Chapter 39: Jon Snow
The training yard of Winterfell was a place of organized chaos when Artos Stark took to the practice ground. One by one, the castle guards came at him—some eager for the test, others decidedly less so. They came with practice swords and shields, and one by one they found themselves tasting the hard-packed earth of the yard.
The morning had been brutal. By midday, there were a dozen men nursing bruises and one with what might have been a cracked rib, though he'd refused to complain to the maester. Artos moved through them like a storm front, his strikes precise and controlled but no less devastating for their restraint.
Two of the Skagosi warriors—men who had chosen to remain at Winterfell rather than return like many others especially who fought in Bloody Dance—stood watching from the sidelines. They spoke in their rough northern dialect, thinking Artos too focused on his training to hear them.
"Is the Demon craving for blood?" one muttered to his companion. "The more we stay here, the more he hits harder. It's like he needs combat to stay sane. Like he's grieving for the war itself."
"Speak quiet, you fool," the other hissed. "Any more and he'll hear you, and then he'll hit even harder. The man's looking for a reason to swing that blade."
Bert observed from a distance, leaning against one of the practice posts. Thewarrior had seen many things, but what he was witnessing troubled him. Artos trained with an intensity that bordered on desperate, as though the absence of war had left a void inside him that physical exertion might somehow fill.
The boy's grieving for loss now the war was over, Bert thought, watching as another guard went down hard. Grieving for blood and battle and the purpose that war gave him. Peace is harder for men like him than any sword fight.
A Winterfell guard approached, moving carefully to avoid being too close to the training yard's edge. "My Lord, Lord Benjen summons you. Lord Howland Reed has arrived in Winterfell."
Artos finished his current sequence, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his hair. "Reed's come? Wasn't he with Ned? Did my brother arrive as well?"
"No, my lord, but he arrived with..." The guard paused, choosing his words carefully. "He arrived with a babe, my lord. Newborn. And the child bears Stark features."
The words hung in the air. Around the training yard, eyes shifted toward Artos, and speculations began to form on every face.Artos felt his chest tighten. A babe? With Stark features? His mind raced through possibilities. Seven hells, is it one of mine? I thought I was careful. I always made sure they drank moon tea. Unless...
"How old?" he asked, moving toward the armory to clean himself up.
"Newly born, my lord."
Not Brandon's then, Artos thought, then caught himself. Wait, could it be mine? I don't remember... but then again, there were a lot of women, and I wasn't always careful...
Bert caught up with him, a knowing smirk on his weathered face. "This is what happens when you try to fuck every woman in three kingdoms, my lord. Sooner or later, consequences come calling."
Despite everything, Artos laughed. "Fuck you, Bert. Let's go and check this mystery child first. It could be a false alarm. Reed might have brought us something else entirely."
But as he walked toward the keep, drying his face on a cloth, Artos couldn't shake the feeling that his world was about to become significantly more complicated.
The Lord's Chamber was crowded when Artos entered. Benjen stood near the hearth, his expression unreadable. Lady Catelyn sat with perfect posture on one of the high-backed chairs, her fingers twisted together in her lap. And there, seated with the careful dignity of a man bearing heavy tidings, was Lord Howland Reed.
The Lord of Greywater Watch was a slight man, often overlooked by those who didn't know him, but his grey eyes held the weight of secrets some of his own, some of Artos and now of Lord Eddard Stark.
"Artos, you're here," Benjen said, his tone deliberately light. "We were waiting for you. Lord Howland Reed has brought us news. Both good and bad, he says. He didn't want to speak of it until you arrived."
Artos's stomach twisted. Something was wrong here—he could feel it in the air, thick as smoke. "Where is the babe? Is it... is it mine?"
The fear in his voice was genuine, and it made Benjen laugh despite the gravity of the situation. "Relax, brother. I haven't seen you this scared even when Father was angry at you."
"I'm not scared," Artos protested weakly, his voice belying every word.He said in the most nervous voice a man can make.
Even Lady Catelyn allowed herself a thin smile at his obvious discomfort.
Benjen was grinning outright now, clearly enjoying his younger brother's rare moment of vulnerability.
Lord Reed shifted uncomfortably, his fingers picking at the hem of his cloak. Delivering news was not his strength—he was not a man of not words. A maid appeared with a bundle, the infant swaddled carefully in soft linen.
The babe was small, as newborns often were, with wispy brown hair and eyes the color of deep grey, the distinctive shade of House Stark. Those eyes fixed on Artos with an intensity that made him feel exposed and uncertain in a way no battlefield ever had.
"He's a Stark, alright," Artos said quietly, his thoughts scattering like frightened birds.
I'm going to be a father. Gods, I'm not ready for this. I'll never be ready for this.
Lord Reed cleared his throat nervously.
"My lord, the child is not... that is to say, he's not your natural son. He is..." He paused, gathering courage. "He is Lord Eddard's natural born child."
The words hit Artos like a physical blow. His mind seemed to stutter, unable to process the information. "What? Ned's babe? Ned has a bastard?"
For the first time since the revelation, the reality of it sank in. His brother—the honorable Eddard Stark, the man who had lectured him about duty and responsibility and the importance of keeping one's word—had fathered a bastard child. It was almost incomprehensible.
Benjen's laughter died in his throat as the implications hit him as well. He stood there, mouth slightly open, clearly struggling to align what he'd just heard with everything he knew about his eldest brother. "Ned? Our Ned? I... I can't... how is that even possible?"
The person most devastated by the revelation was Lady Catelyn. She had been sitting quietly, absorbing the shock, but now the full weight of it crashed down upon her. Her husband had dishonored her, had fathered a bastard while she carried his trueborn heir. Her face went pale, and without a word, she rose from her chair and left the chamber, moving with jerky, uncertain steps.
"Wait, my lady!" Benjen called after her, moving to follow, but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Artos sank into a chair, staring at the infant. The child stared back at him with those impossibly grey Stark eyes, innocent of the chaos he had created simply by being born.
"You could have told us this privately first, Reed," Artos said finally, his voice hollow. "Before Lady Catelyn heard. We could have claimed the boy was mine. No one would have questioned it—I've bedded enough women, gods know. We could have protected Catelyn and Ned both."
Lord Reed looked even more uncomfortable. "I tried to suggest that to Lord Eddard when he sent me with the child, but he... he refused." saying not the truth but also not lies.
"Damned honorable fool," Benjen muttered, finally giving up on following Lady Catelyn. "That's just like him. Too noble for his own good. He probably didn't even consider what this would do to Catelyn."
Artos nodded, recognizing the accuracy of the assessment. That was exactly what his brother would have done—chosen principle over practicality, truth over kindness.
"What's the child's name?" Benjen asked.
"Jon, my lord. Jon Snow."
Artos picked up the infant carefully, supporting the small head with the tenderness of someone handling something infinitely precious.
"Jon Snow. It has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"
"Aye," Benjen agreed. "A good name. Probably named after Jon Arryn—he's been Ned's foster father since childhood, after all."
"A decent enough man," Artos said, rocking the child gently. "Though he's too wrapped up in politics and scheming for my taste. Would have liked him better if he'd been less calculating."
Benjen laughed, a bitter sound. "Ned's going to have a very difficult time in his marriage now. Catelyn will be furious. And well she should be—Ned made a fool of her in front of the entire North."
The two brothers sat together in stunned silence, passing the infant back and forth, each lost in their own thoughts about what this meant for their family. Finally, Benjen remembered the remainder of Reed's statement."Reed, you mentioned good news and bad news. We've heard the... interesting part about young Jon. What was the bad news you came to tell us?"
Lord Howland Reed's expression grew darker still, and he straightened himself to deliver the rest of his burden. It was clear that what he was about to say was far more serious than anything that had come before.
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