
None of them seemed happy with that answer, but they said nothing until Theon let out a loud, impatient sound that caused Cregan to stand to attention and rush to rejoin his much larger brother. Cregan was the friendly one, Theon liked nobody but Artos and sometimes Arya. Depending on his mood. Everyone else, he merely tolerated because Artos told him he couldn't eat them.
As they headed to the great keep itself, he was pleased that things were going well so far. Of course, that just made him wonder when it was all going to go wrong, as things always did when the House Stark and the South interacted.
As it turned out, he didn't need to wonder for long as they entered just in time to see someone walking up to Artos, who was talking to Robb. Eddard's eyes widened as he watched Prince Joffrey pull out a dagger and, with zero hesitation, stab at Artos' back. For all their plans, they hadn't anticipated Joffrey being this… psychotic as the knife cut through the fine top Artos had been forced into by Cat without even slowing.
Even Robert let out a shout of shock, watching as Joffrey attempted to stab Artos in the back to the shock of basically everyone in the room, but it meant that, as the dagger stabbed into Artos' flesh and found no purchase, half the royal party were watching.
"Ha! He is immune to-" Joffrey declared, before his words were interrupted by a fist.
Artos, as smart as he could be, had a temper as fierce as any Starks. In fact, he'd say Artos was the most hot-blooded of his children, sharing the same wolfsblood that made Brandon so unruly and quick to act.
So, anyone who knew Artos would be entirely unsurprised that his reaction to an attempted shanking was extreme violence. The first punch broke the prince's nose, knocking him back but before he'd even finished falling, Artos had pounced, pinning him to the ground as he launched punch after punch at the now screaming prince, blood pouring from a pummeled face as Joffrey screamed for help.
He heard Queen Cersei's voice call something out as Artos raged, Robb and Jon moving to grab and stop him, but being easily shaken off. There was nothing supernatural about Artos' strength, but he worked the forge most days and trained when he wasn't, he was large, muscular and not easily stopped when enraged. There'd been enough fights between Theon and Artos to show that Robb couldn't pull an enraged Artos away from his prey.
An armoured boot struck Artos, knocking him back as a massive hand grabbed Joffrey and pulled him away, the Hound growling as he stared at Artos.
"Kill him!" Joffrey screamed, broken teeth and a shattered nose ruining his good looks, rage, fear and hatred in his eyes.
"Try," Artos growled back, watching as Jaime Lannister drew his blade and moved in front of Joffrey. The Hound drew his own blade, looking to the Queen for guidance.
"ENOUGH!" Robert bellowed, the room going silent as even Eddard had no idea what was going to happen. Everyone had seen Joffrey attack first, but the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms was currently spitting out broken teeth and sobbing through a broken nose and possibly a broken jaw from the look of it. "What in the bloody hells were you doing, boy?!"
Artos went to respond, clearly worked up and ready to defend himself even against a King.
"Not you," Robert cut in, storming past him toward Joffrey. "What in the name of the Gods were you thinking? Trying to stab the son of our host? After accepting guest rights?"
For just a moment, Eddard froze before he realised that he'd underestimated his oldest friend. Robert knew the game; he just didn't want to play it. He watched as Cersei's face turned to sheer rage in realisation, before she schooled her expression. Jaime hesitated, looking from the Queen to the King before he put away his sword.
"He- he-" Joffrey blubbered.
"Was minding his own damn business, under his own roof, before you stabbed a bloody dagger into his back," Robert growled.
"My love, this… boy just beat the Crown Prince-" Cersei started, glaring at Artos.
"I'm going to beat the Crown Prince. Summon the Maesters to try and fix him up. Ned, get me a room I can lock this little bastard in until I decide what to do with him," Robert demanded.
As the tension slowly bled from the room, Eddard realised two things. He owed his oldest friend, and he damn sure wasn't going to be betrothing Sansa to Joffrey.
— Bonus Scene — Cersei Lannister
Watching the Maesters work, she scowled deeply as she listened to them talk.
Joffrey was never going to fully recover from this. His nose would never set right, his teeth wouldn't return, and his jaw would always look a little crooked. Her perfect little lion was a cripple. Disfigured. Like… him.
Artos Stark had just made her son resemble the Imp, in face if not posture. And Robert wouldn't even punish him for it. Oh, sure, Artos had been sent away from the feast as if that was a worthy punishment for the permanent disfiguring of the crown prince. She'd always believed the northerners were savages, and now she had her proof as she remembered the feral look in his eyes as he'd ruthlessly beat Joffrey.
In any other situation, she'd be arranging an accident, but… she saw the blade stab into the boy's skin and just… do nothing. Looking down at the dagger, she raised it carefully and stared at the tip. The broken tip. It hadn't just failed to pierce. It had gone against his flesh and lost.
Rage and ambition warred inside her as she considered what she was supposed to do.