Artos 'The Demon Wolf'

Artos walked toward the Kingsguard, a cold expression in his eye.

Robb, Loras, and Bjorn had rarely seen Artos with a sword in hand. The image of him like that, and the atmosphere in the room, turned suddenly cold and dominant. They saw the glimpse of the man the realm was truly afraid of.

The Kingsguard had swords drawn, but Artos did not stop. He went near them without the slightest hint of fear.

He stopped in front of them, holding a one-handed sword that looked almost short for a man of his stature.

With those cold eyes, Artos spoke.

"You are the Kingsguard. Your prince has given you an order. Why do you not obey it? Come. Try it. Cut my head off."

He spoke to the shaken men before him.

They might have looked like dutiful knights, strong and ready to obey their prince's word, but the moment Artos stepped toward them first, their courage fled. They had drawn steel against Artos Stark, the one-eyed wolf, thinking their king would stop him.

To their surprise, King Robert remained silent, looking more like a man who wanted to see whatever Artos was doing brought to its end than one who wished to halt it.

So they were afraid—afraid of the man once called the Demonwolf.

Artos did not care for their thoughts.

"Cat got your tongues?" he snapped. "ATTACK ME!"

He shouted at them, giving grown men doubts and fear.

They glanced toward the king, who seemed more interested in letting it play out than in stepping between them.

Artos's anger flared when he saw the guards looking to Robert instead of to him.

"Look at me when I am talking to you," he said, voice rising. "If the king wanted to stop this, he already would have. So make a decision. Quickly."

The Kingsguard stayed silent, unable to move. They felt the weight of the pressure around them: a giant of a man stood before them, sword in hand, taunting them to strike.

They were too afraid; the consequences could be lethal.

Artos saw their fear plainly.

He scoffed at them, loud and contemptuous.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him!" Joffrey yelled, still on the ground, blood on his face.

Artos turned and but he didn't even bother looking at Prince.

"Do not bother, boy," he said. "They are about to soil themselves."

He moved forward again, sword still in hand.

Then he lifted his free hand to his chest and unclasped the Hand's pin from his tunic.

Every eye followed the gesture. The room knew what that small object meant, and what removing it could mean. But Confusion deepened even more when Artos stepped toward Robb and held the pin out.

"Hold this for me a moment, boy," he said.

Confusion flickered across every face present.

Then Artos moved forward with the sword, passing near Robert, and from a short distance he tossed the blade so that it clattered on the stone just before the king's feet.

The sound of steel striking the floor echoed through the small chamber.

"Your Grace," Artos said, his voice cold, "Take that sword along with your Kingsguards and melt all three to that ugly throne. That way it will be of more useful than hanging at their sides."

Even the bravest men in the room felt a chill at that.

Even His own men and family were too wary to speak, afraid of triggering the rage Artos had been holding back for some time.

Raka and Ethan swallowed hard, doing their best to stay still and silent.

Robb, Loras, and Bjorn were too shocked and unnerved to say anything. It felt, for a moment, as if a different man stood there instead of the uncle and lord they knew.

Now they understood why the tales of fear and strength followed Artos. Only his words and a sword were enough to make everyone understand not to cross him.

Artos continued.

"You know," he said, "I expected more from a warrior king, and from a son and heir who at least knows how to hold a sword. Most of all, I expected the Kingsguard to be warriors, not cowards struck dumb by fear when a man stands before them with a sword and their king sits without one."

He spoke the truth without hesitation.

Robert sighed and reached for his wine, as if the situation were something he had already expected. Then he pushed himself up from his chair.

"Have you vented enough, wolf?" he asked. "Now put your Hand's pin back on and be a man again. I have allowed you more than enough."

He spoke with authority and a king's air.

Whatever the wine, there was no drunkenness in him now. The Demon of the Trident was in control again, not the fat, laughing drunk.

Artos scoffed.

"A man, you say," he replied. "Is that needed now? From where I'm standing, the wolf is doing a good job."

Robert snorted. "I asked for a Hand, and I will have one. One with a level head. I know you are angry at the boy. Scold him. Teach him. Tell him his mistakes, you have already struck him. You are my Hand, and my friend, not my enemy. Do not make a mess of this."

He looked at Artos with the expression of a man who would not accept refusal.

Robb stepped forward and returned the pin to Artos.

Artos took it.

"Father, are you going to let this happen?" Joffrey cried. "He struck your son—a prince, a future king. He should be killed for it!"

Robert turned on him.

"Shut up, boy," he said. "I have had enough of your foolishness and stupidity. You are to be my heir. You are supposed to be the one who will face rebellions, wars, and god knows what after me. Yet here you are—disarmed by a little girl, then attacking our most loyal and important ally. Is this how you mean to rule after me? Then consider the realm doomed."

His voice was full of contempt.

"I held this realm through strength—mine and that of loyal men, lords, and brothers in arms. And here you are, doing everything you can to break that."

Joffrey's bravado crumbled. Fear and shame cut into him; a wound that would linger long after the bruises faded.

Artos picked up from where Robert left off, his voice pressing down on everyone present.

"Why do you think your father allows me more freedom in King's Landing than any other lord ever has?" he said, speaking to Joffrey and to the room alike. "He trusts my honor. He trusts the way I do things. That trust was earned—by the North, by my brother, by years of blood and loyalty.

Robert watched him, listening closely.

"But that trust has its boundary," Artos went on. "He knows I will not sit idle while my son and my family are harmed. I will respect the king. I will respect the alliance we have. But I will not respect a boy who keeps trying to strike at my family. You will understand that now ."

Joffrey's face was taut with anger and something else—fear he did not yet know how to hide.

"If you think your title alone protects you," Artos said, softer now but more dangerous for it, "you are wrong. Power is not built on blood. It is built on strength—and on loyalty. That is how Robert took his crown. Not by birth, but by will. If you keep thinking being a 'prince' is Enough, you will learn how little that word means to men like me."

The words cut deeper than any threat.

Joffrey opened his mouth, then closed it again.

For the first time since walking into the chamber, he seemed unsure of what to say.

Robert took that moment.

"ENOUGH," the king said. "For now. We are done here for the moment. Bjorn, you will keep your temper. Joffrey, you will keep your tongue. Robb, Loras—you will make sure this does not become a song in every tavern. Keep your mouths shut."

He did not stop there.

"We will speak more of this later. Until then, you will rest and stay out of trouble."

Robb inclined his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Loras bowed. "Of course, Your Grace."

Bjorn nodded once, his eyes still locked on the prince.

Joffrey bowed stiffly to his father, then turned away. His face was pale with fear and the beginning of a deeper, uglier mark—something broken and wary that had not been there before.

He had looked directly at the true Artos Stark—a man who did not care for titles or positions when his family was in danger.

He had not liked what he saw.

Not at all.

One by one, the young men left the chamber.

The door closed behind them.

Only then did Robert let out a long breath.

"Well," he said. "I do not know what to say. That was one of the worst ways this could have been done."

Artos did not answer at once.

Robert turned to look at him.

"This is what I meant," Artos said finally. "You see it now. This is not about one incident on the lists or in a yard. It is older than that. It will not die quietly. The wedge is already there."

His expression was cold and thoughtful.

"I told you," he said. "It is not about a single insult. It is a hate that began long ago and cannot be washed away with one apology. Tywin will not forget. I will not forgive. And the crown sits between us."

Robert grimaced. "As if I needed more of that."

Artos met his gaze.

"You asked what you should do," he said. "Now you have seen it. This will not end peacefully by itself. If you ignore it, it will grow. If you favor one side too openly, the other will turn on you."

Robert swallowed a curse.

"So what do you suggest, then?" he asked.

Artos did not answer immediately.

He stood in silence for a long moment, his eye drifting back toward the narrow windows, where the city lay beneath them like a patient beast.

Robert watched him.

The weight of that choice sat heavy in the room.

And the king waited still for his Hand to say what choice he truly meant—and what it would cost.

---

Shout out to new member King and he is truly a King. Man has purchased a annual subscription. Thank you man truly . Welcome to the Pack brother.

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./Cregantheblackwolf

Thank you for your support and I am really grateful