Chapter 68: Still Him
Artos made his way through the stone corridors of New Castle, torchlight flickering off merman carvings and whalebone hangings. Lord Wyman's feast still weighed heavy in his gut—seal blubber and dark ale churning—but the fat lord had laid it out plain: ride for Last Hearth day after tomorrow, with him Lord Wyman Manderly coming with them to give Rogar his due. Greatjon would appreciate the weight of it; the pyre smoke still hung in the air, Umber grief raw as a fresh wound. One conversation done, another brewing.
Seraphine Valen was the sort to wait in his chambers, Braavosi curiosity sharp as a blade. She'd be there, grin ready.
He pushed the door open, and sure enough, there she sat by the bedpost, silk kirtle loose, fireglow on her dark hair. Grin wide on her face.
Artos smiled back, his own grin wolfish. "It doesn't seem right for a lady like you to be in another man's chamber at night, Lady Valen."
"Spare me the lecture," she said, eyes dancing. "And it looks like you were anticipating me. If you knew I'd come, you know why I'm here."
Artos laid on the sarcasm thick. "Oh, no idea, Lady Valen. What made you so curious you'd come to my chambers at this hour?"
Seraphine got slightly annoyed at the japing. "I have no patience for your sarcasm and japes, Artos. You really thought you could keep me from knowing you're a Stark, with me here at north?"
"Well, I didn't know they'd make such a grand and unnecessary show of welcoming me. It was a surprise, and they did it on their own."
Seraphine laughed, bright and sharp. "Really? You thought the man they call Demon Wolf, a Stark on top of it, wouldn't get treated proper? Because of some spat with your brother and storming off in a rage? You're smarter than that, Artos."
Artos smiled. "Hey, a man can hope, alright."
Seraphine laughed again. "Aye, a man can hope. But a demon can't," she said, doing her best Northern accent.
Artos laughed at the jape. "Okay, now you're just being mean."
"So a Stark," she said, "practically a Northern prince, playing brute mercenary. You really are a wonder."
Artos shrugged. "Shit happens." Then he told her the whole of it—stories, reasons for leaving, the rage that sent him east.
"Weird stories by a weird man taking a lot of weird decisions," Seraphine said, drawing out the word weird strange-like. "A lot of weird situations."
Artos laughed. "Aye, a lot of weird shit, ain't it? But the only daughter of the most reputed merchant family in Braavos—even Essos—coming this far north with a mercenary commander? Pretty weird too. Guess we're both pretty weird people."
Seraphine laughed. "Yes—or as you say, aye."
Artos laughed. "So you've heard the story now. You should go to your room. It's getting late."
Seraphine bit her lip. "Maybe I don't want to go to my room. Maybe I want to spend the night here... with you."
They looked at each other, and the night happened with a lot of noise coming from that room.
Morning came late for Artos after an eventful night. He broke his fast at the Manderlys' hearth—porridge, bread, trout—stomach full.
Then to the training grounds to warm up, settle his body for the travel tomorrow.
Artos sparred with Waymar, other men all around.
Waymar gave him a tough fight, keeping Artos on the back foot—rare for him.
"You seem weak and unbalanced today," Waymar japed. "Looks like you had a tough night. Sure you can ride tomorrow? You did quite rough riding yesterday, Commander."
All the men nearby laughed at Waymar's jape.
Artos laughed too. "Oh really, Waymar? You really think you can overpower me, huh?" He laughed and picked up the pace, attacks coming faster.
They traded blows, and in the end Artos put Waymar on his arse in the mud.
Artos laughed. "You've improved, but not enough your arse stays on the ground. Tell me you ain't hurt. You able to ride with that arse?"
Waymar grinned. "I'll ride somehow. After all Someone's got to clean your shit after you, Commander."
Artos laughed back.
Waymar smiled. "And one more thing—your ride. She came back a few days before you got here, least that's what I hear. Most times she'd run wild, only sometimes came back. But days ago she returns and stays put. Crazy coincidence. But she's ready to be back with her rider."
Artos smiled and grinned. "Where's Snow?"
Waymar smiled back. "In the stables, Commander."
Artos, surprised, headed quick to the stables. He stood at the gates when he heard heavy hooves running toward him.
It was Snow, excited, charging full joy.
Artos smiled, hands out to calm her. "Aye, I'm here. Calm down, girl. Calm down." He grinned. "It's been a long time." He hugged her neck tight.
Snow hugged back, neighing happy—neigh neigh.
Artos said, "I know. We'll do that tomorrow. Don't worry."
The reunion of two friends and kindred spirits was done.
Seraphine found him there later, furs loose. "Heard the racket. Your horse?"
"Old Friend," Artos said, feeding Snow an apple from his hand. "Carried me through hell in the war. Manderlys keeps take care of her here . Though she run in the wilderness most of the time."
She stroked Snow's muzzle gentle; the mare allowed it, rare for strangers. "Fits you Stark, It's a great horse. Tomorrow—Last Hearth?"
"Aye. With Wyman and his guard. A lot of friends and reunions to make." He said but in his thoughts a lot of confusion present
"Still me, still the Wolf in the end or Am I washed up now." he said low, pulling her close. Snow nickered like she knew.
The yard picked up again—Brutes sparring loud, Waymar calling form.
"Atleast Snow's keen" Artos waved it off. "Umbers first. My thoughts and self pitying can wait."
Wyman waddled past, shadow huge. " Commander settled? Eve-feast awaits you if you got room."
"Always room," Artos grinned looking forward to the feast
Day turned to chores: oil blades, lash packs, talking and riding with Snow till she gleamed.
Seraphine trailed quiet, taking in the North—gulls over harbor, forge hammers ringing, smallfolk dipping heads respectful.
"You Northern folk," she said by the canal. "You folk quite a effort and focus on Loyalty."
"Old blood," Artos grunted. "Deep as weirwoods. If we can't be loyal, we won't survive in this cold."
Waymar raised a horn. "To the Demonwolf, Demon of the North." Brutes roared;
Seraphine drank mead bold, Rick on her shoulder.
Artos slept sound, wolf packed tight at the night after a long time he felt relaxed. North felt right; still him.
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