Chapter 48: Knights and Soldiers
Moat Calin rose from the Neck like a finger pointing accusingly at the sky, its ancient stones being slowly restored to their former glory. Within its walls, Bert moved through the endless paperwork that accompanied command, cursing Artos Stark with every ledger he reviewed and every report he filed. Never in his long life had he imagined himself as a commander of men, yet here he was, responsible for training and disciplining the hardened veterans who had followed the Demon Wolf through the rebellion's bloodiest campaigns.The men under his watch were a particular breed of soldier—survivors of the Trident, the Trident itself, the siege of Storm's End. They were violent by nature and temperament, tempered in fire and accustomed to following Artos's commands without question. Lord Benjen had been kind enough to place them under Bert's authority, but the administrative duties that came with the position were slowly driving him mad. He understood now why Artos had spent so much effort avoiding paperwork during the war. It was torture of a different kind—the slow death of bureaucracy.
A knock at the door pulled him from his brooding contemplation of yet another supply manifest."Commander, the Maester has something for you," a soldier announced.
Bert looked up, surprised. The Maester rarely visited his quarters—the old man had his own concerns attending to Lord Benjen and the castle's sick and injured. "Send him in."
The Maester entered with the careful dignity of his station, offering a greeting before extending a letter sealed with the silver mermaid of House Manderly. "A letter arrived for you. From White Harbour, it seems."
Bert took the letter, his mind already working through possibilities. Lord Wyman's youngest, perhaps, asking to join Artos's ranks again? The boy had tried several times in the years since the war ended, and Artos had rejected him each time with the same reasoning—no noble scions, no exceptions, no matter how eager they were to serve. The competition between great houses for positions in Artos's service had been fierce enough that such restrictions were necessary.
But when Bert broke the seal and read the first lines, his breath caught in his throat.The letter was in Artos's hand—Bert would recognize that particular scrawl anywhere, the slashing strokes and economical phrasing unmistakable.
Bert,
Artos here. I've left Winterfell and abandoned the Stark name. I know what you're thinking—don't even try to follow me. Stay with Benjen there. The Old Gods didn't bless me enough to remain at home, or to meet my new niece before I had to leave. But I need something from you.The gold—all of it—needs to be delivered to Lord Wyman Manderly at White Harbour. And I need men. Gather the most violent and eager ones from the ranks. The ones who are still hungry for blood and purpose. It seems it's time to use the Demons again. I can't seem to stay away from a fight, no matter how hard I try.
Don't try to stop me, Bert. You know better.
Shall the Demons reap the souls again.
Regards,
Demonwolf
Bert sat very still for a long moment, the letter held loosely in his weathered hands. It was Artos—the phrasing, the codes they'd developed, the seal of White Harbour confirming it. And yet it seemed impossible. Artos Stark abandoning his name? It was the one thing Bert had thought the man would never do.
But the evidence was undeniable. The handwriting was certain. The details too specific, too personal. This was no forgery or trick.Without wasting another moment, Bert rose and made his way toward Lord Benjen's chambers. This was information too significant to keep to himself, too important to delay in sharing.
He knocked with characteristic directness. "It's Bert, my lord."
"Come in, Bert," Benjen's voice answered from within.
When Bert entered, he found the young lord buried under piles of parchment, his face a study in frustrated concentration. Benjen didn't even look up from his work initially.
"What brings you here?" Benjen asked, still focused on the documents before him.
"I'm here to talk about Lord Artos," Bert said, his voice carrying the weight of the information he carried.
Benjen's head snapped up immediately, his expression transforming from frustrated to grave in an instant. When he saw Bert's serious face, he sighed—a sound that carried more resignation than surprise.
"So you've received his letter," Benjen said quietly.Bert's shock was immediate. "You already knew? About his situation?"
"Aye. A letter came from Winterfell days ago. Ned wrote to me about the whole affair." Benjen set down his quill and rubbed his temples. "He's breaking down over it, though he tries to hide it. I've sent him my thoughts and perspective, but I'm not certain it helps."
"Why didn't you tell me, my lord?" Bert asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. "After all these years, all we've been through together?"
Benjen laughed—a sad, hollow sound. "Would you have believed me? I barely believed it myself when I read Ned's letter. I still half-expect someone to tell me I misread it, that Artos is simply being dramatic as usual." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit, Bert. We have much to discuss."
They talked for hours, discussing the implications of Artos's departure, the letter's commands regarding the gold and the men he wanted assembled. By the time they finished, a plan had begun to form—how to respect Artos's wishes while also ensuring that Benjen and Lord Eddard knew what was transpiring.
Meanwhile, in White Harbour's castle, Waymar Manderly sat across from his father in the lord's private chamber. The youngest Manderly had clearly made a decision and had come to inform his father rather than seek permission.
"Father, I wish to follow Lord Artos in his journey," Waymar said with quiet passion. "I want to serve him again."
Wyman looked at his youngest with the expression of a man who had expected this development long ago. He knew full well of Waymar's obsession with Lord Artos—how could he not? The boy had fought under him, survived battles that should have killed him, and had been saved at great personal risk by the Demon Wolf himself. Artos had rejected Waymar's requests to remain in his service after the war, citing his policy against taking noble scions. But Wyman had always known this rejection was temporary—that eventually, Waymar would find a way to serve again."So you've truly made your decision," Wyman said, neither approving nor disapproving.
Waymar said nothing, his silence itself an answer. He knew his father well enough to understand that arguing with him was futile, that Wyman would see through any attempt at persuasion. The lord of White Harbour was a canny man, and his youngest son had inherited some of that cunning.
"Then serve him well," Wyman said finally. "Be loyal, be respectful, and remember that Lord Artos is a man of complicated principles. You may need to convince him quite thoroughly to accept your service."
Waymar nodded and rose to leave, but his older brother Wylis lingered, his concern evident on his face."Is it truly wise, father?" Wylis asked once Waymar had departed. "Sending him off on such a journey seems uncharacteristic of you. There's danger ahead—anyone can see that."
Wyman merely laughed. "Don't be so protective of your brother. He's a grown man, and his decision was made long before he walked into this chamber. You know him well enough to understand that. Besides, serving under Artos Stark is safer than most alternatives, however dangerous it may appear."
The training grounds of White Harbour rang with the clash of steel as Artos sparred with the castle's knights. It was good exercise, though underwhelming compared to facing true warriors like Ser Barristan the Bold. These were competent fighters, but they lacked the desperation that came from genuine warfare. Still, it was a warm-up of sorts, a way to keep his reflexes sharp and his mind occupied.
When Waymar approached and requested a moment of his time, Artos was unsurprised. He'd seen it coming from the moment the boy had recognized him in the castle gates
."Aye, I'm done here anyway," Artos said, setting aside his practice sword. They moved to a relatively secluded area of the grounds, away from curious eyes.
Waymar began to speak, stumbling over his words as he clearly tried to avoid using any title. "My—I know you have plans to depart for Braavos in a few days, and I would like to follow you on that journey."
Artos sighed, unsurprised but not particularly eager to hear what he suspected was coming. "You have a comfortable life here, you know. I don't even know what awaits in Braavos, but I can promise you it will be violent. Very violent. It's a life of blood and chaos with no real purpose beyond that. Why would you give up comfort for essentially nothing?"
"I've survived the Bloody Dance," Waymar replied steadily. "I don't think anything could be more violent than that. As for purpose..." He took a breath and dropped to one knee. "You are my purpose. Serving you is my purpose."
He spoke the words of fealty, pledging himself to Artos's service with the solemnity of a sworn oath.
Artos felt frustration rise in him like bile. "You do know that I left Winterfell partly because of a sept being built—because of the mixing of faiths and traditions? And you've just sworn on those same gods that I abandoned. It's not exactly logical."
Waymar remained silent, his head bowed, his determination absolute.Artos sighed heavily, recognizing the futility of argument. He'd seen that same look in Waymar's eyes during the war—the unshakeable resolve of a man who had found his purpose. To refuse now would only drive the man away to desperationm
"You need to ask your father's permission," Artos said finally. "I won't have diplomatic complications with the North because Lord Wyman feels I've spirited his son away. It needs to be done properly."
"Already done, my lord," Waymar replied.
Artos laughed despite his frustration. "Of course you fucking have. And stop calling me lord—it makes me feel like a southern knight now, and that's the last thing I need."
He reached down and hauled Waymar to his feet, and in that moment, something shifted. Whether it was acceptance or resignation, even Artos couldn't have said. But it seemed the Demons would have their numbers increased before departing for Braavos.
---
YOU LIKE THE WORK PLEASE SUPPORT 🙏
Please join the patreon and join the pack
www.patreon.com/Cregantheblackwolf
Thank you for your support and I am really grateful.