Chapter 119: Nothing
The day after the tourney had not brought peace. It had brought infamy, rumors, dread, and tension to the realm. Everyone was unsure which of the two most unreasonable men would back down first: Lord Tywin Lannister or Lord Artos Stark, the Demonwolf. It was a hard knot for the Crown and the realm both.
From the outside, things looked almost calm. The smallfolk felt a sort of uneasy rest, as if the danger had passed with the end of the tourney. But it never did in King's Landing. Both North and West now pressed at the Crown's ears, each wanting the situation "sorted" in their favor.
The city still buzzed with the memory of blood on the lists—Gregor Clegane falling, Bjorn Stark standing over him with an axe and blood on his face—while the king had to decide whether the boy was a hero, a fool, or something worse. The smallfolk had their stories already. The lords had theirs. The realm had twisted and sharpened them into weapons.
Through it all, Artos Stark remained in the Red Keep, calm as winter water. He behaved as if nothing had happened. No comments, no demands, no threats. He simply resumed his work, as if nothing significant had occurred at all.
This surprised the lords. They had expected the opposite—rage, threats, open defiance.
The most shocked and tense, however, was King Robert Baratheon, who had been uneasy ever since the incident. Handling two of the most prideful men in the realm and maintaining the peace was not as simple as the smallfolk might imagine. But he had to think on it. The gods had cursed him with that ugly throne, so he had to bear it.
So Robert Baratheon, for the first time in many years, took the initiative to discuss a serious political matter with his Hand—a rare phenomenon—and went to meet him in the Tower of the Hand, where the windows looked out over the city and the light came pale through the shutters. The king did not come in full regalia. He wore a plain velvet tunic and the look of a man tired, irritated, and nearly out of patience.
Artos stood at the window with a faint smile, as if amused by the situation.
"Your Grace, I thought you would never visit me here," he said. "Tell me, what can your Hand do for his king?"
His tone was light, almost japing, pointing out the obvious—that Robert rarely came to him like this.
Robert was in no mood for japes.
"Cut that nonsense, Artos," he said, serious and sharp. "It is not the time."
Artos laughed softly. "What? Robert Baratheon himself willingly comes to his Hand to discuss the realm, and I am not allowed to find it surprising?"
Robert sighed. "Is this truly the time for taunts and japes? What should I do then, if not come to my Hand when two of my most important allies are at each other's throats like rabid dogs? Tell me."
He spoke with a frustrated voice, as if asking Artos to drop the games and be serious.
Artos laughed again instead of sobering.
Robert snorted when he saw that.
"You should look like a man waiting for someone to make a mistake," Robert said. "Instead, you stand here relaxing. So tell me—what are you planning? What is going through that devious mind of yours? I need to know before you make a mess of it."
Artos smiled, took up a jug of wine, poured himself a cup, and drank. He was in no hurry. He was deliberately patient and slow, which only made Robert more frustrated.
Robert slammed the table in front of him.
"You enjoy making me miserable, I know that," he said. "But this time, Artos, I am serious. The realm is watching. You told me to get a hold of myself, and I did, but now you are here testing my patience."
"You make that easy, Robert," Artos said lightly. "I suppose I do enjoy it. But you do seem truly frustrated this time. Calm your tits down Robert. This matter needs your calm, not your anger. I say that as your Hand, not as a Stark."
That drew a short bark of laughter from Robert, though it faded quickly. He moved to a chair and sat heavily, rubbing his face.
"I have had enough of the stink of this matter," Robert said. "Tywin wants blood. Half the court wants a sentence. The other half wants to pretend none of it happened. And the Mountain still lives. And you—the most unpredictable of them all—are doing nothing that anyone can see, and telling me to keep calm."
Artos, still calm, spoke again.
"Should I invite the young ones?" he asked. "If we are to discuss this, they may matter as well. I am talking about Robb, Loras, and Bjorn. I would advise inviting the prince too, but I know better than that."
Robert waved it off. "I do not need the young ones here. They can be dealt with. You and Tywin are the ones with the problem."
Artos laughed. "You do not know how wrong you are. Tywin and I have pride and large egos, yes, but we also know how to behave. The young brats do not. I thought you would have learned that after fighting a rebellion. The young ones are the ones full of rage and blood. They want to earn the glory their ancestors achieved. We fought the rebellion because we were young. My father's first thought was to negotiate peace. Jon Arryn only agreed to rise after too much shit had already happened. Before that, they tried to ignore the king and just live with it. So when I say the young ones must be controlled, I mean it."
Robert thought on that and turned the words over in his mind.
"Maybe you are right," he said at last. "But I still cannot ignore you and Tywin. Gods know what the pair of you will do if I do not keep you in check."
Artos laughed loudly.
"Hahahaha."
Robert glared. "Now what?"
Artos stopped, then smiled. "Do not worry this time. I will do nothing this time. Nothing."
Robert scoffed. "Like hell you won't. I have known you for two decades. You do not sit idle, especially not after that monster attacked your ward."
Artos smiled, but there was mockery in it. "So you agree that he was in the wrong—and that he should face consequences."
Robert sighed. "Do not play game of words with me, Arty. Even Tywin will not fight on whether the Mountain was right or wrong. He will fight over Bjorn's last blow, especially when the Mountain was already decapitated and beaten."
Artos turned at that, his good eye gone cold. The laughter and lightness were gone. This time his face showed the anger beneath.
"He should not have attacked the boy," Artos said, his voice low and hard. "He will learn what consequences truly are. It's not something to be discussed truly"
Robert looked at him sharply. "You speak as if this were simple. I am not saying I side with the Mountain, but you know Tywin. I cannot afford to lose either of you."
"It is simple," Artos said. "The details are not."
Robert gave him a flat stare. "You are not helping. You say you will do nothing, and then you threaten him. Make up your mind, damn it. You two are giving me headache after headache. Tywin the mighty lion, and Artos the Demonwolf, both making my life hell."
Artos smiled cleverly at that.
"Oh, that is true," he said. "I will not do anything. I do not need to. Do you think a man like Tywin Lannister—the mighty Tywin, as you say—will do nothing after this? Of course not , he will retaliate. I just need to sit back and wait."
That earned another tired breath from the king.
"Tywin is furious," Robert muttered. "Of course he will strike back. But what is that to you? You and waiting are hardly the same word."
Artos smiled. "Well, think about it. What can he truly do that will actually hurt us?"
Robert frowned and tried to think of answers, turning over possibilities.
"Do not strain yourself," Artos said. "The answer is: nothing. Nothing that truly hurts us. At most, he can call for a trial. Even Tywin knows how that would go."
Artos smiled in a way that said more than his words.
"I need this settled," Robert muttered, confused and uncertain what to make of that. "Not because I care what Tywin feels, though gods know he makes that difficult, but because the whole court is waiting to see this spectacle. So what would you have me do? Bury it?"
Artos answered at once, without hesitation.
"You can do nothing, Robert. You can't bury this, Do you think this started at the tourney? No. It started long before. Maybe on the Kingsroad, when the queen and prince were displeased. Perhaps twenty years ago, when my brother and I first threatened him. Gods know. But I can tell you this—Gregor Clegane will curse the gods for letting him live at the tourney."
Robert stared at him for a long moment.
"Seven hells," he said. "Can this not be resolved in peace?"
Artos gave a cold little smile. "That is not likely. You know as well as I that Tywin Lannister will not sit back. His pride is his greatest weakness. I am simply looking to use it for my benefit. Trust me when I say this, I did not intend any of this. I even wanted to make a deal with him before. But I will not let my family be harmed. Every action has consequences. I will make them realise that mine are harsher."
Before Robert could reply, there came a knock at the door.
Hard. Urgent.
Both men turned.
Robert's expression changed at once.
"Come in."
The door opened and Ethan entered, a little out of breath, his face set in worry.
"My king. My lord Hand."
Artos's eye narrowed. "What is it?"
Ethan swallowed once.
"There has been an incident," he said. "Involving Prince Joffrey and Lord Bjorn."
The chamber seemed to go still.
Robert's face darkened at once. "What sort of incident?"
Ethan hesitated a heartbeat too long.
That was answer enough.
Artos turned fully toward him. "Where are they now?"
"Near the lower yard, my lord," Ethan said. "The prince is angry. Bjorn is with him, and it does not seem to be calming."
Robert "Gods help me.You knew this would happen," he muttered.
Artos did not look away. "I told you," he said. "We have lived through the same thing—the rage and hunger to prove oneself."
Robert snorted. "Aye."
And together, they left the solar, heading toward yet another storm waiting in the Red Keep.
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