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Artos Stark book ch 2
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 06:54:22 +0000 UTC*"Chapter 2 – Brandon's Rage**
Three Stark siblings rode together, a host of men trailing behind them. Hundreds of men followed, direwolf banners flapping in the warm wind, a fierce reminder that Starks had come south.
Brandon Stark rode at the front, a hulking shadow atop his dark grey stallion, eyes simmering beneath thick brows. At six and a half feet tall, with a chest like a forge bellows and a jaw set in stone, he looked like a warrior carved from ice.
"You should've let me handle it, Lya," Brandon muttered.
"And let you attack the crown prince in front of half the realm?" Benjen scoffed, glancing up at his older brother from the saddle. "You'd have dragged the North into war by sunset."
"Aye," Lyanna teased, brushing a lock of dark hair from her face. "He is a prince , Rhaegar crowned me Queen of Love and Beauty. Not that I minded."
Brandon's nostrils flared. "He's married, Lyanna. And you're betrothed."
"It's done," Benjen cut in quickly, hoping to snuff their brewing quarrel. "We'll not undo the crowning. You've a real wedding to attend, Brandon. Best focus on that."
Brandon didn't reply. He stared out ahead, face taut with frustration. But after a pause, he asked, "Where's Artos? He was supposed to come."
Benjen and Lyanna exchanged a glance.
Benjen sighed. "A raven came from Father. Artos refused. Artos refused to attend a marriage held in a southern sept—not when it was supposed to be a Heart tree. Father told me to return as planned."
Brandon half-smiled despite himself. "That clever pup. Can't even fault him for it. But I miss him At least he'd have stood with me when it counted."
Benjen gave no answer. Neither he nor Lyanna wanted to imagine what might have happened if Artos had been at Harrenhal. He would have attacked Prince Rhaegar for that crowning, damn the consequences. No doubt in any of their minds. The wolf blood run quite wild in him .
The march soon split. Benjen turned north for Winterfell, while Brandon and Lyanna continued toward Riverrun for his wedding to Catelyn Tully.
A few days later
The red walls of Riverrun welcomed them with banners flying and horns blowing. Lord Hoster Tully himself stood at the gate, smiling like a man who believed all was well.
"Welcome to Riverrun, Lord Brandon. Lady Lyanna," he greeted.
"It's good to see you, Lord Hoster," Brandon returned with a half-hearted bow, recalling his father's warnings: Be diplomatic, or you'll answer for it.
Inside, Hoster introduced Brandon and Lyanna to his family—Catelyn with her quiet strength, Lysa with her shy glances, and the boy they called "Littlefinger." Petyr Baelish. Barely a man, lean and knife-eyed.
In the days that followed, Brandon and Catelyn spent quiet moments together. She was gracious, intelligent, kind—and a good match, even if chosen by their fathers. But not everyone in Riverrun was pleased.
Petyr Baelish, slight and sharp as a splinter, had loved Catelyn since childhood. In his mind, that love was mutual. And in his pride, he convinced himself that someday, she would be his.
He couldn't stand to see her smile by Brandon's side.
And so, brimming with foolish courage and wounded pride, he approached Brandon Stark with the full delusion of love and challenge in his veins.
Brandon stood with several men when Petyr stormed in.
"Lord Brandon Stark," Petyr spat.
Brandon turned—and frowned. "Who the hell are you?"
"I am Petyr Baelish. A friend of Catelyn Tully."
"You looked more like a stable boy. Speak plainly."
"I challenge you," Petyr declared, chest puffed. "To a duel. For her hand."
The hall fell into stunned silence for a beat. Then laughter—cynical, booming, uncontrollable.
Brandon laughed the loudest.
He looked around, then back at the boy glaring up at him, more mouse than man. "Is this a joke?"
Petyr didn't waver. "It is no joke. I love her. And you're unworthy."
Brandon's laughter dimmed. He wasn't a man who tolerated claims like these and knew how fast false rumors spread. He knew how fast whispers turned into blades in the back.
"Very well," Brandon said, stripping off his armor after seeing that man was standing in scraps of steel as a armour. "I'll grant you your duel."
They clashed in the training yard under the eyes of nobles and servants alike. But it was hardly a fight.
Brandon toyed with him, knocking aside every pathetic thrust without effort. His patience wore thin, though he offered the boy several chances to yield.
Petyr refused.
Then came the final moment—Brandon raising his sword not with anger, but with grim resolve, as if putting down a wounded beast by taking pity .
Catelyn arrived just in time. "Stop! Please!"
Brandon halted. "He challenged me. I told him to yield. He refused."
"He cares about me," she explained, breathless. "He thinks I'll be unhappy in the North. He's… he's just a friend. Like a brother."
The word hit Petyr harder than any blade. Brother.
Brandon sighed. He didn't want to embarrass his betrothed, but he couldn't let this pass. Not fully.
He turned, and with one quick slash, left a deep cut across Petyr's left cheek—missing the eye by less than an inch. Blood poured down the boy's face.
"This will remind you not to look at what is not yours," Brandon said, sheathing his blade. "You live because my bethored asked."
The castle buzzed with the tale—some horrified, some amused. Lord Hoster summoned Brandon privately, insisting Petyr was just a child , foolish but harmless. For the sake of both families, the matter had to end there.
Brandon agreed. For now.
But under the surface, darker things moved.
Lyanna was already exchanging letters with Rhaegar Targaryen. Words laced with longing. Somewhere in those dreams of prophecy and song, the dragon prince had captured her heart.
Their plans were far more dangerous than a crown of roses. They were planning to run.
Meanwhile, the boy who lost the duel spiraled into a drunken daze. Petyr drank through shame, heartbreak, and humiliation. Catelyn ignored him, believing the lies he spun of just caring for her but still refused to talk to not to spread rumours. And Lysa, desperate for his attention from childhood, mistook his craving for Catelyn as affection aimed at her.
One evening, deep in wine and deeper in delusion, Petyr mistook Lysa for her elder sister—and in that haze, he took her maidenhead.
When Lord Hoster found out, fury gripped him. Lysa was given moon tea, though the girl believed she was already with a child which she lost .
Petyr took her grief and twisted it to his will.
He knew then—he'd never win through strength or honor. Brandon had that, and it brought him victory. But Petyr knew now he would win through chaos.
He would burn the realm in chaos.Then He would rule the ashes.He would make Catelyn his queen of the ashes he would rule
His opportunity came when Lady Lyanna ran with Prince Rhaegar sending just a letter for her actions to explain to her Brother but Unfortunately for her and fortunately for him the letter was caught by Lysa first then she gave it to me . I knew my time has come
He spread the first rumor himself: Lyanna was kidnapped. Rhaegar had taken her—abducted the wolf maiden. The prince had indeed vanished, last seen in the Riverlands. It was all Petyr needed.
And Brandon Stark, full of rage, still nursing his anger from Harrenhal and the crown of roses, heard the lie.
He rode for King's Landing like a storm —with fire in his heart and asking Rhaegar head for kidnapping his sister.
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