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The milk of poppy took effect, and the king closed his eyes knowing that he had left his kingdom far worse than when he had first claimed it. He had been so stuck in his grief and anger over the loss of his love that he had become too stubborn to see what he was doing to himself and the realm he had won. It was Ned who helped him realize what he had become. Hells, Ned was the only one who had the balls to call him fat; his one and true friend. He could finally see that if he had just listened to those around him who were better at this ruling thing, he might have managed to be a decent king, not just a strong one. Gods bless Ned, if only he had him as his hand sooner. Now it was far too late.

His mind drifted to the gods. Robert hated the gods, damning them for the hollow victory they had given him. It was a girl he had prayed for then, but instead they gave him a crown. And look where that got everyone. But now he prayed once more, he prayed that Ned could fix his mistakes, that he could sort out his son, and hopefully save that dragonspawn… no… that Targaryen girl from his fury. What did hatred of his formerly royal kin win him? Nothing but pain.

He knew that his time had finally come, his breaths were coming in shallower and shallower and soon they would stop all together. One last breath and he would be dead, surely bound for the seven hells for all the good he had done in his life. He just hoped and prayed that perhaps he would get a glimpse of his beloved Lyanna before he was sentenced to an eternity of suffering.

No. A voice called out to him, his eyes shot open, and he found himself standing on a windswept grassy field, a towering weirwood tree larger than any he had ever seen with hundreds of faces of all kinds carved into its trunk. Above him dark clouds roiled and flashed with lightning. The voice itself seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was not a single voice, however. It was a terrible amalgamation of tones as wild as the wind and as soft as the rustling leaves.

"What?" was all he could muster. Even that was impressive given his current circumstances.

No, the voice repeated. You will not see Lyanna of House Stark, daughter of Winterfell before judgment is passed on you.

"Oh, so I suppose this is the start of my eternal torture then." The dead king stated with a grim sort of courage. He was not entirely sure where it came from, though. He guessed it was born of the resignation that this was indeed justice for a life squandered. “Though you look different than what I was expecting. I never prayed to the old gods.”

" Yes, that is why they have called me as well. You died in a realm where the old gods hold little sway " said a strong new voice that echoed with power. It belonged to a bearded man, with a stern and strong face, dressed in simple but immaculate white robes. He had appeared suddenly as if materializing out of the air. " Despite your ancestor's best efforts to distance your house from it, the alliance between the children and the Storm Kings sworn before the old gods is not so easily dissolved. I accept the old gods' demand for this parlay. " The figure of the man shimmered and shrank before coming back into focus as a withered crone holding a lantern.

" Even if their claim on you is tenuous at best, I can't help but feel that this meeting will be a waste of effort. " She turned to the tree and continued. " What do you want with this soul?  He is not yours and his part in the song has been played.”

" Release your hold on him and let him be judged in my court. " The father demanded with a powerful voice.

The song is discordant.  The voices rumbled in anger.  It remains unfinished and the end unsure.  The Other stirs, seeking to push his claim. Even now his champion gathers strength.  Seeds have been planted that will ensure strife across the land and even if the son of the Dragon and Wolf were to take his rightful place victory is not certain.  The song must be rewritten.

Robert listened in awe as the gods argued before him, but something in particular stood out to him. A son of the dragon and wolf.  He couldn’t believe it. Ned would never have betrayed him like that. The former conquering king felt the fury of the Baratheons building in him. Gods be damned if he stood here and let his beloved Lyanna be dishonored in such a way.

"Lyanna had no son, it’s bad enough that she was taken by that rapist, but she would never let herself carry that damned dragon's child!"

There was silence for a moment as he stood there beneath the gaze of the gods old and new, his wrath abating and transforming into dread as he realized that he had just yelled at the gods. A few moments stretched on into eternity before the haunting voices of the old gods spoke up.

Would the Stark in Winterfell have told you of his existence? Suddenly Robert found himself standing in the throne room of the red keep, small bodies wrapped in red. He could hear himself speaking with one word echoing in his ears. Dragonspawn. The scene faded and he was once again standing in the endless field before the terrifying white tree, and the voice continued, would he have presented you with yet another child to dash against the wall? No, he cast away his honor to save his blood, and in so doing sentenced a child to a life of misery and mockery.

Tears threatened to spill from Robert's eyes as rage and sorrow warred in his heart. It was a pain he had felt before: when his parents died in the storm and when Ned brought him Lyanna’s bones. Jon Snow was not Ned's bastard, but Lyanna's. That monster Rhaegar had forced his betrothed to carry his child. He thought back to that day in the Red Keep. If Ned had presented the babe to him, would he have killed what was left of her? He wants to say no, but in his heart, he knows that his rage would most likely have spilled over, and he could have easily done something terrible in that moment. Yet another time Ned had saved him from himself.

"I see, this is all part of my punishment, isn't it? An eternity spent knowing that a rapist took away the child that should have been mine? That he forced my Lyanna to bear his child?"

" Your Lyanna? Forced? No, she went willingly." The lyrical voice of a girl called out. Robert gazed upon the beautiful innocent young maiden who had replaced The Father. She looked upon him with a sad smile. 

"She was wed to Rhaegar in the ways of the dragon gods, unaware of the pain it would cause her and her family, but the vows were true nonetheless. She feared being shackled to a man who would not honor his vows and crush her spirit. Rhaegar promised her love, freedom, and safety in his household. His honeyed words convinced her to run from her duty to you."  

The maiden paused and sighed. Robert felt his anger returning, yes it was all that Dragon's fault he deceived his Lyanna and stole her. But before he could voice his displeasure, she continued.

"Though do not think yourself blameless, in all of your interactions with her you did naught but reaffirm her fears. You treated her little better than all of the other maidens you dishonored.  You assumed she was yours from the moment her father agreed to the betrothal.  She was NEVER yours." The Maiden's voice, though sounding sweet to the ear, was clearly laced with admonition.

Despite wanting to object with all his will, Robert knew it to be true. How well did he actually know Lyanna? True there were the stories Ned had told him during their time in the Eyrie. He loved hearing of her fierce spirit of love of riding. What he wouldn't give for a wife who he could take on the hunt, or just ride freely across the fields of the Stormlands with. But no, he was stuck with Cersei Lannister, the biggest conniving bitch in all the kingdoms. Cersei, who looked down on him for not being a vicious cunt like the rest of her family. He tried to shake that vile woman from his thoughts and return to the matter at hand.

Now that he looked back upon that memory, when he had first met Lyanna at Harrenhal, it was true that he had treated her as if she was already his. He told her of how the people of Storms End would love her, of how she would make the perfect lady for his court. Never once had he tried to ask after her desires. He failed to articulate what he truly wanted from her. He thought back to those conversations and in the clarity of death and without the haze of the copious amount of wine he had consumed, he now saw the strained smile and the curt nods she replied with. He could see the fear in her eyes. Fear of being caged to a man who would dishonor her time and time again. The memory truly broke him, and the tears began to truly flow.

Enough of this, we are getting away from the goal of this parley. The voices of the old gods called out again. This man before us has flowing in his veins the blood of the First Men, the Andals, and even that of the dragons. In him we see greatness. In him we have a unique chance to change the song for the better, to end The Other’s champion and to ensure the long night is pushed back for another age. 

Robert was stunned, greatness? He was not even a mediocre king, and frankly if the past six and ten years taught him anything, it was that he was a shit ruler. And what of this madness of the Other’s Champion and Long Night, and what did it all matter anyway. He was dead.

"This man's sins are many and yet you still see potential in him?" The Father spoke with a skeptical tone before shifting into the form of a beautiful older woman, the pinnacle of motherhood.

"I can be merciful and forgive his many sins,” she said gently, but her tone became stern as she continued. “But crimes must still be punished. Plus, I fear what he would do with such mercy. Would he be any better than before? Would it not be more merciful to him to allow him to move on now? Let others take up this burden."

You should know that even a poorly forged blade once shattered can be remade into the most glorious of weapons. As for the punishment of his crimes, not everyone's fate can be altered. Let that pain be his. The old gods responded. After a few moments standing there with a thoughtful expression, the form of The Mother shifted again into that of a massive man wearing a leather apron and wielding a heavy hammer. He looked at Robert with an appraising eye.

"It is true that he has the potential to be reforged into a peerless champion, but the crucible of death is not an easy one to pass through. It could break him further." His form shifted once again into that of a knight in gleaming plate. 

"He was a warrior without equal in his youth, some said he was my incarnation. There is no doubt that his leadership in the great war would be invaluable to the forces of life, and if he could learn to apply even a portion of the zeal he displayed on the battlefield to ruling he might actually turn out to be a good king." T he Warrior was then replaced with The Crone once more .

"Yes, and perhaps while he's at it he can keep yet another heathen god from taking root in Westeros. It is bad enough we have to deal with that shambling corpse of a drowned god and you bloodthirsty trees." She cackled.

Winds rushed and thunder peeled demonstrating the ire of the old gods, and the crone lifted her hands in a placating gesture. 

"Yes, yes, I jest of course. You have made your point as to the man's value, but why is it so important to you? Is this some ploy for you to spread your influence into my domain, to take our supplicants? You do not have the power to send him back and if things continue on their current path, your power will become even more diminished while my followers will once again grow in number."

Robert stood in awe and disbelief; the gods were arguing before him. They were arguing over him. And what did they mean for him to be sent back? He was dead, wasn't he? There should be nothing but an eternity of paying for his sins in his future. He thought that this must be some sort of fever dream brought on by the milk of poppy, he must still be clinging on to life, and this was all a terrible nightmare. He then noticed as the clouds grew lighter, the wind stilled, and the branches of the great tree seemed to almost sag in defeat. Before the old gods spoke again quieter than before.

Yes, it is not in our power to send this one back.  It is to you who the spirits of men truly belong, and though we welcome the souls of those who venerate us into the embrace of the earth, they do not truly belong with us. If you would work with us to forge a better future, we would give up our claim on those who sleep in our embrace. And perhaps through this one, men can live in a world where the old gods and new are not at war with each other, and we can all be worshiped as equals.

The slain king was by no means a theologian, nor a great philosopher and so he struggled to understand what the old gods truly spoke of. But he did know that something truly unique was happening here. Could the two religions truly coincide? The Andal invasions would indicate otherwise. And he still didn't understand what they meant sending him back? A shiver ran through him as he watched the crone's form shift and change once again. Terror seeped into his very bones as he now gazed upon the black cloaked figure of the Stranger. The hood obscured its face almost as if it were simply a dark void. Its voice was cold and raspy, the voice of death itself.

"You are right, his soul belongs to me as do all men's and it is my prerogative what is to be done with them. You wish for me to hand him over to you? You must understand this goes against my very nature. I am the final end of all men, even those across the narrow sea can only say 'not today' so many times before they enter my embrace. As for those you have hidden away from me, I am patient. Your powers are waning, and they will be mine eventually."

We do not wish to keep him from your embrace Stranger. The old gods replied. What is yours will be given to you when his time once again comes. But you must know that all souls who fall into the icy grasp of the great Other and his champion are forever lost to power his undead creations. If you do not act now how many more souls will be stolen from you.

Robert sighed in relief as the form of the Stranger faded and shifted into that of The Father. "Your offer is fair and just; I believe I can work with you in this." His form shifted again this time into that of The Mother, whose smile warmed the former king's heart. 

"Perhaps my followers were too zealous in their pursuit of spreading my name and worship. It is true that our domains are different and not wholly incompatible." Her form shifted once more into The Warrior, his gaze turning upon Robert.

"He will fight for mankind and the lands that sustain them or die trying." Robert was struggling to keep up with the rapidly shifting form of The Seven Who Are One. The warrior blurred and, in his place, stood the Smith. 

"He will be reforged and in turn he must set right the world of men." The Smith was quickly replaced by the far more diminutive form of the maiden. 

"Perhaps this time he will learn to protect and cherish the women in his life." The Maiden gave way to the hunched form of the Crone. 

"Maybe he will learn from his mistakes and be wiser for it." Then the moment Robert hadn't realized he was dreading arrived as the Stranger once again took form and turned its invisible gaze upon him.  

"Yes, perhaps all of this will come to pass. But the future is a shifting river with only one true end. should he succeed or should he fail, his soul will belong to me and there will NOT be another chance."

Slowly, inexorably, the stranger advanced on him. Every instinct within Robert told him to flee, but he was paralyzed in fear. He heard the voices of the old gods call out to him.

You will be returned to your past. In five and twenty years, the long night will fall across the world and the Other’s Champion will stride forth with the dead at his command. You must do all you can to ensure that mankind is ready. We give you wisdom and a warning. It was never the name Targaryen that dragons bowed to, but the blood of the dragonlords. This blood flows too in your veins, do not fear it, embrace it. Finally, know that not all fates can be changed you must endure in spite of this.

As the voices of the old gods started to fade, the Stranger finally stood looming in front of the former king. Before Robert could do or say anything, the god reached out with a skeletal hand and picked him up by the throat. Before running his other hand up his belly where he had been gored by the boar. Robert tried to scream as he felt a burning pain almost worse than when that damned beast first got him, but all that came out were strangled gasps as he dangled in the god's iron grip.

"A reminder of your past failures and possible future should you make less than wise decisions going forward." The god whispered in its raspy voice before letting him go.

Robert felt himself fall and fall. Seemingly falling forever. A with a terrifying jolt he awoke in a distantly familiar room. His whole body ached and evening opening and closing his eyes felt like a torturous task. The first thing he noticed was the lack of fat on his body, something he couldn't help but release a soft chuckle at. An action he immediately regretted as he was rewarded by a wave of new pain. His slow inspection of his eighteen-year-old body was interrupted by a terrified scream coming from the direction of the door. Robert winced as he jerked his head in that direction just in time to see a servant girl dropping what she was carrying and bolting down the hallway. Confused, he looked down and blanched as he saw his stomach and clothes covered in sticky dark red blood.

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Robert's aches and pains were mostly forgotten as he frantically checked his stomach where the Stranger had apparently seen fit to reopen the wound that killed him in the first place. But as he checked his abdomen, he only found a jagged white line of scar tissue. Well, the scar and muscles he hadn't seen in almost over a decade. After a minute or two of checking himself over to make sure that there was no actual injury, he heard echoes of worried voices and hurried footsteps coming from the hallway outside his room. Panicking and not wanting to explain why his night shirt was covered in blood, he had an idea. Most likely not one of his best, but it probably didn't rank anywhere near the top of the list of his worst. He frantically smeared as much of the tacky drying blood under his nose and over his mouth as he could, and in order to truly sell it, he took a deep breath, faced the wall, and drove his face as hard as he dared into it. The aches and pains he had felt the bloomed once again, groaning he fell back onto his bed with fresh blood now pouring from his nose.

He laid there wondering why he didn't just tell the gods to shove it and to leave him to burn in the lowest of the seven hells instead. A few moments later he looked up to see three figures enter the room: a young Eddard Stark, who Robert struggled to reconcile with the man who had to his mind just taken his last will and testament; Jon Arryn, who frankly looked old even by the time he was fostered here; and a grey-haired man who was obviously a maester, he seriously struggled to remember the man's name.

"Robert! What in the seven hells happened here?" His foster father nearly yelled as the men took in Robert's bloodied form.

"Uh, I think I hit my nose?" It left Robert's mouth as part groan and part question. The maester was the first to overcome his shock at the bloody scene and moved to inspect Robert's face.

"Robert, I knew you had had quite a few last night, but I didn't think you were so deep in your cups." Ned said in an even tone, but Robert knew his friend well and could see the mirth gleam in his grey eyes. Frankly it warmed Robert's heart seeing innocence in those eyes again, innocence that had been snuffed out in a future filled with so much suffering. Suffering that, by the gods old and new, he would prevent. But before he could do that, he would have to overcome what felt like the biggest hangover he had ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

"It's not broken, but it is enflamed and still bleeding. The blood on your clothes seems much older, however. Do you remember anything from last night?" asked the maester as he turned Robert's head back and forth causing him to wince in pain.

"Uh, I uh, must have… uh, hit my nose as I stumbled into my room after drinking last night and passed out. When the servant screamed, it… I suppose it startled me awake. I fell out of bed and, uh, hit it again." Robert was quite proud of that excuse however poorly delivered it was; he was never great with improvising lies. The muted snort that came from Ned made him smirk a little, happy that his best friend could at least find some joy in the moment.

"Right, don't I look quite the mess. It must be hilarious." Robert tried following it up with a laugh but it came out as a pained wheeze instead. When he looked over at his foster father and mentor, he saw an all too familiar look. It was the face he saw when he had yet again disappointed the man who had practically raised him. Robert frowned; Jon had no idea just how much of a disappointment he had become in the end. Shame and sorrow began to well up in his heart, and he tried his best to tamp it down. He watched as the old man sighed moved forward and put his hand on his shoulder.

"I am glad you didn't drown in your own blood last night. You are a man, grown and strong, Robert; you should be more responsible than this. Soon you will need to be wed and take your seat at Storm's End." Jon paused for a moment, and Robert guessed why. When he was young, and frankly even when he was king sometimes, this would have been the part of the conversation where he would waive the old man off and make some crude jape, and if they were both up for it have a bit of a yelling match. But now he was determined to soak up every lesson he could while Jon was still with him.

"You're not wrong Jon, maybe I'll actually learn my lesson this time." This got varying reactions from the men in the room. Jon looked surprised, but also proud in a way that made Robert forget his aches in pains for a moment. Ned's brow furrowed and his mouth opened little before he turned to the maester who was beginning to work on Robert's nose.

"Maester Aiden, do check if he has any lingering damage to his brain from the repeated blows to his head. My dear friend doesn't seem to be himself." Robert would have laughed, but the maester was currently stuffing his nose with linen strips to soak up the blood.

"Very funny," Robert replied in a nasally tone once the maester was done with his work. "Like Jon said, I'm a grown man and a Lord. It's about time that got stuck in my thick skull." His best friend just gave him a disbelieving look. Frustrated, Robert continued. "Damnit Ned, is it too hard to believe that I had an epiphany after a day of drinking ended with me waking up covered in my own blood?"

"Frankly Robert, it is quite a stretch." Eddard replied with a chuckle, even Jon was sporting a teasing smile now. Robert couldn't help the bright smile caused by the feeling of kinship he had with these men.

"Bah, I'm fine, let me make myself presentable and dress in peace so that we can break our fast and forget that this ever happened." he said while waiving them towards the door.

"We broke our fast hours ago Robert. It is nearly mid-day. That was the fifth servant sent to rouse you, and the only one brave enough to enter without your leave." Eddard replied.

"Ah, well then, let me get ready in peace so we can have our mid-day meal together." The men nodded in affirmation before leaving the former king alone in his chambers.

Once the door had closed, Robert let out a long sigh and fell back into his bed, his body reminding him that it was not particularly happy with the current state of affairs. He only stirred again after a different servant knocked and asked permission to bring in a basin of warm water. Mentally thanking Jon for being so thoughtful, he lifted himself out of bed and cleaned off the by now dried blood as best he could. Afterwards, and with much groaning, he went through all of the stretches he had learned as a young man. Ones he realized that he couldn't have hoped to do as the fat king he became. Eventually he got to the point where he could walk around without every muscle protesting. He stripped out of his ruined night shirt and went to the looking glass to stare at his younger body. It was both pleasant and disconcerting at the same time, as the clean shaven boy was nothing like the fat slob of a man he had grown accustomed to seeing in the looking glass. He studied the jagged scar on his stomach now that he had a better view of it. It ran from the left side of his hip, across his midsection, and up to just below his right pectoral. Memories of the boar and of the Stranger's touch flashed through his mind, and he understood what the god had meant. Perhaps if he had just awoken here, in this fresh young body, he could convince himself that it was all a bad dream. That all the horrors he had witnessed and condoned were naught but vivid nightmares. He was talented at closing his eyes at things he would rather not see after all. But this scar was truly a reminder of why he was here. He would not forget.

With this affirmation, he pulled on a new silk undershirt and a well-made pair of trousers before grabbing his favorite black velvet doublet embroidered with a golden stag. He let out a self-effacing chuckle when he realized that it had been years since he could get dressed without the aid of one or two servants. Leaving his chambers to head for the high hall, he quickly realized that he was not, in fact, in the Eyrie, but the Gates. This realization plus the cold seeping in from the shuttered windows told him that winter must have already settled on the land, and the Arryn court had already relocated for the season. He remembered from his previous lifetime that this particular winter had started rather mildly but was truly terrible once the rebellion had reached its crescendo. That meant that the he had awoken in 280 AC, the year where everything started going wrong. A flood of emotions overtook him. Nostalgia, excitement, apprehension? Perhaps none of those, perhaps all of them. Death hadn't suddenly gifted him the ability to easily rationalize complex emotion. Honestly, anything more complex than joy, lust, or anger made his head hurt. He knew he had to do better, but that didn't exactly make it any easier. He was eventually stopped by a comely serving girl who bowed and gave him a knowing smile.

"Good day m'lord, Lord Arryn and Lord Stark send word that they are taking their meal in the lord's solar now. They ask that you join them when you are feeling able. Are you feeling able m'lord?" There was a twinkle in her eye when she coyly asked the question that would have had young Robert picking up the girl and quickly returning to his room for some afternoon fun. Now it just made him angry, even more so because of how his younger body had so eagerly reacted to it. This was exactly the thing that drove Lyanna away, his utter lack of self control when it came to the fairer sex. Part of him wanted to yell and strike her for daring to assume such things of him, but the Maiden's words echoed in his head, and he tamped down the temptation.

"Yes, I will go meet them now. Thank you for bringing the word." He delivered the words as cool and polite as he could. He noticed her smile fade slightly as she bowed again.

"It is a pleasure to serve m'lord."

Robert turned and walked briskly for the solar trying his best to forget the interaction. When he arrived and knocked on the door, he heard Jon's voice beckoning him in from inside. He opened the door and saw his true family once again before him, lifting his sour mood. They were looking over various documents as they ate but greeted him as he entered.

"It's good to see you up and about Robert, no lasting effects from your accident?" asked Jon in a warm tone. Robert had to stifle a guffaw, if only his foster father new the true extent of his accident. But it wasn't like he could simply sit down and tell them that he had di been sent back by the gods after his death in order to save them from the long night. Well, he could, but he did not imagine it going over particularly smooth.

"No, lasting effects except for the possibility of me finally finding some humility." A simple look from Ned communicated his doubt about it. Robert brushed it off and sat down to start on a plate of food that had been prepared for him.

"We got some interesting news this morning Rob," Ned said conversationally, "Looks like Lord Whent is planning on hosting the greatest tourney of our age just to celebrate his daughter's name day."

Robert's mind came to a screeching halt at the revelation. Less than a year, he had less than a year to get things sorted out. To stop Rhaegar from plunging the realm into war. He vaguely remembered some rumors after he had been crowned that Rhaegar was the one who funded the tourney in the first place. The he meant to meet with the various lords paramount so they could force his father to abdicate. He took no stock in those rumors at the time, since that would mean giving some form of credit to the raping bastard. Maybe if he could keep Rhaegar away from Lyanna, the prince could stay focused on the conspiracy and there wouldn't be a war at all. Now he just needed to figure out how to put his plan into action.

So lost in his plans for the upcoming Tourney, It took Robert a moment to realize that Ned was still talking. "… and so, I'll be leaving in a sennight. What are your plans?" Robert had stopped listening immediately after he had mentioned Harrenhal. He took a moment to try and remember this conversation from those years ago so that he wouldn't look like he had completely lost track of what his friend was saying, but eventually he gave up and replied.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He thought he sounded as apologetic as possible, but still got an annoyed look from the northerner.

"Gods, you'd think you would pay more attention when we are discussing your future. I was talking to you about the plans for your betrothal to Lyanna."

"Yes!" Robert exclaimed. He was able to remember what Ned must have been talking about. "Right, so with the tourney coming up you plan to head north and speak to your father on my behalf first before heading south with the rest of your family."

"So, you were listening." Jon drawled sardonically as he continued to pen a letter of some sort.

"I reckoned it would go over better if I spoke to my father in person about it. Preparations are being made for me to go north, and as I said I'll be leaving in about a sennight's time. If all goes well, you can meet your betrothed at Harrenhal." There were a few moments of silence as Robert processed everything. A smile creeping onto his face.

"That's a great idea!" he boomed causing Jon and Eddard to flinch a little, despite how used they were very used to Robert's outbursts by now.

"It's hardly groundbreaking for me to go home Rob." Ned said, slightly annoyed and confused at his friend's enthusiastic response.

"No, not that Ned! Going in person! I'll go with you and woo your sister so that she will practically beg your father for the betrothal." Robert's smile faltered as he saw how Ned's knuckles went white as he clenched his fist.

"Robert, my sister isn't some tavern wench for you to woo and bed. We both agree it would be nice to be brothers more than in heart, but if you dishonor my sister before your vows…" Ned stopped and took several deep breaths trying to calm himself. Jon had stopped writing and was watching the young men closely ready to step in if need be. This was a side of Eddard rarely seen. He may have been known as the quiet wolf, but he was a wolf none the less.

"Gods Ned, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. It's just…I know..." Robert gesticulated wildly as he fumbled fumbled for the right words. "I've come to realize that I have a certain reputation. Seven Hells, I brought Mya into this world. I know that it is high time for me to put all of that behind me. I feel like I already know your sister from all of the tales you have told me of her., but she doesn't know me other than what word travels North along the King's Road. So, I would like the chance to court her properly and perhaps win her over on my own charms rather than on your word alone." At this Jon spoke up, his voice laced with more than a little pride.

"That's quite a take on the situation my boy, and it is an honorable sentiment. I'll inform the servants to begin preparations for your departure as well."

Ned was still a little speechless, obviously not really knowing how to respond to this new responsible Robert. Ned eventually shook his head and let out a little chuckle.

"Mayhap I should have slammed your face into the wall a while ago. It seems to have done you some good." Robert's booming laugh filled the room in response

"And ruin this handsome face in the process? Gods forbid! Now, hurry up and finish your meal. We've got plenty to do."

"Oh?" Ned asked.

"Yes, if I'm going to be a good husband and lord, I can start by being a good father. So, were going to spend time with little Mya first. I'll be gone for several moons, and I don't want her to forget who I am. After that we are going to the tilts."

"The tilts? You hate jousting." Ned said once again confused.

"Yes, I absolutely do," Robert grimaced, "but I am not going to crown Lyanna as Queen of Love and Beauty by being a shit jouster." Robert's grimace turned into a conspiratorial grin, and he finished his food as fast as he could.

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At eight and ten moons little Mya was not so little anymore. She was a head taller than other children her age and already getting into all manner of trouble around the servant's quarters. As soon as she saw Robert coming, she cried out to him.

"Paaaaa! Up! Up!" she demanded arms outstretched. Robert laughed and obliged picking her up and tossing her high up into the air with her laughing wildly all the time. He saw his girl's mother, a young servant who was still only a few moons over seven and ten standing a respectful distance away looking on with a cautious smile. Her name was Piper and was the daughter of a hunter sworn to house Arryn who had perished helping repulse a mountain clan raid. Since her mother died in childbirth she had no real family, and was taken in by Lord Ronnel in recognition of her father's service to the house. She was, before having Mya, quite beautiful in her own right. Carrying such a large child however did her figure little favors, and she had yet to lose the extra weight the pregnancy brought. Robert wondered if that was why he had lost interest in her so quickly after his child had been born. If that was the case, then no wonder the Maiden looked so unfavorably on him. Robert decided that he would try to do right by her, at least to the extent that society allowed. But first he had a daughter to play with. He gave Piper an acknowledging nod before chasing after Mya who had wriggled out of his grasp and was heading off towards the yard.

Robert loved his little girl and he'd be damned if anyone looked down upon her for her status. He thought back to his previous life. How many bastards had he ended up fathering? More than he knew for certain. Edric Storm was a fine young man by all accounts, the boy would always send thank you letters in response to the name day gifts Jon was obviously sending on his behalf. He thought about Jon Snow and the scorn he had to endure from Catelyn and others who saw him as a product of sin. He vaguely remembers a Septon droning on about the base nature of bastards. Robert had to admit that there were some right pieces of shit to use as case studies as to why one should keep to their own marriage bed. But weren't there just as many paragons of humanity who's names were snow, waters, stone and the like? Maybe he should actually look into this, he was sure there was a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star in Jon's solar. Regardless, this time around he wouldn't let anything keep him from raising his daughter at his side.

He thought back to the time he had mentioned bringing Mya to the Red Keep to Cersei. Joffrey had just cut open that poor cat and Robert, enraged that his seed could do such a horrible act, struck the child hard enough to knock out some of his baby teeth. He instantly knew that he had overreacted and in one of his few moments of self-control stopped himself from taking the beating further. He remembered that harpy of a wife screaming and threatening, but there was nothing she could have done if he truly meant the boy more harm. In that moment he felt so alone and craved to have his daughter with him. To have at least one child that actually felt like family. It was the next day that he spoke to Cersei about it. Her response was so filled with venom and spite. "The city is not a healthy place for a growing girl" she had said. It was the first time he had struck his wife in anger. When his rage had subsided enough, and he had finally sobered up from the resulting drinking binge, he realized that bringing Mya to the Red Keep would most likely see her killed, and if that had happened, he would have most likely done something unspeakable in his resulting rage. So, he drowned his sorrow and loneliness in wine and women.

After reliving that memory, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow and regret for his trueborn children. Joffrey was a vicious little piece of shit, that was just objectively true. Perhaps if that wasn't the case, he could have laid down the crown years ago. That day on the Trident he had half a mind to side with little Arya over his son. Her version of the story sounded more plausible. If only her sister had spoken up, he could have done more to discipline his heir. But what truly brought him pain was examining who was at fault for his boy's piss poor personality. Robert would be more than happy to pin it all on his bitch of a wife, but that would just be him falling back on an old coping method. No, Joffrey was his son and he had neglected to raise him right. Looking back, he seriously doubted he would have been able to be a good father even if he wanted to. What paths in life had Joffrey been given? He could be a weak pretty boy beholden to his mother or a raging alcoholic philanderer like his father. Maybe if Cersei didn't have her claws so deep in her boy, he could have shipped him off to foster with Ned. All of his best friend's kids turned out well, they all had their faults, but compared to Joffrey they were saints. He supposed Myrcella and Tommen turned out alright. Well, he hadn't heard anything truly horrible about them. If he was perfectly honest, he didn't really know all that much about them. His experience with Joffrey had him withdraw from all of his children's lives. Just one more instance of him ignoring a problem rather than facing it.

The screams and laughter of his daughter pulled him from these darker thoughts. He knew that if he kept brooding on his past failures, it would just drive him to drink again. He would never forget his mistakes, but he had to somehow make peace with them. He had to accept his past so that he could be a better man, and better father, and a better lord.

Robert ended up spending a good hour of the afternoon playing and with his daughter and he had even managed to get the ever-stoic Ned to laugh and make faces at his little toddler. You wouldn't think it, but Eddard, beneath the stoic and honorable exterior, was just a big softy when it came to little children. Eventually, however, even the energy of a toddler will wain and it was time for Mya to take a nap. Her mother collected the sleepy child, smiling brightly at how well Robert treated their daughter. Mixed feelings flooded into Robert once again. Of course, thoughts of the passionate times they had together came to mind. He tried to put those aside though, knowing that dwelling on them would only lead to temptation. He remembered when she came to him terrified with news that she had quickened with their child. Echoes of the same emotions he felt then rippled in his heart: dread, love, excitement, and many others he was ill equipped to put a name to. Even then he knew that the difference in their stations meant that they could never be the family he truly desired. He steeled himself once again so that he could do right by this woman.

He followed her to her room where she began to tuck Mya into a crib that would soon be too small to hold the growing child. Robert would personally see to it that his little girl would have the most comfortable beds to sleep on. Ned followed behind with a certain amount of tension visible in his posture. Robert happily bade the rapidly fading toddler sweet dreams before standing and looking towards her mother.

"Ned, do you mind going to the yard ahead of me and preparing my horse? I have something to discuss with Mya's mother."

"Robert…" Ned had a cold tone of warning in his voice. Robert couldn't blame him. He knew what this looked like.

"I swear to you Ned, I only need to talk with her for a moment. I will not do anything that would jeopardize things with Lyanna." Ned didn't quite look convinced. "Look, we'll keep the door open. Please Ned, give us a moment of privacy." Eddard finally relented, giving Robert a quick not before turning to leave the room.

"What can I do for you, my lord?" Piper spoke first. Robert couldn't quite read her. He knew she was smart enough to realize that his intentions were not physical in nature, but the way she nervously chewed on her lip perhaps hinted at a hope, or perhaps even a worry, that it was. Robert's body rebelled against his will at the sight. It was that same look that that inflamed his passions in the first place. Even if her looks were diminished by the pregnancy, she was by no means homely. He closed his eyes and thought of Lyanna taking deep breaths to calm himself. Their physical relations were hardly Piper's fault. He doubted she set out to seduce the young lord, and he had plenty of guilt for not caring to control his base desires.

"I wanted to discuss Mya's future with you. Within the coming years, I will be married to a highborn lady, and should she be amenable, I would recognize Mya as my own and raise her just as I would a trueborn daughter. You can imagine that it might not sit well with my future wife or my bannermen if you were to accompany her." Robert looked his former lover in the eyes and saw them gleaming with unshed tears.

"My Lord Baratheon, I'd be a right fool if I didn't want the very best for my little Mya. She is your blood even if she was born on the wrong side of the sheets and I'd like her to know that. If it means giving her up, then I guess that's just the way it has to be." She finished with a quivering voice and her attempt at a brave smile.

"That's not all Piper," Robert said as he steeled himself to continue. "I wanted to apologize to you." Her face shifted into one of confused shock.

"Apologize? M'lord" she quickly added attempting to remain polite despite the circumstance.

"Yes, apologize. I have come to realize just how my impulsive nature could hurt those around me, highborn and smallfolk alike. You deserved better than a young wild lord who quickened you and then set you aside when he grew tired of you. You deserved a good man who would love and take care of you. I will not forget that you gave me a precious daughter. I will see that you are provided for, and should you find a man who will treat you and love you as you deserve, I will set aside a small dowry in your name."

"My lord, this is too much! The Arryn's treat me well enough. And you've given me Mya even if for just a little while. I don't deserve anything else." She said, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

"Yes, but I am the one planning on taking her from you. I do not wish to make it seem like I am buying you off. This is just the only way I can start atoning for my sins. If there is anything you wish, if it is reasonable and within my power, I would see it done. It is the least I can do for the mother of my child." Robert gave Piper a final nod, looked upon his daughter with a caring gaze, then turned to leave the room.

"M'lord, I…" Piper called out, seeming to almost regret speaking up.

"Yes?" Robert replied hesitantly, stopping but not turning around.

"My lord," she tried steadying her quavering tone, "When she gets older. Please make sure Mya knows she has a mother that loves her, and if it's possible, can I see her if you visit the Eyrie again."

"You have my word." Robert said

Emotions once again roiled within him as he made his way to the training yards. He really only knew a few ways to work through them. Taking a wench to bed was now off the table, it was too early in the day to drink his problems away, so violence was all he was left with. Entering the yard, he went straight for his hammer.

"I thought you were going to practice jousting?" Ned called out as Robert changed into his training leathers.

"I need to work some shit out Ned." Robert growled as he moved over to the training dummies and started swinging away with all of his considerable strength. About half an hour and three destroyed training dummies later Robert finally felt as if the tension from before had dissipated. He wasn't sure if he had actually worked out his emotional distress, but at least the mindless violence had buried it for a while. He should probably find a better way of working through these things, as he was pretty sure the Master-of-Arms wouldn't want to have to keep replacing all of his equipment.

"Feeling better?" Ned asked with a no-nonsense tone.

"Yup, now it's time to practice hitting people with sticks on horseback." If pansies like Jaime Lannister, Loras Tyrell, and Rhaegar Targaryen could be considered masters of the tilt, it couldn't be all that hard.

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Robert now remembered why he hated jousting. It was true that with his size and strength he could put enough power behind his lance to unhorse just about any man. The key however was actually hitting said rider and not being unhorsed himself. Jousting required an amount of agility and coordination that he easily managed while on foot, but that he struggled with atop a horse. He had been working at it for nearly an hour and much of the household had come to watch his feeble attempts at hitting the mark, alternating between shouting words of encouragement, advice, and mockery. Chief among his hecklers was Denys Arryn Keeper of the Gates of the Moon and the 'darling of the vale'.

"You know Robert, we can only laugh at your attempts so much before we grow concerned that the quintain is doing lasting damage to your already lacking mental capacity." Denys said with mock concern. Despite being just the kind of flashy knight that Robert had found annoying in his later life, he couldn't help but like the charismatic and jovial man. The young highborn men shared a love for fighting, merrymaking, and more recently doting on their children. Robert would be hard pressed to admit it, but he was a little jealous of the valeman. It seemed like Denys was an example of what Robert could have been if he had just been less impulsive, less headstrong, more willing to put in the effort into his marriage and family. It hurt thinking that in just a few years from now, if nothing changed, Denys, his wife, and his son would all be dead and buried. One more thing to add to the list of things he hoped to change. But right now, Robert was just tired of the jests.

"I'll show you damage to your mental capacity!" It was a weak comeback he knew, but Robert was tired and aching from riding so hard. His lungs were screaming in pain from the cold winter air he was taking down in deep gasps, and his charger was steaming with the effort of carrying Robert back and forth across the yard. Finally, Ned stepped in.

"Rob, perhaps you should give it a rest for now. You aren't going to be getting any better like this." Robert's pride told him to keep going just to show everyone that he was Robert fucking Baratheon and nobody told him what he should do. The rest of him thought better of it and so he slid off his horse and led it over to a waiting stable hand.

"You have potential you know," Denys said in an earnest tone, "even now you could probably unhorse the average knight with brute force alone. You never cared to really master the basics before, what is your interest in practicing so hard now?" Robert for his part just glared still sore over the previous mockery.

"He's doing it to impress my sister." Ned answered with a smirk. Robert couldn't help but feel a little betrayed in the moment. Denys looked at Robert with a knowing grin. Robert returned the grin with a scowl. Denys wisely didn't pursue the topic any further.

"Ah yes, well, like Eddard said, you should go rest. You aren't going to get any better by running yourself into the ground. Tomorrow we will start from scratch. If memory serves me correctly, you just learned the minimum and stopped after taking lessons after that. Tomorrow we'll start relearning the fundamentals." Denys said patting Robert on the shoulder.

"Thanks." Robert let out with a great sigh, trying his best to let go of his frustration without taking it out on his friend. It was far easier, and frankly more fun, to just focus on what you were good at, like smashing things with a hammer during a melee. But he had a plan, and that plan included unseating Rhaegar at Harrenhal. The same Rhaegar that had unhorsed Yohn Royce, Brandon Stark, Arthur Dayne, and Barristan Selmy during that damned tourney. Four accomplished riders, two of whom were considered to be the greatest knights of the age. Now he had less than a year to get good enough to defeat them. Robert threw himself to the ground after finally doffing his training plate and let out a groan. Shortly after Ned sat down next to him.

"You know, you don't need this to impress Lyanna. She's of the North and not taken with the southern fancies of tourneys and knights in shining armor. If you truly are committed to her and demonstrate it through honorable deeds and words, I am sure she will come to love you."

"I'm sure you're right Ned. You're always right." Robert said after a few moments of silence. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to figure this out and become champion of the tourney." He stood up and brushed himself down before offering a hand to Eddard. "Come on, let's get inside before we freeze our balls off out here. I'm going to have the servants warm a nice bath so I can relax. You can go brood and stare of into the distance thinking of snow or whatever it is you do when I'm not around." He said with a smile. Ned for his part let out a long suffering sigh and started walking with Robert back to the keep.

And so, their last few days at the Gates of the Moon passed without much more fanfare. Robert established a solid routine. In the morning he would wake up early to break his fast and train in the yard, sparing with the men and even helping young Elbert Arryn with his swordsmanship. Afterwards he would spend time with Jon especially when the venerable lord was holding court. Robert did his best to pay attention and learn all he could, but even knowing he had a mandate from the gods could not make it any less of a chore to stay awake. None the less Jon was impressed and proud of his improved effort. In the afternoon he would spend time with Mya, and even developed a respectful relationship with Piper. They might consider themselves friends if it wasn't so wildly inappropriate for two people of such different stations. Rumors had spread that she now had a massive, by small folk standards, dowry to her name, and men were now starting to look her way. Robert laughed when he had heard this and told Piper to let him know if any creepy old men started talking her up for her money, he would set them straight. After what he eventually started calling 'Papa-daughter' time he would head back to the yard to work on his jousting skills under the tutelage of Denys Arryn. He was making progress, or so his friends told him, but he wasn't happy with how far he still had to go. Finally in the evenings he would spend as much time with as he could with his friends enjoying the new lease on life he had. So many of the people around him had died during the rebellion, and he wouldn't miss this opportunity to enjoy their company once again. They sang, told stories, japed, and laughed together long into the night. He did however do best to limit his drinking however, no need to start back down that path.

Despite his long days, he found little rest at night. Vivid dreams of past mistakes and of terrible tragedies befalling his friends and family made it difficult to sleep through the night. One of the worst he experienced was when he found himself staring up at the great Sept of Baelor, where on the steps knelt a haggard and weak looking Eddard. The crowd around him shouted all manor of insults and accusations of treason. Ilyn Payne stood by with the Stark ancestral sword Ice in hand. Robert was paralyzed unable to look away as he heard a familiar voice call out over the roar of the crowd. "Bring me his head!" The king's executioner did his work and Robert awoke screaming as the valyrian steel blade sliced through his best friend's neck. It had taken him some time and more than a little wine to recover from that horrible vision.

On the third night after his return, after a particularly jarring nightmare concerning Renly being slain by a shadow, he eventually gave up on sleeping and got out of bed. Donning a heavy cloak to protect from the winter chill, he hoped a walk around the grounds of the castle would calm his nerves. As he walked mindlessly around the castle, he eventually found himself in front of the sept. It was far from the most ostentatious of all the septs in Westeros, but the Arryn's of the past who built the Gates were not so poor that they would let their sept be anything but well appointed. It was constructed with the same marble brought in to build the Eyrie above, and they had a stain glass seven-pointed star facing southwest towards the Starry Sept in Old Town. As he entered, the building was dimly lit by a few braziers burring low, as well as a few dozen candles lit at the bases of the statues of the seven. The statues themselves were works of art showing the skill of the sculptor's hand. They were done in exquisite detail, but for all the maker's craftsmanship, they couldn't do the real seven justice. Robert had never cared for the pomp and circumstance that went into worshiping the seven, but having stood in the presence of gods, he couldn't help but feel like he should take it a bit more seriously. He found some unlit candles that were available for petitioners, grabbed a few, and knelt before the closet statue, that of the Maiden. Lighting the candle, he began to speak what was on his mind.

"I, uh, I never cared to learn how to do this properly. But given the circumstances I figured I aught to do something. First, I want to thank you for showing me how I had done wrong by so many women. I mean I thought that since I left them satisfied that everything was square. I didn't realize the potential pain I was leaving behind. Please bless my pursuit of Lyanna. Help me win her heart in a way that honors her and you."

He stood up and walked over to the crone, lit a second candle, and continued

"Thank you for opening my eyes to how much of a fool I was, please help me to act wisely in the days to come and keep my pride in check."

Standing once again he moved to the warrior and lit another candle.

"So, you seemed pretty proud of how I fought in the Rebellion but I'm having a pretty tough time getting this jousting thing down. If you could help with those efforts, I'd be very grateful."

Finally, he went to the statue of the Mother.

"I, uh, keep having dreams of terrible things. They are so real and vivid that it is sometimes hard to tell that I am dreaming. Please protect me while I sleep, I don't know how long I will be able to go on before being driven mad."

Robert sighed deeply and stood. He was ready to leave the place when he passed the statue of the stranger. It looked the least like its divine inspiration. Frankly Robert was glad for it. He shuddered at the memory of the terrifying visage of the stranger and the scar on his belly itched slightly. He couldn't help the anger bubbling up.

"And you are a right bastard. Was it really necessary for me to wake up covered in blood? Are you an asshole to everyone or am I special because slipped out of your grasp?" Robert stopped when he heard a tentative cough behind him.

"Excuse me my lord Baratheon, but I feel compelled to point out that it is considered a sin to profane an aspect of the seven. I understand anger towards the Stranger, many do not understand its role in this world. Perhaps a prayer to the Mother should be offered for atonement?" Robert spun around, startled at the voice. He saw a man dressed in septon's robes carrying a candle for light. He didn't look to be much older than Robert and had a kind if not nervous look on his face. He had an accent that was clearly not of the Vale, but Robert couldn't quite place.

"How much of that did you hear?" Robert asked, hoping for the best.

"Not much my lord, I assume this has to do with the rumors going around the castle about the state you were found in not six days ago." The septon replied trying his best not to show how uncomfortable he was with this interaction.

"Right, right." Robert moved to get another candle when he finally placed the accent. "Your accent, are you from the North? I thought they worshiped the old gods there." The septon let out a barely perceptible sigh.

"I hail from White Harbor my lord, where fortunately the light of the seven shines amidst the darkness of the old gods." It sounded like a line he had repeated often in his life. Seizing the chance to change the topic, Robert pressed on.

"Oh, kin to the Manderlys?"

"Of a sort, my lord" His tone indicated that he did not want the conversation to continue down this path. Robert ignored it.

"Of a sort? You're either kin or you aren't."

"Apologies my lord, allow me to introduce myself. Cedric Snow at your service. I joined the faith and was educated in Oldtown so that I might find forgiveness for my birth and overcome my base nature." His tone was resigned. Robert simultaneously felt bad for the man and angry at him.

"You joined the faith to atone for being born a bastard?" Robert almost yelled.

"Well, uh, my lord," The septon was clearly uncomfortable, "You know what is taught about bastards."

"If you are about to tell me that my little Mya is wanton and treacherous by nature, I recommend that you choose your words wisely." Robert said coldly. But something in Cedric's eyes caused the growing anger to cool. "The world has not been kind to you, has it?"

"It is my burden to bear, my lord." The septon said with as much resolve as he could. But Robert could still here the sorrow in his voice.

"I would like to learn more about the faith please Septon." Cedric brightened up at the possibility of the topic changing. Robert continued, "Where exactly in the Seven-Pointed Star does it say that bastards themselves are evil?"

"My lord?" Cedric replied more than a little confused.

"You see yesterday I tried to read through the Seven-Pointed Start to learn what the seven have to say about those born out of wedlock. Now I am no scholar, hell it took me all morning just to skim through the books of the Maiden and Mother, my eyes kept glossing over and I swear I read the same passage 5 times. Regardless, nothing stood out to me other than the teaching that married men and women must stay faithful to each other until death."

"Ah, I see my lord. The teaching itself comes from the Book of Septons. It is the record of official dictates of High Septons past. In 198 AC the High Septon proclaimed that the seven saw all bastards as sinners from conception who must submit themselves to the seven in order to be saved from their inherent nature. He did reference that particular passage you noted in his sermon."

"Hmm, and since the High Septon is the mouthpiece of the seven, what he says goes I assume? I wonder what they would think of his speech." Robert said gesturing to the statues.

"We cannot deign to know the intentions of our god. Their thoughts are not our thoughts, and their ways are not our ways." Robert did his best to hold back a short laugh. He couldn't help but feel like he had firsthand knowledge of that.

"You are right of course." If he knew what the gods were thinking when they sent him here it would have made things much easier. But something nagged at him. "198 you say? Isn't that a year after the first Blackfyre rebellion started? Don't you find it odd that bastards would become officially unholy after the worst war since the dance was caused by one?"

"It isn't our place to question the words of the High Septon, my lord." The young septon replied obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. Robert for his part was getting a headache. He had read that blasted book because he was afraid for his little Mya, and now he finds out that she is a religious outcast because of politics.

"Right, well you don't seem particularly lecherous or untrustworthy to me. I am sure that the Mother showed you her mercy long ago and has forgiven you of something that a wretched old man put in her mouth. Thank you for humoring me. I've got a lot more questions about the faith, so you'll probably see me again." Cedric gaped unsure of how to respond to the compliment, gratitude, and borderline heresy. Robert simply nodded, mumbled a quick prayer to the statue of the Mother, and walked out of the sept.

Robert did feel better after his supplication, as if the time spent in prayer brought peace to his troubled heart. He supposed that knowing there was an actual person he was praying to made quite a difference. That knowledge infuriated him as well, especially since everything he knew about the faith has been filtered through thousands of years of holy men's words and preaching. He wished he could see them again and talk to them, ask them all the questions that rattled around in his mind. He shrugged the thought off and went back to his chambers to sleep. He once again had the nightmares, but this time they felt muted, less intense, less real, as he was viewing them through a filter, rather than as if he was there in person. He woke up far more refreshed than he had the past few days and whispered a quick thanks before starting on his routine.

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The ring of steel on steel was like a symphony to Robert's ears. Fighting was simple. During a fight, there was no time for deep thoughts, only instinct and the drive to win. Robert was not the most graceful of fighters, he would never awe others with the flash of a blade, but you didn't become a legend on the battlefield by being the flashiest. Robert's style of fighting was as brutal and straight forward as he was. Why parry a thrust when he could simply lean in and take it on the thickest part of his armor? He trusted the steel he wore, and it was a move that surprised many foes leaving them open to a punishing strike. Many would see this as dangerous as you risked the strike slipping into one of the less armored areas of the body. However, Robert had a talent for reading the body language of his opponent in a fight and was quick to judge if they were capable of such a feat. Additionally, where most men trained to keep their distance and only to resort to grappling when necessary, Robert would actively seek to get close in where his strength could easily overwhelm. Many of his spars ended when a glancing blow to the pauldron or breastplate would leave his opponent open for Robert to dash in and take them off their feet with a surprisingly quick spearing tackle or throw.

His current opponent, Eddard Stark, knew Robert's favorite tricks. Sparing each other for more than ten years, they had come to know each other's styles quite well and had challenged each other to be better. This led to their victories being a lot closer in number than one might expect. Eddard was armed with a two-handed long sword not quite as long as his family's ancestral greatsword Ice, but still a formidable weapon on the battlefield. Robert took up his usual combination of shield and hammer. After saluting each other, they took their stances. Eddard held his sword in a high guard while Robert kept his shield forward and his hammer low and ready. As usual, they stood waiting for Robert to make the first move. Eddard Stark had over the years developed a much more defensive style that focused on wearing his opponent down before punishing them for their inevitable mistake. Robert for his part tried being more patient and deliberate but decided that it didn't really suit him in a fight.

So, with a speed one would not expect from such a large man, he darted towards in swinging his hammer in an arching horizontal strike aimed towards Ned's left side. The move was meant to bait Ned into deflecting the blow with his sword, which would hopefully knock it out of position allowing for a follow up strike. Ned however judged the range of the attack perfectly and stepped back just enough that the edge of the hammer scraped the front of his breast plate. With a step forward, he brought his sword down in a quick strike towards Robert's neck. Fortunately for Robert, he had not overextended himself with the opening strike and recovered in time to block Eddard's attack with the edge of his shield. Eddard stepped back again into a defensive posture as Robert brought his hammer up for a downward strike. This time Eddard chose to parry with his blade but was able to prevent it from being battered away by placing his hand up higher on the flat of the weapon giving him more leverage to absorb and redirect the blow. Robert saw an opening to go in for a tackle as his hammer slid down the blade, but it seemed as if Ned saw it too and he immediately dropped low to counter it. Robert had already launched into his takedown and had little time to adjust so after making contact and failing to complete the tackle he placed his right hand on the ground and flung his shield up blocking the retaliatory pommel strike he knew Ned would throw at him. As fast as he could, he got back to his feet and took his stance again watching as Ned did the same.

"Ha!" Robert bellowed. "Finally figured out how to stop the takedown, haven't you?"

"Well, I'm not exactly fond of being on my back with a man looming over me." Ned replied calmly.

"No, I'm sure if it was a black-haired woman with violet eyes you wouldn't mind so much." Robert taunted suggestively.

"What are you on about?" Ned responded. Robert, for his part, realized his mistake quickly. Ned hadn't yet met Ashara Dayne. Robert had gone six days without making any major slip ups like this. He panicked for a moment before coming up with what he thought might be a feasible cover.

"Didn't we have a talk about the eligible ladies who'd be at the tourney? Ashara Dayne, Dacey Mormont, I can't remember the others. Was I talking to someone else about this? That night is a bit of a blur after the wine started flowing."

"I don't seem to remember you being deep in your cups since news of the tourney came in."

"Bah, whatever Ned, it was just a jape. Are we going to finish this spar or what?" He got an affirmative nod from his friend before they continued. The match went to Robert as he managed to power his way through Eddard's expert defense, though his brother in all but blood truly made him work for it.

After their spar, Robert took some time to look over the yards. His gaze fell on Elbert who, at five and ten, was close to coming of age. Whereas Denys was everything the chivalrous lords of the Vale would want in an heir and future liege, Elbert was often looked down on due to his less charismatic personality and middling skill at arms. Robert knew however, especially after paying more attention to Jon's court that Elbert had a keen mind for administration and justice. The boy had a sharp and methodical mind, and if he wasn't heir to the Vale, he might even have done well in the Citadel. Robert sometimes wondered what drove Elbert to follow Brandon on that ill-fated trip to King's Landing. Elbert was with the group heading to the wedding at Riverrun as a representative of House Arryn. Perhaps he felt honored bound to accompany them, or perhaps he wanted to prove himself by helping to rescue a fair maiden. Either way, Robert was determined to not let that come to pass. He saw Elbert go in for a strike against his opponent, and instantly saw how the young man had telegraphed his movement. He was not surprised to see the attack parried and Elbert punished with a vicious repost.

"Hold There Elbert!" Robert called. "Do you know what happened there?"

"He's faster than me?" Elbert said wincing as he rubbed the spot where the tourney sword had caught him.

"Who? Andar? Fast? Ha!" The man who Elbert was facing gave Robert a glare that the young lord ignored. "No, but he can see just fine. Your body is practically screaming at him what you are going to do next." Robert rubbed his chin as he searched for the right words. "You're thinking too much, and your body language shows it." Elbert's face told Robert that he didn't quite understand what he was being told. "Your technique when you strike is almost flawless, no one can fault your footwork or your swing. It's almost like you are thinking so hard about getting it right that you don't even realize that you are announcing to your opponent what you are about to do. You need to let your muscle memory take over. Be less concerned with the perfection of your strike and start planning for the next two to three strikes ahead." Elbert seemed to think this through and gave Robert a nod.

"Thank you, I'll give it a try." He then signaled to his sparring partner to continue. Things went better the next few exchanges. It was true that his form was a little sloppier, but his follow ups were improving.

"If only you were as observant during court as you are on the training yard" Eddard said coming up alongside Robert.

"Well, it just makes sense to me out here. Everything is simpler on the battlefield even with all the chaos and screaming, and men dying all round you. I've never felt more alive than when I was out there in the thick of it." Robert had a distant look in his eyes as he observed the rest of the men continuing their sparring.

"You speak of if you have lived through many battles worthy of song. Hunting down bandits and fending off that mountain clan raid hardly count even if it did earn you your spurs." Ned said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. Robert groaned internally, that was two slip ups in less than an hour. Once again, he tried his best to recover.

"Well, it was pretty chaotic at the time. I was hardly over six and ten at the time, and those wildlings came out of nowhere. You know I felled ten of them that day. I even took the head of their chief off with a stroke of my hammer and…"

"Sent it careening down the side of the mountain pass." Ned finished. "Yes, Robert I was there, and I have heard you retell the tale almost every night for the past two years. That look in your eyes just now Robert, I've seen you like that several times these past few days. You had the look of the older men who tell tales of the War of the Ninepenny Kings." Eddard had once again demonstrated why Robert thought so highly of him. Even if in this case it was causing him no small amount of frustration.

"I don't know what you're on about Ned." He said trying to deflect. "Look, Jon should be hearing petitioners in an hour or two, and I for one would like to be presentable for that." With that poor attempt at a segue, Robert left for his chamber in the keep. He couldn't help but feel Ned's disapproving gaze.

Robert couldn't focus as he sat in on Jon handling petitioners. There were several cases brought to the Lord of the Vale, and they all seemed to just blend into one. Many thoughts vied for room in his head. He thought about leaving the castle with Ned in the morning, he thought of Lyanna and what she might think of him, he worried about Ned's observations and what he must think, he thought of Mya and how she will fare with him gone for so long, and he thought of the gods, both old and new, and the plans they had for him. It was all so much that he could hardly focus on one thing for long. He was shaken from the maelstrom of swirling thoughts when he realized that Jon was talking to him.

"I'm sorry what?" He asked his mentor, a little ashamed that he had been so withdrawn.

"I was asking you what you thought about the outcome of that last petition, but I doubt you would be able to tell me. You look as if you are a thousand miles away. Perhaps a thousand miles north?" His foster father said with a slight grin.

"Ah, yes, that's part of it I suppose. I've got plenty running through my head."

"Well, it is understandable, but a good lord will do all he can to focus on the here and now. He mustn't be lost in future or in the past but grounded in the present." The old lord said sagely. "As I've told you before, plan for your future, remember the past, but be in the here and now."

"Yes, hopefully I remember it this time." Robert said with a little exasperation. He felt stressed and tired, but Jon was right he couldn't let his worries about the future dictate how he acted in the moment. And in this moment his little girl was no doubt wondering when her papa would come play with her.

The rest of the day went well. He of course loved spending time with Mya. While they were playing, she had grabbed a stick and started swinging it at his legs yelling "Gotchu!" each time. Robert laughed and picked up his own stick and started a mock duel with her which of course she won with him being vanquished in quite a dramatic fashion. When it was time for her nap, he took her to bed personally and even sang the lullaby he had learned watching Piper care for her. When she had finally fallen asleep Piper spoke up.

"You could take her with you." she said softly, they agreed to drop the formalities while in private.

"No, it wouldn't exactly be proper. Besides, she needs her mother more right now than her father." He sighed before continuing. "I don't plan on taking her with me for a few years yet. I've got plenty of things to settle before I take her to live with me. Don't worry, I'll be visiting as often as I can in the meantime." He smiled, bade his daughter's mother goodbye, and continued his daily routine by heading to the yard to practice his jousting.

He continued to make progress at the tilts, and many had commented on his steady improvement, but it still felt like he was struggling with keeping his mount under control while focusing on striking his target. He was anxious that he wouldn't get any good practice while on the road and Denys picked up on his frustration.

"Don't worry friend, you're doing well all things considered. I'm sure you'll find more time to hone your skills when you reach Winterfell. I hear Brandon Stark is an accomplished rider and would be willing to give you some advice."

"Yeah, here's hoping." Robert replied gruffly.

Robert didn't exactly feel like spending time reveling with everyone that night. He was restless and conflicted. He was eager to head north and get another chance at a first impression with Lyanna. But he also knew that he would miss his time here in the Vale. Finding himself once again unable to rest, he threw on his cloak and walked to the sept. After his first visit to the sept, he had returned each day to pray. It was especially helpful when the anxiety of what was to come would start to overwhelm him. Having someone to lift up his burdens to made all the difference.

Septon Cedric was kind enough to humor Robert as he asked further questions about the faith. Robert had asked one night how they could trust what was written in the Seven-Pointed Star. The young septon nearly glowed with excitement as he explained the process of textual criticism and how they had partial copies of the various books dating right back to within a few decades of the founding of Andalos. Robert had apparently touched on a passion of the young priest. It was revealed that during his time in Oldtown Cedric had the privilege of working on a compilation and transcription of all the various manuscripts known to the faith. He explained that it was remarkable how well maintained the scripture was over the past millennia, and that even small variations in the text could be tracked to specific scribes and annotated. Robert, while not understanding everything the man said got the idea that at least the holiest of their books seemed trustworthy having been written at the founding of the faith. He had ended that particular discussion by pointing out that knowing that the words are legitimate doesn't mean that every interpretation of them is. Cedric had frowned then and nodded glumly.

As he finished his prayers for the night before his trip, he saw the Septon going about his business. Robert had another lingering question he hadn't gotten around to asking yet. It had never seemed important, but it bugged him all the same.

"Cedric, I have a question if you don't mind. It is something that many take for granted, but I wanted your opinion on it."

"I am here to serve my lord Baratheon"

"I thought I told you to drop the titles when we're alone. I know who I am thank you."

"As you say my lord, how can I help you." The young man replied with a gentle smile. Robert couldn't quite tell if the Septon was teasing him at this point, so he simply shook his head and continued.

"Right, I always hear the smallfolk refer to the seven as the gods. But more formally they are referred to as the seven who are one. I guess I just wanted to know what the faith teaches about the oneness of the seven. If that makes sense." He added a little lamely.

"Yes, my lord, that is something that many of the less learned do not understand. It is the official position of the faith that referring to the seven who are one as multiple separate gods while incorrect is not in and of itself heretical as spending the time to correct the masses would be fruitless when there are greater things to focus on. I happen to disagree, but alas I am a lowly servant. It is best if we think of the seven aspects as shadows of the one whole. For example, if you were to examine my shadow, you could perceive and extrapolate some of my physical features, but you are not able to see the whole true me in the shadow. As I move my shadow moves and you can see different traits and get a better understanding of the true me. As limited beings we are incapable of perceiving the whole glory of the seven. So, they showed themselves to us in a manner that we can comprehend. The seven are humanity as a whole in balance; three masculine forms, three feminine forms, and the last is the end of all neither masculine nor feminine."

For once, Robert felt like could easily follow the septon's words. It matched what he saw upon his death in the vast field. He was seeing one being represented in seven forms each representing a specific aspect of humanity. That of course did not speak to the other gods he treated with upon his death.

"That makes sense, thank you. You wouldn't happen to know much about the worship of the old gods would you?" Robert asked.

"Ah, no, my lord. Even though many hold to the old ways even in White Harbor I never took the time to learn, and it is not a subject well respected by those at the Starry Sept."

"Figures. I am leaving for Winterfell tomorrow; I suppose I can learn more while there."

"If I might be so bold to ask, my lord, but why are you asking about the gods of the north?" The septon asked with curiosity rather than condemnation.

"Well, if I'm going to marry a lady who honors the old gods, I would like to know how compatible our faith is. I had once heard it said that the old gods hold domain over nature and that the Seven hold domain over man. If that were true, I don't think there should be much conflict." Robert said thoughtfully.

"I would like to know who is saying such things, my lord. While an interesting viewpoint, I must point out the Seven have given man domain over nature and thus we are obliged to suborn the old gods." It was as close to a challenge as the ever polite septon ever had given.

"Oh? And where in the holy books is that teaching found?" Robert smiled back at him

"That would be found in the Book of Septons." Cedric said with a bit hesitantly. In all their meetings, Robert had consistently questioned if the words of the High Septon were truly divinely inspired or not.

"And when was that particular teaching given?" Robert pushed.

"That is one of the older teachings. It was given around the time when the Andals first came to Westeros."

"So, just as the faithful were warring with a people who worshiped gods of nature?"

"As you say, my lord." Cedric responded, obviously not wanting to concede the point but not having a valid response that hadn't already been tried.

"Yes, as I say." Robert laughed a bit at the septon's poorly hidden frustration. "You are a good man, Cedric. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and you helped me quite a bit over the past few days. I'll miss our conversations." Robert prepared to leave.

"Yes, my lord, I too will miss our discussions. Very few others come to me with questions as you do."

Robert returned to his room, and finally fell asleep. He dreamed of Lyanna's wild laughter, he dreamed of the Trident and striking down Rhaegar, he dreamed of walking up the steps of the iron throne, and through it all he saw a raven flying in the distance. In its caw he could hear a whisper repeated.

"What are you?"

Chapter Text

The day had finally arrived. As Robert pulled himself out of his bed, the dreams of the previous night slowly faded from memory. The servants knocked shortly after he had stirred, and he gave permission for them to enter. They prepared hot water and his grooming tools for him to begin his morning routine. He freshened up and got dressed trying to apply what Jon had taught him yesterday. He needed to focus on what was happening in the here and now and not get lost in thoughts of the future. But that was easier said than done. He was truly excited. This was where things could really start changing for the better.

First, he would properly court Lyanna, then gods willing he would win the tourney, crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty. He'd make sure She and Rhaegar would stay as far away as possible from each other so that he couldn't sweet talk her into running off. Once that was all taken care of, he could marry his love, keep his head down till Aerys finally died or was deposed, and then live the life he always wanted before stepping up to help with the whole long night thing. Five and twenty years is a long time after all, plenty of time to establish himself as an influential lord paramount, and even sire a brood of mighty warriors to fight by his side. Who knows, maybe one of he and Lyanna's children could marry into the royal family to help shore up support from the kingdom when the time came. They'd be cousins after all, and the damn dragons just loved keeping it in the family. A part of him, one that sounded awfully like Ned, was telling him that it wouldn't be so easy, but the loud brash optimist in him drowned that out. The gods had sent him back to this time for a reason, and he wouldn't waste this opportunity.

He finally finished getting ready for the coming day and stepped out of his room heading to the great hall in order to break his fast. He was the first to arrive and the staff hurried to bring out the morning meal. It was a hardy spread of sausage pies, rye bread and butter, and preserved fruit. Perfect for someone preparing for a long journey. It wasn't long before others started filing into the hall. When Robert finally saw his travelling companion enter, he called out.

"Ned! Come over here and eat up. We need to get going so we can be at the Bloody Gate by nightfall."

"Yes, good morning, Robert. I slept well, thank you for asking." Eddard replied straight faced.

"Hah, you know how I get sometimes." Robert replied with mirth.

"Yes, you get an idea in your head, and nothing can change your mind. It falls on me to bear the burden of picking up the pieces once it all falls apart." Ned replied with a solemn tone. Robert knew the game his friend was playing well. Beneath the stoic exterior was a man who was fiercely loyal and kind to those he loved. Robert felt blessed to have him in his life.

"Come now Ned, if it was so bad you would have never let me tag along with you up north."

"Let you? You practically invited yourself." Eddard replied raising his eyebrow.

"Yes, well I saw a good opportunity and decided to take it. If you had told me otherwise, I would have stayed behind." Robert said as innocently as he could.

"Right, after ranting and complaining about it for days." Eddard said finally tearing into a loaf of bread.

"Maybe, but this was a good idea and you agreed to it so what does it matter anyway? Now, less talking and more eating."

The two young men finished their meal as quickly as they could while still greeting and being cordial to the other members of the household arriving in the hall. Eventually they moved out to the stables to oversee the packing of their supplies. It was going to be a long trip as Robert preferred to travel by land rather than by boat if time allowed. Memories of watching the Windproud break apart and his parents drown in Shipbreaker Bay would always resurface when he stepped aboard a boat. Not long after they had begun preparing their horses, Robert heard a cry and turned to see his little daughter toddling towards him as fast as she could. Laughing heartily, he moved to pick her up and spin her around.

"Paa! Pay Pay Pay!" Mya called out laughing. Robert looked to Ned with a pleading and apologetic face.

"Go on then," Ned said with a rare smile. "I'll finish up here." Robert returned the smile and began chasing his daughter around the yard. Robert wished he could have spent more time with her, but he knew he had to go and if he waited any longer it would only make it harder. Eventually he took his daughter back to her mother.

"Okay my little rock, papa has to go away for a while, but I'll be back someday soon, and we'll play again." Mya looked at him obviously not truly understanding. Tears welled up in her eyes and she buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Pa no go. Pa pay." She cried. Robert was about to say something as he tried his best to steel his heart. Fortunately, Piper stepped in.

"It's okay sweetie. You'll play with pa another time. You can play with the other children now." Piper gave a comforting smile to Robert. "Please my lord, let me take care of this. I believe your travel companions are nearly ready to go." Robert gave a conflicted smile but nodded to her.

"Thank you, Piper. Take good care of her while I'm gone. If she needs anything at all just ask Lord Denys. Tell him I will pay for everything."

"Of course, my lord Baratheon." She did her best to curtsy while still holding the sniffling child. With that she turned to go. Robert took a moment to watch his little one go before taking a deep breath and heading to the small group waiting by the stable. Lord Arryn had personally provided ten of his household guards to accompany the two young lords to Winterfell. They were to return back when they were able, but Robert appreciated the concern.

"I can't believe you were about to leave without saying goodbye to your closest friend." Robert heard the voice of Denys call out.

"Oh? Ned, were you planning on leaving without me?" Robert questioned before turning to Denys. The knight held his chest in mock dismay for a moment before both men broke out in laughter. They embraced in good nature.

"Take care on the road Robert. Try not to father any more bastards during your trip, I know that young maidens at inns can be quite pleasing to the eye." Denys said with a teasing laugh. In the past Robert would have laughed and told some crude jape. Now he tried his best not to snap at his friend, six days was not enough to overturn his well-known reputation. His smile turned a little pained and Denys' fell a little as well.

"No more bastards for me. Take care of yourself and watch over my daughter please while I'm gone. I'll back for her someday."

"You have my word, Robert. I think little Jasper could use a new playmate." Robert's smile grew at that. It meant a lot that Denys would overlook her status as a lowborn bastard and take an active role in her care.

"Thank you." Was all Robert could manage.

"Does this make me your closest friend now?" Denys teased. Robert just laughed as he started to mount his horse. By this time, Jon had also come to say his farewell.

"Take care my boys. You are always welcomed in the Vale."

"Thank you, Jon," Eddard replied. "We will not forget all that you have done for us."

"Of Course. We received a raven back from Winterfell while you were readying to go." He paused to hand the letter to Eddard. "As always, your father does not waste words." Eddard took a moment to read through the missive.

"Well at least we know he's expecting us." Eddard mumbled before handing it back to his foster father. After a few more moments of everyone saying their final goodbyes, the dozen man party rode out of the gates and down the mountain road towards the Bloody Gates.

Robert spent the trip riding down the mountain pass talking and jesting with the men in their party. He always found it easy to ingratiate himself into a given group. His gregarious nature, booming laugh, bravery, and bravado endeared him to most men. So, their first day of travel passed quickly enough having managed to reach the bloody gate in good time. Which was good since snow began to fall as the night fell. Having been welcomed by the knight of the gate, the weary travelers supped and went to bed.

Robert laid his head to rest and drifted off into the realm of dreams. He once again dreamed of his previous life. This time he dreamed of the sack of King's landing. Echoes of the emotions he felt that day rippled through his heart. A sick satisfaction seeing the family that wronged him laid low, destroyed. He reeled in self-loathing disgust at it. He couldn't help but imagine if it was little Mya wrapped up in those red shawls. He saw the look of horror, rage, and betrayal on Ned's face as he argued against the injustice. His dream self was yelling out to his friend his regrets and sorrow even as his past self grinned and uttered that damnable word. Robert heard the flapping of wings and a crow's shrill cry behind him. As he turned, he found himself in a snow-covered land looking at a hill topped with a wild copse of weirwood trees, their blood red leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. Siting in the branches of the largest tree was a large crow levelling a bale-full gaze at him. As Robert focused on the unnerving creature, he saw that it had a third eye filled with terrible knowledge.

"You should not see these things." It stated in an aged raspy voice. "They have not yet come to pass."

"Who are you?" Robert yelled out.

"What are you?" The crow replied tilting its head inquisitively. "I will find out." It continued in a disturbing tone and spread its wings menacingly. It was as if the black feathers stretched out all around Robert blocking out the light, threatening to engulf him in never ending darkness. Icy cold and fiery heat invaded the very core of his body and he cried out in pain. It was then that Robert heard a terrifying yet familiar voice. One that sounded of crashing waves, pealing, thunder, and falling stones.

He is our champion, crow. He is not yours to touch and toy with. Go back to your vigil and plots do not interfere.

Robert felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the divinely gracious features of the Mother smiling over him.

"Wake up, Robert. Your brother calls."

Robert tried to call out to her, but his words caught in his throat. Distantly he could hear Ned's voice calling out to him. It was muffled at first but grew louder and louder in his ears. Soon he felt hands grasping him firmly as his mind finally broke into the waking world. His body ached much like it had when he had first reawakened from death. As his eyes opened, he saw the panic-stricken face of Eddard Stark looking into his eyes.

"Robert, oh gods you're awake."

"Ugh what…" Robert groaned as he attempted to sit up before his body failed him and he fell back down. "What happened Ned?"

"I heard you calling out to me, so I came to check on you. You were saying…" Eddard paused for a moment searching for the right words. "You seemed to be having a nightmare. I tried waking you up, but then you seized up and then started convulsing."

"Oh," was all Robert could manage for the moment. He heard others approaching the room and Soon after, one of the men from their party entered with the keep's maester. Eddard stood up letting the man inspect Robert. After checking Robert's head and extremities the maester concluded that there seemed to be no lasting effects of the convulsions, and that it might have been caused by any number of factors. He left the room promising to return with some herbal concoction that would relieve the lingering aches and pains Robert felt. They sat in silence until the maester returned to administer the drink. Robert nearly gagged on the bitter liquid but drank it down. Once the healer had gone and closed the door Robert spoke up.

"Thank you for watching over me Ned."

"If I didn't, who would?" Ned replied with a gentle smile.

"No one. I am beyond fortunate to have you in my life." Robert let out a long breath and grimaced as he tried to sit up. Eddard placed a shoulder keeping him down.

"No Robert, you need rest. I know that sleep hasn't been coming easy to you over the last few nights. Ever since that day we found you covered in blood actually." Ned's voice lingered there as if he wanted to say something else, to ask a question. Robert felt panic slowly rising but knew he couldn't deny his friend at least some kind of answer.

"Say your peace, Ned." He said his voice laden with doubt and fear.

"You have changed since that day Robert; you haven't been yourself." The words tumbled out of his mouth as if he couldn't hold them in any longer.

"Is that such a bad thing Ned? I've never exactly been a paragon virtue." Robert said bitterly.

"You're eight and ten years old, nobody expects you to be so wise at this age. You've always been a good man at heart. Foolish, brash, and hot-tempered yes, but also honest, straightforward, and charismatic. I wouldn't have grown so close to you if I didn't see these things." Eddard said with more emotion showing than normal. For his part Robert only smiled letting Ned continue to ask the question he was dreading. "What happened to you? Really."

Robert sighed and stared up at the ceiling not able to meet his friend's gaze. He contemplated what to say and how to say it. He knew that letting it all out, explaining everything that had happened, would sound insane. True, it would be a burden off his shoulders to let it all out, but did he want to place that burden on Ned's shoulder's? Absolutely not. So, Robert decided to proceed cautiously but as truthfully as he dared. He finally turned back to his friend.

"What if the gods showed you the entire path your life was to take? So that you could see all of your mistakes and see the death and destruction left in your footsteps and see the ignoble end that awaited you." Robert searched Ned's face and saw him struggle to accept Roberts words.

"You sound like old nan talking of the legends of the old gods. I'm sure it is nothing but dreams."

"What did you hear me saying when you came into my room tonight?" Robert asked. Eddard swallowed and looked disturbed.

"You said you were so sorry, that you wished you could take it back, that little Rhaenys' and Aegon's blood were on your hands."

"Yes," Robert had to reign in the emotions rising to overtake him as he remembered. "It has become one of my biggest regrets and nearly broke our friendship."

"You aren't making sense. Princess Rhaenys has only seen one name day and the last Aegon has been dead for decades." Eddard replied contentiously.

"Aegon son of Rhaegar actually. He will be born shortly before the Tourney."

"You can't know that Robert, you aren't some greenseer of legend."

"I know it because I lived it, Ned. I died and the gods, old and new, thought that I should have another go at things." The words left his mouth and there was a heavy silence between the two young lords. Robert rubbed anxiously at his face before continuing. "I know you've seen it Ned, you've suspected something but didn't understand. I've slipped up over the past few days."

"Yes, but this? This is madness!" Eddard practically yelled. Robert let out a soft chuckle, nodding his head in agreement.

"No doubt it is madness, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"No, some malady of the mind has overtaken you. Perhaps lingering trauma from the blow that put you in such a state when we found you." Robert could hear the conflicted tone of Eddard's voice. Could hear the struggle as he weighed the evidence. Robert thought further evidence was needed.

"The Stranger thought I needed something to remember my old life by. So that I wouldn't forget and follow the same path again." He lifted up his night shirt and showed Eddard the scar that ran across his torso. Eddard gasped and took a step back. "You know that I've gone through nothing in this life that would leave a scar like this." Eddard turned and paced back and forth across the room a few times before sitting down in a chair across from the bed.

"What happened?" He finally choked out.

"More than I care to burden you with."

"You killed…kill… the Princess and Prince?" Eddard said in disbelief, obviously hoping it was not true.

"I might as well have. Though it wasn't by my hands I approved of it and stepped up the stairs of the Iron Throne over their dead bodies." Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he once again lived through the memory. He looked over at Ned, who obviously wanted to know more but didn't know what to ask.

"We Rebelled against the Dragons. Half of the kingdoms rose up against them for all the injustice inflicted upon us." He saw Eddard about to speak but interrupted. "No Ned, I don't want to burden you with the causes of the war. It isn't a pleasant tale." Eddard looked like he wanted to protest, but Robert's glare silenced him.

"I don't think being king would truly suit you, Robert. And I doubt Lyanna would have enjoyed being queen either." Eddard said in a lighter tone hoping to move away from such a dark topic. The look on Robert's face said that he had failed to do so.

"Lyanna was… one of the casualties in the conflict. We never married." Robert nearly choked on the words but continued. "I was stuck with a Lannister as queen and made a right mess of everything. You are right, being King didn't suit me. I ran the realm into debt with frivolities and in my pain over the loss of Lyanna I drank and whored my days away. I don't know why the gods thought I deserved a second chance, but I won't waste it." Silence once again descended on the room, and Robert watched his friend try to take in and process everything that had just been shared.

"What do we do?" Eddard eventually replied with a steely resolve. Robert was surprised by the response but couldn't help but smile at the sheer loyalty his friend was displaying.

"So, you believe me?" The question was answered by a solemn nod. "Well, I am going to need your help to win Lyanna over. After that, we enjoy our lives and maybe you can find a nice young lady for yourself at the tourney. If your father doesn't plan to give you a holdfast somewhere in the North, I know of a few keeps in the Stormlands that could use a lord."

"Robert, can you explain how you courting my sister will prevent a war?" Ned replied with a skeptical tone.

"Ah, right, well things started with her running off with the prince in order to escape the betrothal with me. She apparently didn't think I would be able to honor our marriage bed. Which to be honest might have been true back then, but I've learned my lesson and that won't be a problem now." Robert said quickly trying his best not to give too much away while also changing the topic. But it seemed as if Eddard was not going to let him get away with so little an explanation.

"You started a war over a broken betrothal?" Ned's voice might have sounded calm to most, but Robert knew that anger was bubbling beneath it.

"No! No! Look Ned, do you really want to know the whole tragedy? It is not a good tale." Robert felt almost small under his friend's intense gaze.

"Perhaps you might think it best if I don't know, but how can I help you prevent this tragedy if I don't know the whole story?" Eddard reasoned.

"Damnit Ned, why do you have to be so reasonable! Fine, yes Lyanna's disappearance started the avalanche, but things really turned for the worse when your brother Brandon rode to King's Landing demanding Rhaegar come out to face him. To make the whole horrifying story short, Brandon was imprisoned and when your father was summoned the king executed them both for treason. He called for our heads too, banners were called, and well things were out of hand by that point." The uncomfortable silence once again returned as Robert finished the terrible tale.

"Winter Roses" Eddard eventually said.

"What?" Robert wasn't quite ready for that response.

"My sister's favorite flowers are Blue Winter Roses. Maybe we can find some before we get to Winterfell." Eddard explained. Robert for his part let out a booming laugh.

Chapter Text

Robert was less than pleased with the current situation. After the episode the previous night, the maester had recommended that they stay an extra day to ensure a total recovery. After much arguing over the point, Eddard finally convinced Robert to stay and rest. During the extra day of rest, a winter storm blew down the mountains burying the high road in deep snow. This of course meant that they would be delayed at the Bloody Gate even longer. Eddard tried to keep Robert's temper in check, but after three days they were both at their wits end. Robert from being stuck there unable to head north and Eddard from having to hear Robert complain about it. Robert had visited the small sept attached to the gates to pray and calm his nerves, but the septon in charge of the place was poor company compared to Cedric. The old man was set in his ways and looked down on Roberts less devout method of giving up prayers to the seven. Rarely would the man speak openly to Robert of it out of respect of his status as a high lord, but Robert could feel the judgment oozing from the man. Robert in retaliation started being even less formal in his prayers to the seven and louder about it, and complained to Ned that it wasn't the same. Ned, normally stoic, in his shouldering of Roberts complaints finally spoke up about it.

"Why is this so important Robert? You were never very devout before. You usually fell asleep during the times you were forced to go to worship in the sept. I'm assuming your recent experiences have something to do with it?"

"Of course, Ned," Robert looked around to see if anyone was listening in. Satisfied, he continued, "When you have a direct encounter with your god it tends to put things into a bit more perspective. Praying in the sept at the Gates of the Moon really helped me get through the toughest parts of what happened. That and the septon there was actually fun to talk to, not like that old windbag they've got here. Can you believe that he had the gal to tell me…" Robert's building rant came to a stop when he saw the look on Ned's face that said 'Yes, and I was trying to change the subject.' "Anyway, I think you'd like him. He's actually from the North you know. I think he's a Manderly bastard, or something like that. Cedric Snow was his name." He stopped as he remembered something that he had asked Cedric. "You know I asked him what he knew about the old gods. Could you tell me what your people believe about them?"

"The old gods?" Eddard was surprised by the question. "What would you like to know?"

"As much as you are willing or able to share." Robert replied

"Well, we don't really have organized worship like the faith. There are no priests or holy texts as the gods are found everywhere, but especially in the godswoods. We go there to pray before the heart tree which is normally a weirwood tree, but I know in the south it is rare to see one now. The gods watch us there and no lies can be told before gods as they watch and judge over us. Old Nan told us that the gods only hold power where their faces can see." Eddard stopped his explanation and looked at the contemplative expression on Robert's face.

"Thanks Ned, I'll probably talk to Old Nan about this if she's willing. I remember you telling me about her, she sounds like the Crone incarnate."

"Don't tell her that, she's a strict follower of the old ways. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate being compared to your southron gods." Ned replied with a nostalgic grin.

"One god Ned, but lots of people make that mistake. You know it was the old gods who saved me from the judgment of the seven?"

"You spoke to the old gods?" Eddard was incredulous at the statement.

"Ha! I actually yelled at them believe it or not." Robert laughed.

"That's not exactly hard to imagine Robert." Eddard chuckled, "This is a lot to take in. If it were not for that scar, I'd still think you mad."

"You and me both friend." Robert admitted.

"Can you tell me what it was like? Whenever I pray in a godswood, I know I can feel their presence and it calms my soul, they say that the rustling of the weirwood leaves in the wind is the voice of the gods answering us in prayer."

"Well, it was otherworldly to say the least. It was like countless voices calling out in unison. It was like nature was speaking itself. They took the form of an incredibly large weirwood tree with more faces carved into it than I could count." Robert couldn't help but lose himself in the memory.

"It truly is amazing, unheard of since the dawn age, have you ever wondered why they would choose you for this?" Eddard asked with awe in his voice. Robert tensed, he realized that he had left out one of the most important things the gods had asked of him.

"Ah, well they did give me an idea as to why they sent me back." Robert said mildly, Eddard leaned forward curiously waiting for him to continue. "You see the old gods said that the long night will return in our lifetimes. The Seven argued that mankind already had what was needed to end the threat, but the old gods said that if I was sent back to prepare, much less would be lost."

"Long night? Like the legends? Did they say that grumpkins and snarks would roam the land as well?" Eddard replied in disbelief.

"Look, it's utter nonsense to me too, but what am I to say to a talking tree? They said we have five and twenty years to prepare for it. The only thing I can come up with as to why they chose me was to keep the rebellion from happening so that the kingdoms would be united enough to fight back properly."

"Robert, this is… I don't really have words for what this is." Eddard shook his head, still in disbelief over this revelation.

"Apparently your house words are more than just words, they are a warning. Winter is coming." Robert said solemnly.

"Aye" was all Eddard could say in response.

After having not much else to talk about after that particular discussion, the two young lords retired for the night. Fortunately, they awoke to good news as the Knight of the Gate greeted them with word that the snow had been sufficiently cleared and the mountain pass was open again. At the announcement Robert could hardly be stopped from getting up and going right then, but once again Eddard was the voice of reason and made sure that sufficient preparations were made. And so, the party was able to continue their journey to Winterfell.

The days passed by as they traveled southwest along the high road out of the vale heading for the well-known Crossroads Inn. They had agreed to spend a few nights in the Inn to rest from this leg of their travel. Robert however was feeling restless and pent up, and the looks the pretty women at the inn were giving him weren't helping at all. He had made a promise to himself, and frankly to the Maiden, and he not keen on breaking it. So instead, he spent his days there sparring with anyone willing, practicing the joust, and praying in the local sept. Eventually, not soon enough for Robert, it was time for them to continue north along the kingsroad. They settled into a good routine as the miles and hours passed by. The temperature grew colder and colder as they progressed towards Winterfell and snow became more and more common. The weather made for poor travel even if the winter was particularly mild. The small folk tried their best to keep the road clear as travelers often brought coin, but they couldn't be everywhere, so some stretches of the road grew increasingly difficult to traverse. A trip that was estimated to take a little over a moon was quickly turning into more than twice that. Robert was not looking forward to travelling through the causeway up the neck, it wasn't exactly a rousing fun time the last time he had done it.

The terrain slowly shifted from the rolling hills and fertile farmlands of the Riverlands to the swampy lowlands that signaled their crossing into the North. Robert noticed a marked change in Eddard, he sat a little straighter in the saddle with his shoulders more relaxed, looking around and just taking in the landscape of his home. Robert still couldn't see what Eddard saw, but figured that home was home no matter how dreary it was. Eventually they transitioned to the raised embankment that marked the only safe passage through the neck. As the sun set over the endless marshlands and an eerie freezing mist settled over the land. The group managed to find a somewhat raised and dried island not too far off the road that had obviously been used by those travelling the causeway in the past. They managed to set up camp and find enough dry wood to start a fire so they and their mounts could recuperate from the long day of travel.

Fortunately, they had stocked up on trail rations before heading into the neck as none of them felt particularly comfortable enough to hunt in the swamps. Unfortunately, trail rations weren't exactly a hearty warming meal. It was then that a voice called out to them.

"Hail my lords, I can I share a spot by your fire tonight?" The entire group jumped to their feet in surprise and looked around unable to find the source of the voice. Robert eventually called out.

"Come on out if you mean no harm. If you do mean harm, come on out anyway and we'll settle it like men." His voice was authoritative and strong. Within a few moments a short yet stout and strong young crannogman almost materialized out of the mist. He was clad in bronze scales with a trident in his right hand, a small round leather shield on his arm, and carrying a line of recently caught fish over his left shoulder. He had a jovial smile and his deep green eyes twinkled in the firelight with a cunning intelligence.

"Good evening my lord Eddard, it has been quite some time since we met last." The man said congenially.

"Howland?" Both Robert and Eddard exclaimed. Howland for his part cocked his head and looked to Robert. Robert realized his mistake. He first saw the man at Harrenhal dinning with the Starks, but hadn't truly met Lord Howland of House Reed until after the Battle of the Bells. He could feel Eddard roll his eyes at the slip up.

"I'm sorry my lord, I don't believe we have met, but I am assuming by the crowned stag you wear you are Lord Robert Baratheon?" He said walking up and beginning to warm himself by the fire. The men all relaxed as it appeared he was no threat.

"Yes, I, uh, heard all about you from Ned here." Robert tried in vain to cover for his slip. Eddard stepped in.

"It is definitely a pleasant surprise to see you. What are the odds that we'd run across you here?" Eddard asked offering a seat to his friend. Howland raised a hand in thanks, but instead started working on cleaning and preparing the fish to roast over the fire. The spirits of the men instantly improved at the prospect of a freshly cooked warm meal.

"Higher than you'd think. I was travelling on the Green Fork on my way to the Isle of Faces when friends whispered that a wolf and a stag would need help travelling up the neck." The young lord Reed replied with a conspiratorial grin.

"We haven't come across anyone since we started up the causeway." One of the men interjected.

"Not all in the Neck who see have eyes nor those who speak have mouths." The crannogman replied cryptically. The group of Valemen tensed at the little man's arcane speech. He glared at them with an appraising eye before laughing. "My people will not be seen if they do not wish it. Some of my father's bannermen who watch the causeway informed me of your passing." With that, the guards seemed to relax a little at the seemingly mundane explanation for this man's appearance.

"Well, we'd be glad to have your assistance lord Howland." Eddard said with a grin.

"Yes, it is too dark for you to be travelling through the bog now. Greywater Watch isn't too far from here now, we'll rest for the night and head there in the morning. Now, my lord Stark, my lord Baratheon, may I request a moment to speak privately with you?" Robert could hear the excitement in the short man's voice and was wary. He looked to Ned who gave a shrug.

"Alright," Robert replied nodding to Howland before turning to the rest of the party. "You lot can get those fish our friend graciously provided cooking, we're going to have a chat and be back for dinner." There was a chorus of agreement from the guards as the three young lords moved away for them for some privacy.

"I wish to be honest with you my lords, I was not brought here by human whispers. You see, since the hammer of water failed to break the Neck of Westeros, it has left these lands saturated with ancient and wild magics. I have spent most of my life learning of it, and that was why I was travelling to the Isle of Faces to continue my studies with the Green Men." He paused for a moment to let the revelation sink in.

"Then who are these friends of yours?" Robert asked growing increasingly annoyed with the little man.

"You see, for those who learn how to truly listen, the trees and the streams, the rocks and the flowers, they sing of nature and of all that happens in this land. For almost the past moon-turn they have sung an incredible song." He lowered his voice and leaned in closely as if to share an important secret. "They sing of the king of stags, triumphant over the dragon but brought low by the lion and a boar. They whisper that in his dying moments he broke the chains of death and returned to days long past in order to bring peace to the lands, raise up the prince that was promised, and help drive back the long night." His whispered words echoed in Robert's ears. "My Lord Robert Baratheon, I sense something about you. I knew it even before I saw you. Are you the king of stags of which the land sings?" Robert's mouth opened and shut a few times, searching for a response as the crannogman's deep green eyes seemed to bore into his soul.

"Um, yes, I suppose I am." Was all he could muster. The look on Howland's face was like that of a young child who had just received a long-awaited gift.

"This is incredible," He just managed to keep himself from yelling. "All the learned men and greenseers of the past have said that the ink is dry and that the past cannot be changed. You are living proof that this is not the case. How did it happen? What power brought you back." Robert took a step back as Howland pressed forward with his questions.

"I uh, don't really know." He managed putting his hands up defensively. "I know that the seven were involved. The old gods had to bargain with them for my soul. But beyond that I have no clue why this happened to me."

"I see my lord, or should I say Your Grace."

"Don't you dare your grace me Howland, if I have my way, I'll never be king again." Robert growled

"Of course," He replied stepping back at Robert's tone. "I'm assuming you met me in your previous life. Why else would you have known me already?" Howland continued trying to change the subject.

"Yes, you were with Ned here on campaign in the war in which I won my crown. You didn't mention anything about magic then though." Robert said still a little irate.

"Ah well, like I said, the magic I know is here in the Neck. Outside of it, it would be of little use, and I hear tell that southrons and followers of the seven do not look kindly upon those that practice the old ways." Howland replied honestly. "I have so many more questions my lord, but I realize that you would be hard pressed to answer them. Let's go eat and rest for we travel to Greywater on the morrow. I still plan to head south to the Isle of Faces as the Green Men might have more insight into this momentous event, but I will make sure you have the finest guide lead you and your men to Moat Cailin." He smiled before gesturing back towards the fire.

"Thank you, my friend, your assistance is quite appreciated." Eddard spoke up. "Tell me though, how many others can hear this song being sung?"

"Right," Robert added, "I'm not exactly looking for rumors of my... circumstances getting around."

"Worry not, there are not many who still study and practice the old ways. Those that do aren't interested enough in southron houses to understand the symbolism. We're a pretty insular people here, your secret is safe with us." Howland replied with a reassuring smile.

With that the young lords returned to the group and joined the men as they ate the freshly cooked fish. Eventually, they all bedded down for the evening. They had a good night's rest, and when they began to stir, they saw Howland crouching by the edge of the raised clearing where the morning fog swirled.

"Good morning, friends, we best get prepared to leave. Once the sun rises and properly burns away the fog, we'll make for Greywater Watch. Count yourselves lucky as you are the first Andals in generations to set foot in the halls of House Reed." He said as he helped the group pack their things and prepare the horses. True to his word, once the sun had risen well above the horizon, the thick mists covering the bog's surface dissipated, and Howland walked over to the western edge of the camp where a path of dry land led further into the swamp.

"Hey," One of the guards called out. "Wasn't that all water and mud yesterday?"

"You must be mistaken," the crannogman replied with a mischievous smile. "The swamp can often play tricks on one's eyes. Make sure you stay close and follow my directions. We wouldn't want you to join all your ancestors who thought they could march their armies through here." His smile had turned into a vicious grin.

"How did your ancestors conquer the Neck again Ned?" Robert said leaning over to his friend with a quiet voice.

"I wish I knew, but I'm glad they did." Ned responded in a tone filled with awe.

Chapter Text

Robert and his travelling companions followed Howland Reed through marshland on foot leading their horses by the reigns. They traveled in silence as they were too focused following the path the crannogman showed them. Every once in a while, they would stop at a signal from lord Reed, and he would move forward disappearing into the tall grasses and reeds. Fortunately, he would return before the men got too anxious about standing in the eerily quiet bog, waving for them to follow again. Robert was sure he saw Howland just walk across the water as if it was dry land once. In the past he would have reasoned it away as a trick of light or a tired mind deceiving him, but now he understood that there was so much more to the old tales.

It seemed that the further they traveled into the swampland the winter mist would grow thicker and thicker, even to the point that they could scarcely see more than ten feet ahead. After several hours of marching through the marsh, they arrived at the edge of a expansive dark body of water. Several large stakes were hammered deep into the bank and around them were tied strong ropes as thick as Robert's arms that disappeared into the murky waters.

"Hail Lord Howland," A feminine voice called out from behind the group causing everyone but the subject of the call to nearly jump from their skins. A couple of the men had their steel nearly halfway drawn before they thought better of it. Even Robert felt his blood pumping as he searched for the one who had snuck up on them. He found the speaker as she silently stepped from a clump of tall reeds. Clad in a thick green cloak with, she wore lambskin breeches and a leather sleeveless jerkin worn over a heavy cotton tunic. She was slim and short, though slightly taller than Howland, and could be easily mistaken for a young boy if not for the feminine features of her face. Her eyes were a bright green, almost jade, and she wore a scowl as she looked over the group. "And friends," she continued before looking back at Howland. "I distinctly remember you saying you would not return to us till winter's end. And yet here you are bringing outsiders to your father's halls."

"Ah, my lovely lady Jyana. It is good to see you too." He smiled warmly while her scowl remained. "Allow me to introduce you to Lord Eddard Stark, the quiet wolf, and Lord Robert Baratheon, the king of stags, and their companions" The woman's scowl disappeared while her eyes went wide. "My lords, might I introduce my betrothed Lady Jyana of House Greengood." She gave a stiff bow that by southern standards would see her laughed out of court, but Robert and his men dared not speak of it while they stood in the middle of the endless swamps. It was Eddard who spoke first.

"Hail Lady Jyana and well met." He nudged Robert.

"Yes, well met indeed my Lady. It is unfortunate that Howland failed to inform us that you'd be joining us on our trip to his home." Robert said looking at the still smiling lord.

"That would be because I will not be travelling with you to his home. You've already arrived." With that she put her fingers to her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. A few moments after the echoes dies away, a similar whistle answered from somewhere in the direction of the water. The distant clanking of some sort of cogs and chains could be heard as the ropes laying in the water were drawn up and pulled taunt. Robert, Eddard, and the men stared in awe as the shadow of a keep slowly began to loom in the mist. The keep itself was practically primitive by southern standards, being made of logs and mud bricks with thatched roofs. What was truly impressive was that it sat atop a massive manmade island know as a crannog, for which the people of the land took their name. Three smaller islands surrounded it forming a triangle, each smaller island had a tower built on it and was connected to the main island with a sturdy bridge. The main keep was no more than fifty to sixty feet tall, but the fact that it was afloat made that all the more impressive.

Eventually, the keep reached the shore, and a drawbridge was lowered like the boarding ramp of a ship. A group of servants came down ramp as Howland spoke up.

"Come, my people will tend to your beasts." He motioned to a young woman who carried a tray. "Please, partake of bread and salt and we can go rest from our travels." So they did before heading into the keep proper. Howland led them to the main hall where a large fire burned in the center of the room. Robert thought the hall was homey, a far cry from the high hall of the Eyrie, but comfortable nonetheless. Wooden panels lined the walls and small glassless windows were spaced out around the top of the room letting some light in and smoke out while still keeping the worst of the elements out. Ancient Tapestries lined the walls depicting the stories of House Reed and the people of the Neck. The men made themselves comfortable as a strong-smelling stew containing meats and vegetables they did not recognize was placed before them. Robert looked at his guards who were all eyeing they meal warily before shrugging and digging in. It was different to say the least. Not bad, heavier and fattier than most stews he had eaten in the past It grew on him as he ate it however. The rest of the men began to dig in as hunger overcame caution.

"Please make yourselves comfortable my lords. I have to see my father in his chambers. Unfortunately, he is fairly weak and cannot entertain visitors. Please let the steward know if you need anything." He gestured to a well-dressed, by crannogman standards, older man standing off to the side. And so, the travelers rested and enjoyed the hospitality of Greywater Watch. Eventually Robert was starting to get restless, and he called over to the steward who had done little but oversea the hall since Howland had left.

"I feel like I need some exercise. Do you have a training yard here? Also, I would like to send a raven to Winterfell letting them know that we will be further delayed." The steward bowed a little before replying.

"Of course my lord. I'll have one of the men show you to the training yard. I'm sure it is not as grand as you are used to, but I hope it will meet your needs. As for your request, we have no ravens or maesters here. Fear not my lord, Lord Howland has already instructed men to take word of your whereabouts to Lord Rickard." The steward signaled for a man to come escort Robert to the training grounds.

Robert followed the man to a small open-air area on the third level of the keep that had been set up for sparring and training. It was empty at the moment, so Robert had the space all to himself after his guide had left him. He took some time to look around, the space was about forty feet above the surface of the swamp and from up here he could appreciate the unique beauty of the environment. The moment didn't last long as he started going through his warmup routines and then began running through forms with his hammer.

"Good afternoon Lord Baratheon." Robert turned to see Jyana Greengood standing behind him watching his exercise. Robert was surprised to see her armed with a net in one hand and a trident, whose tips had been padded for training, in the other. He vaguely remembered Howland demonstrating net fighting while on campaign and wondered what it would be like to spar against him sometime.

"Good afternoon my lady." Robert replied going back to his exercise.

"Care for a sparring partner my lord?" She asked casually. Robert stopped and looked at her.

"Are you serious?" was all Robert could manage.

"Are you afraid to be humiliated by a woman?" She replied with a mocking tone. Robert felt his blood rising at the goading. But he took a moment and tried to calm himself. He tried to think about what she wanted to accomplish here but couldn't come up with anything, maybe it was a cultural thing. A memory of Eddard sharing that Lyanna would have carried around a sword if their father had allowed it came to mind. Perhaps, he thought, he held too many assumptions about what women should and should not do. He decided to just go with the flow and see what would happen, he'd have to hold back of course but he'd at least see what net fighting was like up close.

"No." he said simply before looking to the assortment of training weapons available for a somewhat suitable replacement for his warhammer. He returned to the center of the space and took up his stance. Jyana's face turned grim as she held her trident tightly taking a stance in front of him. He saluted and she nodded in response swinging her net around steadily. Robert, as always, was the aggressor in the spar and started things off with a couple swings just to gage her response. She dodged them effortlessly and even threw a counter stab with the trident which he skillfully parried. He had to give her some credit for knowing how to move and keep her distance. Robert did his best to keep an eye on the spinning net while trying not to lose track of the trident. He knew how quick it could lash out. After a few more exchanges at his lower speed, he decided that he could ratchet things up without seriously hurting her. His strikes became a little faster and a little more powerful. She continued to expertly dodge and counter with her weapon until when Robert had taken his eye off the net, she lashed out with it and tangled his weapon and arm in it. Robert was surprised, but he just smiled and showed the strength that he was famous for. In one flued move, he stepped back and yanked his arm violently back pulling a surprised Jyana forward before she could let go of the net. As she stumbled off balance his free hand shot out grabbing her spear arm by the wrist, before easily picking her up off the ground. She dropped the trident and he put her back down.

"No, my lady, I am not afraid of being humiliated." He said with a laugh, finally untangling himself from the net. "My apologies if I got too rough there at the end."

"Thank you, my lord, for humoring me and no harm done." She replied humbly, "Howland has asked me to guide you and your companions to Moat Cailin. I just wanted to see if you were the kind of southron who expects all women to be dainty delicate things."

"To be fair, my lady, many men are dainty and delicate things to me." He replied with a chuckle. "You move like a warrior to be sure, do all women of the neck learn to fight like you?" Robert could respect her effort to pursue the martial arts. Perhaps, he pondered, if more women did so there would be fewer tragedies in the world. Though, years of practice would not have saved Elia from the hands of the Mountain. He tried to shake the dark thoughts from his mind.

"No, not particularly, but all learn to hunt with spear and net. Here, everyone must work towards ensuring survival. It was Howland who encouraged me to learn when we were still young however. He wanted someone his age to practice with." She said with a bit of a nostalgic look on her face.

"Still young? You can't be much older than six and ten. You're hardly old." Robert said with a chuckle.

"I suppose so. Mayhap we just have to grow up a little faster here. Regardless, we will leave Greywater Watch for the Moat the day after tomorrow. I'm sure there are plenty of Lord Reed's household warriors who would jump at the chance to spar with the king of stags." She said with a teasing tone.

"We've already been delayed coming here. Can't we move out sooner?" He said obviously impatient.

"Delayed my lord? Nay, you forget that the Keep moves. We will be taken to a place where we can make up for your slow travel through the Riverlands and causeway." Her expression was that of an adult talking to a child.

"Oh! Well, that's great!" Robert's mood brightened.

"Yes," the voice of Howland called out. Robert turned to see he and Ned entering the yard. "I would trust few others than my lady Jyana with guiding you through the Neck. She learned the old ways from her father just as I have learned it from mine. Now, I must continue my journey south, I wanted to come and say goodbye."

"So soon?" Asked Robert, "You barely spent any time here."

"Yes, I am called to the Isle of Faces and though the old gods bade me to guide you here, I cannot put my pilgrimage off any longer." He gave a quick bow to Robert before walking over to give a hug and quick peck on the cheek to his betrothed. "Till spring comes again my dear."

"You said that the last time love." She deadpanned.

"Yes, but this time the trees aren't crying out for me to help some lost lords on their journey." He smiled again and took his leave.

"So, Ned, you up for a spar?" Robert asked. Eddard sighed and retrieved a training sword from the armory. This time Eddard came away with the victory and Jyana walked away with a newfound respect for the two young warriors.

True to her word, the next day was spent riding on a castle through a swamp, truly a once in a lifetime experience for Robert and his companions. The great ropes that had tethered the home of House Reed to the shore yesterday had been connected to a group of shallow bottomed boats crewed by a score or so men sworn to the Lord of the Neck. The men used long poles to propel the keep through the various inlets and waterways of the neck. Robert could hear the Valemen arguing about how there was no way those boats could pull the whole keep. He and Eddard supposed that it must be part of the marsh magic that Howland had talked about. While the experience was surely novel, it didn't take long for Robert to grow bored and begin asking if there was anyone willing to spar with him. The master-of-arms for House Reed, a man by the name of Tregar Bog, was tall for a crannogman and well-muscled. Robert saw the same style employed by Jyana taken to entirely new level. The man managed to dodge and bait Robert into exposing himself while using the net as a form of flexible shield that could easily be used to catch an opponent off guard or pull them off balance. It took three bouts before Robert adjusted enough to the unfamiliar style to counter and press the attack. All who watched were impressed by the stag's warrior prowess.

The day came and went and eventually it was time for them to leave the keep. Several of Jon's men grumbled that they would have to leave the warmth and comfort of the keep and endure camping in the swamp. Even Robert admitted that he had come to enjoy what he had eventually found to be Lizard-Lion stew. But he was more focused on reaching the end of the journey than worrying about the hardships he would have to endure.

Jyana as it turned out was an excellent guide. She led them through the marshes as if they were taking a stroll through a garden. It seemed as if they never stopped moving for as night fell, they always found other crannogmen waiting for them with barges that could carry them and their mounts through the night. Eventually Robert asked her how she managed to find all these people willing to help just when they needed it.

"Unlike Lord Howland, I am not one to easily reveal the secrets of my people." She said with an imperious tone. And so, a journey they expected to take possibly two and ten days up the causeway, only took them six. Robert was ecstatic as he saw Moat Cailin growing on the horizon. They spent the night in the ancient ruins to recover before travelling the last leg of their journey. Even though the snow was thicker on the roads here they managed to make good time good time, making it from the Moat to Winterfell in just less than a fortnight.

The banners of the stag and the wolf flew proudly next to each other as the party neared the ancestral seat of the Kings of Winter. Robert couldn't help but think about the last time he had been here. It had been as a fat king with over three hundred men plus a bitch of a wife. Now he was arriving as a young fit lord paramount with ten men and his best friend. It was easy to think of which he preferred. In but a few hours he would have a fresh chance with the woman who had fought a war over. As they grew near, he heard the horn call announcing their arrival. Robert's heart was beating like mad as he rode into Winterfell for the second time. This time she would not be a statue stuck in the dark crypts of Winterfell, this time she would be living and breathing and laughing.

Standing in the courtyard waiting to greet them was the whole of the Stark family. Rickard Stark stood tall clad in a thick winter cloak. His long stern face displayed a quiet dignity. Robert assumed that is where Eddard got it from. Next to him was Brandon he was essentially the inverse of Eddard. Taller and more handsome, he carried himself with a self-assuredness that bordered on cockiness. Next in line was the one he had come for, Lyanna, the wolf maid of Winterfell. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her to be, true she was young still and it would be some time before they could wed, but he was determined to do this right. A part of him also registered that young Benjen Stark was there too, but he was far too focused on Lyanna to make any note of it.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment and when they made eye contact, he could feel his heart skip a beat and couldn't help but smile like a boy experiencing his first crush. She on the other hand merely frowned, here gray eyes looking upon him with poorly hidden disgust. Robert tried not to feel crushed in that moment. He knew what she thought of him and knew that it was going to be an uphill battle. He girded himself and prepared for the conflict to come. First however he would have to observe the courtesies expected of a man of his station. So, he approached Lord Rickard first.

"Welcome to Winterfell Lord Baratheon. I admit I was surprised to hear that you were travelling north. Was there something you sought here?" the older man asked casually.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark. Any discussions of the purpose of my visit are best done behind closed doors. Perhaps after I have gotten a chance to know your fine family?" Robert replied, he had been running through ways this could go for the past few days. He couldn't jump right out and declare his love for Lyanna on the spot no matter how much the impulsive side of him demanded it.

"This is my son and heir Brandon." The older lord continued. "He's not much older than you, I expect that you two will serve the throne as lord paramount for years to come. Hopefully you can build strong bonds during your time here."

"Well met Brandon, I hear you are the best sword in the North. Not only that, but you are skilled at the tilts, I have been working on perfecting my skills for the upcoming tourney and hoped to watch you ride." Robert said jovially.

"Ha, you heard true. I'm sure I can take the time to show you a thing or two." Brandon responded with a smirk, but Robert felt no warmth behind it. He was eager to move on, however.

"This is my daughter Lyanna. I hope you both get along well" Lord Rickard said a little too much hope in his voice. For her part, Lyanna executed a very passable curtsy and greeted Robert.

"It is a pleasure to meet you my Lord Baratheon." Though she said it with a smile, it hardly reached her eyes. Robert could tell that she would rather be anywhere else than here right now.

"The pleasure is all mine Lady Lyanna, I brought a gift for you if you would be so kind as to accept it." He signaled to Ned who brought out a small bouquet of blue roses they had managed to secure from the Lady of Castle Cerwyn the previous day. She accepted it with a conflicted look. She was obviously surprised by the gesture, perhaps impressed, and possibly annoyed as well. He wasn't sure if he had won the first battle or if it was a draw. Regardless, Lyanna received reinforcements when the young voice of Benjen called out.

"Do I get a gift too?"

"Ah, and my youngest Benjen." Lord Rickard stated with only a hint of annoyance.

"Sorry Lord Benjen, I am fresh out of flowers. I'll have to go pick some more for you tomorrow."

"I don't want flowers!" the boy exclaimed at the perceived insult.

"Oh, then I'll need come up with something else." Robert said laughing.

"Good, good, let us take this out of the cold. There is bread and salt for you and your men, and a feast will be served shortly." Declared the Lord of Winterfell. Robert looked to Lyanna again, but she had taken this opportunity to completely ignore him. She quickly moved around him and launched herself at Eddard.

"Ned! I've missed you, is it true that you visited Greywater Watch? Does it really move around the swamps?" She questioned while Ned gave Robert an apologetic look.

Robert sighed. He had his work cut out for him, though he noticed that she was still holding onto the flowers. Perhaps it was not all bad.

Chapter Text

After everyone had accepted guest rights, they were escorted into the great hall where the servants were busily finishing the preparations for the feast in Robert's honor. Robert was shown to the high table where the Stark family had taken their seats while the guardsmen were seated at a nearby table. Robert was pleased to see that he was placed next to Lyanna. She was less pleased by the seating arrangements and did her best to hide her displeasure, which is to say not well at all. Robert knew he had to be patient so figured small steps would need to be taken. Eventually as the food was served and Lord Rickard stood to address his gathered household and bannermen.

"My friends, we gather here to celebrate the safe return of my son Eddard and the arrival of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands Robert Baratheon. May our houses grow more closely united." The crowd gave a hearty reply before partaking in the provided feast. Robert turned to Lyanna and tried to start a conversation. She was making it difficult however as she focused on catching up with Eddard who sat on her other side. Eddard saw Robert's look and tried to help.

"I'm so sorry Lyanna, I must go relieve myself. We can speak more when I return." As he stood Lyanna glared at him obviously picking up that he was in league with Robert. Robert jumped on the chance immediately.

"So, Lady Lyanna, I am told that you are quite the rider." Robert figured that leading off with one of her major interests might be a good opening move.

"Aye my lord Baratheon," she said in a forced sweet and demure tone. "It is a guilty pleasure of mine; I know that it is not a pastime of a lady of high birth. I can only imagine that it reflects poorly on me." She said in a convincingly guilty sad tone. Robert was impressed at this gambit; she was trying to dissuade him by playing up her lack of standard femininity. It was a tactical blunder however as it was one of her better traits in his mind.

"Hardly, my lady. Anyone who would look down on you for it must just be jealous that you can ride circles around them." He replied congenially. Lyanna's eyes went wide for a moment before she recovered and tried to press the attack.

"Perhaps my Lord, but I am hardly skilled in the feminine arts like southern ladies. I can't sing and my embroidery is atrocious." She said in a somber tone trying to play up her lack of southern refinement.

"You know, I've come to realize that perhaps all of those things are not all they are cracked up to be. Did you know that Lord Howland Reed's betrothed, Jyana Greengood, asked me to a spar while we were at Greywater Watch? I was rather impressed with her skills." Robert could tell that he had slipped pass Lyanna's defenses as she a brief moment lit up looking forward to the story before she remembered her objective and covered her mouth as if scandalized. Unfortunately, her brother Brandon had to put his two coppers in.

"What? Was the mighty Lord of Storm's End bested by a frog eating wench?" He said mockingly.

"Brandon," Lord Rickard rumbled quietly. "Don't speak of our loyal bannermen is such a way."

"No," replied Robert annoyed at the interruption. "I won without much effort, but I was impressed none the less. Not only that but it was Lord Howland who taught her." Robert saw Lyanna give her father a brief look.

"Lord Robert, please don't encourage my daughter. The Neck is hardly Winterfell or Storm's End. Things are done differently there." The head of House Stark said with a cautioning tone.

"Of course, Lord Stark. I simply meant a woman need only find a man who can appreciate not only their beauty but their unique skills and interests." Robert said earnestly. Lyanna was taken back by those words he could tell, so he decided to try and reinforce the point. "Besides, we're Baratheons and Starks two of the greatest houses of in the seven kingdoms. Who cares what lesser men and women say about us?" After letting out a booming laugh, He looked over to Lyanna hoping to see a thoughtful or perhaps stunned look on her face, but instead he saw a sinister smile. It seemed as if it was he who had now made a tactical mistake.

"That is true Lord Baratheon, so you must not care about what they say about you then." She said in a singsong tone that held exactly no playfulness.

"Lyanna." Her father said in a stern tone.

"I hear they say that you are a womanizer with a new woman in his bed every night and bastards across the Vale, hardly a paragon of southron knighthood. But you are a Baratheon as you say, who cares what lesser houses think." She had a victorious smirk on her face. It stung to listen hear her say those things, and Robert definitely did not like having his words thrown back at him in such a way.

"Lyanna! You will not speak to our guest in that way! Apologize and then return to your chambers and think about what you've done." Rickard admonished. Lyanna stood and curtsied low.

"My apologies Lord Baratheon" When she stood up and swept away, the victorious smirk was still on her face. She passed a returning Eddard on her way out and punched him in the arm before hissing something into her ear.

"Are you sure you want to pursue her Lord Robert?" Brandon said with a chuckle. "I hear there are easier ladies down south for you to chase after. I am sure many have already fallen for your charms." Robert was feeling his blood rise at the suggestive tone Brandon spoke with. What angered him the most is that before his return he might have said something just like that if he was in Brandon's place. Robert was saved from replying when Lord Stark interrupted.

"Brandon, shut up before I throw you out too." he said with a heavy sigh. Eventually Eddard returned to his seat with a puzzled look on his face.

"What just happened? Why did Lyanna tell me this was all my fault?"

Distracted from his anger by the question, Robert took a moment to process everything that had happened. All manner of thoughts started vying for attention in his mind. Hadn't he said to Ned in his past life that Lyanna would never have publicly shamed him like Cersei had? Well, she just did. This of course made Robert wonder if he was still seeing the version of Lyanna that he had built up over years of unhappy marriage. He came to the conclusion that he needed to throw all of his assumptions out the window, and start fresh. True he had heard many stories, but he never knew the real Lyanna Stark.

He thought about what really made her attractive to him. For one, he admired her spirit. Many men would be intimidated by her fire and would never approach. Others would see her as a challenge and work to break her in like a rebellious mare. Robert saw someone who could keep him honest and challenge him to be better. How she had treated Howland at Harrenhal proved the she was loyal and kind despite what others would say. Plus, he would love a wife who would go hunting with him. Yes, she was worth pursuing. Robert ended up letting out a long loud laugh, while those around him stared as if he was mad.

"My apologies my lords. It seems I have underestimated the 'wolf blood' as you call it. I think what we saw was a wolf unwilling to be caged." Robert smiled

"She will do her duty to House Stark and House Baratheon." Rickard responded firmly.

"Possibly." Robert sighed remembering what the gods had told him, "I would rather she agree to it willingly, it would save a lot of pain. We can speak of this another time, let us eat and enjoy ourselves." The others agreed with the sentiment and the feast continued. Robert knew he had pressed too hard tonight and had let himself be outflanked. He had to be patient and he had plenty of time. He could do this.

The feast had finally wound down and the inhabitants of Winterfell were beginning to bed down for the night. Robert was shown to his quarters by Eddard.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect her to be so antagonistic. I plan on talking to her about it." Eddard said apologized as they reached the door to Robert's guest room.

"And again, you don't need to apologize. I knew it wouldn't be easy. She would be daft if she didn't see the betrothal coming and obviously doesn't want to be tied to a man like me." Robert said with a sigh.

"Like you used to be you mean." Eddard corrected helpfully.

"True but showing up and yelling that I'm a changed man is hardly a great way to start a conversation." Robert replied with a chuckle.

"Aye, have a good night, Rob." Eddard patted Robert on the shoulder and turned to leave. Robert entered the room and started preparing for bed. He debated whether or not to focus on pursuing Lyanna in the morning, or if he should give her space. Perhaps he could help her feel at ease if he did not seem over eager to win her over. So, as he closed his eyes for the night and drifted off to sleep, he decided that the next day would be spent practicing his jousting and perhaps even a visit to Old Nan.

The next morning, he awoke quite early but decided to go about his routine as usual. When he asked a passing servant if the Stark family had broken their fast yet, he was told that they had yet to rise. Deciding to simply eat in his room, he asked for a simple meal to be brought to him so that he could prepare for the day. After eating he planned to exercise in the yard. When he exited the guest building however, he found a number of individuals already braving the cold winter air to train and spar. Overseeing the whole affair was an older but stout man with white whiskers wearing the arms of House Cassel. Robert remembered the Master-of-Arms of Winterfell being a Rodrick Cassel. It must be the man's father or an uncle since the resemblance was canny. Either way he approached the man to ask to join the men training as curtesy dictated.

"Hail Master Cassel, I am surprised to see so many men training on a cold winter day like this. May I join you? Perhaps someone might be interested in a spar?"

"Greetings my Lord Baratheon. This winter is barely colder than the coldest summer days we see here in the North. Some even wonder if winter has truly come. As for a spar, I'm sure my son Martyn would be a good match." The master-at-arms waved down a fairly young man that Robert instantly recognized. During the rebellion, Eddard was rarely seen without the northern warrior at his side. Martyn took the role of protecting his liege lord very seriously, and his loss at that cursed Tower of Joy was yet another tragedy Robert was determined to avoid. Robert noticed that he had a grim expression on his face, different from the usual wry smile he often wore when on campaign. Robert wasn't sure what to make of it but prepared for the spar regardless.

The two men finished their preparations and entered the sparing area with few words. After the customary solute, Robert was surprised to not be the aggressor for once. Martyn quickly closed the distance and struck out; Robert just managed to parry the blow with his shield. Blow after blow came in and Robert found himself surprised by the ferocity; it was also frustrating him to no end. Eventually he had enough and found his opening. The younger Cassel came in with a masterfully executed high strike which Robert stepped into and blocked with his shield. Martyn expecting a counterstroke from Robert's hammer had raised his own shield in defense leaving himself open to a vicious kick to the side of the knee. Martyn's leg went numb and buckled almost immediately. As he was falling Robert struck out with his hammer possibly a bit harder than he normally would during a friendly spar. Martyn managed to get his own shield up in time to intercept the blow, but the sound of splintering wood signaled that Robert had definitely overdone it. Realizing that he had let the Baratheon fury go a too far, he stepped back from the downed man. Robert could hear shouts from around him and cries for the Maester. Robert for his part felt pretty sorry for what he had done and went to reach a hand to the downed man.

"My apologies friend, I let my anger get the best of me." Martyn had the sense to take the hand as honor dictated but found that his leg would not hold his weight when he tried to stand. Robert tried to support him, but the angry man just shrugged it off. Rodrick rushed in and grabbed Martyn helping him away to the edge of the yard to wait for the Maester. Robert watched with no small amount of annoyance.

"I apologies for his actions my lord." The older Cassel said sadly. "He just lost another son to fever not two nights ago, all that remains is his son Jory who is a squire to Lord Cerwyn. I had hoped some training could shake him from this darkness." Robert could definitely empathize with not dealing with pain well.

"I see, then will I take no offense. I am not one to speak when it comes to letting my anger get the best of me." Robert said thoughtfully. The Master-at-Arms glanced down to the ruined shield and simply nodded.

"I doubt many men will wish to spar with you after that demonstration." The older man said after a moment.

"Yes, well, I can practice on my own for now. You should be proud of your son; he fights with incredible skill even when so distracted. I doubt any but the most skilled knights of the realm could overcome him." Robert said with a laugh, but inside he knew it was the truth. His thoughts were interrupted by clapping. He turned to find the Stark heir walking onto the yard.

"Most impressive Lord Robert, I saw the match from above. If you are done maiming my father's bannermen, perhaps you'd like to test your skills against mine?" Brandon said in a congenial tone. Robert was bothered by the callousness shown by Eddard's older brother, and still harbored ill feelings from their interaction from the previous night. The embers of Robert anger were reignited, and he grinned at the chance to put Brandon in his place.

"Of course, Lord Brandon, I'd be happy to see what the Wild Wolf of Winterfell has to show me." Robert stretched and ran through some forms trying to keep warm as Brandon donned his training equipment . Before long they were facing each other in the yard. They saluted and entered their stances. Brandon was wielding a greatsword of castle forged steel. Robert guessed that Stark men trained with such weapons in order to wield their family's sword in battle. Unlike Eddard however, nothing in Brandon's stance read defense; he looked like a wolf ready to pounce. They watched each other for a few heartbeats trying to figure out who would make the first move. Robert decided to take the initiative lashing out with a hammer strike towards Brandon's chest. Brandon skillfully countered the move by taking a quick step out of range before launching into his own attacks. Robert had to admit that Brandon was excellent at attacking while protecting himself from counters; the greatsword he carried moved almost like a blur. He felt the anger and frustration rising, but he fought it down for now and decided to take a page from Eddard's style. Robert shifted into a much more defensive stance and gave up opportunities for counters in order to try and lull Brandon into leaving himself open for something. Robert's blood sang when his patience was finally rewarded. It was small, but Robert saw the chance to step inside Brandon's reach and go for a grapple. The move took the overconfident Brandon by complete surprise, and he soon found himself being lifted off the ground only to be slammed bodily onto his back. Robert stared down out the stunned face of his opponent with a victorious smile.

"Yield?"

"Aye, I Yield." Brandon said with a wheezing laugh. "You don't fight like a southron knight." The tone of his voice made it clear that it was a complement.

"I fight to win." Robert stated. The fire inside of him started dying down as he offered a hand to his downed opponent. One thing that death could never change in Robert was the love of the fight, the adrenaline, the challenge. He could respect those that shared that love too, something he definitely saw in Eddard's older brother.

"As you should, come let's walk and talk." Brandon said gesturing away from where the men were still training. They doffed their equipment and put on cloaks to ward off the winter cold. Robert followed Brandon's lead as they abled around the grounds of the castle.

"From what I hear from Eddard and others, you and I are alike in many ways." Brandon said jovially.

"What do you mean?" Robert asked warily

"We are well liked by the men who follow us, quick to anger and quick to forgive, and we aren't afraid to take what we want." Brandon replied with a smile. "I am sure there were plenty of maids for you to take to your bed on those cold nights during your travels here."

"You assume I would want just any maiden." Robert felt the anger building, but he tried to keep it from showing in his voice.

"So, you've come to secure a betrothal with Lyanna." Brandon said

"I have." Robert responded wondering where Brandon was taking the conversation.

"You know, father is so eager for our houses to be bound by marriage you could have sent a raven saying, 'give me Lyanna' and he would have accepted." Brandon stated.

"Your point?" Robert asked, not liking where he was going.

"My point is that there is no reason for you to be here. And since you are, I must ask why you've really come." Brandon stated flat out. "Are you here to see if she is worth it, or possibly try the goods? You and I both know the joys of a bloody sword." His tone was disgustingly suggestive, but it changed instantly. "I swear if you dishonor her, I will gut you and feed your honorless corpse to the dogs. Then I will take my men south to Storm's End and burn it to the ground with your brothers inside to ensure House Baratheon never rises again" Brandon said with a menacing growl. Robert could appreciate a brother being protective of his sister, he knew that it would be best to deescalate. But Robert was already tired of the lewd remarks, and that along with the threat against him and his house meant that he could no longer keep a lid on his anger.

"You dare question my motives, and threaten me and my house?" Robert barely kept his response from being a roar. "You of all people have no grounds to speak to me about honor. You're already betrothed and still seeking out the bed of highborn lady who you have no intention of wedding. For the sake of your brother whom I love, I will let your insults pass but speak to me like this again and I will have satisfaction." Robert was standing at his full height glaring down at the Stark heir. His bright blue eyes boring into stormy grey. Robert could see the wrath burning behind Brandon's eyes, and there was a moment of smoldering tension before Brandon snarled and threw a fist at Robert's jaw.

Unable to guard in time Robert took it on the chin. It stunned him for a moment, but he had grown up brawling with his brother Stannis, and his brother hit much harder than this Northern lordling. The Baratheon fury was unleashed as he grabbed Brandon by the collar picked him up off the ground and delivered a headbutt that rewarded Robert with the satisfying crunch of a broken nose. Brandon was not one to give up so easily however, and the wolf blood was howling in his ears. It quickly devolved into a brawl as the two fell to the ground rolling around with knees, elbows, and fists flying. Robert could barely make out the cry of a woman somewhere and then the shouting of men. Eventually Robert felt arms and hands trying to separate the two of them.

Thankfully Robert was able to come to his senses before he attacked the men trying to restrain him. He was dazed and bloodied by the scrap but looking over at Brandon who was fighting to be free of the men holding him back, it seemed as if he had come off better from the exchange.

"By the gods, what happened here!" Bellowed a furious Lord Rickard Stark. His normal calm demeanor shed and his face red.

"Father, throw this honorless southron dog out of our home. We don't need him; the North doesn't need anyone else!" Brandon yelled in a nasally voice.

"Brandon, quiet yourself or I'll have my men gag you. Can anyone tell me what happened here?" Questioned the Lord of Winterfell.

"Excuse me, my Lord Stark, I saw what happened." Robert looked over to the source of the voice. A young man was holding up his hand. Robert was surprised, he had the looks of someone no older than ten name days but was already as tall as most full-grown men.

"Speak then Walder." Rickard commanded.

"I was on my way to the stables as normal when I saw them leaving the training yard. They were just talking, I couldn't hear, and it was not my place to listen, but then I saw Lord Brandon strike the Lord Baratheon who responded by hitting him in the head. I ran to get the other men so try and stop it my lord." The boy meekly relayed what he had seen.

"Brandon," The Lord said turning to his son, his anger turning cold as winter. "Is this true? You struck a Lord Paramount, a Lord under guest rights?"

"He questioned my honor and the honor of house Stark." Brandon growled. Robert couldn't help but scoff at the heir's words.

"You have something to say Lord Baratheon?" Lord Stark said in the same tone he had questioned his son in. Robert was far beyond the point of self-control.

"Brandon's brashness will get himself and many others killed someday. If I didn't know your second son was such a good man, I'd weep for the future of the north." Robert could tell that behind the mask, Rickard was incensed at his words. Fortunately, Eddard, who had been quietly observing all this time, stepped in.

"Father, perhaps we should take this someplace private to work out."

"Yes, that would be wise. We have much to discuss." Robert thought Rickard's words were quite ominous.

Chapter Text

The nobles gathered in Lord Stark's solar sat silently as Maester Walys reset Brandon's broken nose. All conversation had been silenced through the threatening glare of Lord Rickard Stark.

"It is done my lord," the middle aged maester confirmed while inspecting his work. "It will take some time to heal, but we got to it in enough time to prevent any lasting damage."

"Good, now get out." The Lord of Winterfell demanded

"My Lord if I might stay to offer council." The maester requested in a humble tone.

"You may not. Get. Out." Rickard's glare was murderous as he emphasized the last two words. The maester gave a hurried bow and left the room. The sound of the door closing echoed ominously through the room. The following silence carried on far longer than any of the three young lords were particularly comfortable with but none of them wanted to be the first to speak based on the Old Wolf's demeanor.

"Brandon," Lord Stark's sudden speech nearly caused them all to jump, "You are my son and heir. Tell me, why did you strike Lord Baratheon." Brandon sniffed and winced in pain before the burning anger that his father's cold rage had suppressed once again rose.

"I went to this southron lord and warned him about what would happen if he dishonored Lyanna. His sensibilities were apparently offended so he called my honor into question.  I couldn't let that stand."

"How exactly did he call your honor into question?" Lord Stark probed. Brandon grimaced at the question, obviously struggling to articulate an answer that didn't make him look even worse.

"He said that I was dishonoring my betrothal to Catelyn Tully." He practically spat out. "Which is rich coming from a man of his reputation." Robert had had enough at this point.

"Lord Stark, if I may," Robert said in as polite a tone as he could manage, remembering a lesson from Jon, even when your emotions are high never forget your courtesies. The older lord motioned for him to continue. "I specifically said he was one to talk since he is betrothed and still seeking out another high-born lady's bed."

"And how did you come across this information?" It was unnerving to Robert just how calm and even toned Rickard Stark managed to stay. Robert realized that he didn't have a good excuse for this one as he had found out near the end of his life as he and Ned caught up and shared stories on the trip back to King's Landing. He was surprised when he heard Ned speak up.

"He found out from me father," Ned said with an apologetic tone. Robert was stunned. Honorable Eddard Stark just told a lie for him. Well, he told a half truth. Although Robert figured he shouldn't be too surprised as Ned had maintained the lie about Jon Snow for well over a decade. Robert saw Eddard's father's eyes widen and his eyebrows lift. "I found out about it the last time I visited and must have let it slip while we were in our cups."

"How dare you, Brother!" Brandon shouted. "He's not even family!"

"He's more of a brother than you've been to me," Eddard said with a cold confidence. Ned's support warmed Robert's heart.

"You've spent too much time in the south Eddard. You've forgotten what it means to be of the North." Brandon snarled.

"Have I? Am I the one who tempts the god's wrath by breaking guest rights?" Eddard shot back defiantly.

"Enough." Their father's voice was not loud, but it carried a finality that had both Stark siblings shut their mouths. "Brandon, what is this all about you seeking out another woman?"

"Your drive to forge bonds with the South is folly, Father. We should be strengthening our relationships with other northern houses. Damn the South, we don't need them, we have always stood apart. I curse the day Torrhen kneeled. We should be Kings of Winter, not Wardens of the North." Brandon's fire was undeniable and would have convinced many through his passion. But Lord Stark was not moved.

"You did not answer my question." Rickard Stark fixed Brandon with a withering glare.

"I have been with Barbrey Ryswell for some time since my fostering in the Barrowlands father." He replied defiantly.

"So, you attack a lord welcomed into my home under guest rights, dishonor a lady of high birth by laying with her out of wedlock, and you defy me by speaking out against your betrothal to the Tully girl." Rickard summarized.

"Southrons are nothing but bickering weaklings who prance around in shiny armor thinking they know what honor is." Brandon glared at Robert while saying this. "I will do my duty as you command, but they are a different people with different values and gods, we are the blood of the First Men we remember the old ways, a southern lady will not do well here. If you keep pursuing this foolishness, then how long before we see a sept in Winterfell." Robert had to suppress a snicker as he thought to himself, about four years.

"Brandon, our lands will not thrive without allies in the south." Lord Stark spoke with such a finality that it took everyone in the room by surprise.

"Lies!" Brandon eventually cried, breaking the silence. "What lies has that damn flower been whispering in your ear? I didn't want to believe Barbrey when she said that you were being influenced by that southern Maester, but this is madness. The North has survived for thousands of years under our rule and will continue to do without southern meddling. I'm going to gut that slimy bastard."

"You will be silent and listen!" The Lord finally raised his voice, shocking the rooms occupants. "You never stop and listen, too wild, too impulsive, if it didn't spit in the face of thousands of years of tradition, I would take Lord Robert's word and name Eddard my successor." A terrible anger was flowing out of the Warden of the North as he spoke. "I said the North cannot thrive, aye we will survive and endure as we always have, but we will never grow and prosper without food and funds from the south. The fields of the Reach, Vale, and Riverlands will feed our people in winter. Cotton from Dorne and wool from the Stormlands will clothe them. We can sell lumber, furs, and other northern goods to the Westerlands and Crownlands to pay for it all. My father commissioned a study, recently completed by that Flower you disparage, of all the tax and census records we still had stored in the library here as well as with many of the great houses of the north. Since Torrhen bent the knee, the population of the North has doubled. If not for the great fever and famine that followed the dance, we could be as populous as The Reach.  The peace the dragons brought and the trade that flourishes because if it has brought growth to our lands, and I would see that increase. You may damn him, but I will honor our ancestor for caring more for his people than his pride or honor."

"You would sacrifice our culture and way of life in the process." Brandon growled unable or unwilling to cede the point to his father.

"I sacrifice nothing. A single Tully bride will not doom our culture. We have the chance to build a stronger North, and you spit in the face of my efforts." Lord Stark said, obviously tired of his son's attitude. Robert watched the exchange and saw Brandon fuming, clearly not wanting to give in, but also not having anything meaningful to say in reply.

"This is what will happen." Rickard continued, "You will give a public apology to Lord Baratheon this evening in the great hall. I forbid you from communicating with Barbery any further, and I will be reviewing any correspondence arriving for you. If you want to act like a child, then I will treat you like a child." He then walked to the door and opened it calling for a guard. "Escort my son to his quarters, he is to be confined there until I send for him." He turned to his son and spoke. "Get out." Brandon hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else, but withered under his father's intense gaze and left to follow the guard. Once the door had closed, Robert felt the need to speak up.

"It's not all his fault, I shouldn't have risen to his level." After watching that whole exchange, Robert was in awe of the Old Wolf, and felt thoroughly chastised by proxy. Robert was once too impulsive and too wild.

"No, you shouldn’t have. A Lord should know better, and you are more than that, you are a Lord Paramount. One of the most powerful men in all the kingdoms and yet you brawled with him like one of the smallfolk." Lord Stark said returning to his calmer matter-of-fact tone. Robert wanted to be angry, but he knew what he was hearing was the truth.

"Tell me," The older lord continued. "What did he say that caused you to call his honor into question?"

"Ah," Robert felt like a boy being scolded. "He questioned why I had come north and threatened to kill me and end my house if I dishonored Lyanna." Lord Stark just stared for a moment and Robert could not read any emotion behind those grey eyes. Eventually, the older man sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"Yes, I can see the source of your anger, but think for a moment. What authority or power does my son have to follow through on such a threat? I hope this is a good lesson for you. If the kings peace is to be maintained, then we need Lords who maintain a cool head."

"I understand, it is a lesson Jon has tried to teach me many times. I'm trying to remember it." Robert said in a defeated tone.

"Now, do you wish to make the betrothal official?" The old Stark said in a tone that just barely betrayed his eagerness to do so.

"Ah, from what I know and experienced of your daughter announcing the proposal will only make her more opposed to it. If you give me more time, I believe I can win her over." Robert said with a smile. Lord Stark nodded, slightly disappointed.

"Hm, I am glad you are interested in my daughter's happiness. Many of my bannermen are interested in her hand, and they grow more discontent the longer she remains without a betrothal. I'd rather not have to make other concessions to hold them off further."

"Actually, I think I can help facilitate things," Eddard interjected. "I was planning to spend some time with her today. Hopefully, I can convince her to look past your reputation."

"Yes, your reputation." Lord Stark drawled. "Lord Robert, do remember men of our station have our own ways of demanding satisfaction. The North remembers." Robert saw a slight grin on the old lord's face, making what he said far more threatening than anything Brandon had said.

"Of course, Lord Stark, I will treat her with all the honor and dignity she deserves," Robert said quickly.

"Good, now please leave me be. It has been a trying morning and I want to be alone for some time." Robert and Eddard bowed and left the solar. They walked in silence for some time before Eddard spoke up.

"Do you really think I would make a good Lord?" He said quietly

"Are you kidding? I know you would. I saw you lead your banners in war, and you led the North for my entire reign." Robert said with a laugh. "You would have continued to do so for years to come if I hadn't dragged you south." Eddard took the compliment with his usual stoicism.

The rest of the day went by without any more drama. Robert spent time practicing the joust but was once again frustrated by his lack of progress. He thought he saw Lyanna watching him, but if that was true, she didn't stay long. Eventually, the time came for the evening meal and Eddard came to make sure Robert was ready.

"I spoke to Lyanna before she left for her daily ride, she was as difficult as normal, but I think I got her to give you a chance," Eddard spoke in a tired tone.

"You are a true friend." Robert laughed slapping Eddard loudly on the back. They walked to the great hall and took their seats. A number of the Stark household as well as Robert's travelling companions had already arrived and were being served. The Lord of Winterfell was seated at the high table and nodded as Robert and Eddard entered. They moved to take their seats and Robert noticed that both Brandon and Lyanna were both absent. When they sat down, Benjen spoke up.

"Is it true that you beat Brandon twice Lord Baratheon? He's the strongest warrior in all the North, that must make you the greatest warrior in all the kingdoms." He said full of excitement and awe. Robert couldn't help but feel his ego being inflated a bit.

"Maybe I am!" he let out a booming laugh but thought that he should at least try and work on his humility. "Your eldest brother is quite a fighter. During our spar, I had a hard time finding an opening. If it wasn't for your brother Eddard, I wouldn't have been able to beat him."

"Ned? How'd he help?" Benjen replied incredulously.

"Ned is an expert in waiting and making the other person make a mistake. I took his style and used it against Brandon to win. As for the second win, I'd hardly call that a fight and it was not something you should be admiring." Robert finished in a lower tone.

As he finished talking, the door to the great hall was opened and a disheveled Lyanna entered. Her hair was windswept and the bottom of her dress was streaked with melting snow and mud. She returned her father's disapproving glare with a guilty smile.

"Apologies Father, I know you told me I had to be here, but I lost track of time while out on Mystery and didn't have time to make myself more presentable." She said quickly while moving to her seat at the high table. When she sat down, she gave Robert a cordial greeting. Robert was pleasantly surprised and mentally thanked Eddard. Eventually, the last member of House Stark arrived. A scowl was plastered on his face, and he looked tense. This was clearly the last place he wanted to be. He walked up in front of the high table and greeted his father before turning to Robert, hatred burning in his grey eyes.

"I, Brandon Stark, offer my apologies for my actions this morning." Though he spoke in a clear voice, it sounded as if it took all his will to do so. Robert looked at him for a few moments, perhaps the only virtue that King Robert displayed was the ability to forgive and turn enemies into allies.

"There is nothing to forgive, we're two hot blooded young men sorting out our differences using a language common to the both of us." Robert smiled, but it seemed as if the kind answer only served to pour coals on the Wild Wolf's head. It looked like Brandon was about to shout out when his father interrupted.

"Brandon, Lord Baratheon has been quite magnanimous has he not?" The tone indicated that it was less a question a more a warning not to say anything he would regret.

"Yes," Brandon struggled with just that one word. When he failed to manage more than that.

"You are tired Brandon, it has been a long day, and you must rest. Food will be brought to your chamber so that you can recuperate in private." Rickard said in a tone that allowed for no opposition. Brandon for once took a moment to contemplate his actions, bowed, and left the grand hall escorted by a household guard.

"I've never seen Brandon so defeated," Lyanna said to no one in particular.

"I assume he is used to things going his way," Robert replied as he cut into his meal.

"You would know." Lyanna's tone was a bit harsh, but she seemed to recognize her slip and she added a "my lord" afterward to try and at least make up for it.

"Yes, I would know, my lady." He said with a chuckle at her antics and continued in an introspective tone. "I'm the eldest of my brothers and I was used to taking what I wanted."

"Was? My Lord." Lyanna questioned, hinting that she had doubts that this was still not the case.

"Well, I've been recently forced to face the consequences of my life choices. It put a lot of things into perspective." Robert replied truthfully. "It is not a good topic for a meal. Perhaps we can talk while taking a ride perhaps." He added on hopefully. Lyanna looked as if she was about to decline, but a stealthy nudge from Eddard caused her demeanor to change.

"That would be nice Lord Baratheon." She replied with a polite smile. Robert couldn't tell if she was nervous or simply hated the idea but was going along with it due to Eddard's prodding. The dinner went on with conversation topics being friendly but staying away from any deeper topics. Robert left the great hall with an overall good feeling about the progress of things. Eddard once again escorted him to his guest quarters.

"So, what did you say to Lyanna to get her to change her tune?" Robert asked as they walked along.

"I told her that she was acting like Brandon, and to look where that got him," Eddard replied with a grin.

"They do have that similar brashness don't they." Robert mused.

"Yes, but Lyanna has a kinder heart than Brandon. Both can be selfish, but Lyanna was always quicker to defend others." Eddard said honestly.

"The fact that she even tried at all tonight says a lot. Hopefully, our ride tomorrow will be productive." Robert replied smiling as they reached his door. Robert bid his friend a good night and prepared for bed. His dreams were filled with tourney banners, knights in plate, and a young woman laughing while riding across the snow.

Chapter Text

The next day started much like the previous. Robert was excited to spend time with Lyanna today but knew keeping his routine was just as important. He was up early and broke his fast on his own before going out to the yard to practice and spar with the other men. He was pleasantly surprised to see a much larger number of men. When he inquired about it, he was told that during winter at least once a sennight when possible, the levies staying in Wintertown would come to Winterfell for martial practice. When Robert asked if anyone was interested in sparring with him, the group pushed forward a giant of a man. He was clearly over seven feet tall and built solidly. Not quite as tall as The Mountain, but still it was not often Robert had to look up at his opponents.

"M'lord, I'll fight ya, if you'll 'lowit." He said humbly. The man was carrying a spear and shield and dressed in the common leathers and chain of northern levies. Robert was excited for the challenge of fighting such a monstrous foe.

"Of course I'll allow it." Robert laughed and nodded to the man to join him. Based on his stance, Robert could tell that the man was no master of the martial arts, but his reach and strength alone made him a dangerous foe.

"Get 'im pa!" cried the young man who had been the witness of yesterday's brawl. He had pushed his way to the front of the circle of men that had gathered around to watch the match.

"Walder! Get back and finish your work in the stables." An older woman called out in an admonishing tone.

"But Nan, pa's gonna fight the southern lord." The boy's excitement over the match warmed Robert's heart as he took his stance facing the northern warrior. Robert circled a bit noticing that the giant did a good job of moving with him. Eventually, Robert thought he saw his opening and moved in. He darted in, but his opponent was watching carefully and was able to fend him off with several quick thrusts of the spear. Robert couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh, happy to have initially underestimated his opponent. The dance continued with Robert darting in and out while being kept at bay by the spear. Eventually however the giant started to tire, and Robert truly found his opportunity to end the fight.

"Well fought, I don't think I got your name." He said to the man who had just yielded.

"My name's Wylis, m'lord." He said with a humble smile.

"Well Wylis, with men like you in the army's ranks there's no wonder it took dragons to take the north." The gathered men all gave a little cheer at that. "I saw your boy watching, he looks like he'll be a mighty warrior himself someday."

"Aye, m'lord, he he'll have the build for it, but he's got too soft a heart for war." Wylis replied, "At least that's what me Nan says."

"True, not everyone hears the call of battle." Robert says with a grin. After that, he continued training with the men helping the Master-of-Arms as best he could. Eventually Eddard came around and sparred a few times with Robert. Maybe it was the homefield advantage, but Eddard managed to take more wins than losses this time much to the adoration of the gathered northmen. Robert was definitely in his element and loving every minute of it. He even took time to help young Benjen with his sparring, which in turn increased his standing with the young lord considerably. Eventually, he heard a feminine voice calling out over the clash of training weapons.

"Excuse me Lord Baratheon, I believe we agreed to take a ride together." Her tone was particularly proper. Robert noticed a guard in House Stark colors trailing respectfully behind her.

"We had, let me get cleaned up here and I will meet you by the stables." He said with a smile. She gave a quick curtsy before heading in the direction of the stables as he had suggested. Robert changed as quickly as he could out of his training gear and into his riding clothes. He saw Lyanna and the guard already mounted and waiting for him when he was finally ready to go. The stableboy who had cheered on his father was brushing down Robert's coal black destrier as Robert approached.

"You're steed m'lord. He sure is a beauty." The boy said with a shy smile.

"Yes, he was a gift from my friend Denys Arryn. Thank you for taking such good care of him." Robert said happily before mounting his steed. The boy bowed his head and humbly mumbled that it was his job. Robert chuckled and turned towards Lyanna and her guard. "Shall we?" She nodded and then started towards the gate.

"Fortunately, it hasn't snowed in a few days so the paths in the Wolfswood are open for riding." Lyanna said with excitement in her voice. Robert noticed the guard give a defeated sigh and started to think that this wasn't going to be a pleasant ride on a sunny winter day. As they passed through the Hunter's Gate, Lyanna looked back at Robert with a sly grin before letting out an excited "Hyaaah" spurring her horse into a full-on gallop and laughing as she left her escorts behind. Robert looked at the guard who just gave him a resigned shrug before urging his horse to catch up, he let out a laugh of his own as he followed suit.

Robert felt that he shouldn't be surprised by how good Lyanna was on a horse. Everyone he had ever talked to about her had commented that she was a centaur, half-horse, or some other manner of praise. But seeing it and trying to keep up himself was eye-opening. Once they had entered the forest proper, it was as if she and the horse were of one mind speeding through the narrow and winding game trails as if it was nothing. Robert did his very best to keep up and had done a better job than the guard, but still only just managed to keep her in sight. Eventually though, as she entered a clearing in the woods, she slowed to a trot letter her horse rest and Robert catch up.

"It seems as if your reputation is well earned my lady." Robert said with a charming smile. Lyanna seemed to preen at the words for a moment before fixing him with a studying eye.

"I was told that I have been unfair to you since you've arrived. You'll forgive me if I seem a little forward here, but I must ask you. Is your reputation well earned as well?" Her grey eyes hid a steely determination behind them. Robert wondered when this would come up and it seems as if she was not willing to dance around the point.

"Yes, my reputation was well earned, and yes, it is true I have sired at least one child that I know of." He replied plainly. She looked at him with the same passive glare that her father Rickard had perfected.

"I can see why you are shit at the joust." She said almost casually.

"Excuse me?" Robert questioned clearly thrown by the change in topic.

"When you ride, you don't trust your horse. You command him like he is a challenge to conquer not a companion to work with. Is that how you see…" She paused her lips indicated that she was about to say 'women', but she caught herself. "…everything? Is it all just a challenge to overcome before you move on to something else?" Her voice was steady, and the steel remained.

"I ride like that because that is how I was taught. And perhaps that is how I ultimately see the world because that is how I was taught." Robert admitted. It was a new way of looking at his life he hadn't considered before.

"Do you love the mother of your child?" She pressed on. Robert was beginning to grow frustrated by the interrogation.

"No," he said more coldly than he probably should have. "Not in the way you're thinking"

"How is that right? How is that fair? That you would lay with a woman like that and just leave her with a child." Her voice was full of righteous indignation. Robert couldn't help but lose his anger over it.

"It is neither right nor fair!" he roared causing Lyanna to lean back and her horse to take a few frightened steps away. "It was a mistake that she and I have to live with for the rest of our lives, but don't you dare stand there and judge me as if I just tossed them away. I love Mya dearly, she is the light of my life, and I have cared for her mother as best as our stations would allow." He defended himself vigorously.

"You make it sound like you couldn't do the right thing and marry your daughter's mother because society prevented you. Society didn't keep Prince Duncan from marrying Jenny of Oldstones. You're a Baratheon, a Lord Paramount, you could have just told everyone to stuff it, and then your daughter, the light of your life, wouldn't grow up a bastard."

"As if the damn Targaryens are a the prime example of wisdom and honor in this world. Summerhall might never have burned if Duncan had just married my kin as was his duty. Spiting on society for your selfish needs isn't how you change the world for the better. Gods, you and Rhaegar deserve each other." Robert buried his face in his palm as he realized what he had just said.

"What does Prince Rhaegar have to do with this." She asked, a small blush darkening her confused features. It served to stoke Robert's anger further, and he was silent for a while as he wrestled internally to bring it under control. He would not push her into the hands of that manipulative bastard.

"Nothing, you just reminded me of him just now. My cousin doesn't think about the consequences of his actions either." He growled, "If he thinks he is in the right, then the world just needs to change to suit his needs. That's not how the world works, and it only leads to suffering."

"So, you are saying that there is no hope to change the world? That we should just lie down and accept our stations in life?" She fired back emotionally.

"I am saying that change is hard. It requires men and women to choose to do the right thing every day. To sacrifice their wants and needs for those around them. To love others more than yourself as the Mother teaches." He reasoned while doing his best to control his anger. Lyanna's fire had diminished, but not gone out.

"So, why are you here? Is it the right thing to come here looking for my hand rather than staying south and caring for your daughter?" Robert was getting fed up with her defiant attitude. She had found something that was dear to him and was pushing on it.

"Brandon asked the same thing." Robert murmured before continuing. "I am here because I thought that if I came to you in person, then the betrothal request would be more palatable. There is so much more at play here than just our feelings. We are high-born and noble; we have power over the lives of tens of thousands of smallfolk and nobles alike. Love and romance are not luxuries normally afforded to us, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, we could find it where so many others failed." Robert was ranting out his frustrations. "So, tell me, my lady, what are you so afraid of? Why are you trying so hard to run away from your duty?"

"I don't want to be bound to a man who could never stay faithful to the marriage bed." She yelled defiantly. "You can tell me you would love me all you want, but love doesn't change a man's nature."

"So, you thought that by being enough of a bitch you could scare me off and I'd run away to the south and just give up on you?" Robert couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

"Don't laugh at me." Lyanna said hotly.

"Apologies, Lady Lyanna." Robert said quickly recovering his composure. "Please know that I admire you for a great number of things. I admire your fire, tenacity, and honesty. And I even admire your straightforward and slightly naïve view of the world to an extent. I would love to have you serve as the lady of Storm's End if only to see the sour look on the faces of every other social climbing harpy in the south." This actually got a small snicker out of Lyanna. "I recently learned a thing or two about love from a northern born bastard. You are right that love, the feeling most people think of when you use the word, can't change a man's nature. But true love isn't a feeling, it is a choice one makes to put aside your needs for another. I would like the opportunity to love you as a husband should love his wife."

"I wouldn't make a good southern lady." Lyanna said turning away in embarrassment.

"Who said I want a southern lady." Internally he thought that he had had enough of southern ladies for one lifetime, literally.

"Wouldn't I just shame you and your house?" She was obviously grasping at anything to try and dissuade Robert.

"Lyanna, what do you want from marriage?" Robert finally asked. She stopped and thought for a few moments before slowly responding.

"I just want a good man who won't expect more of me than I can give, who will love and honor me for who I am." She said in a challenging tone.

"Do you know what I want from a wife and future lady of Storm's End?" Robert asked, she simply shook her head.

"Frankly, I want a woman who can have just as much fun as me, who'll go hunting and riding with me, who'll love and raise our children to be honorable and good, and if I am truly lucky, I would like a woman who could accept Mya into our household." Robert stopped and studied Lyanna for a moment, locking eyes with her. "If you can be the woman I want to have as a wife, then I can be the man who you want as a husband. And remember, marriage is still years away. I won't steal you away from your father just yet." He said with a grin. She was silent for a little while looking around the clearing deep in thought. Eventually they heard the hoofbeats of the guard who had been left behind.

"I suppose that betrothals can be amicably broken if need be. Two years is plenty of time see if your actions match your words." She said returning his smile. "We should head back; my father's man is always so put out when he has to search the forest for me."

"As you wish my lady." Robert replied. "On a different note, can you teach me to ride like you do?"

"I can try." Lyanna replied. "Why is it important to you?"

"There's a stubborn young lady I would love to be able to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal." Robert said with a roguish smile. Lyanna just blushed and urged her mount into a canter ahead of Robert.

Chapter Text

Robert was feeling great. The time spent with Lyanna had been productive if not a little frustrating. She was most definitely not the sweet northern flower that he had built her up to be during his years of bitter married life. It wasn't exactly a disappointment, but the exchange they had was not what he had imagined when he had first proposed the ride together. Their ride back to Winterfell was fairly quiet and uneventful given what had happened previously. Even Robert could tell there were things that Lyanna probably wanted to ask but didn't know how to breach tactfully. Robert decided to ask her about her riding skill.

"Who taught you to ride, my lady?"

"You wouldn't mid just calling me Lyanna in private would you?" She asked casually, "I hear m'lady enough in Winterfell"

"I'd be happy to Lyanna, please call me Robert." He replied happily.

"Thank you Robert, It was Brandon actually, he's probably the next best rider after me." She said wistfully, Robert tried not to grimace at the mention of the elder Stark sibling.

"I know he spent some time fostering with House Dustin. Is that where he learned?" Robert asked trying to keep the conversation light.

"Yes, he said he used to ride through the Rills every day. It's where he met Barbrey." She replied. Robert noted a little venom in her voice.

"You seem to have a poor opinion of Lady Ryswell." Robert stated with a grin.

"She's alright when you get her alone, she knows horses better than almost anyone, but anytime she's around Brandon she turns into a simpering little birdie flittering around laughing at his worst jokes. It's obvious she just want's to be Lady of Winterfell. Brandon likes the attention, I'm sure he would prefer Barbrey to Catelyn." She said finishing her rant. Robert just hummed in thoughtful agreement. "Have you met Lady Tully?" She asked curiously.

"A few times," Robert said thinking about all the times he had seen her. He realized that he had only met her perhaps once in passing at a tourney prior to the Rebellion. Well, Lyanna didn't know, and it wasn't technically a lie. "She is the picture of a southern lady, very devout, and would do anything for her family. She practically breathes her house words."

"Hmm, well she'll have new house words eventually, hopefully the southern flower won't wilt when winter comes." Lyanna said dismissively

"She's a trout not a flower, maybe she'll freeze in the river." Robert said jokingly. He was pleased when he got an unladylike snort from Lyanna.

"You said she's devout, I can just imagine her looking down on all of Winterfell as tree worshiping savages." She said in a mocking tone.

"Not all of us look down on the old gods. My home still has a godswood with a weirwood tree. It has a very solemn face, reminds me of Ned actually." He said fondly. "Riverrun does as well if I am not mistaken." he continued trying to bring the conversation back to Catelyn.

"So, you count yourself among the devout? Does this have anything to do with your recent change of heart? Can you stomach me conducting my heathen rituals in the heart of Storm's End?" She said mockingly.

"Yes, and if you mean praying quietly near the Heart Tree then I think I can stomach it." Robert returned playfully.

"So you think you know a bit about the old ways?" Lyanna seemed slightly surprised.

"I know what Eddard was willing and able to share. I would honestly like to know more. I don't think our faiths are as incompatible as our ancestors would have believed" Robert responded thoughtfully. Lyanna gave him a curious look but said nothing encouraging Robert to continue. "Well, the old gods are gods of nature. Nature is wild and powerful, but ultimately simple and this is reflected in their worship and ways. The Seven Who Are One are a god of mankind. The complicated and sophisticated nature of man is reflected in the Faith and its ways. The gods care about different things, so there shouldn't be a problem venerating them all."

"Hmm," Lyanna replied, her hand on he chin in thought. "I guess that makes sense, just don't expect me to run to the nearest sept and prostrate myself before your statues."

"You're supposed to light candles not really bow before them, but I understand. I wouldn't want you to abandon your ways for me." Robert said with a smile. He was truly enjoying this time with her. It was simple and straight forward, none of the simpering, tittering, and demure smiles of southern noble ladies. The rest of the ride was spent in silence as they enjoyed the crisp winter day. The warmth he felt from the progress he had made kept the chill of the wind on his cheeks at bay.

When they arrived back at Winterfell, Lyanna thanked him for riding with her before excusing herself. Robert found himself with little to do for the next few hours. Normally, he would go practice at the tilts, but he had spent enough time on his horse today. Talking with Lyanna about the old gods reminded him that one of the reasons he had come here was to learn more, so decided to seek out Old Nan. It didn't take long to find her as the members of the Stark household were very helpful in directing him to the old nanny. She was sitting bundled up next to a roaring fire in the kitchens. As he entered she was about to stand but he gestured for her to stay seated.

"M'lord Baratheon, what can this old woman do for you?"

"I hear you tell good stories." Robert responded with a charming smile.

"Aye m'lord, that I do. Not so many Andal stories though."

"That's good, I've been hearing those all my life." He responded with a chuckle. "I was hoping to hear more about the North actually, and the old gods." Old Nan studied him with a wary gaze.

"I have many of those tales m'lord. Beggen' yer pardon, but I would not expect a southern lord to come here seeking old stories of the North."

"True, but if I am to ask Lyanna to come south with me, I should at least learn about her people and her gods." While this was true, Robert was also very interested in them for his own sake. Knowing that the old gods are real and are playing an active role in his life definitely fueled his curiosity in them.

"Well, you have been good to the Stark boys, m'lord. And you even treated my own brood kindly enough. I suppose that earns you a few stories." She smiled a mostly toothless smile. What followed was several hours of tales from the North's history and legend. She spoke of the children of the forest, the Rat Cook, Bran the Builder, and other stories of the old ways. Robert was fascinated by the tales, he figured much of it had to be exaggeration built up through retelling and wondered if anyone bothered to write all this down. Maybe he would commission someone to do it in the future.

After a while a servant found Robert and informed him that Lord Stark wished to see him in his solar. Robert thanked Old Nan for her stories and made his way to meet with the Lord of the North. After being invited in, he saw Lord Rickard sitting at his desk looking over some ledgers.

"Thank you for coming Lord Baratheon. I just spoke to my daughter, and it seems as if you have made a good impression on her. I believe her exact words were 'he isn't as bad as I thought'." The slightest grin appeared on the older lord's face. "Are you prepared to negotiate a dowry?"

"I'm sorry Lord Stark, I haven't exactly kept up with the Baratheon Ledgers, but I am not overly concerned with how much coin this marriage brings in. Whatever you feel is fair and honorable for House Stark and a lady of her station I will accept." Robert said, feeling slightly embarrassed as Lord Stark's face returned to it's normal stoicism.

"Hmm, many lords have left the handling of their estates to stewards and castellans with little harm being done. Good lords who work towards the betterment of their lands take a more active hand in their finances." He said gesturing towards the stacks of ledgers strewn across the desk. "No matter, if you are amenable we can discuss the terms of the betrothal."

"Thank you for your wise words, I don't think the agreement needs to be too complicated." Robert replied with a smile. In the end the betrothal was agreed upon. In the end they agreed to wait until after Lyanna was eight and ten name days for the wedding to be held. Robert insisted that the wedding be held in the Storm's End godswood before the heart tree before a ceremony would be held in the sept to make it official in the eyes of the faith. Lord Rickard was surprised by this, but appreciated Robert's interest in honoring his family in such a way.

Eventually it was time to join the rest of the Stark family in the great hall for the evening meal. Brandon was once again absent, and Robert happily enjoyed eating, drinking, and telling stories with the younger Stark siblings. Before Lord Stark arose and announced the official betrothal between Robert and Lyanna. Robert couldn't quite place the look on her face. She definitely didn't look excited or happy about it. She wore a gracious smile, but he could swear that there was a little sadness in her eyes.

"Not happy with the arrangement?" Robert asked quietly.

"No Lord Robert, It is perfectly acceptable." She replied politely.

"Hmm, then what has you so worried?" He pressed.

"It is not a good topic of conversation for such a place." She insisted

"Perhaps we can talk about it on another ride?" He offered.

"Yes, that would be nice. If you'll excuse me it has been a long day and I'd like to retire to my chambers." She stood and gave a curtsey to Robert before bidding good night to her family.

Robert, having secured a promise for another ride with Lyanna, decided to retire for the night as well. He was feeling great as he laid down to rest, but his dreams were once again troubled. He tossed and turned and jolted awake with Lyanna's voice still echoing in his head "promise me." Try as he might, he could recall nothing of his dreams but those haunting words. Restless and disturbed he itched for the solace of a sept, but unfortunately the nearest one was leagues away in white harbor. He thought for a moment and decided that the godswood would be the next best thing. He quickly donned a heavy cloak and left for the most sacred place in Winterfell.

Not but moonlight illuminated the snow laden trees of the ancient godswood. Robert couldn't help but feel on edge as he walked through the glittering darkness of the North's most sacred ground. He could almost feel a supernatural presence saturating the air long before he saw the blood red leaves and bone white bark of the weirwood heart tree. The eerie atmosphere did not deter him however, and he soon found himself standing before the heart of Winterfell. Steam rose from the hot spring lending an even more otherworldly feel to the place. He sat on a stone and began to pray, the sound of his whispered words disappearing into the misty darkness.

"King Robert?"

Robert jumped up from his seat and looked around.

"Who's there?" Robert called. In the fog over the pool, he saw a shadowy figure in the shape of a boy. He was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't make him out enough to recognize him.

"Come away Bran, it is not safe to spy on the usurper." An all too familiar and unpleasant voice called to the boy. Robert was stunned. Bran, as in Eddard's boy? How could he be here?

"But he heard me, you said the past couldn't be changed"

"Come away." The voice of the Crow commanded as a spectral hand clasped around the boy's shoulder, and a moment later the figures were gone. Robert stood gazing over the dark pool, watching the vapors swirl and twist in the still air as if nothing had happened, waiting to see if the boy would return. After what felt like an eternity, Robert finally let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. He had just seen an apparition of Eddard's future son; he would absolutely question his sanity if he hadn't had the experience of returning from the dead in the past.

"Seven preserve me." He muttered as a wave of exhaustion came over him after the adrenaline spike he experienced from the supernatural encounter. He left the godswood as quickly as he could in the dark and returned to his chambers. Despite his physical fatigue he could not easily return to sleep. His mind was reeling from the implications of the experience. Bran had called him king, does that mean he fails to stop Rhaegar? He prayed to the seven, asking for guidance and peace. Eventually, he heard a small voice in his heart, the voice of the crone.

"Not all fates can be changed."

"Rest now." The voice of the mother continued, "your faith will be tested soon."

With that, Robert's body relaxed, his mind stilled, and he slowly drifted into sleep. 

Chapter Text

The sun was well into its journey when Robert finally roused from sleep. He blinked a few times slowly clearing away his drowsiness all the while wondering if what he experienced the previous night had actually happened or if it had all been a dream. As much as he could have wished that it was a dream, the memories were too vivid to be anything but truth. He had heard, or more accurately felt, the voice of the Crone telling him that not all fates could be changed. Robert felt his anger rising at that statement and refused to acknowledge what it could mean, but the words kept echoing in his mind. Bran had called him king, and so it seemed as if it was fate for him to rebel. His thoughts drifted to all those who had died in the events leading up to and during the rebellion. How many lives were destined to be brutally cut short? What injustice would the dragons force upon him in order for him to call his banners in defiance of their rule once again. Fury roiled in his heart as he thought of Rhaegar daring to lay a hand on Lyanna. The Crone had said that not ALL fates could be changed, and Robert vowed right then and there that he would change her fate. He might not be destined to live the perfect life he had wanted, but by all the gods he would do everything in his power to keep Lyanna and the Starks from suffering the same loss they had previously.

A Knock on the door finished rousing him from the final vestiges of slumber. He sat up and called out for his visitor to enter. Within moments, Eddard walked into his room.

"Good morning Rob, you were missed when the family broke our fast." Ned stopped when he saw Robert's grim expression. "Have the dreams returned?"

"That and more. I saw your son last night." Robert said in a low and troubled voice. Eddard just stared with his mouth open, not knowing how to respond. Eventually he found his words.

"Start from the beginning." He said taking a seat next to Robert on the bed. And so, Robert explained the events of the previous night. Eddard was stunned to say the least but managed to reply. "Do you know what this means? You are destined to take the Iron Throne, and I am destined to wed Catelyn in Brandon's place."

Robert was just silent, barely holding his anger in check. He wanted to scream and yell and destroy the furniture in his room, and perhaps if Ned hadn't been there, he would have done so. The silence between them carried on uncomfortably for a few more moments until Eddard spoke up again.

"Knowledge of the future is a burden, but you aren't going to bear it alone. We know two things for certain, and the rest is still a mystery to us. Dark times may be on the way, but I'll be with you every step of the way" He spoke quietly with an iron resolve, placing a hand on Robert's shoulder. Robert felt his anger begin to wane and the tension in his shoulders drain away at his friend's words.

"Right, we'll face it together like we always have." Robert said managing a smile. "We just need to keep moving forward and save as many people as we can."

"Aye, but first let's get you ready and fed. The men are beginning to enjoy your presence on the training yard, I'm sure you'd hate to disappoint them." Eddard said, playing into Robert's desire to be admired by those around him. "And you can't forget that you promised Lyanna a ride today."

"That I did." Robert said with a laugh, his anger had subsided but the embers still burned hot.

"I'll have the kitchens prepare a meal for you. Make yourself presentable and I'll meet you out on the yards. Some physical exercise will do you good after all this talking."

"You know me well Ned." Robert said now grinning ear to ear. Robert went undefeated in his spars once they had made it to the yard. Robert was letting out all of the anger and emotion he had felt that morning, and those around him could tell that he was different from the previous day. He was more focused and precise, his eyes hard and less jovial. Only Eddard managed to stand against him for longer than a minute or two. Eventually, Robert worked through his emotions and returned to his more gregarious self, much to the relief of those training on the yard.

After taking some time to clean himself up and have share a mid-day meal with Eddard, it came time for he and Lyanna's ride.

"Good day my Lady." He greeted her as he ambled up to the stables. She smiled and returned his greeting.

"Your horse m'lord." Walder said politely, bringing over Robert's steed.

"Thank you boy, you've been doing a great job taking care of him. His coat looks pristine." Robert replied and the boy beamed. Mounting up, he motioned to Lyanna and they once again started out the Hunter's Gate. She looked back at him with that mischievous grin, but this time he was ready and they both shot off at a gallop across the snowy flatlands towards the Wolfswood, their escort following far behind while sighing in resignation.

Robert once again attempted to follow Lyanna through the various game trails once they entered the woods, but still struggled to keep up. Eventually he found her waiting for him by a mostly frozen stream.

"I'm glad you finally decided to join me, Robert." She teased

"Well, you didn't make it easy." He laughed but noticed that her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. He then remembered their exchange from the previous night. "Is everything alright Lyanna? You didn't seem yourself at the meal last night."

"Maybe I'm not quite feeling like myself." She said with a sigh. She looked at him in the eyes and Robert saw the conflict in her steel grey eyes. "I always knew it would be my duty to marry some lord in order to cement an alliance. But now that it is official, I find myself feeling like the walls are closing in, like I feel my freedom slowly slipping away. People are starting to treat me differently in little ways."

"I know the feeling actually. Feeling trapped by responsibility and wanting to run away from it all. There are times where I wanted to just board a ship heading for Bravos and live life as a sellsword with no obligations or responsibility. That's what I told Jon Arryn not long after my parents passed, after I officially became lord of Storm's End. He told me that there is a kind of freedom in accepting responsibility, choosing to accept it and make it a part of you. I didn't listen to him then, I called him crazy. Now I think I'm starting to wrap my head around it." Robert shared thoughtfully.

"You are right, it does sound crazy." She responded with a disbelieving tone.

"Right, well, Like I said we've got years before we are to be married. Hopefully, by then marriage won't seem like a prison." Robert said trying to comfort her. Lyanna gave an unladylike grunt to show her disbelief. "Listen Lyanna, I swear that I am not looking to shackle you or force you to be someone who you aren't. Yes, there will be responsibilities as lady of Storm's End, but I know you will rise to the occasion in your own way."

"Thank you." Replied quietly. There was an awkward silence between them until Robert spoke up trying to lighten the mood.

"I believe you said you'd give me some advice on riding, maybe then I could manage to at least keep you in sight." He said with a good-natured chuckle.

"Yes, I did, didn't I." She said playfully her mood improving instantly once the topic had shifted to her favorite pastime. "So, when I watch you ride, you are so focused on commanding your steed that you don't always have time to focus on what is coming next or to focus on anything else. It is what is holding you back in the joust. You are so worried about controlling your horse that you can't focus on landing the blow, or if you focus on landing the blow you lose control of your steed. You need to trust your horse more."

"That's it? Trust my horse?" Robert said not quite believing that it was that simple.

"Yes, your horse is more than a mindless beast that must be controlled and forced to do your bidding. They love to run, jump, and play. They know how to do so from the moment they are born. You just need to learn how to communicate your goal to them and trust that they will take you the rest of the way." Lyanna said with excitement and a sparkle in her eye.

Robert rubbed the back of his neck as he considered her words. It made sense in a way, there was no way Lyanna was able to ride so effortlessly through the winding paths if she had to command her mount around every corner and over every log. It seemed like her and her horse were sharing the same mind sometimes. Robert had to admit that her explanation held merit, and on top of that he found himself enthralled by the passion she showed while talking about her favorite pastime.

"Thank you Lyanna, you make it sound so simple."

"Well, it is simpler than you'd think. It does take time to build that bond properly, and the hardest part is learning to up the control that you have relied on so far. But once you do, and you are working hand in hand with your mount, it is like experiencing a whole new level of freedom. Sometimes I…" She paused looking embarrassed.

"Sometimes you what?" Robert asked genuinely curious about what she was going to say.

"Sorry, I haven't really told anyone other than my brothers about this." She hesitated before continuing. "Sometimes when riding on especially perfect days, I swear I start to see the world through my horse's eyes, feel the pounding of his hoofs on the solid earth, and share the exhilaration of letting loose across flower covered fields." She closed her eyes as she relived those memories, a beautiful smile on her face. Robert was slowly falling in love with this side of the she-wolf of Winterfell. The way she spoke and held herself was so different from all the other women he had in his life. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, she blushed and looked away.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm strange." She said shyly

"No, thank you for sharing something so special to you. It reminds me of Old Nan's stories a little, of Skinchangers and Wargs." Robert said not thinking too much about what he was saying.

"What? I'm not a skinchanger. Besides, magic is gone from the world. And when did you talk to Old Nan?" She said defensively.

"Could've fooled me" Robert mumbled.

"What was that?" She shot back now looking a little angry.

"Sorry, I spoke to Old Nan for some time yesterday. Also, don't tell Howland that magic has left the world." Robert said with a smile.

"Really?" Lyanna's expression instantly changed, she practically glowed with excitement. "What did you see?"

"It was as if he could control the land itself with a whisper. I saw him conjure dry land when there was once nothing but swamp. It was incredible. I think the old tales have more truth in them than people think." Robert said with a wonderous tone. Lyanna's excitement shifted into a bit of nervousness.

"I dream sometimes." She said quickly, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to share. "In summer, I dream that I am out in paddocks, as if I am in the mind of my horse."

"That's… amazing." Robert wasn't sure exactly how to respond. It was not everyday you find out that your betrothed has abilities like a character from an old folk tale.

"You don't think I am some kind of witch, do you?" She said with a challenging tone, sitting up higher in her saddle.

"No, no, If you are a warg it's because of your blood. It's a gift from the old gods to the Starks. Besides, I am the last person to judge someone for their oddities." Robert said holding up his hands placatingly. Lyanna's face changed, and she raised an eyebrow in suspiciously.

"What do you mean by that?"

Robert quickly realized he had made another slip. He wanted to change the topic and deflect, but that wouldn't be fair for Lyanna. She had just shared a deeply personal secret with him, and it wouldn't be right to withhold information from her now. Not to mention it would undo a lot of the progress he had made with her to this point. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't burden her with the whole truth.

"I have dreams as well, but mine are of things that haven't happened yet." He said carefully

"Lots of people have dreams, how do you know they are anything special." She challenged.

"Some of my dreams have come true, and they are more like memories than dreams. It is complicated and one of the reasons I wanted to hear Old Nan's stories." Robert explained. It looked like Lyanna wanted to keep pressing when they heard the voice of their escort calling out. "Look, this isn't something we should discus around others. I think we should start heading back. Thank you for sharing such a personal secret with me."

"Thank you for sharing too, Robert. I hope sometime soon you'll tell me more about your dreams." She said with a smile before guiding her horse in the direction they heard their escort calling. Robert let out a sigh knowing that he just barely dodged revealing his secret to another. Perhaps someday he would reveal the whole truth to her, but not yet.

Their trip back to Winterfell was pleasant enough. They trotted back through the forest at a leisurely pace engaging in light conversation. They traded stories of Ned as he was something they had in common. Robert asked what growing up in Winterfell was like and Lyanna responded by asking about the Eyrie. Robert noticed that Lyanna seemed to be holding something back.

"Was there something else you wanted to ask me?" He said giving her an opportunity to speak up.

"Um, can you tell me about Mya?" She said hesitantly. Robert was surprised but smiled at the question. It was normally poor form to inquire about one's bastards in polite company, but Robert didn't care, He was proud of his little Mya.

"She is not even two name days old but is already bigger than all the other children her age. She has my hair and eyes, and her little laugh warms the heart. She is so full of energy; it makes me wonder if that's what I was like at that age."

"She sounds like a handful." Lyanna replied with a smile. "Don't you have people who could tell you of your childhood?"

"Ah, well I guess there's someone at Storm's End who would remember, I haven't spent much time there since my parents passed." He said apologetically.

"Don't you visit your brothers? I'm sure they miss you." She said with an almost accusatory tone.

"Well, my brothers and I aren't as close as you and your siblings. Stannis is too uptight, Ned is quiet, but at least he knows how to have fun. Renly… Well, I don't really know Renly. I was already five and ten by the time he was born so I never had much to do with him." Robert said apathetically. He watched Lyanna's face shift through a variety of emotions. Robert internally noted that she was terrible at hiding her feelings. Several times she looked as if she was about to blurt something out but managed to stop herself. Eventually she turned to him with resolve and spoke.

"I think you should make more of an effort with your brothers. As my father once told me, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." Lyanna said solemnly. Robert looked at her and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to let something he'd regret come out. He didn't exactly appreciate the condescending tone she was using.

"You returned to the Eyrie after your parent's passing, why didn't you stay and watch over them." Lyanna pressed, most likely failing to read Robert's silence. At this he was unable to keep his mouth shut.

"We're stags not wolves!" He roared, immediately regretting his outburst. He always focused on random little things in times like this. "I'm sorry for raising my voice, but what good would it have done. Stannis would probably just want to brood, and Renly was just a babe. What was I supposed to do? I may have been the lord of Storm's End in name, but I was hardly ready to take up the task, so I left it men who could do the job properly." He finished bitterly. Lyanna for her part was not one to back down.

"What good would it have done? For someone who's been preaching about loving others and taking up your responsibility, you can't even seem to muster up love for your own family or take the responsibility of caring for them." She scoffed, "Was it all just pretty words or are you someone who actually acts on what he says?"

Robert shut his mouth to avoid raising his voice again and was quiet for some time as he sifted through what she had said. It was true that since he had awoken, he had not spared a thought for his brothers. So focused was he on his plan, he hadn't even considered where his brothers would fit into it all. He tried to remember Stannis and Renly from the last days of his previous life. Stannis had run away to that god forsaken rock and hadn't been heard from for months. Renly, from what he could remember, was becoming what Robert could have been if he didn't win that cursed throne. Even if he was getting far too close to that prissy flower knight. Perhaps Lyanna was onto something about patching his relationship with his brothers. If he couldn't do right by his own blood, what was he doing up here in the North? Then the thought struck him, he was still running away from the pain of his parents' deaths, after all these years he still refused to face it. He knew that as the oldest brother it was his duty to step into his father's shoes, but he ran away from that responsibility and his family suffered for his weakness.

"No, they are not just pretty words as you say." He said with a determined voice. "I'm just realizing my many mistakes. Thank you for pointing out another one I need to fix. I think it is high time I took my seat and looked after my house like a proper lord."

"Well, don't let me stop you from going now. The kingsroad is that way" She smirked pointing in a generally southern direction.

"Yes, thank you. I'll just swing by my room and pack my things then." Robert laughed

"Of course," She laughed before staring at him with a steely gaze. "I would hate to step into a broken household when I become Lady of Storm's End, and I would much prefer to have good relations with my future goodbrothers."

"That's fair," he sighed.

Chapter Text

Robert was more conflicted after this ride with Lyanna than he was after the previous one. He was happy with the advice he had given her and the joy he saw in her face when she was sharing her passion. At the same time he felt a ill at ease when he thought about the revelation of his "dreams" during their conversation. To top it all off, he had mixed feelings regarding their discussion of his family. He felt truly admonished by Lyanna's words and was ashamed by how even returning from death did not open his eyes to the state of his own blood. He also felt encouraged by how Lyanna was able to stand up to him and push him to be better, something only Ned had really been able to do in the past. The more he thought about it, he could see that his time spent with Lyanna was an overall positive, but even so he couldn't shake a growing feeling of foreboding as they neared Winterfell.

"Are you alright Robert?" Lyanna asked, concern in her voice.

"Sorry, I'm just lost in thought." He said with a forced smile. Lyanna gave him a look that indicated she didn't believe him. Robert frowned and relented. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice so that their escort could not overhear. "It's something I dreamt about. I have this sinking feeling that something is about to happen."

"What does that mean, what did you dream?" Lyanna said both excited by the fact that her childhood stories coming to life and concerned by Robert's worsening mood.

"I don't know, nothing was clear. It's just a feeling, let's not speak of it further. It's no good worrying too much about what might happen." He knew the truth of the words, but it did nothing to lessen the pit in his stomach.

Robert and Lyanna entered Winterfell through the Hunter's Gate and went straight to the stables. The inhabitants of the castle must have been staying inside out of the cold as there were only a few people scurrying about. When the finally rode up to the entrance of the stables, Walder came out to greet them.

"Good afternoon m'lord and lady. I hope you enjoyed your ride." He said beaming as he took hold of the horses' rains. Both Robert and Lyanna couldn't help but smile at the boy's infectious enthusiasm. Robert quickly dismounted and patted the boy on the head.

"Yes, I enjoyed it very much. And you Lady Lyanna?" He said smiling.

"Aye, we'll have Lord Baratheon riding like a true Northman in no time." She said smiling.

Robert let out a laugh and turned to walk towards the guest quarters when he stopped in his tracks.

"Bran?" He whispered in shock. Standing near the edge of the yard as if he was any other inhabitant of Winterfell was Ned's Son Bran. Clad in thick furs and wearing a curious expression almost as if he was watching a show. Next to him stood an old man with long silvery white hair, pale skin, and a blood red mark on his cheek. Robert was startled by a hand gently touching his arm. He turned to see a confused Lyanna.

"What is wrong? Did you see my brother?" She asked with a concerned tone.

"Sorry no, I must be mistaken." His tone was grave as he watched the phantoms of the future approach, they seemed to be having a whispered conversation. Lyanna's grip on his arm tightened.

"Robert," Lyanna's voice was low and was full of worry, "you're starting to scare me."

Robert looked back to her not knowing what to say but was distracted when he saw Eddard hurrying over to them.

"Robert, Lyanna, what's wrong? I was passing nearby when I saw you standing there like you had seen a ghost." He asked in a hushed and worried tone.

"He's here Ned." Robert whispered. Eddard spun around looking about the place. By this time Bran and the older man finally got close enough for Robert to hear them.

"I knew he could see us. You said the ink is dry and that we are seeing ghosts, but he is different." Bran said in confusion. Suddenly Robert heard a familiar voice, and it seemed as if only he and the spectral visitors could hear it. He shook his head in confusion, as it sounded almost like Jyanna's voice calling out in terror pleading for Bran to help.

"Listen to your friend Brandon," The older man said to Bran. For a moment, the boy froze for a moment, eyes turning white. When Brandon came back to himself the old man continued speaking. "The usurper is an anomaly; another power is at work within him and he cannot be trusted. Be warry Brandon, my time has come." No sooner had he finished did a look of agony wash over his face and he burst into dust that faded away into nothingness.

"He's gone" Bran whispered to himself before turning to Robert. "Why can I interact with you? Am I changing the past? You never told me about this."

Robert was still for a moment more before his courage found him. He thought about the words of the Crone and decided that he would meet this test head on. He straightened his back rising to his full impressive height and stepped towards the boy.

"The hell if I know what is going on, I met you once before." He said forcing a smile on his face.

"What are you talking about Robert, who are you talking too?" Lyanna said, her voice beginning to sound frantic. "Ned, what's going on?" Ned just stood quietly looking at Robert. Behind them Walder was doing his best to calm the horses who were growing more and more agitated.

Before Bran could respond, he and Robert heard the girl's voice again calling out again.

"HOLD THE DOOR!"

Bran's gaze fell upon Walder and Robert could feel a cold unnatural wind gust past him to towards the stable boy. Robert turned in time to see Walder's eyes turn white before he collapsed to the ground. Robert moved in an instant to protect him from being trampled by the horses who were now properly panicked. Now holding the convulsing boy in his arms and not know what was going on or what to do he instinctively called out to the Seven.

"Mother above please protect this boy."

Of everything that could have happened Robert definitely did not expect to find himself back in that endless field again. The old gods look down upon him through the many faces of the same giant weirwood tree that Robert had stood beneath before. This time however he was not alone, as he looked around, he saw an equally astounded Bran nearby.

"King Robert, what's going on?"

"I'm not king yet." Was all he managed.

You are the king chosen by the gods old and new, the Storm King returned to push back the Long Night. You will not abandon that role. The voices of the old gods thundered as the blood red leaves of weirwood that represented them shook violently as if being blown away by a storm.

"To answer your question young greenseer, we are here because you brought us here." The voice of the Crone called out as she materialized behind Robert.

"Who are you?" Bran replied.

"Do you not recognize your mother's god? I know she took you to the sept of Winterfell on more than one occasion." The Crone replied walking around the pair as if studying them. Bran simply gawked at her words.

"What happened to the boy?" Robert asked impatiently. The crone turned to him and was replaced by the concerned face of the mother.

"He was touched by the power of the last greenseer and lived through his own death. A normal human mind cannot bear such trauma and come out unscathed." She finished with her gaze lingering on Bran.

"I did that to Hodor? He was like that because of me?" Bran replied, horror in his voice.

"Yes, his circle will soon be closed" the Crone replied. "The power of the old gods is dangerous. Men are not meant to walk in each other's skins. It is a violation of will and a terrible crime against the immortal soul."

"But without that power we would have all died!" Bran cried defensively

"Yes, you would have." The crone replied with some finality before she shifted once more into the form of the mother. "Your choices have consequences good and ill, and you are far from beyond salvation."

"But why are we here?" Robert said, failing to not sound impatient in front of his god.

"We are here because your connection to me and the Stark's connection to the old gods has created a unique opportunity for us to speak." It was the father who now spoke.

"What will happen to the boy?" Robert said concerned for Walder's wellbeing, the boy had grown on him in the short time he had known him.

"He will live, but his mind will be broken. Able only to carry out basic tasks until he is needed to carry the winged wolf to his fate." The Crone replied.

"Wait, Bran called him Hodor, you mean Walder grows up to be that dullard?" Robert said obviously surprised by the revelation.

"How would you know about him being simple if he wasn't like that when you met him? What connection do you have to the seven?" Bran asked, curiosity in his voice.

"Ah, well, I've been to Winterfell before. I, uh, lived a life and the gods thought it necessary for me to go back and fix my mistakes." Robert said not exactly knowing how to explain the strange circumstances of his second life to the young man.

"But this makes no sense, how can the past and future be changed so easily?" Bran asked, Robert just shrugged his shoulders now being well out of his depths.

You ask questions your mortal mind is unable to truly comprehend. The voices of the old gods boomed out.

"Yes, as my contemporaries say, the mortal mind can only comprehend so much. To vastly oversimplify, mortals can only see time as a road travelling onward and cannot see the vast wilderness of possibilities all around them. The laws of nature, your choices, and the choices of those around you shape the ever-shifting landscape of time. There are many paths one can walk down. Most mortals simply meander down the easiest path never thinking of what lies beyond. The strong willed might seek to take themselves and others down a hidden road in search of a glorious future. Others yet are forced down a path whether they like it or not. Prophecy is dangerous thing, it is like focusing a distant point while walking. One ends up going in that direction regardless of their will or the dangers along the way." The Crone explained in the tone of a teacher trying to explain a difficult topic to a child.

"So, the future can be changed? You can find another path and avoid fate?" Robert said hopefully. He saw the crone shift into the form of the Mother who wore are saddened expression filled with pity.

"Yes and no, some roads are too difficult to travel down, and some destinations are impossible not to visit."

"What would it take to change the boy's future, is it possible to save him from his fate?" Robert asked with determination. Robert believed that if the fate of this boy could be changed, then he could have hope for saving all those he failed in his past life.

"Wait, I grew up with Hodor being this way, what will happen to the past I know, what will happen to me?" Bran shouted out.

You are the last greenseer there is no time where you are not where you are. When you return you will have knowledge of what is and what was. The old gods said cryptically.

"I don't understand!" Bran protested.

You're understanding is not required. They replied with finality.

"Tell me, please," Robert interjected trying to bring the conversation back to what he saw to be most pressing. "What must I do to save the boy?" Robert repeated with conviction.

"He is under the thrall of the last greenseer. As soon as Brandon Stark releases his hold, the boy's fate is sealed." The father said gravely before his form twisted into that of the stranger. Robert felt a shiver run down his back, but he steeled his nerves knowing he had to face this test head on.

"The boy has seen his death, a death most brutal and painful, and someone must take that way from him. Will you? Can you? Or will you become an addled mess as the boy was meant to be?" The unnatural voice of the stranger chilled Robert to the core, but he had to do it. He would endure any pain, take any fight to ensure a better future those he loved.

"I will." He responded resolutely.

"You say this having no knowledge of the consequences? Do you accept this task regardless?" The Stranger said with a vague amused tone in his voice.

"I Do!" Robert responded forcefully.

"Very well." The stranger lifted his hand and snapped his boney fingers. In the blink of an eye, the peaceful field was replaced by utter chaos.

Robert suddenly found himself in the body of Hodor trying desperately to hold a door shut while a young woman frantically pulled the limp form of Bran away into the snowy forest. He had no idea who or what was on the other side of the door, and he didn't want to find out. He knew instinctively he had to hold the door as long as possible to give Bran and the girl time to flee, so he braced himself and set all of the considerable strength of the body he was inhabiting into holding the door shut. Wails and angry howls and the thuds of weapons against the heavy wooden door told him that sooner or later the door would give way. Suddenly, pain bloomed in his side as a spear point finally made its way through the door an into his flesh. Robert grunted in pain, knowing that the end was near. He had to endure this madness to save young Walder. Fortunately, if Robert was anything, he was stubborn, and would not let a single wound like this stop him. Letting out a bellow of defiance, he broke the spear shaft with a single blow and pulled the point from his side, redoubling his efforts to hold the monsters on the other side at bay.

Eventually, the door could no longer withstand the assault and was torn to pieces giving Robert his first true glimpse of the foe he had been resurrected to face. Rotting corpses with glowing blue eyes filled with malice charged towards him seeking to end him with tooth, claw, and jagged blade. He fought back as hard as he could, only managing to hold them at bay due to the narrow passage. Even with his martial skill and the body's size and strength, the wights were quickly beginning to overwhelm him. He roared in pain as he was stabbed, bitten, and clawed at. He knew this was the end, after everything this was how he was going to die. It had all been for not. As hope faded, his movement grew more sluggish, and the pain overtook him darkness began to cloud his vision.

No, he could not let it end like this. He would continue to battle on against the unnatural foe as long as the body allowed. He renewed his fight against the monsters, Baratheon fury drowned out the pain. He pushed, tore, and smashed everything in front of him as he armed himself with the crude weapons his enemies carried.

"Mother protect me! Warrior, give me strength!" He yelled in a voice not his own. He had to have faith that this was not the end. The gods would not send him to be broken. In that moment the wights grabbing and tearing at him recoiled in pain seemingly being burned by contact with Robert, the blue light fading from their eyes. And for a moment there was a lull in the chaotic melee, it was as if the wights didn't know how to react to the sudden power that could utterly destroy them.

"Spirits, wights, and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armored in his faith." The voice of the Mother explained, quoting the Seven-Pointed Star. Almost as if in response, a spear was thrust right into Hodor's chest. "Swords and Spears can still pierce flesh however" The Warrior continued in a grim tone.

The body that Robert was inhabiting had far passed its limits, and he could no longer fend off the weapons wielded by the corpses. He continued to fight on with his fists, destroying a few more of the monsters until the body could no longer stand. His fall unleashed a tide of wights eager to end his life. The pain of being torn apart was nearly unbearable and the only thing keeping him from breaking was the thought that he had to endure it to save the young stableboy. To prove that the destiny could be changed. Finally, the body he was in breathed its last and darkness consumed him once more. Robert felt as if he was adrift in utter darkness, and then before him a bright light appeared, and the seven voices of his god spoke in unison.

"You have proven your worth and saved the life of an innocent. While your actions have heralded drastic change in the future to come, events have already been put into motion that cannot be stopped. The Three-Eyed Crow has already put his plan into action. To honor the faith you placed in me, I will send you a someone to help ease your burden. A sinner most foul in need of redemption, though a peerless knight who kept true to his vows to the bitter end."

The light grew and enveloped Robert and a moment later all was once again dark, this darkness however was not supernatural. As feeling returned to his body, he slowly began to open his eyes. He must have been moved inside as he stared up at what he assumed to be a grey ceiling. As he stirred, he heard a voice calling out to him.

"Rob, you're awake. Gods, what happened? Are you alright?" Robert guessed the voice must have belonged to Ned, everything was still fuzzy and muffled. Robert tried speaking but only managed a groan at first. He tried sitting up as his vision slowly returned to normal, but his muscles were stiff and unresponsive. Eddard quickly moved over to help him sit up. After taking a few more moments to compose himself he was finally able to ask about the only thing that mattered to him in the moment.

"Is the boy, Walder, is he okay?" He said in a strained voice.

"The Stableboy?" Eddard replied sounding surprised by the question. "Yes, actually. He is resting and being watched over by his family. He came to not long after the ordeal and asked to see you when you awoke." Robert smiled in response and let out a heavy sigh of relief. He could still feel the phantom pains from the countless wounds he sustained during that terrible trial. It had been worth it. He proved he could do it; he could save someone from their fate. Hope swelled in his heart, and a laugh began to build in his belly, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit as his exhausted body was unwilling to cooperate.

"Robert, what happened?" Eddard pressed on.

Robert took a deep breath to steady himself and to dispel come of the lingering aches and pains before launching into a retelling of what he saw. He left out all of the worst details of the fight against the wights, not wanting to relive it himself.

"Rob, this is madness. Your words sound like fever dreams." Eddard replied after a moment of staring at Robert in disbelief.

"Seven Hells Ned, don't you think I know it?" Robert grumbled a little at his friend's reaction "Look, I can hardly believe it myself, but things like this are beginning to happen more and more in my life. All I know is that the gods gave me a chance to save a life, to change someone's fate and I took it. I had to take it, I had to know that we are not just bound to make the same mistakes over and over." Robert's voice was rising throughout his rant to the point that he was almost yelling by the end.

"I can't say that I understand Robert. But I told you once that I'd stand by you, and I am not going back on my words." Eddard said, obviously struggling to come to grip with what Robert was sharing. A few moments of awkward silence passed between the two before the Lyanna burst into the room.

"Robert! What the hell happened to you. Do you know how scared I was?" She screamed as she advanced upon him. Robert looked over to Eddard for some kind of support.

"She made me promise that I would send for her as soon as began to wake." Ned replied with a shrug.

"How long was I out?" Robert asked. He noticed that Lyanna was dressed differently than when he last saw her.

"A whole day." Lyanna replied. "Now explain. The boy is claiming that you saved him from monsters."

"Uh… well I told you that in my dreams I saw that I would be tested." He said cautiously, taking in the information that she had just given him. She nodded her head eagerly, her eyes blazing with curiosity urging him to continue. He didn't want to tell more lies to Lyanna, he was just starting to gain her trust, so he decided to go with the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as he dared. "The gods sent me a vision where I had to choose between letting the boy suffer so that he could play an important role in the future, or I could defy fate and take the boy's place. I chose to take the boy's place." He began to feel the phantom pains again and unconsciously started to rub where the final spear had pierced through his chest.

"This is madness!" She exclaimed in response.

"That's exactly what I said." Ned said dryly.

"But what does it all mean?" Lyanna questioned impatiently.

"It means that the future is ours to make." Robert said with grim determination.

"What kind of answer is that?" She yelled in frustration.

"There is not much more to say. I have spent a lot of time in prayer in the Sept and even before the Heart Tree trying to make sense of my dreams. Maybe this was the god's way of telling me not to rely too much on my dreams." Robert said with humility.

"Why would the gods test you though? What's so special about you?" Lyanna pressed on unsatisfied with his answer.

"Lyanna, Robert is tired, you should let him rest." Eddard interjected trying to cut of that line of questioning. Lyanna seemed unconvinced.

"I wish I knew what they saw in me. I was born into a position of power, and I am gifted physically, but there are tons of people who are smarter and wiser than I am. If I could live without these dreams I would, but here I am." Robert said, exasperation heavy in his voice. There were a few beats of silence before Lyanna sighed.

"Is this something I'm going to have to get used to living with you? You just passing out randomly and having magical visions?" The tone of her voice was much softer now, almost teasing. Robert didn't miss the implication and smiled.

"Gods, I hope not. I hope this was a once in a lifetime event." Robert replied with a laugh followed by a pained grimace. Lyanna stepped up and took his hand squeezing it gently. Robert couldn't help but feel comfort in the simple gesture. She let go and stepped away.

"I believe young Walder was asking after you. If you don't object, I think I will go fetch him." Lyanna said before giving a slight curtsy and finding her way out of the room. Robert watched her go before laying back down. His mind wandered back to what the Seven had told him before he had woken up. He knew plenty of knights who were terrible sinners, but none that had never broken their vows. It was too much to think about now, he would find out eventually. For now, he would need to recover, and make plans to return to Storm's End. If he travelled quickly, he might still have time to patch things up with his brothers and start acting like a real lord before the Harrenhal. He would find the right path.

Chapter Text

Not long after Lyanna had left, Robert told Eddard to go get some rest. Ned had apparently spent the entire night watching over him, and the dark bags under his friend's eyes told Robert could tell that he needed rest now. For some time, Robert laid in silence letting his thoughts wander. So much had happened in such a short time, he hadn't really had much time to process it all. Everything he experienced in the past few days fought for attention in his mind. Images of His arrival at Winterfell, the fight with Brandon, and his rides with Lyanna all blurred together into a knot that needed to be untangled. Not to mention the supernatural experience he had just lived through, it all made his head throb. He already had more than enough things to occupy his mind as travelled south and right now he would be happy drowning it all with several pitchers of wine and sleeping for another day.

His thoughts were interrupted by knocking on the door to his chamber. After inquiring who it was, Robert was informed that the boy and his parents were here to see him. He quickly gave them permission to enter and watched as they humbly approached his bed. Robert instantly recognized the giant of a man who he had sparred not but two days ago. Next to him was a plain looking woman with her hair up in the northern style who must have been the boy's mother, her face betrayed her worry. And finally, there was the boy. Walder seemed to stand straighter than Robert had ever seen him, and there was a fire in the boy's eyes that surprised him.

"Apologies m'lord, we tried to tell 'im tha you'd not want to be bothered, but the boy wouldn't let it rest till he could give you his thanks." The woman said apologetically. The man bowed his head as if silently agreeing, his hand gripping his son's shoulder tightly.

"Lady Lyanna said he wouldn't mind ma." Walder said in protest.

"Walder, mind your manners." Walder's mother chastised, her voice nearly cracking.

"I take no offence, and Lady Lyanna is right, I am happy to see you. How are you feeling?" Robert said with a dismissive wave of his hand and a reassuring smile.

"I'm well thanks to you m'lord. You fought monsters for me m'lord, I'll never forget what you did." Walder paused, looking as if he was gathering his courage to say or ask something. His mother however took the pause as an opportunity to extricate their family from an uncomfortable situation.

"You've said your peace Walder, let's let Lord Baratheon get his rest. Thank you m'lord for taking your time to humor the boy." She said grabbing her son's arm and pulling him towards the door.

"Ma!" The boy cried in protest, but she was determined to end the meeting.

"Hold there!" Robert bellowed, causing the boy's parents to flinch. "It looks like he has more to say, and I'd like to hear it."

"Thank you m'lord." Walder said pulling his arm from his mother's grasp and stepping up to Robert's bed before taking a knee. "Please let me serve you m'lord. I saw you fight monsters for me, and I want to learn to fight them like you did." His voice was trembling but his eyes were resolute.

"Walder!" His mother screamed in protest to her son's request. His father simply looked on in silence as if he had known this was what his son had wanted.

"You and your kin are sworn to the Starks." Robert replied slowly ignoring the mother. "If they agree to it, I would be glad to take you into my service. I'm sure there is a place for a stableboy at Storm's End, and I would be happy to train you as well."

"Thank you!" The boy exclaimed as he stood, practically radiating with determination.

"You can't…" The mother began, but she was cut off by Walder's father.

"That's enough dear." The father finally spoke in his deep baritone voice. It seemed as if he had known this was coming. "The boy has made his choice and Lord Baratheon has accepted. It's up to the Lord Stark now. Please excuse us m'lord." The giant bowed his head again in respect and ushered his protesting wife and excited son out of the room.

Robert was more than surprised by the outcome of the meeting. He like the boy, and he definitely didn't have it in his heart to say no after seeing the steely determination in the boy's eyes. If he saw those monsters and decided that he wanted to fight them, then by the gods Robert would train him to do it. If the boy grew up to look like his father, then he might even rival the Mountain one day. After the family had left, he was able to rest and recover from his ordeal. Both Eddard and Lyanna visited him regularly to make sure he was recuperating, and he asked them to help arrange travel to Storm's End. During their visits, they informed him that Lord Stark had given his consent to young Walder serving Robert, the news put a smile on Robert's face.

The next few days were a blur of activity as he and Lord Arryn's men prepared to leave Winterfell again. They would ride to white harbor where they would board a ship of House Manderly that frequently traded in the Stormlands. It would first take them to Gulltown to drop off his escorts before continuing on to Strom's End. With the arrangements made, he took as much time as he could to spend time with Lyanna, and actually managed to improve his jousting with her help. She apparently was quite talented herself and was a sight to behold as she effortlessly snagged ring after ring with her lance. She might be a woman, but Robert reckoned she would be more than a match for most southern knights. There was actually something familiar about the way she rode, but he couldn't quite place it. It was like he had seen her joust before, but that didn't make any sense, so he shook off the feeling and focused on his own practice.

As the day of his departure neared, Robert received a very unexpected visitor. He had just finished bathing and dressing after a particularly long practice session when a servant announced that Brandon Stark was there to see him. Surprised and quite a bit warry he asked the servant to see him in. Brandon entered the chamber with all the pride and confidence expected of the Heir of Winterfell.

"Lord Robert." He said with a curt nod.

"Lord Brandon, to what do I owe the honor?" Robert replied in a guarded tone.

"You'll be leaving soon." Brandan stated in an even tone with his arms crossed.

"Yes, I'm sure you're excited to see me go." Robert said in a dry tone.

"I wanted to apologize before you left." Brandon said casually. It took a moment or two for Robert to process what had just been said.

"You already apologized if I remember correctly."

"You and I both know that wasn't an apology, it was a show for the household." Brandon snarled, before he reined in his emotions and walked over to the small window overlooking the godswood. He stood for a moment gazing out the thick lead paned glass that helped keep the winter cold at bay. "My entire family has come around to tell me how stupid I was being when I confronted you. Hell, even Old Nan chastised me in her own way."

Robert didn't want things to escalate so he stayed silent, it seemed like letting Brandon talk was probably the wisest move.

"They all seem to like you for some gods forsaken reason, and most surprisingly of all, Lyanna is actually warming up to the idea of getting married." His voice held a tone of incredulity. He finally turned around and looked Robert in the eyes. "I doubt that we will be fast friends, but with everything that has happened I can at least trust you to take care of my sister, and that's good enough."

"I will do everything I can to protect her and make sure she is happy." Robert said sincerely, matching Brandon's steely gaze. Brandon simply nodded his head and moved to leave the chamber, hesitating a moment as he reached the door.

"See that you do, safe travels Lord Baratheon." With that the Heir of Winterfell was gone.

Robert had to admit that he didn't expect to hear from Brandon again given how they had not seen hide or hair of each other since his staged apology. He wasn't sure what to make of it though, he highly doubted that a man as proud as Brandon would have made a complete turnaround in just a few days. Though thinking about it, he couldn't exactly help but laugh as he realized the irony of that thought. Unless there was some unknown divine interference in Brandon's life, he would tread carefully there. In the meantime, he would continue his preparations for his trip home.

Inevitably, the day of his departure arrived and the whole Stark Family had gathered to see him off. Off to the side he saw Walder's family exchanging their final farewells, his mother was in tears. Robert exchanged a cordial goodbye with the ever-stoic Lord Stark, received a cool nod from Brandon, gave Ned a fond farewell, and even made good on his promise to give Benjen a gift by presenting him a small hunting knife he had commissioned from Mikken the smith. Finally, he approached Lyanna.

"Well, my lady, I am off to prepare my keep for its future lady." He said with a charming smile and an overly formal tone. Lyanna rolled her eyes, but the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed her growing feelings for Robert. It had become a sort of fun dance for them. He would be romantic and she would pretend to not care.

"Yes, good, off with you then." She replied with a wry smile.

"Next time we meet, will be at the great tourney at Harrenhal. I will win you a crown of winter roses." He said confidently.

"Maybe, you know Brandon will be riding too, I'm sure he'll knock you on your ass and crown Lady Catelyn." Lyanna teased. Robert laughed, enjoying the rapport he had built with Lyanna.

"But he's not riding for the most beautiful woman in the north." Robert was purposefully laying it on thick now. Lyanna blushed heavily and slapped him in the arm in protest.

"Would you just leave already." A frustrated Brandon called out. Robert beamed before giving his final farewells and riding out of Winterfell. After passing through the gatehouse, he looked back at the ancient castle fondly. It had been an eventful stay to say the least, and he hoped to return one day. But now he had to focus on becoming a proper lord and brother and make up for all those wasted years.

The trip to White Harbor was uneventful, and his party enjoyed a rousing greeting from Lord Manderly. The feast held in his honor was spectacular, and he and his men were able to laugh and enjoy the night after a few days of travelling through the northern winter. Walder, who was in awe of the 'big city', was staying with the servants of House Manderly. Robert made it clear that he was to be well looked after as a member of his household, and Lord Wyman was more than happy to oblige. Before they left the city behind, Robert took the opportunity to pray in the Sept. It had been far too long, and he had missed the peace that it brought him. He had prayed in the Winterfell godswood a few more times before he left, but he always felt like an outsider there, not unwelcome, just out of place. Now he prayed for protection on the sea, and for wisdom in taking up his position as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

He was glad for the mild weather as the ship sailed south. The gods may have called him the Storm King, but he definitely didn't have any fondness for Storms. He occupied himself by beginning to teach Walder some basic wrestling and sparing. The boy took to it with great determination, eagerly soaking up everything he was taught. Robert even took to the oars when the wind was down, seeing it as a good chance to stay active to help the keep the ship moving. Half a moon passed before Gulltown came in to view. When they pulled into dock Lord Marq Grafton was there to greet him, yet another ghost from a past now wiped away. Robert could still remember the sound of the loyalist's steel great helm being crushed beneath his hammer. This was one man's fate he did not care to fix if things came down to it. Robert put on his most charming smile and greeted the man who as of now was a loyal vasal of House Arryn. He attended yet another feast in his honor, but he couldn't quite enjoy it as much as the last. He was preoccupied with thoughts of home, not only that, but he couldn't help but look around and see faces of men he had killed or seen struck down the last time he was here. His travelling companions at least were in good spirits, so he made an effort to celebrate on their behalf. In truth however he was eager to be gone from this place.

With Gulltown behind him he was on the final leg of his journey home. He was full of nervous energy and had a difficult time relaxing. As a result, he spent much more of his time working with Walder, continuing his martial training. Naturally, he got to know the boy more. The former stableboy of Winterfell had been a pretty solitary kid as the other children in the keep often mocked him for his size or because he smelled of horse all the time. He had always been a gentle soul and would almost never stand up to the cruel words young children often sling. It went without saying that the harrowing experience he had gone through had caused a profound shift in the young man's attitude.

While they trained, Robert would think to share some of his accomplishments, but caught himself realizing that eight and ten Robert had seen far less war than six and thirty Robert. As a result, he shifted his stories to those he grew up on. Over the several days of the journey their talks naturally shifted to that of knighthood. This was an interesting new topic for Walder as knights were generally a southern tradition.

"Excuse me m'lord, is it true that even smallfolk can be knights?" Walder asked curiously after they finished another round of martial training.

"It's true, Duncan the Tall was born and raised in Flea Bottom." A blank stare from Walder told Robert that he didn't know where or what Flea Bottom was. "That's the poorest part of King's Landing." As the boy nodded in understanding, his face became more contemplative eventually shifting into a determined smile.

"I'm going to become a knight." He said, with a fire in his eyes.

"Oh?" Robert replied surprised.

"Yes m'lord, I want to be a knight like the ones in your stories. I'll help the smallfolk and fight against the monsters for all the people of the realm." Walder said with conviction. Robert smiled and let out a booming laugh.

"Well then, it's decided. I needed a squire anyway." Robert said still chuckling a little.

"You mean it? M'lord" He added the honorific on hastily almost forgetting his place.

"Yes, I mean it. Now let's talk about what that means."

Robert spent a fair amount of time explaining what was expected of a squire. For the most part it was things that Walder had already expected to take care of such as minding the horses, helping the knight don and doff their armor, and other little errands. What the young man didn't expect were the social aspects of it. Proper manners when dealing with nobles of varying importance, recognizing hundreds of banners, and even learning to read and write, though many knights would dispute the last one, were all important parts of becoming a good knight. Robert knew that he would raise some eyebrows by coming home with some no name peasant as a squire, but he decided that he didn't really care. This was one of those situations that he appreciated the position he inherited since he could tell everyone who said anything about it to just piss off.

Regardless of how others might perceive his new squire, he threw himself even more into his instruction as it proved to be a good distraction from the anxiety that was slowly building as they approached the choppy waves and familiar rocky coastline of Shipbreaker Bay. Robert was reassured by the captain of the vessel that they had sailed these waters many times and assured him that they would deliver he and his young squire safely to their destination. Robert said nothing at the time but bitterly thought that the captain of the Windproud probably said the same thing to his parents. He would be far happier when he had solid stone beneath his feet again.

When the lookout had signaled that Storm's End was in sight, Robert couldn't help but run to the front of the ship to watch as the keep's single tower rose over the horizon like a mailed fist striking up towards the sky. The captain ordered signal flags to be raised so that lookouts on the walls would know of their intent to dock in the watery tunnel beneath the keep, the only 'safe' anchorage for miles around. As they sailed closer, the keen-eyed man who had first spotted the keep reported answering signal flags acknowledging their approach. Robert smiled, but behind the smile was a host of conflicting emotions. He was truly excited to be home as fond memories of growing up here filled him with a sense of nostalgia. At the same time, he was nervous about truly stepping into the role of Lord Paramount. He took out a deep breath and readied himself, he was literally born for this, and he would be damned if he screwed it all up a second time.

Robert's lingering fears were found to be unwarranted as the crew expertly navigated their ship into the heavily guarded tunnel beneath Storm's End. Robert felt a sense of protection and safety wash over him as the ship slipped beneath the walls of his ancestral home. He looked out and saw a party coming down to meet them as the sailors busied themselves about the task of securing the ship. The group included both of his brothers, his great-uncle Ser Harbert Baratheon castellan of Storm's End, and finally Ser Cortney Penrose, a close friend of Robert's who had been fostered under his father. Robert appreciated that the older knight had stayed in the keep to help watch over his brothers. When he was younger, Ser Penrose some times took the role of older brother to Robert when he needed it. If he remembered correctly, Cortney was already helping Ser Harbert run the keep even now. Penrose was holding onto the three-year-old Renly's hand as the young boy confidently jumped down each of the slick stone steps leading to the dock. Robert was eager to start the process of piecing his broken family back together and stood impatiently as the crew lowered the gang plank. As soon as it was down, he hurried over to meet them.

"Brother," A stiff and formal Stannis spoke as Robert approached. "Storm's End is yo…" He was cut off by a bone crushing hug and slap on the back from Robert.

"It's good to see you Stannis. Thank you for keeping the old castle from falling into the sea." Robert bellowed releasing his brother who had gone stiff in surprise.

"Welcome back Nephew, it will be good for the Storm Lords for their liege lord to truly take up his seat." Ser Harbert said with a stiff smile. The last time he had seen the old man it was just after his parents had died and he decided to return to the Vale rather than stay and truly take on his role. They had a shouting match when Robert first told him of the decision to return to the Eyrie, but the the old man eventually relented and simply asked that he not stay gone too long.

"You look like brother Stannis" Renly boldly cut in with remarkable diction for a three year old and pointed at Robert. Robert couldn't help but feel a little hurt that his youngest brother couldn't remember him, but he understood that he had been absent for most of the boy's life. Robert put on a winning smile and knelt down to get closer to the boy's level. The resemblance between Renly and little Mya was difficult to miss. It seemed that Baratheon seed was strong indeed. Why didn't his kids with Cersei look more like this? The stray thought was quickly pushed aside as the more pressing issue of reintroducing himself to his youngest brother took precedence

"Of Course, I look like Stannis, He's my brother, which makes you my brother as well." Robert replied laughing, patting the boy's head.

"Where did you go?" Renly replied while trying to fend off Robert's head pats.

"I've been away learning how to be a good brother and good lord. But I think I've been gone to long." Robert said with a sigh before scooping his little brother up and placing him on his broad shoulders. "Come on, let's get out of this cold damp place and go somewhere warm." He said looking back at Stannis. Robert noticed that his brother was now grinding his teeth obviously furious with something. Robert knew that patching things up with brothers wouldn't be easy, but apparently, he had already angered his younger brother. Perhaps it would be even harder than he could imagine.

Chapter Text

The group was about to move towards the stairs when Walder finally came down the ramp and hurried up behind Robert. His presence earned some raised eyebrows. It was Ser Penrose that spoke up first.

"And this is?" he asked.

"Oh! I almost forgot; this is Walder my new squire." Robert said with equal parts excitement to introduce the boy he had taken a liking to and embarrassment that he had forgotten about him in the moment.

"Walder…" Ser Harbert spoke up clearly probing for the boy's house.

"Walder of Winterfell." Robert said proudly. "He's a good lad and shows lots of promise."

"You've taken a low-born northern boy as your squire." Stannis' slow and even tone sounded more like a statement than a question, but Robert could sense there was something else behind the words that he couldn't quite place. The air between them seemed the chill even further for a moment before Robert replied.

"Yes, what of it." It came out with a hint of a warning growl. A few more tense moments passed before Cortnay stepped in to break the tension.

"It is of course a knight's prerogative who he takes as a squire. We'll make sure the boy is given proper lodgings. Now as you said, let us get out of the cold and get some warm food in our bellies. I know the waters of Shipbreaker Bay are not kind to those who ply them." He said as diplomatically as he could. And with that the tension subsided as they proceeded up into the Round Hall of Storm's End. The servants had laid out quite the feast and they were joined by other members of the Baratheon household and it wasn't long before Robert was enjoying himself. He officially announced his betrothal to Lyanna Stark to the cheers of his household. After properly celebrating the good news he began to share stories of his time in the Vale and of his travels in the North, though he definitely left out the more supernatural elements out of it. The men shouted in awe in disbelief when Robert told of his time in the Neck even with the more magical parts omitted.

While everyone made merry, Stannis stayed off to the side only really participating when Renly demanded his attention. Even then Renly would quickly grow bored and go find someone else to entertain him, usually the jester Patchface who wandered about the hall. Robert wasn't sure why they kept that halfwit around, but Cressen and Stannis seemed to be set on letting him stay here. Robert enjoyed the antics of a good fool like any other man, but Patchface was anything but a good fool in his mind. Why should he have been the only one to survive that wreck? But still time and time again Cressen and Stannis insisted that the madman stay. And so Robert's thought turned to his younger brother. He wasn't exactly sure how to go about settling things with the dour young man, but eventually decided that now wasn't the best time to dwell on it. He was having too much of a good time celebrating being back and could sort things out with Stannis later. With those thoughts put behind him, the feasting and merrymaking went on till the sun set. Eventually the festivities started winding down and Robert staggered out of the great hall having drank far more than he had originally intended.

A comely servant girl offered to show him to his chambers, and apparently was talking to him along the way, but he wasn't paying attention. His drink addled mind was simply appreciating the bounce of her generous breasts and the swish and sway of her wide hips. The effect was mesmerizing and leading him to fantasize about what she might look like without the heavy winter dress she was wearing. He imagined that it would probably be easy enough to convince her to show him. The rational part of his mind was trying to rebel at the thought, but he was too far into his cups to listen. He was also too far gone to notice that she had not been leading him to his childhood bed chamber as he expected, but to the lord's chambers of Storm's End. He froze and stared at the door; all thoughts of the servant instantly chased away. The last time he had stood here he had come home to spend time with his brothers while his parents were away on their trip to Essos. The last time he stood here was the last day he had seen his mother's and father's faces.

"Is everything alright my lord?" The servant asked clearly puzzled by his reaction.

"Huh? Um yes, everything is alright. I think I will take a walk before turning in. You're dismissed." He said a little startled at her question as he had almost forgotten she was there. He quickly turned from the door and walked away. He walked aimlessly around his ancestral home just taking in the familiar environment as the effects of the wine and ale slowly dwindled. Eventually his wanderings brought him to the godswood. He hesitated for a moment before entering. Where the Winterfell godswood was a dark and primal place, this one felt far more open and kept. He remembered that fires often started here when lightning would strike one of the trees, but the old weirwood heart tree at the center of the place always stood untouched. Soon he found himself standing before its solemn gaze.

The first thing that struck him was the different feel of the wood. Where in Winterfell he felt like an intruder, here he felt comfort and acceptance. It was as if the wood was embracing him and welcoming the lord of the keep home. And so, Robert knelt to pray. He prayed to the seven and to the old gods. He prayed that he could take on his role with courage and wisdom, he prayed that he could find a way to bridge the gap that had formed between he and Stannis, and as always, he prayed that he could save those he loved this time around. He once again felt that sense of spiritual peace he got when he took the time to pray, his mind was now much clearer. With that clarity came an unhappy realization as he remembered what he was thinking before being distracted by the memory of his parents. He quickly knelt down again and added a prayer for strength to honor his betrothed. He would have to be far more careful if he didn't want to walk down the road of debauchery again. Having finished his prayers, he steeled his nerves and returned to his parent's room.

This time he only hesitated a moment before opening the door and entering. A low fire burned low in the hearth, and it cast the room in long shadows. It was different than he remembered and yet the same. The same tapestries still hung, and the same large bed stood in the center of the room, and the rest of the furniture was there as well. But all of the little things that made it his parent's room were gone. Their personal effects having long since been packed away. Robert figured it was better this way. It was his room now, he was the Lord of Storm's End, and he would start acting like it by making this one place his. Though he was far too tired to really do anything other than climb into the bed and fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

Robert was roused from slumber by the prodding and calling of Walder. The boy had acquired a wooden training sword somewhere and was currently jabbing it into Robert's side.

"Gods boy, I'm up!" Robert roared drowsily. The boy for his part jumped back and had the good sense to look ashamed. "Why in the world would you think it was a good idea to stick me with that thing?"

"Well, my lord, you told me last night that you wanted to be awake as soon as the sun rose, and that I should do whatever I needed to make it happen." Walder replied shyly, shuffling his feet a little.

Robert's head was pounding, and the fog of slumber had yet to fully clear, but he couldn't really fault the boy for following his instructions even if he didn't really remember giving them.

"Ah, right. What did I tell you we were going to do?" Robert asked while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You wanted to spar in the morning and practice the joust afterwards, my lord. You also mentioned something about meeting with your uncle to get a better understanding of how the place runs." The boy said with a pleasant smile. Robert couldn't help but notice how Walder was putting more effort into how he spoke and held himself.

Robert eventually grunted in acknowledgment and slowly got himself out of bed. Walder helped him get ready for the day and they both proceeded to the round hall to break their fast. A heavy breakfast of eggs, venison, and rye bread helped Robert overcome the lingering effects of the previous night's revelry. He was about halfway through his meal when his brothers entered the hall. Robert gave them a wave, beckoning them over. Renly immediately ran over and climbed up to his spot at the head table obviously ready to eat. Stannis just stood for a moment seemingly surprised to see his brother up so early. Overcoming his shock, he coolly made his way to his place and sat to break his fast with a simple porridge brought to him by the servants.

"The boy and I are going to train in the yard later, how about you come show me how far you've come in your martial training." Robert said congenially. Stannis stopped with a spoon halfway to his mouth, holding it there for a moment obviously unsure how to respond. He eventually took his bite and responded.

"As you wish Brother." His tone held no warmth, and Robert could sense some hesitation.

"Don't get too excited Stannis!" Robert roared with laughter trying to lift the mood. He could tell that it did little to change his brother's dour countenance. Quieting down, he continued. "Anyway, I'll meet you out there whenever you are ready." Stannis just nodded.

The rest of Robert's meal was spent fielding questions from Renly about his travels. The young boy had quite an imagination and shared his own tales of daring adventure. Robert was sure that most of it was make believe, but he couldn't help but laugh at the three-year old's antics. He finally finished his own meal and left for the training yard.

Robert first got Walder set up with training leathers and set him to practice the basic strikes on a dummy before approaching Ser Penrose for a spar. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that his friend had been appointed as master-at-arms of Storm's End by his great-uncle. Robert couldn't have made a better choice as Ser Cortnay's bravery and stubbornness embodied the very soul of Storm's End. The knight demonstrated his outstanding skill and determination during their first few spars. Where many would back off when confronted with Robert's aggressive style, Ser Penrose held his ground and traded blow for blow. Robert smiled as his blood pumped faster and faster, there few things better than a good brawl in his mind. In the end, Robert's strength eventually wore down his friend and he ended up taking each of the spars. After checking that Walder was still keeping up his own practice, he saw that Stannis had finally arrived and was prepared to spar.

Robert noted that Stannis had grown both in stature and strength since he had seen him since. Even at six and ten Stannis had grown into the powerful Baratheon build and was well on his way to surpassing the six-foot mark. If one were to compare the two brothers side by side, Stannis would appear to be leaner and sinewy, but compared to others his age Stannis had quite the imposing figure. What Robert noted most however was his younger brother's expression. He approached the ring with the same look that Robert had when going to court. It was obvious he didn't want to be there.

"Ready to show me how good you have gotten? Ser Cortnay couldn't best me today, perhaps you might serve up my first loss." Robert said encouragingly. His words seemed to have no effect, however. Stannis simply saluted and took his stance.

Robert looked over his brother. Armed with sword and shield, Stannis' stance was perfect. There was no flaw for him to exploit, nothing giving away an attack. It was obvious his brother had spent hours and hours in the training yard to come this far. Robert smiled and launched his attack. His brother's defense and repost was just as crisp and precise as his stance, but something was missing. In all of his countless bouts, Robert always fed off of the emotions of his opponent. The emotion of the men he fought would bleed into their style. From Ned's cold determination to Brandon's fiery confidence and even Cortnay's stubbornness all showed in how they fought. With Stannis there was no emotion, only a cold indifference, something that Robert couldn't quite understand. As they traded blows, it became increasing clear to Robert that fighting was something that Stannis approached like any other duty, it was just something expected of him. And if there was one thing that defined Stannis was that when he was given responsibility, he would carry it out with the upmost skill and diligence.

Robert could tell that Stannis was not emotionally invested in the fight itself, not blinded by the glory of battle. He could always see clearly, and in that moment, Robert felt a mix of pride and disappointment. He was proud that his brother had a unique look that could lead to great victories, but disappointed that he would never bond over fighting like he had with many other men. Robert sighed internally as their fight continued on seemingly in a stalemate. It was time to end things, a dispassionate view might win you a battle or war, but in a duel, skill alone was not enough. Robert's drive to win was what gave him the edge. They traded a few more strikes and counters before Robert finally went in for a tackle, taking Stannis by surprise. Robert laughed while offering his hand to his brother. Stannis graciously took it and stood up dusting himself off.

"You fought well Brother! It looks like you've put in quite a lot of effort to improve." Robert said patting his brother on the shoulder. There was a split moment where Robert saw something akin to pride in his brother's eyes before it was replaced by the stony mask he had worn ever since Robert's return.

"I do what is expected of me. Now if you'll excuse me, Uncle is waiting for me in the solar." Stannis' cold tone was not lost on Robert, and as he watched his younger brother retreat, he couldn't help but wonder what it would take to break down those walls.

Robert really did want to make things right with his brother. Lyanna's admonition had really forced him to think about how he had treated his brother in his past life. When he examined all of his past interactions with Stannis, Robert saw that he never properly recognized him for his impeccable service. Robert knew he had excuses for each occasion, but death had brought a new perspective to things. So, Robert had tried to be more open and supportive of his brother, but it didn't seem to be working. Quite the opposite in fact, his efforts seemed to just chase Stannis further behind his implacable emotional fortifications. Well, if there was one thing Robert was good at, it was storming the walls. He would have to take direct approach to overcome his dour brother's defenses. Perhaps he could address it tonight after their evening meal, a belly full of good food and good drink should put even Stannis in an amenable mood. For now, he would continue on with his plan for the day.

After Robert had finished with Walder on the training grounds, he instructed to boy to prepare his horse and help him don his jousting armor. This surprised Ser Cortnay.

"Robert, I haven't seen you joust since the last tourney at Storm's End. I believe your exact words were 'who cares about riding at each other with sticks, I'll just smash them with my hammer.'" The older knight did a passable impression of the young lord.

"Ha! Well, when you have the right motivation, you can do just about anything." Robert replied in good spirits.

"Yes, women do tend to have that effect on men." Ser Cortney replied knowingly. "I hope nothing untoward happened in the North now."

At this Robert stilled in his preparations. He was about to lash out about how he wasn't like that anymore but caught himself just in time. He knew that his friend was simply japing and didn't deserve to be yelled at. Robert smiled and responded.

"If I tried anything untoward, Lyanna would ensure that the future of House Baratheon would rely on Stannis and Renly. Besides, I've come to realize what my youthful indiscretions could lead to."

"The mighty virile stag laid low by a wild she-wolf. Somehow it seems appropriate." Ser Cortnay replied in mock dismay.

"Ha, ha," Robert replied mirthlessly at the poor attempt at a joke. "If you're quite finished, I'm going to go ahead and practice. I need to make up for lost time." With that, Robert mounted his horse, grabbed a lance from Walder and went about his training. Ser Cortnay was right though, the last time he had jousted in a Tourney was here at Storm's End, he was in fact unseated quite easily by Prince Rhaegar himself. The memory of that defeat spurred him to work even harder than before. Despite his dedication and motivation, and moon on the seas had dulled the skills he had begun to develop in Winterfell, and it would take days of practice just to get back to where he was previously. It was Ser Cortnay who finally convinced Robert to rest as it was obvious that both he and his horse had reached their limit. A frustrated Robert agreed and made his way back to the castle to freshen up before going to meet with his uncle to learn about the daily operation of Storm's End.

And so, he made his way to the Lord's solar, or his solar now that he thought about it. When he reached the door, he was about to knock, but stopped himself. What kind of lord knocked on their own door? So, he boldly opened the door and walked in. The room was well appointed with a large oak desk, old but comfortable chairs, and ornate shelving stuffed with tomes, scrolls, and other records. On the wall behind the desk was an ornate tapestry displaying the crowned stag of house Baratheon. Opposite to the fireplace was an ancient tapestry depicting the seven castles built in defiance of the gods by his ancestor Durran Godsgrief.

His uncle, who had been sitting behind the desk reading through various sheets of parchment looked up in surprise. Robert also noticed Stannis standing nearby with a particularly old tome in his hand and a frown on his face.

"Good day uncle, brother." Robert greeted both men jovially. "I see you are hard at work, please catch me up on what is going on in my lands."

"Good day brother," Stannis said stiffly putting the tome down. "I'll take my leave." Stannis said with a bow making straight for the door.

"Stay Stannis, I value your thoughts." Robert said with an honest smile. Stannis stopped in his tracks and looked at Robert as if he was about to say something. Stannis remained silent however, and simply nodded his head adopting a stony mask to cover his emotions.

"As you wish my lord." Robert definitely noted the deliberate formality of the address and was struggling not to responding in kind. Now was not the time to get into it. The tense silence was broken by their uncle who cleared his throat to get the brother's attentions.

"We were reviewing the details of the petitions we were to hear at court tomorrow." The old knight said in a careful tone, obviously picking up on the tension between the two. This peeked Robert's interest and he instantly forgot about his brother's poor attitude at the prospect of truly holding court as the Lord of the Stormlands. Granted, he normally found the petty squabbles of his vassals boring, but now he was ready to prove himself worthy of the second chance he had been given.

"Ah, excellent, I was looking forward to this. Tell me, what squabbles do the Storm Lords need me to solve this time." Robert said enthusiastically as he moved to look over the documents arrayed on the desk. He could actually hear his brother's teeth grinding but ignored it as he was too focused on the task at hand.

"Yes, well the largest issue is a land dispute between Lords Buckler and Fell." His uncle said with a sigh. "It seems that Lord Buckler claims that a sizeable section of the Kingswood was seeded to his house by House Fell in perpetuity after a border dispute, and that the ruling was upheld by your father. Lord Fell claims that the land was only to stay in Buckler hands for twenty years unless the Lord of Storm's End renewed the punishment. He is petitioning for the judgement to be ended."

Robert took in the information and tried to remember how this was resolved last time. Of course, this was a pointless endeavor as he had no interest in such conflicts the last time around. Robert turned to Stannis who had been standing by quietly during the explanation.

"Were you looking up father's judgment on this?" Robert asked genuinely curious as to the contents of the tome. Stannis was quiet for a moment before nodding in the affirmative. Robert continued, "I see and what did he decide?"

"He ruled that the punishment would be extended as the son of the Lord Buckler of the day, older brother to the current Lord Buckler, had been slain in the dispute. The income generated from logging and hunting that portion of the woods was to serve as payment for the loss incurred by the Bucklers. Father decided that the debt had yet to be paid in full and so the punishment was renewed. Based on the taxes levied from the Bucklers, I would say the price has yet to be paid." Stannis' summary was delivered in an even and professional tone, all hint of discontent buried when faced with carrying out his duty.

Robert nodded along and thought for a bit.

"I'm sure Lord Buckler sees the land as his forever since no amount of money can repay the loss of a brother." Robert's mind began to wander, and his thoughts turned to the opening days of the Rebellion. He had slain Lord Fell in single combat at Summerhall. Was his decision to join the loyalists due to this ruling? Maybe there was a way to settle this amicably and save himself a headache later.

"I think the land should be returned to House Fell." Robert spoke to no one in particular.

"But the debt hasn't been paid, this will anger Lord Buckler." Stannis said with just a hint of anger underlying his otherwise calm tone.

"Yes, but continuing to punish a house for something that happened two score years ago isn't good for anyone. Tell me, what happened to the man that killed the Buckler's heir." Robert countered.

"If I recall," Ser Harbert responded, "It was a landed knight and vassal of House Fell. He was slain during the incident as well, cut down by the Buckler boy's guards."

"See, everyone involved is long dead." Robert exclaimed. "I'm sure I can make Lord Buckler see reason. Uncle, please make the arrangements for hunt tomorrow after we hold court. There's nothing like a good hunt to build bonds of friendship. Now what else have we got?" Both Stannis and Ser Harbert shared a look. It was clear that Robert's approach was vastly different than what they had grown used to.

As time marched forward, they managed to work their way through all save one of the petitions they would be dealing with the following day. Robert was doing his best to stay engaged during this time, but since none of the other petitions were nearly as interesting as the first, it was a struggle. He was relieved when his uncle reached for the last parchment that needed review. However, a look of confusion formed on his uncles face as he read through the las missive.

"This one is addressed specifically to you Robert. It seems Ser Harrold Rogers is coming with his wife to petition you regarding your betrothal. He says something about his lady making sure you are worthy to join with their house."

"Who is she to question my worthiness!" Robert shouted. "And how would they know about the betrothal? I only made the official announcement yesterday and that missive must have been sent days ago." His anger being replaced by confusion as he thought more about it.

"House Rogers is known for being infuriatingly enigmatic. I mean, who puts a maze on their arms? If the amber trade didn't bring in so much tax revenue, I would say we should exile them just for causing so many headaches." Ser Harbert replied gruffly throwing down the parchment.

"I guess we'll see what they want tomorrow. We can always throw them out if they get too out of line." Robert said with a huff.

"If that is all, I'll take my leave now." Stannis said quickly heading for the door. Robert barely had time to acknowledge his brother before he had left the room. Robert was far too mentally drained to try and force that issue now. What he needed now was a nice ride across his lands. Robert had grown to truly appreciate the time he spent riding with Lyanna in the North. He didn't have to think while he rode, he could just let go. Regardless, he was still first in his decision that he would force the issue with Stannis before the day was out.

Chapter Text

Robert stood on the battlements of Storm’s End gazing south over Shipbreaker Bay.  The setting sun  cast the rough waves of Shipbreaker Bay in dazzling hues of red, orange, pink, and midnight blue creating what should have been a stunningly beautiful site.  And it would have been, if the spot where he stood didn’t have such a terrible memory attached to it.  Robert took in the sight in front of him.  The bay was about as calm as it ever was; but in his mind’s eye, he could see the ruinous waves smashing the Windproud against the rocks that dotted the approach to Storm’s End.  He had come here, to the place where he had decided to run away and abandon his brothers, so that he could finally make some headway on correcting his mistake. 

The evening meal he had shared with his brothers was by no means terrible, but Stannis continued to maintain his distance and chilly demeanor.  No matter how much Robert tried to involve Stannis in the merrymaking going on around them, his brother would simply give a courteous yet cold response.  Stannis had eventually excused himself early from the meal.  Robert knew that if he asked him to stay, Stannis would out of a sense of duty and obedience. But Robert realized that it would probably only make things worse. And so, Robert had come to this specific spot hoping that it would help him assail the formidable defenses Stannis had constructed.  Robert prepared himself to face his brother head on.

Robert heard footsteps climbing up the stairs behind him and turned to see his younger brother.  Stannis wore a stony expression hiding any emotions that he might have been feeling, but Robert noticed his tense posture and stiff movement.  Stannis clearly didn’t want to be here, but Robert hadn’t exactly given him a choice.

“Your squire told me that you require my presence,” Stannis said in an even and icy tone.

“Yeah, well, requiring it was just about the only way I could make sure you actually came,” Robert replied with a humorless chuckle.

“If you are here to jape, brother, please allow me to take my leave.” Stannis was clearly doing his best to maintain his composure, but a subtle growl underpinned his words.

“No, I’m here to settle things between us.  None of that ‘as you say’ or ‘my lord’ nonsense.  We’ll settle this thing as brothers.”

“And what would you know about being a brother?” Stannis' voice ground out like gravel.  His mask had fallen, and he wore a deep scowl.

“I know that I have tried being a good brother since I returned.” Robert’s tone was rising, all thoughts of de-escalating the situation forgotten. 

“You can lie to Renly all you want, but I remember what happened, how you abandoned us.  A hug and some encouraging words won’t make up for that,” Stannis nearly shouted back. 

“You think I don’t know that!” Robert now roared, stepping close to Stannis.  Stannis didn’t back down.

“If you knew, you would have stayed.  You didn’t have to travel across Westeros to learn to be a good brother and lord.  You are a coward who ran from your duty!” He yelled back

“I came back!” was all Robert could say to defend himself.

“Two years! You were gone two years! And when you do return, you act like you had never left. You act like you did no wrong,” Stannis growled.

“So, it’s an apology you wanted? For me to come groveling back begging for your forgiveness?” Robert’s anger was getting the best of him, and he couldn’t help but balk at the thought. But Stannis did have a point.  He had come back as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t abandoned his family in their darkest hour.   He did lie to Rely saying that he had gone away to learn to be a better brother.  Nothing Stannis said had been false, but that didn’t stop Robert from taking offense.

“No, I could never expect you to grovel.” Stannis' words dripped with disdain.  “When have you ever been wrong?”

“I’ve been wrong about plenty of things,” Robert spat back.

“Oh? And what could cause the great Robert Baratheon to admit he was wrong?” Stannis was releasing all of the pent-up anger and frustration that had built up over the past few years. 

“I died!” Robert roared.  For a few moments only the sounds of the waves crashing upon the rocks below could be heard as Robert realized that he had slipped up again.  “I nearly died,” he corrected, letting out a sigh trying to calm himself.  Stannis just stared at Robert, mouth slightly agape, shocked at the sudden admission.

“It was a hunting accident; I was drunk, and a boar got me,”  Robert quickly explained. He figured half truths were the best course of action here.

“Why weren’t we informed?” Stannis said as he adopted his signature stony visage.

“I tried to hide it from everyone. Ned was the only one who knew how bad it was, and I asked him not to speak of it.” Robert didn’t really like lying like this, but figured it was about as close to the truth as he could admit.

“So, you almost died, kept it a secret from those who might need to know, and claim to have gained a new perspective on life because of it,” Stannis spoke deliberately, looking Robert right in the eyes. “And the first thing you do is go north to find a bride?” He finished with a small bit of anger in his tone.

“Yes, I said it gave me a new perspective, not perfect wisdom,” Robert said bitterly, stepping back and leaning against the crenelations on the wall.  “It was actually Lyanna that pointed out how I had failed you and Renly.  She forced me to see that I had chosen a new brother and new family and neglected the one I already had.  I have wronged you both, and I am trying to make it better.”

Stannis walked past Robert to the edge of the wall and stood staring out over the darkening waters as the sun slipped further beneath the horizon. 

“Did you ask me here on purpose?” Stannis asked without looking over to Robert.

“I figured it would be as good a place as any to start making up for my mistakes,” Robert admitted while turning to gaze over the waters as well.

“Do you miss them?” Stannis asked, his voice holding just the slightest waiver.

“Every day,” Robert admitted.  Once again, there was silence between the two brothers.

“I truly am sorry, Stannis,” Robert eventually spoke up. “I am sorry for not being the brother I should have been.”  Stannis simply nodded his head in reply, but Robert could see the tension leave his brother’s shoulders and his posture relax.  Robert smiled and patted Stannis on the back.

“So, have your eye on any young ladies?  You’ve grown into a strapping young man. I’m sure they’ve been fawning all over you when uncle holds court.”  Robert laughed as Stannis immediately stiffened up.

“I am not you, brother.  I do not seek out fawning ladies,” Stannis muttered in response.

“No, you’re not me, but you have your own charms… I’m sure.  Honestly, you’re six and ten! It's about time we found you a lass worthy of House Baratheon.  Maybe we can find a wife who can teach you to loosen up a bit,” Robert said in a slightly suggestive tone and laughed as his brother reddened.  “I tell you what, if we can’t find a nice Stormlands lady for you, there is the tourney at Harrenhal coming up.  Perhaps we can find a lady of high birth there who’ll catch your eye.”

“Please stop.” was all Stannis could manage only causing Robert to laugh more.   

“Fine, fine, let’s get inside and get some rest.  Tomorrow is looking like it will be a long day.”

After the brothers had parted ways, Robert decided to take another walk around the keep rather than return to his chambers.  As he ambled around the walls, Robert allowed himself to be cautiously optimistic regarding the progress he had made with Stannis.  He understood that their vastly different personalities would inevitably cause friction, but at least this time around Robert recognized his brother’s value and would do everything to make sure his brother saw it too.  Getting him married to a good woman was part of that plan.  Stannis was far too good for the likes of Selyse Florent.  Robert must have been drunk when he allowed that to happen.  No, he would help his brother find a woman who would balance out his dour personality.  Besides, it was practically his duty to arrange his brother’s marriage as head of the house.

Even after the walk, he still felt restless, and he figured he knew why.  Tomorrow would be his first time holding court as Lord of Storm’s End.  In his mind, this was the final test to prove that he was indeed a changed man and that he was worthy of the second chance given to him.  It was true that he had done much of the preparation earlier in the day with Stannis and his uncle, but he still felt uneasy.  In the past, he would just ignore his problems and find distraction in wine and women.  Having sworn off those vices, the only thing that calmed his nerves of late was prayer. Unfortunately, Storm’s End did not have its own sept.  The closest one was in the village in the nearby woodlands.  It was about a ten-minute ride, and with the sun having finally set, he felt it a little late to make the trip.  Fortunately, he found his home’s godswood, a suitable replacement; perhaps he could commission statues of The Seven to place around the heart tree.  After lifting up his prayers, he returned to his chambers and finally retired for the night.

In the morning, Robert was awoken once again by Walder, fortunately with no prodding required this time.  As he began to prepare himself for the day, Robert mentally ran through his agenda.  Court was to begin at midday, so he had several hours before he needed to prepare.  As usual, he would start his day with a quick meal before heading to the training yard.  Robert was seeing good progress from the boy and wanted to see how he would do sparring against some of the others his age.  After that, he would forgo practicing at the tilts so that he could go back over everything that they had prepared the previous day.  Then it was on to the main event for the day.  To say he was looking forward to the hunt planned for when he was done with his duties as lord was an understatement. Focusing on the fun to be had afterwards was what he was counting on to get him through the mind-numbing boredom he was expecting. 

The morning proceeded to fly by as he went about his business.  He noticed that Walder, being big for his age, was starting to take on a bit of Robert’s more aggressive and physical style of combat.  When the boy sparred, it was like he took on a different personality.  While going about his duties as a squire, Walder was quiet, courteous, and efficient.  But during a fight, he shouted and attacked with a savagery that surprised those he was matched against.  Robert overheard some of the men and boys wondering why he had brought a northern savage back with him.  A stern gaze and sharp words from Robert silenced the gawkers, but he was sure that all kinds of rumors would begin to spread about the boy.  Regardless of what others might say, he was more than pleased with the boy’s progress.  He was still very rough around the edges, and his movements were cumbersome at times, but all the marks of a true warrior were clear to be seen. 

Despairing at how fast the morning had gone by, Robert proceeded to his solar in order to reread the notes and documents that had been prepared for court, as he was determined to get this right.  Minutes turned to hours and the words started to blur together.  On more than one occasion, Walder had to gently nudge Robert as he began nodding off.  Finally, his uncle arrived and informed him that it was time.  Robert jumped up from his desk and proceeded to the Round Hall of Storm’s End where he would be holding court.  As he took his seat, he saw that the hall had begun to fill with a number of his household and various visiting bannermen.  He gave a nod to his uncle who stepped forward and announced the opening of the court.

“Lord Robert of House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm’s End will now hear the petitions of his vassals, may the seven grant him wisdom in his judgment.  First to present their cases are Lords Fell of Felwood and Buckler of Bronzegate.”

The two lords strode out and knelt before Robert.  Lord Fell was the younger of the two, but still had more than a decade on Robert.  Memories of the single combat against Lord Fell surfaced in Robert’s mind as he looked down at the Stormlord.  He had fought valiantly and had given Robert quite a challenge; that victory was one that he cherished but hoped to not have to repeat.  Lord Buckler was much older, probably past his fifth decade or so.  Despite the gray streaks in his hair and lined face, the man was by no means weak.

“Rise my lords, I have seen your petitions and wish to hear what you have to say face to face,” Robert said in an authoritative voice.  If he had his way, he would just give his judgment now and be done with it, but there were certain protocols that had to be observed.  “Lord Fell, as the primary petitioner, I will hear you first.”

“Lord Baratheon, I request that the lands ceded to House Buckler be returned to me.  It has been two score years and I believe the punishment has gone on long enough; our debt is paid.  Let the ghosts of dead men be put to rest.” Lord Fell’s tone was strong and resolute.

“Lord Buckler, your response,” Robert said, trying to keep things moving along.

“Lord Baratheon, my older brother died for those woods, and they were given over to my house by your grandfather, and your father affirmed that decision.  Lord Fell says the debt is paid, as long as I draw breath, I say that debt will never be repaid,” Lord Buckler said with a firm cold tone.

“Thank you, Lord Buckler. When I first heard of this dispute, I asked my uncle about what had happened. I am told that the knight who slew your brother was struck down as well. Is this not correct Lord Buckler?” Robert questioned. 

“That is true, my lord.” There was a slight stiffness in Lord Buckler’s stance. It seemed as if the older lord could see where this was going.

“Yes, a life for a life.  Forty years is a long time to hold onto a wound like that.  It is best for the peace of the Stormlands if we, as Lord Fell says, let the ghosts of dead men rest,” Robert replied with a winning smile and a commanding tone.

“My Lord,” Lord Buckler quickly protested. “The life of a lowly knight is hardly worth the life of the heir to an ancient and noble house.  You would dishonor the memory of my brother like this?” 

“If my grandfather’s writings are to be believed, your ancient and noble house was the aggressor in the original dispute.  The ceding of land was only a means to make up the difference in station between the two men who passed.  I see no reason why the punishment should continue; my ruling stands,” Robert replied, glad that he took the time to reread the original notes of the case and thanking his grandfather for taking such meticulous notes.  He would have to make sure that he had someone take care of that for him as well. 

The two men bowed their heads to acknowledge his judgment, but the expressions on their faces couldn’t be more different.  The younger Lord Fell couldn’t keep a satisfied smile off his face, and was probably just barely keeping himself from shouting in victory.  Lord Buckler was practically shaking with anger, fists clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Robert expected this response and already had a plan to smooth things over.

“Lord Buckler, I understand your displeasure over the ruling.  I would like to invite you to hunt with me today.  We can dedicate it to your brother’s memory, and you can share with me all that you remember of him.  Let there be no more bad blood between neighbors.” Robert watched as a conflicted look passed over Lord Buckler’s face.  Even if it was the last thing Lord Buckler wanted to do, refusing the invitation could be seen as an insult.  It was clearly a peace offering, and to not agree would make him look petty and spiteful.  The older lord was silent for a few more moments before responding. 

“I would be honored, my lord.”

“Excellent! You are both dismissed.  Now Uncle, who is next?” Robert was feeling pleased with himself; things were going well so far.

“That would be Ser Damon of House Wagstaff and Ser Eldon of House Brownhill,”  His uncle replied with little enthusiasm.  At this, Robert tried and failed to hide a grimace.  If he remembered correctly, this was a dispute over horse breeding rights.  Robert sighed as he realized that the only interesting case to be handled today had come and gone with little fanfare.  All that was left for him were petty squabbles and boring litigation.  He let out a sigh and put on his best smile, preparing himself to wade through the rest of the day.

Robert proceeded to preside over petition after petition, dispute after dispute.  It was as mind numbing and boring as he had expected. There were several occasions where he had completely tuned out the petitioners, and his uncle had to gently remind him of what had just been said.  But Robert saw the light at the end of the tunnel when the last petitioners were called forth. 

“Lord Baratheon will now see Ser Harrold of House Rogers of Amberly and his wife, Branda Rogers,”  his uncle announced.  Robert saw that the knight of House Rogers was a powerful looking warrior and held himself with obvious pride.  He wore a black crushed velvet doublet with the maze of his house’s arms sewn into it with silver thread, obviously displaying the wealth that the amber trade brought to his house. Robert couldn’t help but notice the mischievous grin the knight was wearing.  Next, Robert’s gaze fell on Lady Rogers and, for a brief moment, he thought Lyanna had traveled all the way from Winterfell to see him. But then he realized that the woman before him must have been well past her third decade in age.  Regardless, the older woman strode in with all the stoic grace of a lady of Winterfell.  She was taller than her husband by nearly a head and wore an elegant southern style dress done in house Stark colors.  Her sleeves were embroidered with wolves chasing unicorns.  As they knelt and curtsied, Robert remembered the letter he had received and smirked.

“Please rise. I think the missive I received from House Rogers is beginning to make sense.  I assume that you are formally of house Stark, my Lady?” Robert asked.  She looked puzzled for a moment and glanced at her husband quickly before putting on a courteous smile before addressing Robert.

“Yes, my lord, I am the aunt of your betrothed.  My sister Lyarra, gods bless her memory, was Lyanna’s mother.  When I heard of my sister’s passing, I asked my good-brother, Lord Stark, to inform me should my niece finally be betrothed.  I seek permission to reside in Storm’s End to help prepare it and you for its future lady.  I fear the keep has gone too long without a lady’s touch.”  Lady Rogers bowed her head as she made the request.

“Oh? You aren’t interested in seeing if I am worthy enough to be joined with your house?” Robert said with a laugh.  Branda Rogers froze and then slowly turned to her husband who was valiantly looking somewhere just to the right of where Robert sat, it seemed as if he was trying not to laugh.   She turned back to Robert and put on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  Shivers ran down Robert’s back as he saw the wintery fury in her gray eyes, even if he knew that her anger was not directed at him.

“My apologies; I relied on my husband to pen our correspondence to you.  I believe there might have been something lost in translation before it was sent to you,”  she replied in a tone that implied that her husband was in deep trouble.

“Think nothing of it. Of course you are welcome to stay in Storm’s End.  The Starks will soon be family, and I would not turn away their kin.  Though my bride-to-be will not be coming here for some time.  We agreed that she will need to see her eighteenth name-day first,”  Robert replied jovially. 

“Thank you, my Lord. We will make arrangements when the time comes then.” She gave another curtsy and grabbed her husband’s arm and whispered something in his ear; his smile faded.  Robert could tell that her grasp was stronger than one might expect from a lady.  The Starks bred formidable women indeed.   He wondered if that was what being married to Lyanna would be like: him doing stupid things, and her gracefully covering for them only to let him have it later.  He was both excited and worried by the prospect.  Eventually, Ser Harrold spoke up, looking quite chastised.

“Pardon, my lord. I have been reminded that the humor of House Rogers does not often translate well to the written word.  Please forgive the impertinence on my part,” the knight said, bowing his head. Robert just laughed.

“Frankly, I’m glad you did what you did.  I got to see what I have signed up for.  Please stay at Storm’s End for as long as you like.  I would love to speak to you and your lady wife later in a more private environment.  I am sure there is a grand tale as to how a wolf-maid of the North found herself in the Stormlands.”

“Nothing so grand my lord,” Lady Rogers responded humbly. 

“Of course. Well, I think that’s everything, am I right uncle?” Robert asked that with an unmistakably hopeful tone.

“Yes, my lord; that was the last petition that required your attention,” his uncle said with a bit of a smirk.

“Great! I believe I said a hunt was in order.  Walder, go get my horse ready,” Robert said, practically jumping up from his seat and proceeding quickly towards the exit, not paying any attention to any of the other nobles attempting to command his attention.  

The boy had rushed out ahead of him, and Robert didn’t have to wait long before Walder brought out several horses laden with everything one would need for the hunt; the boy was truly an efficient worker.  Robert heard the barks of excited dogs and saw others preparing to join him.  It was a beautiful day for a hunt, and it was just the excitement he needed after the mind numbing boredom of holding court.  Eventually, Lord Buckler and his men joined Robert’s hunting party, and they rode out to the nearby woods.  

The hunt was successful in many ways.  The hounds had flushed out one of the largest stags he had ever seen.  When the mighty beast had finally been felled, they counted ten points on its antlers.  It must have weighed almost twenty stone.  Chasing such a magnificent creature also helped lessen Lord Buckler’s foul mood. Robert was able to get the old lord to open up and share about his brother and what it was like to have a Lordship thrust upon him.  Funnily enough, Robert was able to understand those feelings through his past friendship with Ned.  By the time the hunting party began riding back to Storm’s End, Robert had won over the Lord of Bronzegate.  When he returned home, not only did Robert secure an excellent trophy for his chambers, he also secured the loyalty of one of his most powerful bannermen.  

As Robert prepared to retire for the night, he reflected on the past few days. All in all, he felt that his return to Storm’s End had been positive.  He had made serious progress as both a brother and a lord. Most importantly, however, in just a few short moons he would be on his way to Harrenhal to reunite with his betrothed.  If the gods were good, that would be where he could truly change history.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar sat in the ruins of Summerhall pouring all of his roiling emotions into the strings of his harp. He had not been sleeping well of late, waking up in a cold sweat nearly every morning. His dreams were filled with images of death and sorrow and of a great darkness spilling over The Wall into the seven kingdoms. Rhaegar was well versed in the history of his family and of the prophesies that surrounded them. At one time he thought he was the fulfillment of the prophecy himself, but he no longer held to those foolish notions. He would be content to ensure that it came to pass in time to save humanity from the threat of the great Other and the coming Long Night. With that in mind, the fact that the specific meaning of his dreams still eluded him was driving him mad.

There of course was good news to be had, his wife was with child and would give birth in just a few moons. The joy of it was almost enough to drive away the darkness that consumed his life otherwise. He was excited to be a father and to raise his children to be better than he and his father, he would raise them to be the greatest generation of Targayens since the time of Aegon the Conqueror. That was his role in the great tapestry of history, and he would gladly play it to the best of his abilities.

The passing thought of his father drew his mind to the upcoming tournament to be hosted at Harrenhal. He had been watching his father descend further and further into madness ever since the Defiance of Duskendale, and knew he had to do something about it. Hopefully this gathering could be the beginning of a better era for the kingdom. Not that he particularly wanted to grasp the title of king from his father, but if he didn't, who knew what evils would be done in his father's name. It was his duty to the people of his kingdom to do something about it. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When Rhaegar last visited the Red Keep, he saw the eunuch watching him with an inciteful gaze. He wondered if Varys' little birds had perhaps sung a song of disloyalty and betrayal. Would the Master of Whispers tell his father? Rhaegar was too far along in his plans to stop now, and so he could only hope and pray that he would be successful.

Eventually, his friend and confidant Ser Arthur Dayne approached.

"My prince, it's getting late, perhaps we should turn in for the night. You should return to Dragonstone to be with Elia when her time comes."

"Thank you, Arthur." Rhaegar didn't know what he would do if he didn't have Arthur by his side. He was source of strength that Rhaegar could rely on in the most trying of times. The two men left the ruins and sat down for a simple meal before bedding down for the night. As Rhaegar faded into sleep, the dreams came once again.

Rhaegar found himself in the throne room of the Red Keep, the Iron Throne towering over him. All around he saw the blurred figures of hundreds of courtiers, and looking up towards the seat of his ancestor, he could only make out a shadow of the king. Only one person was clearly in focus in his vision, and that man was on his knees and bound in chains. He had shock white hair, red eyes, and a red mark across the right side of his face. Rhaegar knew that there was only one man who ever fit that description, Lord Bloodraven. The voice of the king called out, accusing him of deceiving and murdering Aenys Blackfire and giving him the choice of dying by the sword or taking the black. Defiantly, Lord Bloodraven called out.

"What I have done, I have done for the sake of the realm. Surrendering what was left of my honor was but a small price to pay for ensuring the peace and stability of the seven kingdoms. I made the hard choice and did what had to be done, and I find no fault in that. I will take the black and will continue to do what I must to protect your lands, your grace."

The world around the prince faded to black and soon he found himself in a primal and wild forest of white trees with red leaves, a hundreds if not thousands of faces leered, cried, laughed, and screamed all around him. Ahead he could see light shining through a gap in the tress and pushed through the dense brush towards it. When he entered the clearing, he saw a powerful stag and a giant grey wolf circling each other. They stopped and charged each other, but just before they clashed there was a deafening roar as a mighty dragon, scales black as obsidian and eyes like blood red rubies, descended on the pair. The mighty claws of the dragon grabbed the wolf and flew off into the south.

Once again, the scenery changed, and the prince found himself atop a tower where amidst a terrible storm, the dragon and the wolf were locked in some kind of contest. Frost coated the ground around the wolf as it snarled and snapped at it's foe, an intense winter storm violently swirled around the beast that would flay the flesh from any lesser being who dared approached. The dragon breathed flame at the wolf time and time again, but the fires could simply not overcome the impenetrable cold. Rhaegar then saw a man, walking out of from where the fire and ice met. This man wielded a burning sword, and a crown of fire adorned his brow. At once Rhaegar new that this was the prince that was promised.

The scene went black once more and the price found himself awash in a sea of darkness. He heard the flapping of wings and the cries of hundreds of crows. Then a voice called out to him, old and tired.

"The prince that is promised will be born of ice and fire, or death will walk freely through all the lands with none to oppose it. Throw away your honor and do what must be done." As the voice's call echoed in his mind Rhaegar felt as if he was falling.

Rhaegar awoke, gasping for air. Unlike all of his other dreams, this one was not fading from memory, but to ensure that he did not forget what he saw, he scrambled to find his journal and write it all down. A sinking feeling started forming in his stomach as he pondered what it all meant. Could he do what had to be done? He would have to spend much time in the libraries of Dragonstone and the Red Keep. He had to decipher the true meaning of this dream, the fate of the seven kingdoms hung in the balance.

The moons came and went and Robert settled into his role as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. During this time, he spent far more time interacting with his bannermen than he ever remembered doing in his previous life. As a result he had forged much stronger bonds with the lords sworn to him. Surely they would be less likely to follow the dragons in the event of a Rebellion, not that he intended to let that happen. Robert also grew more accustomed to holding court and hearing petitioners, and while he still felt like it was a chore more than anything else, it grew easier over time. He couldn't help but feel more than a little proud of himself when he managed to sit through one entire court session without having to be reminded of what somewhat had just said. Though when he mentioned it to Stannis, his younger brother was quick to point out that it was also the shortest courts he had held.

Robert knew that things would be different with his brothers, but he had never imagined just how much Lyanna's prodding would change his family's dynamic. If Robert was honest, he was half expecting, half hoping Stannis would turn out to be a blue-eyed Eddard; quietly supporting him in his misadventures, providing warnings and wisdom as needed. That was of course not what he got. His relationship with Stannis was turning out to be far more adversarial. It seemed as if the confrontation on the battlements had set a precedent for Stannis to voice his opinions openly and sometimes quite forcefully. It frustrated Robert, at first, but as they continued to butt heads, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of his brother for coming out and asserting himself. Over the course of their repeated clashes, Robert was able to see his brother's strong sense of justice as well as how much he truly cared for the people of the Stormlands, highborn and lowborn alike. After clashing for nearly a full turn of the moon, Robert finally managed to get through to Stannis that they both wanted the same thing, and that he relied on Stannis to help him make the right decisions. Robert realized that his relationship with Stannis would never be like what Ned had with his siblings, and he honestly doubted whether or not Stannis was capable of that kind of relationship with anyone. That being said, Robert had grown to appreciate his brother far more than he had in his previous life, and he took the time to make sure Stannis knew it.

Before returning to Storm's End, Robert hadn't really put much thought into what he wanted his relationship with Renly to look like, and it was simple enough to begin with. They would see each other at meals, and sometimes Robert would check in on him if he had time in his busy schedule. It was Stannis, however, who pointed out that if Robert truly meant to be a better brother, he would have to actually make time for their younger sibling. After a bit of yelling back and forth, Robert was forced to concede the point. As a result, Robert began making a concerted effort to spend time with his younger brother. It would be a flat out lie if Robert said he didn't enjoy the extra time spent with Renly, and it reminded him of time spent with little Mya. The young boy was incredibly energetic and charismatic which led to him being able to get away with quite a bit of mischief. Robert found himself chasing Renly around the keep and playfully wrestling the young boy; teaching him what was and wasn't appropriate play just like his father had done for him. Robert didn't notice the shift in his relationship with Renly until Ser Cortnay teased him about it. Of course, in the moment Robert tried to deny it, but as the weeks went on, he had to admit that the knight was right. When he really thought about it, Robert was actually proud of the new role he was stepping into. After all, one of his goals in this second chance he had been given was to be a better father, why not get some practice in with his little brother?

Even though he was happily spending plenty of time with his brothers by blood, he still dearly missed his brother by choice. Not only that but he missed the young lady he had worked to win over. So, despite the sense pride he felt at the progress he had been making, he grew increasingly more restless as the great tourney drew near. To his surprise, he received Robert received a raven from Ser Rogers requesting permission for he and his wife to travel with him to attend the tourney. Robert couldn't help but chuckle a little seeing that the letter was clearly penned by Lady Branda and simply signed and sealed by the Knight. Obviously, she didn't want another miscommunication. Robert was quick to give his permission and pondered the request. House Rogers was not at Harrenhal the first time around, and he wondered what other small changes would arise as a result of his return. He was quick to give up on his speculation as there was no use worrying about the small things. Regardless he would enjoy the opportunity he had to get to know Lyanna's family.

Finally, the day arrived, and Robert practically bound from his bed to get ready for the trip. He couldn't have been more anxious and excited to leave. This was his chance. If he could just unhorse Rhaegar and keep him away from Lyanna, he just might be able to prevent her abduction and the rebellion that followed. Thoughts of the price stoked an old hatred in his heart. He had killed the prince once at the Trident and a thousand times over in his dreams. That moment should have been his greatest triumph, but it was sullied by the loss of Lyanna and everything that followed. Even now, that hate soured his opinion of the prince, and he knew he would have a hard time playing nice should they meet at the tourney. A quiet voice in the back of his mind told him that the prince had not yet committed any crime in this life, that he would need to work with the prince to overthrow the mad king after rebellion was averted. But more often than not that voice was drowned out by the sickening crunch of the spike of his hammer piercing the prince's gaudy breastplate.

Robert shook his dark thoughts and finished getting ready. After breaking his fast he went out to the courtyard where everyone was gathering and preparing for the trip. He would be travelling with Stannis, Ser Cortnay, Walder, Ser Harrold and his wife Lady Branda, and the dozen or so members of his household necessary to serve him and his companions as was expected of a lord of his station. Renly, however, was still far too young to make the trip and his uncle would be staying behind to watch over his home. Robert noticed his youngest brother standing near the group with a frown. He walked over and ruffled Renly's hair.

"What's got you down?"

"You're going away." The boy mumbled, pushing his brother's hand off his head.

"We are, but we'll be back before you know it" Robert replied in an upbeat tone. Renly pouted and looked away.

"I wanna go too." The boy said defiantly.

"Renly, we talked about this, you're too small to go with us." Robert said in stern but exasperated tone.

"Not fair."

"It's fairly fair." Robert replied with a chuckle, Renly just huffed and looked away. "I'll tell you what dad used to tell me when he went off to King's Landing. It's your job to watch over the keep and make sure nobody takes it while I'm gone. It's a very important job, can you do that for me?"

Renly looked up at Robert, deep blue eyes staring into deep blue eyes, and then after a few moments he nodded.

"I knew I could count on you Renly. I'm sure no one would ever dare come take Storm's End with you on the walls. Come on show me how strong you are." In response, Renly smiled and flexed his arms. The young boy's mood had been turned around, and he suddenly pushed Robert before away yelling for Robert to catch him. Robert couldn't help but laugh a little before giving chase, there was still time to indulge his youngest brother before he left for more than a moon.

After finally saying their farewells, Robert's party finally rode out of the gates of Storm's End and began travelling North on the King's Road. The false spring had finally set in and as a result the travelling conditions were ideal. Even with the perfect weather and the fact they were travelling along some of the most well maintained portions of the king's road, the trip would still take nearly a fortnight to complete. Robert of course enjoyed the time away from the burdens and responsibilities of ruling and couldn't help but find himself in high spirits throughout the Journey.

As the days and nights passed, he spent quite a bit of time talking to Ser Harrold and Lady Branda. Apparently, Ser Harrold's father Ser Harwin Rogers had joined the Second Sons at the same time as Rodrik Stark, the Wandering Wolf. They forged a bond of brotherhood with one another during that time and kept in contact when they had returned to Westeros after their years of adventure is Essos. True to his title, Rodrick Stark never lost his wanderlust, and often visited Ser Harwin at his family's seat in Amberly, bringing his family along. It was during their first visit when Branda was a mere nine name days old that she and Harrold met and immediately decided that they hated each other. Harrold would spend an inordinate amount of time planning pranks and mischief to spring on Branda, and she, a formidable woman even at that age, would find ways to make sure he paid for it. Over the course of several visits their feelings evolved into playful affection, and eventually mutual attraction. Being the children of men well outside the lines of succession, there was no real expectation for them to marry for political reasons, and their fathers were more than happy to see their families united. Now their own children were grown and had left home a few years ago. Their eldest son had left for Essos as his grandfather had, and their daughter had gone back to the North of all places and had married a Flint.

Robert grew to appreciate the older knight's unique sense of humor as the miles stretched on, and he particularly loved how it grated on his brother's nerves. His humor was far from the witty rhymes or the scathing satire popular with fools in most courts, nor was it the crude japes told by smallfolk in taverns across the realm. Ser Harrold's jokes often had the most obvious or inane punchlines imaginable. It seemed like Ser Harrold got a kick from making Stannis grimace and grind his teeth. The knight eventually admitted that he enjoyed seeing the young man's reactions as his wife had long since grown immune to his antics. Lady Branda, for her part, seemed to appreciate that her loving husband had a new target for his incessant japes.

While on the road, Robert made sure not to neglect his or Walder's martial training. Something that surprised him was when Ser Harrold joined them in their morning training. As soon as he entered the impromptu sparring ring, the mischievous smirk was replaced with a cold concentration. The change in demeanor threw Robert off and made him more cautious than he probably would have been otherwise. Ser Harrold quickly proved to be a cunning and deceptive swordsman. It took Robert a few clashes to adjust, but eventually Robert's youth, strength, and hard-earned skill overwhelmed the older knight. Robert whole heartedly believed that to truly know a man you need to cross blades with them, and from then on, he treated the knight of House Rogers with a little bit more respect. Walder seemed to soak up every lesson the veteran warrior had to offer.

Their travelling party grew in number as they met other lords travelling up the king's road to attend the grand tourney. Robert was surprised to find Lords Fell and Buckler, of all people, travelling together. It seemed as if the bad blood between the two houses had finally been settled and they even announced that a betrothal had been arranged between Lord Fell's young heir Silveraxe and Lord Buckler's youngest daughter. The soon to be married couple were travelling to Harrenhal with their fathers as well so they could get to know each other better. Robert couldn't help but be overly pleased with himself as he was presented with even more evidence that he was making positive changes with his second chance, and happily drank in celebration of the union.

His mood however darkened as they grew closer to King's Landing. His travelling companions were suggesting that they stay in the city for one or two nights to recover from the journey through the Kingswood. Robert was not particularly keen on this idea as he had no desire to spend any time in that fetid den of vipers. He had spent almost two decades in that nasty place and remembered what it had done to him. If he had his way, he would never again set foot in the capitol again. True, he could have put his foot down as their liege lord and force them to keep going, but he knew that it wasn't the right thing to do. That of course did little to improve his mood. As Robert grew more agitated, Stannis, of all people, decided to address it. Riding up close to Robert, Stannis leaned over and spoke to his brother in a subdued tone.

"Robert, you haven't been yourself as late." Stannis said in an even tone. Robert looked at his brother for a moment, before grunting and looking away. Stannis, undeterred, continued on. "I'm well aware that you are eager to see your friend and betrothed, but will spending a few nights in King's Landing really make that much of a difference?"

"Fuck the city, it smells like shit, and it would be a benefit to everyone if it just burned to the ground. We'd be better off camping on the road rather than going through those gates." Robert barked back.

"Yes, I am sure the hundreds of thousands of people who call the place home would feel blessed if it all burned." Stannis fired back with the same intensity. "What's wrong with you? Did some whore rob you last you visited the Street of Silk?"

Robert's arm flew out and grabbed Stannis by the collar of his doublet pulling him close.

"Say that again brother." Robert ground out in a low threatening tone. Stannis returned the threat with a piercing gaze and a straight face indicating that he was neither amused nor intimidated by Robert's reaction. Robert then noticed just the slightest gleam of mirth in his brother's expression. Letting Stannis go, Robert let out a tired chuckle and slumped in his saddle.

"My brother Stannis is trying to be funny."

"Yes, perhaps Ser Harrold's incessant japes are wearing on me. I don't think it suits me." Stannis replied in an even tone. Robert couldn't help but laugh at that as well.

"As for your question, no, but I do have bad memories of the last time I visited the city." Robert said carefully. "Memories that I would rather not share." He added quickly as he saw Stannis about to ask the obvious question.

"Fine, but it is not becoming of a lord of your standing to act like this in front of his bannermen." Stannis said firmly while readjusting his collar.

"Yes, gods forbid I get to fucking act the way I want, whenever I want." Robert grumbled. Stannis' only reply was a severe gaze. Robert lifted his hands in defeat. "Fine, I'll play the part of the Stoic and powerful lord who is always in control."

They heard another rider approaching and turned to see that Ser Cortnay had come to check on them.

"Is everything alright my lords?" Their friend asked.

"Yes, Stannis just asked me to inspect his doublet for a moment." Robert replied with a smile and a chuckle. It was obvious that Stannis was uncomfortable with Robert's lie, but he didn't say anything about it, and Ser Cortnay knew better than to press the matter.

Eventually, they arrived in the city and found accommodations befitting their station. Robert had to admit that the lodgings were nice enough, but that didn't make his stay here any more desirable. He turned in early that evening and his dreams were once again tormented by visions of his past and a future that he could not let come to pass. He awoke early in the morning feeling barely rested. He decided to slip away from his travelling companions and made his way to the Sept of Baelor, hoping to find some peace there. The marble dome and the seven crystal towers gleamed in the rising sun as he ascended the steps. Robert thought it looked just as ostentatious as it ever had. Regardless, it was still a sept. About halfway up to the sept, he stopped, recognizing the spot where Ned had been executed in his dreams. Anger boiled in him, and he had to take a few moments to regain his composure before continuing on. As he crossed the threshold into the hall of lamps and took in the beauty of the color leaded glass something felt wrong. Since his return, he had visited many septs across the realm, and none could compare to the pure wealth and power on display here. At the same time none could compare to the sense of wrongness that hung in the air here. Robert was by no means a great mind on spiritual matters and was far from able to pin down what exactly he felt, but in all the other septs he had prayed in, he had always felt a sense of peace and from which he could draw strength. That feeling was absent from this place, it just felt empty, like an old tomb. Robert grunted, turned around, and left. King's landing truly was the worst city in all of Westeros.

Fortunately, the rest of their time in the city passed quickly and with little fanfare. Robert's spirits lifted almost immediately upon crossing under the Dragon's Gate. The days and miles passed by as they travelled north to the great castle of Harrenhal. Eventually, the keep was spotted on the horizon and Robert just barely kept himself from spurring his mount into a gallop towards it. That being said, his patience was being tried as he was reminded of just how huge the castle was. For hours the mighty keep loomed before them, slowly growing closer with each mile. They finally arrived at the gates of Harrenhal just before Robert's patience wore out. Hundreds of banners flew within the grounds, and his eyes darted back and forth looking for the grey wolf of House Stark. His search was interrupted by Stannis calling out to him.

"Brother, I assume you wish for me to handle getting the household settled in while you search for your betrothed?" Only the slightest hint of annoyance was found in his voice.

"Yeah, go do that, thanks." Robert said with a halfhearted wave of acknowledgment. Stannis just gave a dutiful nod and rode back to the rest of the group.

After a few more minutes of searching the vast grounds of Harrenhal, Robert finally spotted what he was looking for. He couldn't help but let out a joyful laugh as he made his way towards the direwolf flapping in the gentle breeze. This is where he would change the everything.

Chapter Text

Robert ignored the cries of surprise and distress as he urged his mount into a quick trot towards the Stark’s tent through the crowded grounds of the castle.  As soon as he arrived, he jumped off his horse and called out, 

“Ned! You in there?”  

It took a few moments, but eventually a confused Eddard Stark pulled open the flap of the tent and was immediately grabbed into Robert’s enthusiastic embrace. “Ned! Gods dammit, it’s good to see you!” Robert roared. After the surprise faded, Eddard eventually returned the embrace and let out a chuckle.

“It’s good to see you too, but it’s only been a few moons.”

“Yeah, and it felt like years. Now, where’s Lyanna?”

“Oh, I see; years of friendship, and now I’ve been replaced by my sister?” Ned replied with mock hurt in his voice and a slight grin.

“Ha! We’ve got plenty of time to catch up.  I just wanted to see my dearest betrothed,” Robert replied jovially.

“Well, she left not too long ago with Benjen.  They wanted to go see the Harrenhal godswood; they say it is the largest in the south.”

Robert looked up towards the massive stone ruins and grimaced.

“Apparently everything is bigger here.”

It was at this point that Eddard’s elder brother made his presence known.

“Lord Baratheon,” the elder Stark said with a formal tone.

“Lord Brandon,” Robert returned in a friendlier tone.  Robert had put some thought into it and wanted to make sure he put any bad blood with the Wild Wolf behind him.  “I hope you had a good journey south.”

“It wasn’t unpleasant,” Brandon responded in a bored tone.  Despite his desire to mend fences with his future good brother, Robert got the feeling he wasn’t going to make any progress with the heir of Winterfell at the moment.

“Well, I think Ned and I will go track down that sister of yours.” His charming smile was returned by a dismissive nod.  As Brandon retreated back into the tent, Robert turned to Eddard. “Let’s go, Ned.” 

“Sure, I’m sure she’ll be excited to see you.  She’s mentioned you once or twice since we left home,” Ned replied casually.

Robert couldn’t keep a wide smile off his face as he took his horse’s reins in hand and followed his third brother towards the Harrenhal godswood.  Robert proudly listed off his accomplishments as lord of Storm’s End while they walked, and Eddard listened quietly just like he had when they were growing up in the Vale.  As Robert was halfway through sharing a tale of how he handled a particular squabble between his bannermen, they heard a feminine voice yelling out not too far ahead of them.

“That’s my father’s bannermen!”

Immediately the two young lords realized they had found Lyanna and sprinted towards the sound of the commotion.  When they rounded a tent blocking their view, they saw Lyanna wielding a tourney sword laying into a group of young squires who were gathered around another man lying on the ground while young Benjen watched wide-eyed.  By the time Robert and Eddard arrived, Lyanna had chased off the boys and was slinging insults at their retreating forms.  Robert was shocked; had this happened the last time around? If so, why hadn’t Ned told him about it?  Regardless of the answers, he couldn’t help but stare at his betrothed.  She was red in the face with anger and exertion and was gripping the sword so hard her knuckles had turned white.  The simple northern braid she had been sporting had come undone and her hair hung down wildly behind her.   Robert couldn’t help but admire her warrior woman aesthetic for a few moments.  Eventually, Ned, the sensible member of their duo, spoke up,

“Lyanna, what just happened.”

She spun around and pointed the sword at them as if expecting another attacker.  When she realized who was standing before her, her eyes grew wide in surprise and embarrassment before her anger returned.  

“Ned! Robert! Did you see those boys?” She waved the tourney sword wildly in the direction the young men had scampered off in.  “They were attacking one of father’s bannermen!” As soon as the words left her mouth, realization set in, and she dropped the sword running over to the side of the small man lying on the ground groaning.  Robert and Eddard immediately recognized the man.

“Howland?” Robert called out rushing over to his side as well.  The crannogman had gotten quite a beating from the young men who, even though they were younger, still had nearly half a head on the future Lord of the Neck.  Hearing his name the young Lord Reed focused his gaze on Robert. 

“Your grace?” he said weakly. 

“I think you’ve had your wits knocked out of you Howland; I’m no king,” Robert said jovially, trying his best to hide a grimace at the use of the hated honorific.  “Come on, let’s get you taken care of.”  Robert carefully picked the diminutive young man up off the ground.

“We can take him to our tent,” Lyanna spoke up. “Father insisted that we bring Maester Walys with us in case Brandon got hurt during the joust.”

“Please, put me down. I can walk there on my own,” Howland hissed in pain.

“You sure?” Robert asked as he slowly let Howland down.

“I’ve already been beaten by a pack of southron boys; I don’t think my pride can handle being carried like a child,”  he replied, trying to smile through his aches and pains.

“Ha, how about I just keep you from falling over then?” Robert replied, keeping a hand on Howland’s shoulder.  He just received a nod in response and they started making their way back to the Stark’s tent.  As they made the journey back to the tent, Lyanna was unusually quiet.  Robert noticed her biting her lip nervously as she looked over at him from time to time.  From the defiance in her eyes, Robert could guess that she was just barely keeping herself from saying something unladylike.

“By all means, my lady, please speak your mind,” Robert said with a charming grin.

“I won’t apologize,” she said firmly. Robert couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“For what? Your terrible form? Whoever’s been teaching you is letting you away with far too many bad habits.” Robert watched as Lyanna’s face went through a bevy of emotions.

“No, for not acting like a lady. And what do you mean terrible form? I beat Benjen all the time,” she replied angrily

“No offense to your younger brother, but it speaks more poorly of him than anything else.” Robert turned to look at the youngest Stark and saw that he had gone red in the face. Turning back to Lyanna he continued, “Either learn to fight properly, or leave it to the men.”

“Oh, and who is going to teach me: you?” she responded, her tone sharp.

 “Lyanna…” Eddard was about to launch into a scolding, but was cut off by Robert.

“I don’t see why not. Of course, it’ll have to be after we’re married.  I’d rather not risk your father’s ire until you are under my cloak and authority,”  he said with a charming grin.

“Robert, don’t encourage her,” Ned said with exasperation.

“Oh, come on Ned. You know she’d be happier with a sword in hand rather than a stitching needle,” Robert said jovially. He smiled at Lyanna expecting some form of support from her, but her face told him that he had said something that upset her.  He was about to say something about it, but she quickly recovered and preempted him by smiling and patting Howland on the shoulder. 

“Come now boys, enough of this; let’s make sure Lord Reed is taken care of.” Her words were warm and caring, but then her demeanor changed, and her next words were as cold as ice. “Then we’ll discuss how to make sure justice is seen for this attack.”     

After her words, the rest of their trip back to the Stark’s tent was made in silence as both Eddard and Robert had no desire to rouse her ire.  As soon as they entered the tent, Lyanna called for Maester Walys.  When the healer saw the state of the young crannogman, he immediately got to work.  Brandon, who had come to see what the commotion was all about, stopped when he saw the state of Lord Reed. 

“What in all the hells happened?” He looked at Robert, his voice held  tones of honest confusion and rising anger.  It was Lyanna who responded.

“I found some southron boys attacking our father’s man and drove them off.  This is unacceptable, Brandon; you have to do something about it!” Lyanna seethed.  Brandon’s hackles rose as the tale of it stoked his own wolf’s blood.

“Tell me, Lord Reed, who are these boys that would dare attack a Northern Lord?” Brandon’s voice was low and hard.

“I don’t know, my Lord. They weren’t wearing their colors when they approached me.  Please, my Lord and Lady, you need not involve yourselves,” he answered.  Based on his stance, Brandon was still angry but wasn’t willing to press the issue.  Lyanna, however, was not deterred.

“Well, they might be at the welcome feast tonight. If you see them, you can point them out to us.”

“Ah, I was not intending to attend the feast,” Howland said humbly as the maester finished bandaging his injuries.

“What! You’re just as noble as anyone here!” Lyanna exclaimed, “No, you will join us and the other northern lords tonight.”

Howland looked as if he was going to protest when he was interrupted by Robert putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think you should argue with Lyanna over this my friend.” His voice held a tone of playfulness, and Howland simply nodded in defeat. Robert vaguely remembered the small Lord Reed being at the feast in the last time through, but he also remembered being blisteringly drunk after that drinking contest with Ser Lonmouth.  Perhaps he should avoid being goaded into that again.  Turning to Lyanna, he continued,

“I was hoping we could spend some time together; I’ve missed our rides,” Robert said with a fond tone.

“Ah, well perhaps now is not a good time Lord Robert,” Lyanna replied in a much more formal tone than he remembered her using when last they saw each other. “The feast is not too far off, and I have to make sure Lord Reed here is ready to join us.”

“Ah,” Robert couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “Well then, I hope you will give me the honor of allowing me your hand for the first dance of the night.”

“Of course, Lord Robert,” she replied with a polite smile.  Robert stood there a moment not wanting to leave before eventually giving a quick bow, bidding the rest of the Starks farewell and leaving the tent.  Mounting his horse, he made his way to where his brother and entourage were still setting up their own accommodations.

“I thought we wouldn’t see you till the feast,” Stannis called out as Robert approached.

“Shit happened,” Robert said dismissively.  “Anyway, are the baths ready? I don’t want to smell like dust and sweaty horse when I dance with Lyanna tonight.”

“Fortunately, the servants prioritized getting the baths ready,” Stannis replied in his usual matter of fact tone. Robert nodded and proceeded to prepare for the feast.  Robert donned his finest black velvet doublet, which had the Baratheon stag ornately embroidered in gold and silver across the front.  Checking himself over a few more times, he met with his brother and the other Stormlords and led the group to the feast.

Robert was excited as he approached The Hall of the Hundred Hearths with his companions.  He was looking forward to spending more time with Lyanna and Eddard.  He had been so excited, in fact, that he had completely forgotten that the Mad King and his spawn were in attendance tonight.  Looking up at the head table, he saw that the King was just as decrepit and crazed as he had been the last time around.  Long nails, wild matted hair, and pallid skin all but cemented his image as a crazed tyrannical ruler.  He also saw the prince and his wife sitting to the right of the king.  Neither looked particularly happy with their company.  As his party was announced, Robert locked eyes with the crowned prince and froze.  For a moment, they stared at each other.  The prince’s polite smile turned to confusion, then to one of sudden realization.  For his part, Robert could only sneer at the visage of his old enemy.  He knew that if Destiny was to be averted, that he would have to work with the prince, but old hatreds die hard.  The moment was broken when Stannis tapped him on the shoulder and motioned them towards where the servants had indicated their place.  Unfortunately, Robert missed the queer smile on the king’s face.  Not long after being seated and served drinks and starters, more noble houses were announced.  Robert scanned the hall  for the Starks, but it seemed as if they had not arrived yet. 

Robert was doing his best to ignore the royals sitting at the head table by chatting with the nobles of the Stormlands sitting nearby.  He had just finished sharing a story about his time in the Vale with Silveraxe when the houses of the Reach entered.  He could barely hold back a derisive snort as the newly minted Lord Paramount of the Reach, Mace Tyrell, flounced into the hall full of self-importance.  Taking a drink of his wine to avoid causing a scene, Robert remembered that even in his previous life, he couldn’t believe that he was of equal rank with the Fat Flower.  

Though, as the rest of the Reach Lords were announced, he noticed something he never thought would happen. His brother had seemingly frozen and was staring at one of the new arrivals.  Robert followed his brother’s gaze and he nearly spit out his wine when he saw that the object of his brother’s sudden obsession was none other than Delena Florent.  The irony of the situation was by no means lost on him, and memories of bedding the girl came unbidden to his mind.  Robert hurriedly focused his mind on something else and looked back at his brother before a realization dawned on him; that young maiden was probably the exact match his brother needed.  Even though he had been drunk at the time, he could remember her warm yet no nonsense demeanor.  While not blunt or rude about it, she was not one to mince words, and it was obvious that she was just as intelligent and cunning as the fox found on her house’s arms.  That, combined with the fact that she would prove to be much more fertile than her hag of an older cousin, Robert almost immediately came to the conclusion that she would be the exact kind of woman his brother needed as a wife.  Perhaps Edric Storm would be Edric Baratheon this time around.  Robert couldn’t help but let out a loud bout of laughter, startling Stannis from his stupor and causing the young man to turn with an angry gaze.

“What?” Stannis said in a low growl.

“After parading Swans, Nightingales, and fawns in front of you, it seems like a fox has snuck in and stole your heart.” Robert couldn’t help but continue chuckling. Stannis hid his anger and embarrassment behind his normal stony mask.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he ground out.

“Oh please; you looked just like father whenever mother would walk into the room.  Come now brother, she’s a beautiful young lady from a powerful house of the Reach with ties going back to the Gardner kings,” Robert pointed out.

“It would be an insult to our bannermen if both of us were to marry outside of the Stormlands,” Stannis argued stoically.

“Bah, between you, me, and Renly, there’ll be plenty of little stags running around to marry off to the Stormlords.   Our bannermen can wait one more generation.  I don’t want you languishing in a marriage based on duty alone,” Robert countered. Stannis had a thoughtful look on his face, so Robert pressed on.  “I will talk to her father, and you will dance with her and spend time with her over the course of the tourney. If she does not prove to be a good match, I’ll let it go and we can keep looking for a good Stormlands lady for you.” After a few moments of contemplation, Stannis nodded in agreement with the plan.  Robert was pleased to see just the barest hint of a smile on his brother’s face, a good sign indeed. 

Shortly after their conversation, the northern houses finally entered.  Robert watched as Lyanna and her brothers were guided to their seats.  She was wearing what many women in the south would call a rather plain dress, but in his estimation, it served to only enhance her wild beauty.  Beside her was Howland Reed, looking as out of place as Robert was sure he felt.  The Crannogman was wearing what must have been one of Benjen’s doublets hastily emblazoned with a lizard lion, the symbol of his house.  Lyanna was scanning the hall with a vindictive gleam in her eyes as Howland pointed at various tables.  Robert couldn’t help but grin as he recognized that they were identifying the squires that had assaulted Lord Reed earlier.  Robert watched as they were seated and was standing up to go to them when he heard a deep voice speak behind him.

“His grace wishes to invite you to dine with him at the head table.”

Robert turned to see the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, The White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower standing over him.  Even well past his prime, the Lord Commander was an imposing figure.

“Of course, I am happy to dine with his grace,” Robert said, despite every instinct he had screaming for him to refuse.  That, of course, was a quick way to find himself placed upon a pyre for treason.  And so, with one last glance at where the Starks had been seated, he turned and began walking towards the head table followed by the Kingsguard.  

As Robert drew closer, he saw that a place had been made for him next to the King. He was taking all the time he had available to him to try and order his thoughts and reign in the tempest of emotions in his heart.  He was trying to remember and employ every lesson Jon had taught him about keeping calm and did his best to emulate the stony visage of his younger brother.  Having always worn his emotions on his sleeves, it was not exactly his strong suit; but if there was any time to put those lessons into practice, it was when one was coming face to face with an insane monarch.  Eventually, he walked up to the king and knelt.

“Your grace, you honor me with your summons.”

“Get up, boy; groveling doesn’t suit you,” the king said in a dismissive tone.  “Sit.”

Robert did as he was told in as dignified of a manner as he could.   

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally gotten out from underneath the skirts of that old windbag, Arryn. Always going on and on about honor.”

Robert couldn’t help but sneer at the king’s words.

“He always did want me to be more like him,” he said in what he hoped was a convincingly disgusted tone.  It wasn’t too hard; the king was in fact disgusting to him. The king’s wild grin grew wider at his words.

“I’ve been told that you’ve finally taken your seat and have started acting like the great lord that you’re meant to be.  You remind me of a young Steffon. I’m sure you’ll be just as loyal to me as he was.  It was a tragedy when he was stolen from me.” The King’s purple eyes bore into Robert’s blue.  “I need loyal men around me, you know. Too many sycophants just telling me what I want to hear.  You’ll be loyal to me, right?”  There was a manic gleam in the king’s eye.

“I and House Baratheon will always be loyal to The Throne and House Targaryen,”   Robert said in a firm tone.  He hoped it sounded sincere.  The king sat there studying Robert’s face as if looking for any trace of treason or falsehood.  When the king smiled and let out a crooning laugh, Robert let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The king turned to his son and spoke.

“Now, Rhaegar, this is what a true loyal subject looks like.  It’s too bad Steffon didn’t have a daughter for you to wed.  Then you wouldn’t be burdened with that Dornish bitch, and my granddaughter wouldn’t be a half-breed.” The prince’s knuckles turned white as he replied.  It was not lost on Robert that Princess Elia was seated on the other side of the prince, and he watched as she drank deeply from her cup to hide her anger and embarrassment.   

“As you say your grace.” Rhaegar’s tone was clipped, and for once, Robert felt a little sympathy for the prince.  The king continued.

“And you, Robert. I hear you’ve snagged a woman for yourself.  You went North and secured the Stark girl.”

“As you say, your grace. We will be wed after she is a woman grown.” 

“Don’t wait too long. We have to make sure that we are keeping those heathen barbarians at heel.  If anyone can break the she-wolf of the North, it’ll be you.  I’m sure you’ll be able to make her into a proper bride.”

Robert struggled to keep a lid on the fury that was roaring for the king’s blood.  His hands itched to wrap around King Aerys’ neck and squeeze until he heard a snap, but he knew that he couldn’t do that.  So, he just smiled and replied in as calm a voice as he could.

“I’m sure she will learn her place.”  In his mind, her place was beside him riding across the windswept fields around Storm’s End and accompanying him on hunts in the nearby woods. 

The king let out a mad cackling laugh before looking over to Lord Whent and waving him over.  The Lord of Harrenhal quickly came and knelt before the king. 

“How can I serve you, your grace?” The lord’s voice held a quiver that seemed to satisfy the king.

“Get this fucking feast started,” the king demanded.

“Of course, your grace.” The king dismissed Lord Whent with a wave, and the man stood and addressed the crowd,  “My Lords and Ladies, I thank you for coming to this Grand Tourney to celebrate the name day of my dearest maiden daughter.” He paused a moment and gestured to a young demure lady sitting prettily further down the head table wearing a crown of flowers.  She blushed and waved at the assorted lords and ladies as they all cheered and clapped in her recognition.  Lord Whent continued, “I invite you to eat and drink to your heart’s content and dance the night away.  As a special treat, the Crown Prince has agreed to play a song to start the night’s festivities.” 

With that, the prince stood, bowed to his father, and walked to the floor of the hall as a servant brought him his harp.  Without much fanfare, Rhaegar started playing a beautiful tune. Robert was distracted when the king leaned in close to Robert and started whispering in his ear.  It took all of his self-control to not recoil from the king’s rotten smell alone. 

“My son seeks to usurp me. I need you in the capitol.  I was to make your father my hand before Tywin had him killed, and Varys has told me good things about what you have done over the past few moons. Not only that, but you are a peerless warrior.  With you by my side, we could crush any rebellion.”

“My king, I don’t deserve this honor,” was all Robert could think to stammer out. He wasn’t even going to attempt to parse out what the king was saying about his father.  Chalking it up to the wild theories and delusions of a man driven to madness.

“I’m not trying to honor you,” the king snarled.  “I need you to protect the throne like your father should have.”

Robert knew there was no way he could refuse the king; he had no way out but forward. So, as the last few bars of the prince’s song played, Robert gave his answer.

“I live to serve the crown, your grace,” he said, feeling his stomach sink in disgust at the words. Before the king could say anything else, there was a disturbance over where the Starks were seated.  Robert saw Lyanna dumping her wine all over Benjen’s head before storming out of the hall.  Robert stood and was about to follow her out before he realized that he was still next to the king who was staring at him with a quizzical expression.

“On second thought, I wouldn’t want your she-wolf bride fowling up the hand’s tower before you’ve had a chance to properly housebreak her.  The prince is a coward, and I doubt he’ll do anything until he has an heir of his own.  Now, go teach your barbarian wife-to-be how to properly act in the king’s presence.”

Robert was split between wanting to tear the king’s head off for insulting his betrothed and feeling massive relief at the king’s dismissal.  He could barely believe that he had been saved by a combination of Lyanna’s wild impulsiveness and the king’s mercurial madness.  Robert gave a quick bow to the king and strode towards the exit as fast as dignity would allow.  As soon as Robert exited the hall, he found a wooden bench, picked it up, and imagining it to be the king, smashed it against the wall until it was not but small shattered pieces.  Feeling much better, he looked up and saw a serving maid staring in shock and horror at the scene.  Putting on a charming smile, he addressed her.

“Excuse the mess. Please let the steward know that I would be happy to pay for any damages.  You wouldn’t happen to have seen a young northern maid pass this way would you have? Gray dress?”  The stunned servant simply nodded. “Thank you, could you point me in the direction she went?”  The maid silently pointed down the hall. “Thank you again.” With a slight nod to the still frozen servant, Robert set off to find his betrothed and finally get some time to talk to her.

Chapter Text

With the setting sun beginning to cast long shadows across the castle grounds, Robert was worried he would not be able to find Lyanna before darkness fell. Much to his relief, it didn't take long for him to find her. She had fled to a fairly secluded spot away from prying eyes and listening ears. As he approached, Robert saw that she was pacing and muttering to herself, and didn't seem to have noticed his arrival. Robert stood by waiting for her to calm down a little before he announced himself. Eventually her pacing slowed, and her shoulders began to relax signaling to Robert that it was perhaps safe to proceed.

"Good evening, Lyanna."

"Robert?" Lyanna almost jumped in shock when he announced herself.

"Are you alright?" Robert asked in his most gentle tone. At this question, Lyanna drew herself up and presented herself with all the pride and dignity one would expect of a woman of her station. Robert was impressed.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Though her voice appeared strong on the surface, Robert could just make out the slightest of trembles indicating that she was not, in fact, alright.

"Well, forgive me for pointing it out, but it looks like you were crying." Robert stated in an ever so slightly teasing tone.

"Yeah, well what's wrong with that?" She snipped, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing at all, but I am concerned with what made you cry and storm out of the hall." Robert explained, putting his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. For a few tense seconds, she remained silent, her face as harsh and cold as the northern winter. Robert was worried that he had truly offended her and was about to apologize when all of the pride she had mustered drained from her, and her expression shifted into a conflicted frown. She looked away and fiddled with her hands a bit before taking a deep breath. Gray eyes locked with blue as she finally spoke.

"It was the prince's song. It was beautiful, especially the part about breaking your chains and flying free." Her tone was wistful, and Robert could see that simply remembering the song caused Lyanna's eyes to grow misty with unshed tears.

Robert didn't know how to respond. Was this how Rhaegar first ensnared Lyanna? Had he ensorcelled her with verse and song, playing on her desire to be free? It's not like he had done anything in his past life to ensure she didn't feel trapped in a loveless marriage. But he had worked so hard to earn her trust this time around. Was it all for not? Robert balled his fists as his anger began boiling for the second time tonight. He was doing his best to not release all of his frustration on her, so he just stood quietly. A few heartbeats of silence passed between the two before Lyanna finally continued.

"Let's run away Robert." Lyanna said almost whispering.

"What?" was all he could manage in response.

"We can cross the narrow sea and live our lives how we want in Essos, away from the expectations that society puts on us here. We can break our chains and fly free together."

Robert was truly stunned; He could feel the sincerity of her words. What touched him the most however was the thought that she wanted to run away with him. Just as suddenly as it came, all of the anger that had started building up vanished and was replaced by a maelstrom of competing emotions. First among them however was affection for the maiden before him. He took a few steps closer to her, closer than what a septa might call appropriate for an unmarried lady without an escort.

"Lyanna, that is the deepest desire of my heart…" He trailed off, his words weighed down by melancholy and longing. Robert sighed and Lyanna spoke up.

"I know there is a but meant to follow those words." She paused and took another deep breath and let it out in an attempt to compose herself. "I'm sorry Robert, I think I've been unfair to you."

"Oh?" Robert replied, raising his eyebrows in honest confusion. He was not expecting the turn the conversation had taken.

"Yes, I let a few simple words undo all your efforts. Earlier today when you spoke of bringing me under your cloak and authority, the fear of being trapped in a terrible marriage overwhelmed me."

"Lyanna," Robert's response was silenced when Lyanna held up her hand indicating that she wasn't done talking.

"Please, let me finish. I want to thank you for your honesty, Robert, it really puts my heart at ease to know that we share the same desire. It's silly, really, you spent day after day in Winterfell reassuring me that you wouldn't treat me like some prize that you had won, and yet one sentence threw it all into doubt." She paused again, seemingly steeling herself for her next words. "Robert, If you can stay and put duty before desire, then I will happily do the same by your side."

Robert didn't know what he was expecting when he tracked down his betrothed, but that declaration was by far not it. To say he was moved was an understatement.

"Lyanna, I swear by the gods old and new that I will do all I can to ensure that your duty is never a burden." His voice was quiet, but full of emotion and resolve.

She said nothing but stepped closer to him and took Robert's hand in hers. Robert looked into her eyes and saw tem filled with hope and trust. It was a sight that Robert swore he would treasure for the rest of his days. He began to lean down towards her, wanting nothing more than to capture her lips with his. The opportunity to do so, however, slipped away when a familiar voice called out startling them both.

"Lyanna!"

Robert practically growled in response to his foster brother's interruption. It was not the first time that Ned had ruined a moment with a woman, but it was the first time that Robert swore he would pay him back somehow. When Ned came around the corner, he stopped and took in the sight before him. Almost without missing a beat, he crossed his arms and addressed the two of them.

"Robert, Lyanna, I hope nothing untoward is happening here." His tone was more teasing than scolding. Before Robert could say anything, Lyanna responded.

"And what if there was?" Her tone indicated that she was also not appreciative of her brother's interference. Ned was taken back a little, but recovered quickly and simply smirked before responding

"Then I would expect the two of you to find somewhere a little more private." His response caused Lyanna's indignation to crumble, and she blushed fiercely in embarrassment at her brother's uncharacteristically crude jape. Robert couldn't help but smirk at his betrothed. She was fierce and determined in all things but romance. Lyanna managed to rally, however.

"How could you? You would let this southern ponce besmirch my honor?" She said in an exaggeratedly incredulous tone nodding her head towards Robert for emphasis. Ned's expression turned grave.

"If Robert ever thought of dishonoring you, then not even our years of friendship would save him from the reckoning that would follow." The iciness of his voice sent a chill down Robert's back. After a few heartbeats of awkward silence, Eddard's face changed into a bemused grin.

"Fortunately, I know that he would rather be gored by a boar than do that to you." Robert noted that his friend's grin didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's an odd turn of phrase Ned." Lyanna responded with a voice laced with curiosity.

"Perhaps, but I'm sure you'd agree, right Rob?" Eddard said in a tone that brook no argument.

"Of course, Ned!" Robert exclaimed, finally letting go of Lyanna's hand.

"See, he agrees. Now let's get back to the feast before more people start missing you. Aunt Branda is quite unhappy that you ran off before she had a chance to properly meet you." Eddard said teasingly.

"Aunt Branda is here?" she replied incredulously

"Right! Ser Harrold and Lady Branda insisted that they accompany me to meet you all. Lady Branda actually petitioned me to stay in Storm's End after we are wed to help you get settled. You won't be a lone wolf in the south my dear." Robert couldn't help but grin at the smile that the news put on Lyanna's face.

"Well then, would you be so kind as to escort me back into the hall? I would very much like to see my aunt." Lyanna's posture and tone shifted radically as she gracefully offered her arm to Robert. The change was sufficiently jarring that it caused him to hesitate.

"What, just because I don't normally act like a lady doesn't mean I can't. I learned my lessons well; I've just chosen to ignore them." She said in an overly ladylike voice, still maintaining a proper posture.

Robert couldn't help but laugh, happily taking her arm in order to escort her back to the feast. Fortunately, by the time they returned, the King had taken his leave. Robert guided Lyanna to where Ser Harrold and Lady Branda were sitting and left them to their reunion. It brought no small amount of satisfaction to Robert's heart to think that by taking up his seat as he should have years ago, he had helped bring about this happy event.

His moment of self-satisfaction was soon broken, however, by Eddard tapping him on his shoulder. Turning, Robert saw Ned gesturing towards a less crowded area of the hall. It seemed that his friend wanted to talk away from his sister and aunt. Robert nodded in response and followed his friend, and when they were far enough away Ned spoke with a low and grim tone.

"What did the king want with you?"

"Oh, He wanted to appoint me as his new hand." Robert said flatly, almost not believing it himself.

"He appointed you hand?" Eddard replied in shock.

"Well, no, not exactly, I think your sister's outburst helped change his mind. If I repeat what he said, you might be the one being called kingslayer this time around."

Eddard didn't reply, but just looked away as if in deep thought. Robert eventually sought to fill the silence.

"Look, I'm planning on doing everything I can to stay as far away from the king as possible. I won't let him get within a league of Lyanna." Robert's voice was grim and determined.

Eddard looked to Robert and studied his friend for a few more moments before letting himself relax.

"I trust that you mean what you say, and I truly hope that you can follow through on your words."

"Enough of this," Robert said, clapping his hands together obviously trying to change the subject. "There's still food to eat, wine to drink, and ladies to dance with. If my memory serves me right, you are supposed to dance with one of the most eligible women in all the realm. Maybe something will come of it this time around." Robert said in a somewhat suggestive tone. Eddard said nothing, his features becoming oddly impassive. Robert knew that expression well enough though. It was the look Ned got when he was embarrassed by something Robert had said. Robert laughed and slapped his foster brother hard on the back before heading off to take care of some family business.

He collected Stannis from where he was silently nursing a goblet of wine while trying not to stare at the maiden that had captured his attention, and let him know that it was time to ask for that dance. As the brothers walked towards the area where the Reacher Lords were seated, Robert unfortunately made eye contact with Lord Tyrell and was forced by common courtesy to interact with the man.

"Lord Tyrell." Robert said as politely as he cared to while giving him a slight nod. Robert had to admit that the man seated before him was not quite the fat oaf he remembered dealing with in the last few years of his previous life, but Mace Tyrell was never the sharpest man in the realm. The air of entitlement that hovered over the Lord of Highgarden made Robert want to snarl in disgust.

"Ah, Lord Baratheon! It is good to see yet another young and virile Lord Paramount such as myself. I daresay the old guard is getting a bit too stuffy. Perhaps more of them should step down and let the new generation take charge of the realm."

Robert just stared and blinked for a moment. Was he so stupid as to insinuate that the deaths of their fathers were simply them stepping aside to make room for the next generation. Did Lord Tyrell think he was giving Robert some sort of compliment, or was he just trying to cover for his already vast sense of inadequacy? Almost immediately, Robert heard the grinding of teeth and could practically feel the indignant anger radiating from his brother in response to the man's words. In an attempt to quickly extricate them from the encounter, Robert put on his biggest smile and let out a sharp barking laugh.

"Perhaps, but I doubt the likes of Jon Arryn, Tywin Lannister, and Rickard Stark will be riding off cliffs anytime soon. Now if you'll excuse us, we have business with a bannerman of yours. Good evening, Lord Tyrell." Without even waiting for a response, Robert grabbed Stannis by the shoulder and guided him to where the Florents were sitting. To say that Lord Alester Florent was surprised when approached by the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands would be an understatement, but the ambitious fox was quick to pick up on Stannis' not so subtle glances towards his niece. After some prodding, Stannis managed to actually ask the young lady for a dance. Robert took a moment to reassure her that Stannis was not nearly as stiff once he actually got on the floor. Once the two had gone and begun their dance, Robert turned to the Lord of Brightwater Keep.

"Well, let's not dance around the subject. It seems to me that my brother is smitten. Would you be amenable to him courting your niece while they are here at the tourney? If it works out, I am sure we can hammer out the rest of the details." Robert noticed that behind the placid mask of Lord Florent's face, plots and cunning moves were already being planned. Robert couldn't help but casually peek over to where Lord Tyrell was watching his conversation. Robert had to stifle a laugh at the confused and slack jawed stare that was being sent his way. Eventually Lord Florent responded.

"It would be House Florent's pleasure to entertain the brother of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. I hope this leads to our houses growing closer and more prosperous."

After the interaction with Lord Florent, the feast went along mostly as he remembered it the first time. Unlike previously, he got more than one dance from his betrothed. Last time, she had excused herself saying that she wasn't feeling well, but this time, much to Robert's delight, she was happy to take a few more turns on the dance floor. Robert saw that everyone else pretty much danced with the partners he remembered previously, however he was thoroughly confused when he saw Eddard approach Lady Catelyn for a dance. Robert at first was confused by this development, but his stomach dropped when he remembered that he had told Ned about meeting his son by the Tully woman. Trying to think of all of the consequences of the changes he had made since returning was beginning to make his head hurt, and since the feast was winding down, he decided to bid farewell to the Starks and head back to his tent. He was nearly halfway back when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Lord Robert Baratheon." Robert turned and saw the cocky smile of Jamie Lannister before him. It actually took him a moment to realize who it was as there was a sense of mental disconnect seeing that damn grin on the face of a youth of six and ten.

"Lord Jaime Lannister." Robert returned cautiously, noting that the Kingslayer had a sword on his hip, his hand resting in a manner that was casually threatening.

"It was a fine feast wasn't it." Jaime said in a nonchalant tone that set Robert's nerves on edge. He never begrudged Jaime for killing the Mad King like everyone else seemed to do. It had to be done. Not only that, but Robert could respect the man's skill as a warrior. No, any ill feeling towards Jaime Lannister came solely from the fact that he was yet another golden-haired ponce that had infested the Red Keep at his wife's insistence. Robert couldn't help but feel some of that residual resentment towards the barely grown man before him. Beyond that however, there was definitely something wrong with this encounter. He had never interacted with the heir to Casterly Rock before the rebellion, and saw no reason why Jaime would approach him now. Was this yet another consequence of his changes?

"It was, thank you. Good evening." Robert said curtly and turned away.

"Lady Lyanna is not meant to be yours. It is better that you give up on her now and find some lucky Stormlands girl who will put up with your drinking and whoring." Jaime's voice dripped with deadly playfulness. Robert stopped immediately, the words throwing up so many warning flags it took a moment or two for Robert to process them all. Surely, the gods were not so cruel to send him Jaime Lannister of all people. Robert turned and walked up to the Lannister knight and towered over him. Six and ten Jaime still had some growing to do before he would no longer have to crane his neck up to see eye to eye with the Demon of the Trident. Jaime's grip on his sword tightened, but he held his ground.

"So, Kingslayer, how are you planning on stopping me?" Robert's voice was full of menace and his hands were balled tightly into fists.

Robert watched as the heir to Casterly Rock went ridged at his future moniker, and the color drained from his face. Slowly his color returned and shifted into a red almost as bright as the dubblet he wore.

"No! nonononono! You cannot be the true king I was sworn to serve!" Jaime yelled, his knees almost buckling from the stress of the sudden realization.

"Well, it's not like the gods gave me a choice either." Robert couldn't help but find the whole situation morbidly funny. "They apparently have some sick sense of humor. They said they would send a knight who never broke their oaths, but here we stand."

"I stayed true to the oath I swore to them when I became a knight. I kept them all the way to the bitter end." Jaime said defiantly before deflating a little and mumbling. "Or so they told me."

He ran his hands through his hair and recomposed himself.

"I guess my penance begins a lot sooner than I thought." Jaime stood a little taller and prouder than before, as if determined to face the seven hells with dignity.

"Alright," Robert relaxed a bit and stepped back, "I'm assuming you thought that by threatening me into giving up on Lyanna you could prevent the rebellion and keep me from killing the prince at the trident? Did you think he was the true king you were supposed to serve?" Robert asked and Jaime nodded. "Were you going to cut me down if I didn't agree to your demands?"

"I'd do what I'd have to." Jaime replied with a cocky smirk. Robert guffawed in response.

"Well, you gave up that chance the moment your pride let me get within arms length of you. You might have still had the advantage when you were in your prime and I was a fat slob, but I think you might have overestimated your chances now." Robert watched Jaime's face carefully as he processed the information. The smirk turned ever so slightly into a grimace. If Jaime Lannister could be defined by anything, it would be his ability to fight. He was a natural, and it was obvious that he had just realized how right Robert was about the situation. If it had come to a fight, it would have taken precious seconds for Jaime to draw his steel. Enough time for Robert to have easily overpowered the young knight and violently end the encounter with his bare hands.

"So, my god-sent companion, what now?" Robert said after basking in the satisfaction of knowing that the Kingslayer had seen that he was right.

"Well, I had hoped that I could avoid the worst of my punishment. But since the gods apparently have a sense of humor, I will go do what I did last time. I take up the white cloak and relive the worst three years of my life all so that I can throw away my honor once again to stop a madman. This time however I'll take Stark's advice and trade the white for black." Jaime replied in a far more upbeat tone than one would expect when discussing such a grim topic. There was an awkward silence as Robert took in what had just been said.

"I'm sure your father will be happy with that particular plan." Jaime just looked away in response. "My steward insisted that we bring the good wine on this trip. I think any more discussion about this is best done with a bit more drink in our bellies." Jaime silently agreed and followed as Robert led the way.

Chapter Text

Robert and Jaime sat in awkward silence as the contents of several bottles of wine quickly disappeared. They were alone as Robert had dismissed his household knowing that whatever they spoke about should not be overheard. Eventually Robert's patience wore thin, and he spoke out.

"So, are you going to volunteer what you know or am I going to have to drag it out of you?" While he was not yet slurring his words, his volume hinted that he had started down the path of drunkenness. Jaime just gave him a sneer as if he was once again looking at the fat king. The now young knight drained the contents of his goblet in one go and steeled himself for what was to come.

"Well, things went to shit even faster after you died. After Stark found out… Well, once he found out…" Jaime was uncharacteristically apprehensive and was struggling to finish his sentence. Robert knew he wasn't going to like what was said next and narrowed his eyes at Jaime.

"What did Ned find out?" He said in a dangerous tone.

"He found out that the children weren't yours." Jaime, not one to cower in fear, spoke in as strong a voice as he could manage. There were a few beats of silence as Robert processed what had just been said before he stood and threw his goblet across the room. His furry was on full display and it was a terrible site to behold

"I knew it!" He roared. "All of the bastards I fathered looked like Baratheons, and that little shit Jeoffrey looked nothing like me!" Robert reached down and picked Jaime up by his collar lifting him up almost a whole foot off the ground. "Where is that bitch, I'll kill her! I'll snap her neck with my bare hands!"

Jaime offered no resistance to being manhandled, he just stared at Robert with that cocky smirk. It took a moment for Robert in his drunken and enraged state to notice that behind the smirk was a broken and defeated man. Robert couldn't help but derive a sick sense of pleasure from the site. That is until he heard what Jaime said next.

"I beat you to it." Jaime said coldly. Robert let him go and the young knight stumbled and fell to the ground.

"What?" Was all Robert could manage.

"My last act before submitting myself to Daenerys' dragons was to strangle my sister to death. I thought it was the least I could do to try and make up for all the evil we brought into the world."

"I think…" Robert started but paused. He took deep breaths, he paced, he even kicked his chair aside, doing everything he could to lessen his anger before he did something that he would truly regret. Eventually he calmed enough to continue speaking. "I think there's a lot in the middle you've left out." After grabbing his chair and taking a seat again, he leaned forward and motioned for Jaime to continue.

And so, Jaime started to recount his tale. Robert did his best to keep his anger in check through it all, often asking Jaime to give him a moment to compose himself, this was especially true when he heard about how Ned was executed. Robert let out a laugh at Jaime's expense when he heard about his capture at the hands of Robb Stark at the Whispering Woods, but that joy was quickly extinguished when Jaime recounted how the boy had been betrayed. Robert knew he had been a terrible king, but it was something else to be told just how much of a mess he had left the realm in.

What Robert was not expecting was to hear about Jaime's escapades with Brienne of Tarth. Funnily enough, in the past few months he had actually met the girl, barely past her first name day. Old Selwyn had said that he had brought her and older brother to Storm's End to pay their respects, but Robert figured it was something to do with wanting to be away from his home where he had so recently buried his daughters and wife. To hear that the toddler that he met recently would grow to be his height and a fearsome warrior in her own right was surprising to say the least. Robert asked what had happened to Galladon, and Jaime explained that he had drowned when Brienne was young. Robert felt for the Lord of Tarth, he was a good man who didn't deserve all the pain he was going through but wasn't exactly sure how to help prevent that from coming to pass. Maybe he could offer to foster the boy. Eventually, he returned from his musing and bade Jaime to continue.

Jaime then told Robert of how he had lost his sword hand, even showing him the thin white scar just that the Stranger left as a reminder. Robert couldn't help but feel a little bad for Jaime in this regard. He remembered hearing tales of how different Orys Baratheon was after losing his sword hand to the Dornish. Robert could only imagine what that would do to Jaime who had built his whole life on his skills with a blade. Though perhaps, from what he was hearing, the loss of his hand and the time with Brienne seemed to be exactly what Jaime needed. Jaime seemed to purposefully skim over his return to King's Landing and things seemed to take a turn for the worse when he began speaking of his renewed campaigns in the Riverlands and his second meeting with Brienne. Jaime was actually beginning to choke up and was having difficulty continuing. Robert gave Jaime a moment to compose himself before asking him to continue.

Jaime explained that Brienne had come to him, telling him a tale that she had discovered that Sandor Clegane was holding Sansa captive, and that if they were to save her, they would have to go alone. Jaime had been so eager to fulfill his vow to Lady Stark that he left his army without a second thought. That only led him to an encounter with the monster that now walked in Lady Stark's body. A hideous rotting corpse animated by hatred for the Lannisters met them along with the remaining members of the Brotherhood without Banners. Brienne declared that she had done what she had promised and had brought them Jaime; she demanded that they return her squire. At a nod from the monster, the head of Podrick was thrown to them. Jaime described the harrowing fight that ensued after Brienne drew Oathkeeper while screaming in anguish. What should have been a short one sided slaughter turned into a full-on brawl when nearly half the Brotherhood turned on their leader and joined the two of them in the fight. Brienne and Jaime managed to escape, but Brienne had been mortally wounded while fighting her way to decapitate the creature known as Lady Stoneheart. Jamie was fighting back tears as he spoke of Brienne's dying moments where she begged him to be the good man she knew he could be; to be the knight she was never allowed to be.

Silence reigned as Jaime tried to compose himself after sharing this part of his story. Once again, Robert felt the resolve to change the fates of all those involved. Brienne deserved better, Catelyn deserved better, practically everyone involved deserved better.

Jaime continued by telling of when he learned of the madness that was happening in the Stormlands and Crownlands. Some pretender claiming to be Aegon son of Rhaegar, true king of Westeros, had landed with the Golden Company and was taking castle after castle. Even Storm's End fell to them. Stannis was stuck in the North and King's Landing was soon to be besieged. Jaime rallied his army and abandoned his campaign in the Riverlands to try and reach the city in time. Things became even more chaotic when word came from Meereen that Daenerys Targaryen had returned and ended the rebellion in the city with the help of her dragons and the Dothraki. Apparently, word had reached her about Aegon, and she soon set sail with her unsullied and a few thousand willing Dothraki to meet him. Jaime wasn't exactly sure about the details as so many people told different versions of the story, but apparently Aegon tried to approach Rhaegal the dragon named after his father thinking that he was meant to be its rider, but the dragon rejected him and burned him to ashes. Daenerys was quick to incorporate the now leaderless armies into her own.

Jaime arrived in King's Landing just days before Daenerys' armies arrived to lay siege. When he saw what his sister had done to solidify her control over the city, he was physically sick. The newest member of the Kingsguard, the monstrous Robert Strong, had won her freedom in a trial by combat and would slaughter any who stood against her. She quickly established herself as the sole regent for King Tommen, who by this point was a corpse rotting in his chambers after being poisoned like his brother before him. Jaime knew that he had to do something and sought to parley in secret with the Dragon Queen. In the end, Jaime promised to bring his sister to justice and submit himself to her judgment if she would just spare the city and his men.

"And that brings us to the end. I entered her chambers and pleaded with her to go with me and end the madness, but of course she refused so I killed her. I strangled the life out of her while she kept repeating valonqar. I snuck out with her body through the secret tunnels to avoid that beast she kept as a pet, and presented her body to the queen who thanked me for keeping my end of the deal. I didn't have to wait long to be brought before her dragons. It didn't even hurt. Now I'm here, doomed to serve you again and relive the nightmare that is King Aerys' court." Jaime's voice betrayed his emotional exhaustion from the retelling of the story.

Robert studied Jamie in silence for a while, just trying his best to take in everything that had been relayed to him. It would have been a lot to handle if he was fully sober, let alone in his currently inebriated state. But there was one thing his alcohol-addled mind would not let go. Jaime used the words 'the evil we brought into the world'. Robert was thinking back to all the times he thought he had fathered his children, and only one question remained.

"Jaime… Who was the father?"

Jaime's silence and refusal to meet his piercing gaze was the only answer Robert needed. He wasn't exactly sure what happened next as it seemed he fell into a blind rage. When he finally found himself fully in control again, he was standing over a groaning and bloodied Jaime, the knight's blood dripping from Robert's fists. Robert tried to reign in his anger knowing that it would be unwise to murder Tywin's son in cold blood, but it was still burning hot.

"Have you seen your sister since your return?" Robert's voice was full of malice. Jaime just groaned in pain. Robert spoke again.

"Stand up, and speak, your king demands it." The word king tasted sour on his tongue, but he knew it would add insult to the injury the knight had received. Jaime managed to roll over onto his hands and knees, and spit blood onto the floor. Robert continued his verbal assault

"I can't believe the gods would send me someone as disgusting and pathetic as you. They truly do have a sick sense of humor" Eventually Jaime managed to stand on unsure legs and look up at Robert with that oh so familiar expression of hate he had seen on the man's face whenever he would speak poorly of Cersei while Jaime was standing guard. Somehow, Jaime managed to hide his anger behind his famously prideful smirk.

"I…" he winced in pain as he started talking. "I suppose you deserve some retribution, but I will not stand by and let you do that again." Robert snorted derisively at Jaime's attempt to maintain his pride.

"I have not seen my sister since the gods sent me back, nor do I wish to." Jaime paused to wipe at the blood that was still pouring from his nose. "Though something strange happened the day I received the king's summons. I received a second letter from my sister demanding that I stay at Casterly Rock until she arrived."

"How is that strange? Your sister was always demanding things." Robert rumbled as memories of her incessant nagging played in his mind.

"It didn't happen last time, something changed. Though, I had no desire to find out what it was. I burnt the letter and left as soon as I could." Jaime said bitterly.

Robert sat back down and tried to take stock of what Jaime had said. Even angry and deep in his cups he realized that a man who strangled his sister to death probably felt no real love for her, but lust was a difficult sin to overcome. He imagined that Cersei was the one who initiated their relationship, but the man before him still fucked his twin sister willingly. But then again, he had paid quite a price for his sin as well. Robert's head hurt and he was tired. It had been an incredibly long day. He sighed and looked Jaime in the eyes.

"I don't think anything else I can do to you will be worse than what you have gone through or what you will go through. Beyond that, whether I like it or not, you are the one the gods chose to send back. Things are getting complicated, and it doesn't look like things are going to go the same way they did before. Swear to me that you will do your damn job this time and protect the Princess and her children when the time comes. They didn't deserve such a fate." Robert said solemnly.

"I swear it." Jaime replied with a steely determination in his voice.

"Now get out of my sight." Robert's voice was barely above a whisper at this point.

Jaime said nothing in return, just nodded and made his way out of Robert's tent and into the dark night. After sitting in silence for a while his steward entered stating that he had seen Robert's guest leave and had thought it best to call the rest of the household back. Robert was sure the man was not so unobservant as to miss the ruined furniture and blood on the floor but appreciated that he was loyal and wise enough not to say anything about it. Robert eventually made his way to his bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Robert awoke the next morning to the voice of Walder calling out to him, and something jabbing into his side. He rolled over and as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he saw his squire with that damned waster in his hands.

"I'm awake damn it." Robert grumbled

"Good morning, My Lord." Walder greeted in a very cheerful tone. Far too cheerful for how Robert currently felt. "The opening ceremonies will be held in just over an hour and you are expected to be in attendance. The king sent a messenger that you are to join him in the royal box."

Robert groaned. He was not ready to deal with the king, but he once again had no choice. He rolled out of his cot and began putting himself together as fast as he could manage. Fortunately, the steward and the rest of the household had gotten things ready while he still slept. As he hastily broke his fast, he noticed Walder was almost bouncing with excitement.

"What's gotten into you boy?" Robert asked grumpily, still suffering from a headache.

"The squire's melee will be the first event after the king's big announcement, my lord. I want to test myself against all the other boys training to be knights." Walder was practically beaming as he spoke. Even in his current state, Robert couldn't help but smile. Then Robert finally remembered that he had commissioned a brand-new mail hauberk and helm for his squire.

"Right, I almost forgot. I Can't have you representing me in old hand me down training equipment." Robert waved over the Steward and had him bring out Walder's new equipment. "You're still growing so I had this made to be adjusted. Once you've stopped growing, we'll see about getting you some proper plate." To say that Walder was stunned by the gesture would have been an understatement. The boy was wide eyed and hesitated when first reaching out to take the gift. His hands were nearly trembling with excitement as he picked up the barbute style helm to inspect it. It was a simple thing as far as helmets went, but it along with the accompanying mail were probably the most expensive things he could have ever called his own.

"Normally you thank people who have given you a gift." Robert said jovially

"Oh! Thank you, my lord." Walder said, slightly embarrassed. "This is more than I ever expected."

"It's fine, go talk to the armorer and make sure it fits properly. You need to be in top shape if you are going to whip all the rest of the boys out there." Robert replied with a chuckle

"By your leave, my lord." Walder bowed and rushed out of the tent. Once the infectious excitement that Walder had been exuding was gone, Robert once again returned to his brooding. Thoughts of the previous night and of what he was going to have to deal with today went through his mind.

"Where's Stannis?" He asked the steward.

"He's already gone to call on the young Lady Florent, my Lord." The steward replied

"At Least one of us is going to enjoy our day then." Robert's chuckle was humorless. He wouldn't dare bring Lyanna to the royal booth. "Well, I guess I had better get to the ceremony." He said to no one in particular. Pretty much everyone else in his party had already left except Walder, and the boy was quick to join Robert as soon as he left the tent.

Robert had to admit that his squire cut quite an imposing figure for someone who had just seen his eleventh name day. Walder had been provided tabard in Baratheon colors to wear over his new mail. The boy seemed to stand taller and prouder as he carried his new helmet in the crook of his arm. Robert couldn't help but smile as he patted Walder on the shoulder before heading towards his unfortunate date with the king.

Every step Robert took towards the tourney grounds felt heavier and heavier. He wanted nothing more than to stop, find Lyanna, and take her up on her offer from the previous night. No matter how much he wanted it though, he had to press forward, there was nothing for it. Soon enough, he found himself approaching the royal box, seeing Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Jonathor Darry standing guard at the entrance. Robert took a moment to address Walder.

"Alright lad, go find the Master of Games and make sure you are all set for the melee." Walder nodded and hurried off. There was no need to subject the boy to the king's presence. With that taken care of he approached the entrance to the stands and found himself waved in by Ser Darry without a word. Robert approached the king cautiously and noticed that a seat had been left open between King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar. Robert didn't like where this was going, and he was most definitely not looking forward to being stuck between the two people he had absolutely no desire to be around at this moment. Ser Gerrold was the first to notice his approach and informed the king of his presence.

"Ah, Finally, you're here. You kept me waiting long enough." The king's tone was strangely both jovial and threatening. Something only someone afflicted with mercurial madness could truly manage.

"Apologies, your grace." Robert said in as neutral a tone he could. He knew he had to play a careful game around the king. Robert turned to the prince. "Good day Prince Rhaegar, Princes Elia."

Prince Rhaegar studied him with an unreadable expression before nodding in response and turning his attention elsewhere. The tension between the Prince and the King was thick, and Robert was once again stepping into the midst of it. Fortunately, it seemed as if the prince was determined to simply ignore everything to do with his father at the moment.

"Enough," The king said impatiently, "Come, take the seat next to mine, you deserve it." He spoke overly loud, obviously trying to make it clear to all around that Robert was favored over the prince. Robert saw that Rhaegar's posture stiffened in response to the king's provocation, but it seemed as if the prince was determined to not let the king win.

"You honor me, your grace." Robert replied as he took the seat. He was doing his best to channel his brother's stony visage at the moment.

"Now we can finally get the festivities started. It's time to announce the newest member of my kingsguard." Aerys almost snarled when he saw that Rhaegar had not reacted how he wanted.

"Whent!" the king roared out for the lord of Harrenhal.

"Yes, your grace?" Lord Whent quailed in response.

"Get the fucking festivities started." The king ordered, obviously taking pleasure in the hosting lord's discomfort.

"Of course, your grace." Lord Whent quickly responded rushing off to set everything in motion. After watching the man go for a bit, King Aerys turned to Robert with a wild grin.

"I've finally gotten my victory over the old lion; can you believe that stupid bitch of his is the one who offer up her brother to the Kingsguard? With you by my side and Tywin defanged, the throne has never been more secure. It seems like the gods are truly smiling on me and my house these days." He began to cackle. Robert allowed himself to grin as he imagined that the only god smiling at Aerys would be the Stranger.

"Now all that's left is to strengthen our grip on the rest of the kingdoms. Hah! I'll show Tywin how to rule the seven.."

"I'm sure your rule will be remembered for generations." Robert said, hoping to placate the madman. He wasn't lying of course; Aerys would be remembered as the Mad King for years to come. It didn't seem to be the right thing to say however as the king's smile quickly turned into a frown.

"I didn't bring you here to turn you into another boot licker Robert. I hear enough of that shit from the rest of my council. I'll allow you more time to sort your house out, but soon I will call you to King's Landing and you'll help me keep the realm in line. If you take too long, I might have to do something about it." The king's voice was harsh, and his eyes narrowed in malice.

"Of course, your Grace." Robert replied, trying to mimic Stannis' stoic visage. Beneath it, he felt the anger boiling up again. He balled his fists tightly thinking only of controlling his urge to commit regicide. Slowly the king's scowl turned back into a gleeful smile as the heralds pronounced the opening of the tourney with the elevation of Ser Jamie Lannister to the ranks of the Kingsguard. Jaime strode out onto the tourney grounds resplendent in his golden armor; red cloak billowing in the wind. Robert noticed however that Jamie was also wearing his helm thus covering his face, something very out of character for the vain young man. It wasn't until Jamie was presented to the king and was forced by custom to remove it that he understood. Robert heard some ladies gasp in shock as Jaime revealed the damage Robert had inflicted upon him the previous night. Deep purple bruises and an obviously broken nose were quite apparent. Robert couldn't help but take some small satisfaction that Jaime's handsome face would forever bear the consequences of his dalliance.

"What in the name of the gods happened to your face." The king asked, His face a strange mix of anger, confusion, and glee at the state of the son of Tywin.

"It was a sparing accident, your grace. I met Lord Baratheon after the feast and wanted to see if his skills were truly all that the rumors said they were." Jaime said while shooting Robert a cocky grin.

To say that Robert wanted to get up and strangle the man was to put it lightly, but he put on a smile as the eyes of the king and the other assorted nobility turned to him.

"Yes, sometimes I forget my own strength when in my cups. Accidents are bound to happen." Robert said in what he hoped was a congenial tone. It was the only excuse he could come up with on such short notice. Everyone seemed to sense the tension in the air as Robert and Jaime stared at each other. The moment was broken, however, by the rasping laughter of the King that soon turned into a full-on mad cackle. Others eventually joined the king with nervous laughs of their own. And soon all of the stands were filled with laughter over Jaime's apparent accident. When the laughter finally died down the King spoke.

"It's good to see Tywin's golden lion humbled. Lord Hightower, replace that gaudy cloak of his with a white one already." Aerys couldn't keep the glee off of his face. By the look on the king's face, Robert guessed that the madman had somehow concluded that he had purposefully sought out and beat the young knight on purpose. Robert couldn't help but curse Jaime for pushing him further into the king's good graces.

As soon as Jaime had sworn his vows a second time and redonned his white cloak the king spoke again with a gleeful tone.

"Now, get back to King's Landing and watch over my wife and son. We don't want to have your ugly face spoiling the festivities here."

"As you command your grace." Was all Jaime said, the damn cocky grin never leaving his face. His response was obviously not what Aerys had been expecting and the king's manic smile turned into an angry snarl.

"Get out of my site!" The king roared before settling into his chair in a far fowler mood than he was just moments previous. Jaime bowed low to the king and gave Robert a knowing nod of the head as he strode away from the tourney grounds to make his way to the Red Keep. Robert heard the king mumbling something about how the boy should have been more upset.

Lord Whent took the dismissal of Jaime and the King's silence as a signal to move the events along and nodded to the Master of Games. The man took to his stand and addressed the crowd.

"Your Grace, My Prince and Princes, My Lords, and Ladies. Lord Whent is pleased to begin this grand tourney by inviting the next generation of warriors to show their mettle and skill in the Squire's Melee!" The Master of Games allowed the crowd to clap politely. While the squire's melee was never the most popular of events, it was common to place it near the beginning of the tourney so that the young men competing would not be overshadowed by the much more popular Grand Melee and Jousts. "All who wish to complete, please make your way to the staging ground! As the future knights of the realm prepare for honorable battle, Lord Whent has graciously provided for a mummer's troop to re-enact the Battle of Redgrass field!" Another round of polite applause followed the announcement and soon the troop of mummers entered the field and began their play. Robert noticed that with the completion of the announcement the king's mood shifted again, eventually the king leaned over and spoke.

"You have a new squire I'm told. A savage giant from the north able to rip the other boys limb from limb they say." His voice was one of bored curiosity.

"The stories obviously exaggerate your grace, but he is a strong lad that shows plenty of promise and is a diligent squire." Robert did not even try to keep the pride out of his voice, but at the same time he worried about how much the king was taking an interest in his life.

"Hmm," King Aerys mused before a sinister smile crept on his face, "I hear the Lannisters brought their own rabid mutt to show off. I suppose this squire's melee might actually be worth paying attention to."

Chapter Text

Upon spotting several golden-haired figures exiting the Lion's Mouth in order to greet her and her father, Cersei finally lost her patience and awkwardly spurred her horse into a gallop. She ignored the shouts of those she had been traveling with as she sped towards her Jaime. She was sore, sweaty, and tired from the ride, but it would all be worth it once she was safe in her twin's embrace. Her father had kept insisting that she stay behind and wait for the wheelhouse that carried the other women returning to The Rock from the capitol, but she was adamant that she had to see Jaime before he had to leave for Harrenhal. The fact they had been able to make the journey in less than a moon was a testament to her single-minded need to press on.

As she drew closer to her home and the welcoming party, she immediately noticed something was wrong. She saw her uncles Kevan and Tyget, her aunt Genna, and even the little monster, but her Jaime was nowhere to be found. She slid off her horse without waiting for assistance, nearly twisting her ankle in the process, then advanced on her uncle.

"Where's Jaime!" Cersei demanded before any of her family even had the chance to greet her.

"He left for the tourney more than a fortnight ago." Kevan responded in a confused tone obviously unbalanced by Cersei's breach of protocol. Genna stepped in and tried to calm Cersei.

"Come now darling, you've come a long…"

"You're lying!" Cersei screamed, interrupting her aunt. "I told Jaime that he was to wait for me. He would never have left without seeing me! Why are you keeping him from me?"

"Cersei." Her aunt replied in a much sterner tone. Whatever Aunt Genna was going to say afterwards was cut off when Tywin finally arrived. Cersei felt his iron grip on her arm as she was forced to face him. Her father on the outside was calm and collected, but in his eyes Cersei saw the white-hot anger that had yet to subside since the king took her Jaime away. When he spoke, it was in a slow, steady, and commanding tone that brooked no disobedience.

"This foolishness of yours will end now. You disgrace yourself and the name Lannister by acting like some petulant child. You will be confined to your chambers until the madness afflicting you has passed." He turned to a servant girl and ordered her to take Cersei away.

With his words, all of the frantic energy that had been driving her forward for the past moon evaporated, and she nearly collapsed. She barely remembered being guided through the Rock to her rooms. It was as if she was in a fog as she was bathed, dressed, and placed in bed. As she laid there, tears streaming down her cheeks, she fought a losing battle against her exhaustion, not wanting to return the torment that awaited her in the realm of dreams.

Ever since it was announced that the king would be appointing Jaime to the Kingsguard, she began having incredibly vivid dreams. But even her unconscious mind knew that these were not simple dreams but memories. Not only that, they were not her memories, but Jaime's. It was strange to say the least, seeing the world from his perspective. Frustratingly, the scenes she saw were short and fragmented leaving her without a complete picture.

That first night, she watched men be burned alive and heard the screams of the queen through the eyes and ears of her twin, feeling his horror and frustration. She watched as her brother's sword spilled the mad king's blood to save the city from wildfire, only for him to be branded as an oath breaker and Kingslayer by that northern savage. Hate began to grow in her heart towards the man; by what right does the wolf judge the lion? As the dreamlike memories began to fade, she found herself staring at an older version of herself. She had gained weight, stress lines adorned her face, dark bags were found beneath her faded emerald eyes, and her beautiful golden hair had been cut short. She watched as Jaime reached out and lovingly caressed her face, obviously to comfort her older self. Young Cersei shuddered when she realized that his sword hand had been replaced with a golden prosthetic. But despite this, her heart soared to know that no matter what the world would throw at them, they would always have each other. She then froze in horror as Jaime's hand slid down, wrapped around her older self's throat, and began to squeeze. She watched as the light of life faded from older self's eyes all while she croaked out one single word: valonqar.

Cersei had awoken with a terrified shriek. That memory had to be false, there was no way her life could have ended so. As soon as she could, she went to the Archmaester and demanded that Pycelle send a message to her brother at Casterly Rock with the fastest most reliable raven he had. She had to see her brother. She had to know that these memories were just bad nightmares. They were one soul in two bodies, he could never harm her like that. Though she knew it to be impossible, the deepest part of her soul told her that the dreams spoke the truth. She wouldn't accept it. She couldn't accept it.

Each night after that she saw more and more of Jaime's life in her dreams. She had sat with him as he endured insults as a prisoner of the Stark pup, screamed in pain as his hand was taken, wept as he stood vigil over their slain child, and recoiled and raged at the growing affection he felt for that hideous ogre of a woman. Worse still, every dream ended the same as the first: with Jaime's hands wrapped around her neck. Now that she lay once again in her childhood bed where she and her brother had truly become one, she ached for his presence like nothing before, to hear him say they were all lies. Sleep finally took her, and she prayed that this dream would be the last.

Walder took a few swings of the tourney sword and tested the weight of the shield the organizers had provided him with. He did his best to hide just how nervous he was while looking around at the boys who all sought to earn honor and glory by becoming champion of the melee. He tried to recognize some of the sigils, but even with all the effort he had put in he had only been able to memorize the Houses of the Stormlands and a handful of major houses outside of the North. He couldn't help but notice that there were no Northern squires participating in the melee, making him feel a little alone as all the other boys mingled and boasted of their skills. So, he stood out of the way minding his own preparations until he heard a voice call out.

"Hey! Stableboy! Think yourself too good to socialize with your fellow squires?" it said in a mocking tone

Walder instantly recognized the voice, and turned to level a scowl at Casper Wylde, Heir to the Rain House. Even though Casper was three years older, Walder was already able to meet his glare eye to eye.

"I'm surprised to see you so eager to interact with a filthy peasant, oh Lord of the Soggy House." He retorted in an equally derisive tone. The two boys stared each other down until they both broke out in laughter and embraced like the close friends they actually were.

Walder first encountered Casper when the Lord he was attending traveled to Storm's End to seek an audience with Lord Baratheon. As with most highborn boys, Casper was openly hostile towards Walder, thinking him unworthy of the honor of being their liege lord's squire. Things came to a head when Casper demanded a duel with Walder to 'show him his place.' After Lord Baratheon consented with a laugh and five straight losses, Casper grew frustrated and struck Walder from behind. As punishment, Casper was forced to act as a stable boy for the remainder of his stay at Storm's End. At first Walder couldn't help but feel a little smug and would enjoy watching Casper struggle in the stables. Though he eventually grew frustrated with just how poorly the young noble was performing his assigned task. Eventually, Walder stepped in and taught Casper how to do the job properly and efficiently without slipping in horse droppings every five minutes. Casper appreciated the help and humbly declared Walder to be noble in his conduct if not his birth. Once they actually began interacting on friendly terms, they began to bond over their mutual interests of fighting and storytelling. Casper was even eager to hear some of the tales of the North that Old Nan had taught Walder. By the time Casper left Storm's End, they had become fast friends. Trading lighthearted taunts and insults became a fun pastime and a way for them to jape about their first encounter.

"I'm glad to see you, Walder. Come on, the rest of us are just over here." Casper led him to where the other squires that hailed from the Stormlands gathered. A few boys greeted him warmly, others simply nodded, some ignored him all together, and yet others scowled. No matter how much effort he put in, there were always those who would look down on him. He accepted it and didn't let it bother him.

After catching up with the others for a little while, their talk shifted to the competition. One boy in particular was the main focus of all the gossip.

"See, he's over there just to the side of all the other boys from the Westerlands." Casper pointed out. Walder looked to where his friend had gestured and saw a tall boy standing off to the side of the gaggle of squires wearing a variety of Westerlands sigils. Even his own countrymen seemed hesitant to interact with him. Walder figured that the ghastly burn scars across his face had something to do with it.

"Sandor Clegane. The Mountain's little brother. He's supposedly younger than you" Casper said incredulously before continuing. "I hear that he swore himself to the Lannisters so that his brother wouldn't kill him in his sleep like the rest of his family."

"Who does he squire for?" Walder asked, unable to stop staring.

"That's the thing, he won't squire for anyone. Rumor has it he wants nothing to do with knighthood. He's just a sworn sword for the Lions." Casper said in a derisive tone. Walder grimaced at the thought while continuing to stare. Eventually, Sandor looked over and they made eye contact. Walder knew that Clegane was sizing him up and trying to intimidate him, but Walder would not be cowed, he had seen worse in Winterfell. The contest of wills dragged on for what felt like an eternity as neither boy wanted to be the first to back down, but another familiar voice caused Walder to look away.

"Walder! Look at you, all done up like a proper knight. Have you grown taller since you left Winterfell?" Lady Lyanna approached with her brother Benjen in tow.

"Good day, Lady Lyanna, Lord Benjen." He turned away from Sandor and gave them a proper bow.

"Oh, proper manners and everything." Lyanna teased.

"Walder, perhaps you would like to introduce the beautiful maiden who has graced us with her presence?" Casper interrupted with a charming smile.

"Sorry, Lady Lyanna, Lord Benjen, might I introduce Lord Casper Wylde, heir to the Rain House. Lord Casper, I have the pleasure of introducing Lady Lyanna Stark, Lord Baratheon's betrothed, and her brother Lord Benjen Stark." Walder had to suppress a laugh as he watched the hopeful smile on Casper's face falter, but the boy rallied quickly.

"It is an honor to finally meet the future lady of Storm's End. Already the bards sing of the Northern flower that captured the heart of our Lord Baratheon. And it is an honor to meet you as well, Lord Stark." The introduction had piqued the interest of the rest of the Stormlands squires and soon they all wished to introduce themselves to the future Lady Baratheon. Walder knew Lyanna well enough to see she was quickly tiring of the interactions, and was impressed by how gracefully she was bearing it. Once all the introductions had been made, Lyanna grabbed his arm and began pulling him away from the group.

"It was just lovely meeting all of you." she chirped in a perfect imitation of a little southern bird. "If you will excuse us, I have some business with my betrothed's squire. Perhaps you can entertain my brother for a few moments?" As soon as they were out of earshot she let out a heavy sigh and her smile turned into a grimace. "By the gods that was exhausting, it was worse than being paraded in front of all of father's bannermen during the damned Harvest Feast. At least they didn't see the need to flatter me with every other word. Is it going to be like that all the time in Storm's End?"

"It's just how things are in the south, my lady." Walder shrugged.

"Please, none of that between us. I've known you since you were still clinging to your mother's dress. Though you barely resemble the boy I once knew. I hope you haven't forgotten your roots." She said, giving Walder an appraising look.

"I haven't forgot where I come from." He replied no longer bothering to suppress his northern accent.

"Good, I look forward to having another Northerner with me in the south." She replied with a bright smile. "Speaking of which, there is something that requires a true son of Winterfell." She took a moment to look around and her smile turned into a grimace when she found what she was looking for.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the attack on Lord Reed would it." Walder asked, curious about what Lyanna was to ask of him. She responded by pointing out a group of squires from the Riverlands and Crownlands who were mingling together.

"Good, you already know about that. Those are the boys that thought they could get away with assaulting a Northern Lord." Lyanna pointed to boys wearing the livery of Houses Frey, Haigh, and Blount. "It would only be appropriate for a Northern squire to make sure they were humiliated rather publicly. Do you think you can handle that?" The grin she wore was rather wolfish, and Walder couldn't help but feel like he was watching a predator stalk her prey.

"I'll see it done, my lady." He declared with an exaggerated flourish. Lyanna let out a decidedly un-ladylike snort at his antics.

"Good, I have something planned for the men they serve. It should be quite amusing." She said in a sing-song voice. "Now, I believe it is customary to receive a favor from a lady before going into battle?"

She pulled out a gray piece of cloth embroidered with white wolves. And moved to tie it to his arm. He tried to step back and refuse, but she just laughed.

"If you are wanting to refuse on behalf of Robert, don't worry, I made one for him too when it's his turn to show off how strong he is."

Walder accepted the favor and moments later he heard the call for all the squires to report to the staging grounds.

"Go on then, and good luck." Lyanna smiled at him brightly before turning to collect her brother and return to the stands.

As he rejoined the rest of the Stormland squires, he noticed a few of them staring at Lyanna's gift with looks of outright jealousy. He couldn't help but smirk at those who still looked down on him for his low birth. It was Casper that actually spoke up about it.

"How does a stableboy end up with a favor from the future lady of Storm's End?" Walder knew Casper didn't mean anything by it, so he played along.

"What can I say, she likes horses."

They both laughed as they entered the tourney grounds.

Yet again Robert's thoughts turned to the Starks. He wished he could be sitting with them, but no, he was stuck between the two people he most loathed in this world. He tried to casually peer down the stands to see if he could catch a glimpse of Lyanna, but the king had leaned forward taking interest as the mummers acted out the charge of Baelor Breakspear, thus blocking his view. A pretty little serving girl came to offer him wine and an enticing smile as the play began to wind down, but Robert knew he had to be fully on guard in the precarious position he found himself in. He waved the girl off and applauded with the rest of the crowd as the troop finally finished the reenactment.

Robert was actually starting to get excited as the squires marched out and presented themselves to the royals in attendance. He cracked his first smile since entering the royal box when he saw his squire standing proud amongst the other stormlanders. To say Robert was proud of his young squire would be an understatement, and he was more than excited to see how well he stacked up against all the other squires on the field. Robert also noticed that Walder was wearing a gray ribbon around his arm. He couldn't help but let out a boisterous laugh.

"Look at that! He's already won the favor of a lady." It took a few moments of relative silence before Robert remembered his company. The King seemed to be ignoring him for the moment while muttering under his breath, while the prince looked as if he wished to respond but took a moment to glance at the king before looking away and returning to his silence. Robert just slumped back in his chair hating that he couldn't even enjoy this moment. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long before the herald announced the start of the melee.

Robert watched on impressed as Walder formed up with Casper Wylde and a boy bearing the colors of House Selmy. Robert wasn't sure, but he assumed that it was Arstan, grandson of the current Lord of Harvest Hall. Robert approved as the three boys watched each other's backs while moving with purpose towards a group of rivermen.

The event was by no means a grand display of martial prowess. The consummate warrior inside Robert groaned at the poor form and many novice mistakes displayed by the future knights. Not even Walder was beyond critique, but Robert did note that the boy seemed to have a determination and energy that more than made up for his rough edges. Walder and his allies managed to force several young squires to yield who had gotten between them and their intended target, a group of five combatants centered around a Frey.

Of course, Robert couldn't exactly hear what was being said over the din of the melee, but it was clear that Walder was calling out the group. Much to his surprise, Walder proceeded to take on three of them at once while Casper and Arstan engaged the remaining members of the group. Robert wanted to shout at his squire for being so reckless but was pleasantly surprised to see that the boy at least had a plan with how to deal with the unfavorable odds. Walder simply used his superior strength and aggressiveness to stave off and intimidate the other opponents while he focused on battering down one target at a time. Robert mused that it would have never worked if those boys weren't so green. Nonetheless, all five of the opponents were eventually dispatched by Walder and his allies, drawing a loud cheer from where many of the Northern houses were seated. Robert joined in the cheers as well, his neighbors be damned.

Walder's triumph of course led to other groups of squires wanting to test their skill against the boy who defeated three opponents at once. After about twenty minutes of continuous fighting, Casper had been forced to yield, leaving Walder and Arstan fighting back-to-back. Robert, nodded approvingly as House Selmy showed the famed martial prowess of the Marcher Lords.

Finally, the field had been whittled down to Walder, Arstan, and a group of four westermen. Robert couldn't help but feel a little apprehension as he noticed that none other than Sandor Clegane was among them. The boy who would become the Hound practically pushed two of his companions towards Arstan. The future Lord Selmy managed to force them to yield quickly since they were left off balance, but this in turn left him open to a few brutal strikes from Sandor forcing him to the ground and out of the fight.

Walder was just able to finish off his opponent in time to face Sandor's aggressive charge. The fight was vicious as both Walder and Sandor refused to give an inch. The crowd roared in approval as they were finally given a proper fight. Robert watched on eagerly as boys used every trick they knew to gain the upper hand. He even recognized a couple moves that Walder had picked up from Ser Rogers. It was impressive to think they were both at least five years away from being considered grown adults.

After about five minutes however of the back and forth, Sandor finally grew impatient and put all his strength into a powerful downward strike. Walder managed to get his battered shield up to block the blow, but it was no longer up to the task of stopping the strike and splintered under the weight of Sandor's swing. Walder's ears rang as the blunted tip of the tourney sword connected with his helmet, and it took him a few moments to realize that Sandor's sword was embedded too deep in the wood of his shield for him to pull it out and finish the fight. Walder twisted the shield and pulled back with all his might to wrench the blade from Clegane's grasp while bringing his own blade down to rest on his foe's neck, roaring for him to yield.

The crowd's cheers for a battle well fought turned to gasps and cries of foul play as Sandor simply lunged in and tackled Walder to the ground while pulling a dagger. Surprised by the move, Walder had lost his own blade and the two began wrestling for control of the dagger. A dagger that looked far too deadly to have been approved for use in the melee.

Robert stood up and was about to yell for the organizers to put a stop to the fight when he heard the King's cackling laughter.

"Let them fight!" the king yelled over the various boos and jeers of the assembled nobility. "I want to see which of them truly has the will to win!" The king turned to Robert who was still standing and watching as Walder just barely managed to avoid having the dagger slipped up under his armpit.

"Sit down Robert." The King's voice held an edge of mockery. "Have you no faith in your pet barbarian?"

"The blade looks quite real from here, of course I worry for my squire's safety." Robert shot back probably with much more anger than he should have.

"Ha!" Aerys laughed cruelly, "If the boy falls to Tywin's rabid mutt, then he won't have been worth all the effort you put into him."

Robert remained silent as he took his seat at the king's command and was surprised to finally hear the voice of Prince Rhaegar.

"That's cruel even for you, father." He said in an icy tone. The king snarled and pointed to the combatants in reply.

"If you had an ounce of the fight those two are showing you might not have been so much of a disappointment." Rhaegar looked as if he wanted to reply, but simply stood and left the box, taking his wife with him. Robert couldn't help but notice the cruel smile that King Aerys wore in response to his perceived victory over his son. Robert tried to ignore the king and continued to watch the fight.

Much to the relief of Robert and many in the crowd, Walder managed to gain momentary control of the dagger. Only for it to be knocked out of his hand a moment later as Sandor continued his aggressive grappling. Clegane was throwing knees and fists into Walder's body and Robert was amazed at the punishment his squire was absorbing while still fighting back with strikes of his own. Robert practically jumped out of his seat again in joy when Walder managed to grab one of Sandor's arms and roll into position for an arm bar. Hopefully his squire could complete it and force that beast to finally yield, but it was obvious the younger Clegane was not giving in so easily. As Walder pulled at the Hound's arm trying to lock it down, Clegane started using his free fist to try and land strikes on Walder's head. Most simply glanced off the helm, but a few struck true and bright red blood could be seen on his mailed fist. Walder endured the assault and simply pulled harder and harder until Clegane's strength finally gave out, allowing Walder to complete the hold and truly begin applying pressure.

Walder once again called out for Sandor to yield, but he stubbornly refused doing everything he could to escape. In response Walder increased the pressure until the crowd gasped at the loud popping sound of Sandor's elbow being dislocated. Without hesitation, Walder released the arm, got up on wobbly legs, and stumbled around a bit before finding his sword. Pointing it once again at the thoroughly beaten Clegane, Robert heard Walder call one more time in an exhausted but determined voice.

"Yield!"

Sandor simply groaned in pain.

"Good." Walder wheezed, dropping the sword and tearing his helmet off before falling to his hands and knees and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the tourney grounds.

Chapter Text

Seeing his squire fall after the fight, Robert almost leaped over the railing of the royal box to see to the boy, but the mad king's voice stopped him.

"Were you planning on going to the boy's side without my leave, Lord Robert?" The king smiled, but his tone was dangerous.

"Apologies, Your Grace, I was simply swept up in the moment," Robert said as calmly as he could as he turned to face the king, hands clenched in frustration.  The king was silent for a few moments, glaring contemptuously at Robert in judgment before he broke out in a mad cackle.

"Go on then, see to your pet barbarian.  Make sure to tell him that his king admires his fighting spirit, assuming that the beating he took hasn't further addled his mind."

Robert quickly bowed and jumped from the box, running to Walder's side. As he arrived, he saw his squire trying to stand again and placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from doing so.  The boy had endured quite a beating from the young hound.  Blood poured from his nose and from a cut just above his right eye.  Robert had been around enough training grounds and battlefields to know that those were merely superficial and was more concerned about the unfocused look of his squire's eyes.

"Just stay there boy. We'll get a maester out here in a moment. Can you tell me where you are?" Robert asked in a concerned tone. It took a few moments for Walder to finally focus on him and answer.

"I…I'm…at a tourney?" The young squire replied, sounding rather unsure of himself.

"Yes, where is the tourney?" Robert replied, trying to keep the boy focused on him.

"Uh…Harrenhal." Walder replied after a few beats of silence. Robert was happy to hear the confidence in the answer but had heard too many stories of knights saying they were fine after receiving head wounds only to never awake the following morning. Robert began calling for a maester and was happy to hear the clicking chain links of the healer approaching quickly. Though Robert found out quickly that the maester was not the only one approaching.

"Walder!" Lyanna cried out as she ran ahead of the other Starks. She was soon kneeling beside him and holding his hand to comfort him.

"Walder, you were amazing! The way you beat all those boys was incredible!" Lyanna was practically vibrating with excitement. It took a few moments for Walder's glazed eyes to focus on her before a wide grin formed on his face. He lifted his arm showing that the ribbon was still attached, though it was now covered in dirt, blood, and mud from when the fight had been taken to the ground.

"All because of your favor m'lady." He replied before wincing and coughing.

"Come, let's let the maester do his work." Robert said while placing a gentle hand on Lyanna's shoulder before addressing Walder again, "I am truly proud of you boy. You did great."

"We're all proud of you," Brandon finally spoke up. "Even if you are wearing the colors of House Baratheon, I'll make sure everyone knows that you are Northern through and through."

Robert could tell from the smug look on Brandon's face that the heir House Stark was eager to extol the strength of the North to all who would listen.

Eventually, the maester gave Walder the go ahead to stand and leave the tourney grounds so that he could do a more thorough inspection. Robert was glad to see that the king had seemingly lost interest in the events and had left the stands. With both the Prince and King having taken their leave, many nobles began following suit meaning the stands were rather sparse when the archery contest was announced. , Robert felt no compulsion to stay himself.

"Lord Brandon, I am going to take our young champion here back to my tent so he can recover. You are all invited to celebrate his victory." Robert said jovially. In truth he wasn't really interested in spending time with the eldest Stark but knew it would be an insult to just invite Lyanna and Ned.

Brandon seemed to consider this for a moment before responding with a nod. It was then Robert finally noticed the young woman with brilliant red hair standing to the right and behind Brandon. She was accompanied by one of the most famous knights in all the realm: Brynden Tully, the Black Fish.

"And of course, you and your uncle are invited as well, Lady Catelyn." He said with a smile. She returned the smile as any well-mannered lady would, but he could see that she was a little surprised by how informally he addressed her.

"I am honored Lord Baratheon, forgive me, but I don't remember having been properly introduced."

"It was some time ago at a tourney in Maidenpool I believe. I never forget a face you know." Robert said dismissively, hoping that nobody would think too much of it. While it was true, it had been before either of them had seen their tenth name day.

"Come on then, we need to celebrate properly." He said quickly, trying to change the subject.

The group made their way to the Baratheon encampment. Robert could feel the weight of all his dealings with the dragons slowly being lifted off his shoulders as he spent time sharing stories and laughing with the family he had always wanted. After making sure Walder was well taken care of and watched over, they began celebrating his victory in earnest. Their conversation drifted from topic to topic as they shared childhood stories of growing up in Winterfell, Storm's End, and the Eyrie. Though she was mostly quiet throughout, Catelyn was occasionally coaxed into sharing stories of growing up in Riverrun. It was after one particular story that Robert finally noticed the strange pendant she was wearing. While she had not really been hiding it, it was far less gaudy and eye-catching than what ladies of her station normally wore.

Hanging from a simple sliver change was a seven-pointed star. That in and of itself was not something strange. It was not uncommon for pious ladies to wear the symbol of the Faith, but what was strange was the material it was made from. Rather than the rainbow of colors it would normally have been made up of, often using expensive gemstones to flaunt the wearer's wealth and piety, it was made of a familiar bone white wood. Robert would be the first to admit that in his previous life something like this would have never registered as something of note but given his run in with the divine it piqued his interest.

"Apologies Lady Catelyn, but I just noticed your star isn't like those worn by the devout. Is there a new trend spreading around these parts?" His tone was one of friendly curiosity, and he was surprised as she moved her hand to cover the symbol.

"If it's something personal, just forget I said anything." He replied, trying to downplay things for her sake.

"No, it is not personal per se, but it is not something I expected anyone to notice while I was here." For a few moments she seemed to be thinking whether she should explain further, but eventually with an oddly determined look she continued. Unclasping her pendant and holding it out for everyone to see, she explained, "It is a Seven-Pointed Star carved from the fallen branches of the Heart Tree of the Riverrun godswood. It is supposed to symbolize the role that the gods play in our lives: the new and the old."

Of all the things that Robert expected to come out of her mouth, that was far from the most expected. It was actually Brandon, clearly deep in his cups, who responded first.

"Best not let your Septons hear you saying all that. I'd hate to have to bring my men south and burn their septs to the ground for harming my betrothed." His tone of voice suggested that he would, in fact, be more than happy to burn every sept in the Riverlands to the ground.

Catelyn's expression was conflicted. It seemed as if she wasn't quite sure how to react to that. It was actually Ned who spoke up with a rebuke.

"Bran, you aren't the second coming of the Hungry Wolf. You should be more respectful of your betrothed."

Brandon was about to respond when Catelyn found her voice and cut in, preventing an argument between the brothers.

"It is actually the new Septon of Riverrun whose teachings I am following. He came to the Riverlands from the Vale a few moons ago and began preaching to the smallfolk about how the Faith has wandered from its true path and that there need not be conflict between the gods. He says that if the light of The Seven is to shine across all the land we must learn to accept the Old Gods for what they are. Some Bracken men heard him preaching and took offense at his words."

"I'm sure they thought he was an agent of the Blackwoods." Robert chimed in.

"Most likely," Catelyn continued. "They arrested him, and he was eventually brought to Riverrun to face censure. My father however took interest in his teachings and invited him to debate the resident Septon to prove their merit." Catelyn paused a moment as if she had taken a moment to relive the debate before continuing

"I have no doubt that my father's interest in this growing movement is mostly political. The Blackwoods can field the largest army in the Riverlands after all, and they still follow the old gods along with most of their banners. Not to mention our growing ties with the North." She smiled at Brandon before continuing.

"But hearing how eloquently the young Septon dismantled the traditional arguments and proofs was enlightening. He made his older opponent sound practically foolish. I am convinced that Septon Cedric truly has been given some kind of divine revelation."

It took a moment for Robert to recognize the name, but as soon as he did, he couldn't help but shout out, surprising all those present.

"Cedric Snow!" he exclaimed "Cedric Snow has been preaching in the Riverlands? Is he here?"

"No, he is still in Riverrun. You know him?" Catelyn asked, clearly confused by Robert's response.

"Of Course, I know him! I spent hours talking with him while he was still in charge of the Sept at the Gates of the Moon. Though he didn't give me the impression he was particularly interested in honoring the Old Gods, in fact he was pretty dead set against it." Robert said, trying to think of what could have pushed the young man to change his tune.

"Right, well, this is all well and good, but I don't think anyone came here to talk about religion." Brandon cut in. "I am pretty sure we're here to celebrate a great victory. Even if the victor is in no condition to join us."

"Yes, something we have been doing for quite some time now." The Black Fish finally spoke up. "Cat, I believe it is time for us to take our leave. Your father should be expecting us back to dine with him. Lord Baratheon, thank you for your hospitality." He concluded with a bow. Robert could tell the old knight wasn't exactly thrilled about being here for some reason and was disappointed that he wouldn't get a chance to learn more about Cedric, but he wouldn't press the issue.

"It was an honor to have you! Until we meet again." As he watched the Tullys leave, he noticed a curious change in Ned's posture and suddenly remembered how his friend had asked Lady Catelyn for a dance as well as taking a twirl with Ashara. Robert really did need to have a chat with him about that in private. Brandon insisted that he and his siblings make their way back to their own tent. Robert was of course sad to see Ned and Lyanna go but understood that he couldn't keep them for the rest of the day.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful and Robert decided to spend time mingling with the rest of his bannermen before Stannis eventually returned. When pressed, his brother admitted that he indeed enjoyed spending time with Lady Delena and wished to continue courting her. Robert laughed stating that was as close to spouting romantic poetry as he would ever probably get; Stannis simply glared. Robert checked in on Walder, and while it seemed that the dangers from the head injury had passed, the boy was in no shape to act as squire for the grand melee being held on the morrow. Robert was truly looking forward to participating and winning again. It had been too long since he had participated in something more challenging than a spar. He had unseated fourteen competitors the first time he had participated, and he planned on beating his previous record.

As the next day dawned Robert began his preparations for the main event. Walder, to his surprise, was up and doing his best to prepare Robert's equipment, but the broken ribs were obviously keeping him from working effectively.

"Walder! What are you doing up and about? You're supposed to be recovering." Robert called out in a strong tone.

"I'm just doing my duty, my lord. It's a squire's purpose to ensure his lord is ready for battle." The boy replied, wincing as he aggravated his injuries.

"It's also your duty to do as you're told. Now get back in the tent and get some rest. Stannis will take care of it today." Robert replied sternly, shaking his head at just how determined the boy was. Robert hoped that the world wouldn't beat that idealism out of him too quickly.

Robert could feel his excitement growing as he donned his plate, mounted his horse, and rode along with all of the rest of the Stormlands knights to the tourney ground. As he entered the grounds, Robert quickly guided his mount to the stands where the Starks were seated.

"My lady Lyanna," He called out. "Might I have the honor of your favor as I go into battle today?"

"Well, it seemed to work for Walder." She said with a teasing smile. "I hope it brings you luck too." She held out an embroidered gray cloth for him which he accepted with a smile before returning to where his team was gathering.

The event was to be a traditional seven-sided melee. This form of the melee had its roots in pre-conquest Westeros and was made up of seven armies representing the kingdoms that existed before Aegon decided to drown Westeros in fire and blood. The teams originally represented the North, the Vale, the Kingdom of Isles and Rivers, the Westerlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, and Dorne. Of course, due to current political borders the traditional teams were adjusted. Due to the small number of Northern lords and knights participating, they were instructed to join with the Riverlands, while Crownlands formed their own team bringing the number back up to seven.

The aim was fairly simple. The kingdom that unhorsed or forced a yield from the most competitors would be crowned the victor, and the single knight with the most victories would be crowned the grand champion. He had claimed the title of grand champion in his last life, winning no small amount of acclaim in doing so. It was the Riverlands that had claimed overall victory previously, but he wasn't planning on letting that happen this time. This time he had a plan.

As he surveyed the circular field where all the kingdoms had gathered, he smiled. It was pretty much just as he remembered. To his immediate right, the Reach had brought the most knights with more than three score banners waving in the wind. He was surprised to see Mace Tyrell taking the field this time around, though it was a pleasant surprise as he had never had a chance to humiliate the man on the field before. Shifting his gaze around the circle, he saw that the North and Riverland's contingent numbered close to the reach. This was no surprise as the tourney was being held in the Riverlands and they were bolstered by the Northern lords. The Westerlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands all fielded around two score knights with Dorne numbering close to three dozen. Robert counted seven and twenty warriors of the Stormlands, the smallest group, but in his mind the most powerful. He knew each of them by name, even the hedge knights that had come to win glory and gold. He had made sure to seek each of them out before the event so he could know who he was riding with. Robert took in a deep breath, savoring the feel of being back in the saddle weapon in hand. Even if this wasn't a true battle, it was as close as he could get for some time. Smiling, he trotted out ahead of his team to address them.

"My lords and good sers! Men of the Stormlands, it is good to see you all here ready bring glory to your houses and our kingdom. What better way to do that than to take on the largest foe!" Robert paused as the assembled warriors let out a cheer. He pointed at where the men of the Reach had assembled and continued

"When the horn blows, we'll wheel right and charge straight into their flank as they move towards the center of the field. Everyone should pick a shield and make sure you share it with the men next to you. Don't get greedy, there are plenty to go around. But you should know that the flower is mine. Now, watch each other's backs and let's show the whole of the seven kingdoms the might of the Stormlands!" The gathered men let out another cheer as Robert dawned his great antlered helm and grasped his tourney lance in hand. It was an addition to his kit that he figured he could put to good use before switching to his trusty hammer.

Robert took his place in the formation with Ser Cortney to his right and Ser Rogers to his left.

"Good speech my Lord, you've got everyone right riled up. I'll be aiming for the Huntsman Since you have the flower." Ser Cortney chuckled.

"I think I'll take on that Fox, I didn't like the look of him at the feast." Ser Rogers said, pointing to who Robert thought must have been Axel Florent. Of all the men of that family he seemed to be one who least embodied their symbol.

Robert laughed, and shortly thereafter the starting horn blared.

"Wheel Right!" He bellowed in the same commanding voice he had used throughout the Rebellion. With impressive discipline, the men of the Stormlands followed his command as he watched Mace lead his force straight towards the center of the arena completely unaware of the tempest that was about to be unleashed.

"Charge!" with that word the gathered knights and lords spurred their steeds onwards. Robert watched as Lord Tarly tried to warn Mace of the oncoming charge. Robert howled in laughter as confusion filled the ranks of the Reach as some tried to turn and meet his charge while others kept moving forward.

Time seemed to slow as Robert leveled his lance at his target. He watched as Lord Tryell finally noticed him and tried to turn, moments later he watched the blunted tip of his lance strike straight on the Lord of the Reach's breast plate. There was a terrible crash as the lance shattered and Mace Tyrell was thrown from his mount, his first victory. Robert dared not linger on his success though, as he was now very much surrounded by potential foes. He dropped the remains of his broken lance and quickly pulled up his hammer in time to swing it at a bewildered knight in a black and white tabard who was too distracted by the sudden commotion to properly defend himself.

"Ride through! Ride through!" Robert roared over the deafening clash of the battle raging around him, hoping that the rest of the Stormlanders could hear him. The shock of the initial charge had worn off and they were in danger of being caught in the middle of the much larger group of enemy combatants. Fortunately for him, this was a melee where the men around him sought personal glory and were less inclined to attack all at once. Robert managed to unhorse two more combatants on his way out of the confused mass of man and beast, bringing his total to four. Eleven more and he would have outdone himself. Robert grinned at the thought.

Having finally made his way out of the Melee, he took a moment to survey the field and found himself more than satisfied with the result of his charge. The Riverlanders and Northmen were more than happy to capitalize on the confusion he had caused and fell upon the disorganized Reachers. Looking around he saw that the majority of the Stormlanders had followed him out of the initial charge, their team only losing two or three men in the initial engagement. He was happy to see that both Ser Cortnay and Ser Rogers were among that number. He knew both man and beast needed a few moments to recover, but he also knew that waiting too long would see their chance for victory slip from their grasp. After giving them a few more minutes to reform, he once again called out for the charge. The effect this time was even more devastating as the Stormlanders fell on the rear of the Reach's formation with them having been pinned down by the Riverlands.

Few at first could stand against his strength for more than a few strikes and he was able to quickly claim an additional six victories bringing his total to ten, but as the horn signaling the halfway mark of the melee blared and the number of combatants dwindled the caliber of foes increased. Robert soon found himself facing a knight of House Uller. The elusive dornishman was an excellent rider and was guiding his smaller mount expertly while parrying and dodging Robert's strikes. In Response, Robert simply began pushing in closer and closer, increasing the speed of his attacks. While this opened him up to counters, he made sure there was little room for them to do more than scratch the thickest parts of his armor. Eventually his opponent was forced to yield, and Robert took a moment to rest and survey the field.

It looked as if nearly half of his men had been forced from the field while there was only a small pocket of Reachers left. The Westerlands and Dorne had spent much of the time skirmishing with each other, and the Vale had engaged the Riverlands. It was impossible to tell who was truly in the lead, but he knew that he and his warriors had given a very impressive showing. He gave himself a few more moments of rest before diving back into the thick of the battle.

His twelfth and thirteenth victories were against a pair of knights hailing from the Westerlands. While they definitely were more skilled than the others he had defeated, he was a little disappointed that they hadn't lasted longer. After unhorsing them however, Robert heard a challenge being issued to him from across the field. It took him a few moments to find the source of the challenge and smiled as he saw the crimson and gold of house Lannister.

The Lannister knight was resplendent in his armor, obviously showing off the wealth of his house. Roaring golden lions adorned his pauldrons and greathelm, and his steel plate practically gleamed in the sunlight as he raised his lance in challenge. Robert thought it might be overly ostentatious, but then again, he had antlers affixed to his helm so who was he to talk. Regardless, Robert raised his hammer in answer, and spurred his mount towards the challenger.

Robert knew that since his opponent was wielding a lance, he would be at a distinct disadvantage in the initial exchange. Robert braced himself for a brutal impact and hoped that he would be able to weather it and still make an attack of his own. They galloped closer and closer and in one terrible moment Robert felt the impact of the lance on his right shoulder. The Lannister's aim was impeccable, and he was nearly unhorsed right then. With the pain shooting down his arm, Robert was unable to get in a shot of his own as his opponent rode past his striking range. The fight was far from over however, and Robert couldn't help but let out an excited yell as he brought his horse around to face his challenger once more. This was why he loved fighting. The thrill. The challenge. He would be damned if that cocky lion got the best of him.

Robert tested his arm to make sure he had proper feeling in it as he watched the Lannister draw his sword and charge at him again. Once he was confident, he could move his arm properly, he spurred his mount to meet the charge. The lion was quick to be sure, quicker than he was, Robert had to admit. But Robert had gotten used to those who relied on speed to win the day. After a dozen or so exchanges Robert saw that an opening and landed a clean hit against his foe throwing the man from the saddle. Robert let out a victorious shout fueled by the raw emotion one could only ever feel in a fight like this.

Robert once again took a moment to recover from the string of matches he had just concluded. His shoulder was aching, and he was sure he would have a deep bruise there for some time. He watched proudly and smiled as four of his knights formed up against what was left of the Reach and charged. Robert knew that he still needed one more victory to surpass his previous self, and began riding towards where the fight was thickest.

In the end, Robert found himself once again smiling as he saw his fifteenth challenger Bronze Yohn Royce approach and issue a challenge. The Lord of Runestone was a formidable and experienced warrior. Robert had gotten to know the man fairly well during his time in the vale, and always enjoyed the times when Yohn would join him in the sparring ring.

"Lord Royce, I had hoped to find you on the field today." Robert called out as he saluted, thus accepting the Lord of Runestone's challenge.

"Yes, I see you have been busy Robert, four and ten victories today or so my squire tells me. Forgive me if I don't plan on being fifteenth." He called out in response.

"Well, I aim to be champion today, so I'll have to ruin your plans." With that Robert spurred his horse forward.

The clash of the warriors rang out across the tourney grounds as the two engaged in combat. Robert found himself putting more strength into his strikes than he would have normally, but the bronze armor withstood the blows far more than they should have. Clash after clash the two knights fought trying to find an advantage over the other. But it was clear that over time it would be Yohn's strength that would fail first. The fight ended when with a powerful blow Robert knocked the mace from Yohn's hand and forced the older Lord to yield. Not long after, the final horn signaled the end of the grand melee.

When all was said and done, and the ransoms taken, Robert was once again crowned grand champion. Though he was happy at his achievement he was still disappointed by the overall results of the melee. The Riverlands once again took the victory with his knights falling short by only two ransoms. It seemed as if his maneuver had given the Riverlands the opening they needed to secure their own win. Of course, he would have to sort out his own ransoms. For the most part he planned to just gift back the armor of the knights and lords as he had no need for extra coin. Though when it came to collect the ransom from the Lannister knight, he couldn't help but claim some sort of prize.

"My Lord Baratheon, I believe I owe you something for my loss. Let it not be said that this Lannister failed to pay his debt." Robert barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the reference to the unofficial words.

"And which Lannister would you be? There are so many of you running around these days."

"Ah, forgive me, I am Ser Gerion Lannister, son of Tytos." Gerion replied. Robert wondered if that damn cocky smirk was passed down from father to son.

"Right, Tywin's younger brother. Well, I think we can forget the ransom as a show of good faith. Though I think that helm of yours would look good as a trophy on the wall of my solar. It would be a good reminder of when the lion was laid low by the stag."

There was a moment of hesitation and the grin slipped for just a moment before Ser Gerion handed over his helm. Robert knew he was being petty, but his built-up frustration with his former wife's house won out over good sense.

He would have plenty of time to recover from the melee. The two days of open invitation jousts began tomorrow, giving the throng of knightly houses and hedge knights in attendance a chance to win a place in the champion’s jousts.  If he remembered correctly, it was on the second day that the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree would show up.  In his last life, he had sworn to unmask the man. Now, he just wanted to focus on winning the joust and crowning Lyanna as his queen of love and beauty. 

Chapter Text

The celebration following the grand melee was raucous and went long into the night. Despite not clinching the final victory, the show of martial skill put on by the Stormlanders had become the talk of the tourney, and his men were eager to boast of their many victories. He had, of course, invited the Starks but Brandon had declined stating that they would be attending their team's victory celebration being hosted by House Tully. Regardless, Robert would not let the absence of his future good family keep him from having a good time. Food and drink flowed as Robert enjoyed reveling with his bannermen. It was the most he had drank since returning and was still riding the high of his victory.

The next day as Robert slowly recovered from the celebration and began sorting through his hazy memory of the night before, he was relieved to find his bed empty. Old habits are hard to break when deep in one's cups, but fortunately It seemed as if someone had been keeping watch over him. Robert suspected it was Lady Rogers since she was the only woman he actually interacted with that night, and he vaguely remembered her shooing away some of the younger ladies and serving girls. He imagined it would be a little awkward for him to directly thank him from bedding a woman in his state, perhaps a simple thanks for watching over him would suffice.

With his body still sore from the melee and his head pounding from the celebration, Robert was grateful that he had a full day before he would take to the tilts himself. He would have been much more excited for the day if he knew he could spend it with Lyanna, but if he remembered correctly, she would take ill and would not be in attendance for the next two days. Though, a particularly unpleasant thought occurred to him as he recalled his past life. It was wholly possible that last time she just didn't want to spend time with him and feigned sickness to get out of it. Perhaps then with how things were going this time around she wouldn't feel the need to make up excuses in order to avoid him.

This time she might actually see the Knight of the Laughing Tree in person. He remembered one of the few times she was actually interested in conversing with him back then was when he was regaling her with the exploits of the mystery knight. She actually gave him a bright smile when he declared that it would be him who unmasked the knight. As he spent time reminiscing about those events, he got the feeling that he was missing something big. It was like he had all the evidence needed to solve a great mystery but couldn't quite figure out how it all fit together. He gave up on the thought since he was in no mood to sit and pontificate on the matter. Either Lyanna would join him today and they would enjoy the exciting events together or he would be able to enjoy sharing the tale with her once again. Either outcome was fine with him.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if the King had other plans. As soon as he entered the main room of his tent, he found a page wearing the colors of House Targaryen.

"Excuse me, my lord, but the king says he requires your presence in the royal box today."

Robert did his best not to let his very negative emotions show on his face, nor to take them out on the boy. He was just the messenger after all.

"Very well," Robert sighed. "Inform his Grace that I will join him as commanded."

Robert watched the boy nod and run off. Once again the King felt it necessary to pull him into whatever mad scheme was rattling around in his head. As strange as the thought was, Robert actually hoped Lyanna was ill. It would be all the more frustrating to endure the king's presence if he knew that it was keeping him from spending time with Lyanna. Robert wanted to be with her as much as possible during the tourney since he didn't know when they would once again see each other.

After breaking his fast and taking some time to pray and prepare for the trial to come he finally started making his way to the tourney grounds. He had steeled his heart for a long day of dealing with the fickle madness of King Aerys, but as he approached the Royal box, he couldn't help but grimace as he heard the voice of a dead man call to him.

"Hail Lord Robert." Robert did not appreciate how congenial the prince's tone was.

Forcing a polite smile on his face Robert turned to greet the prince who was accompanied, as always, by Ser Arthur. It took a considerable amount of will power and resolve to maintain a polite façade. He had to remind himself that the Rhaegar standing before him was not yet the prince that had stolen his bride away. This was not yet the man who betrayed his wife and children. There was a possibility still that he could be a good king. Robert truly hoped that would be the case, but every time those thoughts entered his mind, they were accompanied by the terrible sound of his warhammer piercing the prince's armor scattering rubies that disappeared into water running red with blood.

"Well met my prince. How can I be of service?"

"Come now cousin, we are kin, no need for such formality." The prince replied with a small chuckle.

"Of course not, but we haven't exactly been raised as kin. Have we, your grace?" Robert replied, maintaining as polite a tone as he could. The prince's smile faltered.

"It's a shame really, our fathers were the closest of friends. Perhaps we could have been as well if you hadn't been sent off to the Vale."

Robert fought hard not to show his frustration at the statement. If he hadn't been sent to the Vale he would never have met Ned, and Robert would take the Quiet Wolf over the Ponce Prince any day. He began to wonder why the prince was pushing their familial ties so suddenly.

"Well, your grace, there's no sense in dwelling on the what if's if you can't do anything about them." Robert said, laughing internally at the irony of that statement.

"Of course, though hopefully we can make up for lost time then. Before we take our seats, I want to apologize on behalf of my father. His words regarding your betrothed and your squire were uncalled for." The prince spoke with a truly apologetic tone.

"You need not apologize, your grace, the King will speak as he wishes." Robert said with a dismissive wave.

"You know, he wasn't always like this." The prince continued with a resigned sigh. Robert thought he could also hear some bitterness in the words. "Before the defiance, Tywin and your father were always able to reign in the worst of my father's excesses. I am sure that with father stealing away Tywin's heir there will be no one left to manage his moods. I fear for the realm."

The prince took a deep breath before continuing, his features suddenly serious.

"I know that you currently have his favor, he speaks of making you his hand." The prince paused once again, seeming to take a moment to choose his words carefully. "I hope you will do all you can to protect the realm."

The way the prince let the sentence die away made it clear that he was leaving from what, or more accurately who, he hoped Robert would protect the realm from. Robert, for some reason, couldn't help but find the whole situation ridiculous. Prior to this point, he had yet to have a conversation longer than a few sentences with the prince. And yet the prince was now pursuing a closer relationship through their father's history and kinship. The prince was asking him to protect the realm when it was none other than said prince who would plunge it into blood and fire should nothing change. The prince was playing a dangerous game, one that Robert seriously had no interest in joining. It was the height of bad comedy in Robert's mind, and he couldn't keep himself from shaking his head and letting out a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. He watched as the prince's face turned from confusion to anger.

"Is this a joke to you? Is concern for the lives of our people some sort of bad jest?" The prince, while not quite yelling, was practically shaking with fury. The prince's reaction helped Robert reign in his amusement, and he held up a placating hand.

"Apologies, your grace, I am not built for intrigue or the subtleties of politics. I am a warrior first and foremost." Robert said with a smile but took on a much more serious tone as he continued.

"I swear to the gods both old and new that any man stupid enough, arrogant enough, or mad enough to threaten the peace of the kingdom, the lives of its people, and those who I love will soon find themselves on the receiving end of my hammer. Now, I believe the jousts should be starting soon, and the king is expecting us. I would hate to run afoul of his temper this early in the day."

A few more moments of tension passed between the two men before the prince sighed and seemingly relented to Robert's suggestion. The two turned and entered the Royal box in silence before presenting themselves to the king.

"About damned time you got here." The king muttered bitterly, but to Robert it did not seem as if the king was in a particularly bad mood. He hoped that would mean he would have to put up with less of his mad ramblings.

Robert took a moment to look over to where the Starks and other Northern Houses were sitting and noticed that once again Lyanna was not present. He was concerned for her health and would make sure to check in on her as soon as possible, but he also was happy to think that he hadn't been lied to last time around. Plus, he could look forward to seeing her beautiful smile as he recounted the day's events to her. Now he just had to weather the mad ramblings of a paranoid king.

The jousts finally began, and things progressed as just as Robert had remembered. Except this time he was sitting with the king and prince rather than the Starks. And so Robert settled in for a particularly unpleasant day. He got to witness first hand the dizzying mood swings of the mad king. In one moment the king would be cackling madly at the misfortune of a fallen knight before becoming nearly distraught at the thought that the quality of knights had fallen so greatly. All the while the king was sending both veiled and open barbs at the prince. It was enough for Robert to actually feel bad for the prince.  Through the course of the day, Robert discovered that Princess Elia was already pregnant with Aegon, and the pregnancy was already difficult for her. Almost to his own surprise, Robert found himself reassuring the prince by telling him that he was sure she would bear him a healthy son.

As the hours dragged on he found himself growing more interested as it was nearly time for the mystery knight to make their appearance, he saw the first victim of the mystery knight, a knight of house Hague, secure his place in the champion's round. Robert grinned as he thought about how easily the knight would be felled. He observed the man prepare for his next match knowing that the mystery knight would soon make a fool of him. Something jumped out at Robert though when he recognized the squire attending the knight. It was one of the boys who had assaulted Howland and that had been defeated by Walder. Pieces started falling into place and a pit began growing in his stomach. Perhaps Lyanna was absent so she could help Howland obtain justice. But if that was the case then why would the crannogman enter as a mystery knight? Could Howland even joust? A thought entered his mind that he refused to believe, there was no way Lyanna would be so foolish.

Robert was doing his best to hide his worry as the time drew near for the Knight of the Laughing Tree to make their appearance. When he saw the Knight in their gloriously mismatched armor carrying the shield that would provide them with their name, all he could focus on was the familiar steed they were riding. He leaned forward hoping it would look like he was particularly invested rather than filled with worry. He had almost forgotten that he was sitting next to the king.

"Bah, mystery knights. What do they have to hide? That one looks particularly wretched. Probably just some peasant with an overgrown opinion of themselves. I look forward to him being humbled by his betters." The king's voice was raspy and full of malice.

Robert simply nodded not wanting to say anything he might regret. As he watched the knight prepare, he was silently hoping and wishing that it was Howland under that helm. Just as before, the knight of the laughing tree's lance struck true and sent the knight of House Hague flying from the saddle. In that moment Robert was left with no doubt that it was Lyanna beneath that helm.

He didn't know what to do with the shocking revelation. Part of him was impressed by Lyanna's skill and daring. Another part of him was tickled that these grown and experienced knights were humiliated by a maiden of four and ten. He was disappointed that she didn't trust him enough to include him in this crazy plan. He was worried for her knowing how Aerys would react to the knight's victory. He was frustrated with himself for not checking in on her or catching on sooner.

So many thoughts and emotions fought for his attention that it blended into one familiar feeling: Anger. Robert couldn't tell exactly who he was angry at. Himself? Lyanna? The king? Those lousy excuses for knights and their squires? Even if his fury had no real target, he felt it gripping his chest all the same.

"Hmph," The king snorted dismissively. "I guess some knights aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Perhaps," Prince Rhaegar responded in a challenging tone. "We should not be so quick to judge based on appearance and birth alone."

"Weak." The mad king sneered. Looking to the sky he continued his tirade. "Why have the gods cursed me with such a weak son? Robert, what say you? You don't look particularly happy about this mystery knight."

Without even looking at the king Robert replied in a cold tone trying his best to reign in his roiling emotions.

"I think some people should think before they act."

Aerys let out a high-pitched cackle in response.

"Yes, yes, that mystery knight should know better than to present themselves like that before their king!" The king's joyous smile shifted instantly into a depressed frown as the next match was announced and the Knight of the Laughing Tree made ready to face off against the knight of House Blount.

Robert was desperately trying to think of how to handle the situation as he watched his betrothed expertly unseat yet another seasoned knight. He was barely paying attention when he heard the king speaking in a sad tone. His mood swung just as swiftly as the rumors spoke.

"Listen to the people cheer for that wretched knight. They have no love for me, they don't understand what it is like to sit here and be shamed so."

Robert had no response for the king's insane ramblings. So, he just continued to watch as Lyanna unhorsed the second knight. Robert had to figure out how to handle this quickly as time was running out. A thought occurred to him however, did he have to do anything at all? In the past, the mystery knight escaped with only the shield being found and Lyanna seemed just fine. That glimmer of hope however was snuffed out when he remembered who had found the shield. It was the prince who had presented the shield to the king. Was it possible that Rhaegar had found and saved Lyanna from the king's wrath. Was this where the Rhaegar truly stole Lyanna away? He didn't know the answer and couldn't know, but he could not and would not let that possibility come to pass. He had to find Lyanna and make sure she never crossed paths with the prince.

Robert watched his betrothed defeat the final knight and call out in a booming voice for them to chastise and train their squires just as before. The voice caused Robert quite a bit of confusion as it in no way resembled Lyanna's feminine tones. For a moment he hoped that he was wrong about everything, but there was no denying that the rider resembled his she-wolf far too much to be anyone else.

"That tree is mocking me!" The king roared in unbridled fury.

"I want that knight here now! He will be unmasked." The king was practically frothing at the mouth.

The Master of Games quickly moved to summon the knight, but just as before the mystery knight sped off with all haste ignoring the king.

"It must be Tywin's golden welp. He must have come back just to mock me." The king turned to Robert and Rhaegar.

"Find that man! I want him brought before me! He will burn for his offenses!" The king's mad eyes practically bulged, and his normally pallid features were red with unhinged malice.

Robert didn't hesitate to quickly leave the king's presence. Ignoring all others, he had but one thought on his mind. Thinking through all of the possible places he could find Lyanna he decided to start looking where no other southerner would: the Godswood.

Robert walked as fast as he could while trying not to attract attention to himself. He knew he had to be quick, but also didn't want people to follow him out of curiosity. Few southern folk would never think to enter any godswood containing an actual weirwood tree within it, and Harrenhal was no exception. In fact, many actively avoided one in particular as it was said to be haunted due to the grotesque face carved upon the heart tree. As a result, it was far less tended to than other such woods that still graced southern keeps. He truly hoped that this was where he would find Lyanna. He had to make sure she was safe and protected. If this were any other tourney, if the damn dragons weren't here, he would have thought this hilarious. He would have shared in the joy of her victory, but the shadow of his past life darkened what could have been a joyous memory.

As he reached the gate leading into the godswood, he knew he would not have to search the entire twenty acres of land. He broke out into a run as he made his way towards the heart tree. As he drew close, he began to slow down as he made out a pair of voices, one of whom he immediately recognized. He let out a small sigh of relief and offered a short prayer of thanks to all the gods that he had found her before anyone else. When Lyanna and her companion were finally in view, Robert almost laughed at the ridiculous site before him. Lyanna was halfway out of her mismatched armor and was struggling to remove the various remaining pieces that seemed to have been fastened improperly to begin with. Robert's fears and worries began to die down as it seemed as if the worst of them would not come to pass. Regardless, there were plenty of reasons not to linger here.

"Careful!" She yelped as her companion pulled at a strap again trying to dislodge a stiff buckle. Robert wasn't sure who that person was, but he had this nagging feeling that he should know. After taking a few more moments to catch his breath, Robert decided that it was time to make himself known.

"It would be faster to just cut the straps you know."

Lyanna and her companion jumped at his voice.

"Robert! I…" Lyanna stammered.

"I told her, your grace, but she wouldn't listen." The person responded. Robert scowled as he still couldn't quite place the voice or face of the one speaking. And the fact that this stranger addressed him as royalty truly made his blood boil.

"And who the fuck are you?" Robert growled as he advanced towards them.

"Robert, wait!" Lyanna yelled, stepping in front of him.

"Apologies my Lord." The voice of the man said quickly as he threw back the hood of his cloak. Robert's anger turned to utter confusion.

"Howland? How?" Robert asked in shock. It was as if in one moment he saw a complete stranger and in the next there stood a friend with whom had traveled and dined with.

"Ah, it was something I picked up from the Green Men, it is a trick they use to pass unnoticed when they travel to tend to the remaining heart trees." Howland replied with a sheepish grin.

Robert continued to stare at him for a few moments before shaking his head. There was quite a bit in that statement to unpack and he had neither the time nor the patience to do so. Instead, he simply pulled out the hunting knife that Jon had given him and moved to start cutting the armor from Lyanna.

"What are you doing?" Lyanna protested while quickly retreating from him.

"We have to get that armor off you and dispose of it." He said in as even a tone as he could manage. He was doing his very best to keep a lid on his emotions and focus on getting her to safety. There would be time to let it all out when there was no chance of her being discovered.

"But it's my armor, do you know how hard it was to cobble all this together without being discovered?" She said in a possessive tone. Robert felt his grip on his emotions slipping.

"I don't give a damn about that pile of scrap you are wearing. We have to get you back to your tent before anyone finds us here." Robert just barely managed to keep himself from shouting. Lyanna's frown deepened into a scowl.

"It's fine, no one will look for us here, and Ben is covering for me back at the tent." She said, her tone matching Robert's.

"You don't know that!" Robert finally roared. His powerful voice startled both Lyanna and Howland. "Do you have any idea the shitshow you've just stirred up! The king is furious, and wants you thrown atop a pyre for treason! What were you thinking?"

"I was seeking justice for my father's bannerman!" Lyanna screamed back

"Howland specifically said to let it go!" Robert countered.

"We couldn't let this go; the honor of the North was at stake!" She responded

"It isn't your place to seek justice!" Robert continued to yell, but he felt his heart growing heavier as he screamed out his emotions.

"Why because I am a Lady?" She snarled, her voice lowering.

"Yes!" Robert bellowed thoughtlessly, though he immediately regretted his answer when he saw tears beginning to form in Lyanna's eyes. His heart fell as he saw the look of betrayal and anger on his betrothed's face. When she spoke, her tone was as icy as the winters her house warned of.

"I thought you of all people would understand."

Silence passed as steely gray glared into deep blue. Robert knew he had let his fear and anger guide his words and feared that he had just done irreparable damage to their budding relationship.

"I..." His words faltered as he tried to find the right words. Suddenly he remembered something his father had taught him once when he was visiting from the Vale. When in doubt, compliment the woman. His father did warn that it didn't always work, but it was better than nothing.

"You rode brilliantly my lady." He finally managed.

Lyanna's face betrayed her confusion at the sudden praise, but her anger was not so easily dispelled.

"Don't change the subject Robert." She replied icily.

"It's true, you humbled those men as if they were not but squires new to the saddle. No doubt the bards sing of the Knight of the Laughing Tree for many years to come." He said in a much softer voice, wrestling his emotions back under control.

"Robert," Lyanna started in a stern tone but stopped when Robert held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture.

"The problem is with the king." He took a deep breath to finish calming himself. "Aerys is livid. He believes you were mocking him, and he demands that you be found and brought before him."

Worry began to creep into Lyanna's expression.

"It's fine, right? Nobody will find us here; the southrons don't come here; they think it's haunted." She replied defensively.

"Lyanna, I'll admit that most men wouldn't think to look here, but by the gods, you had a damn weirwood tree painted on your shield. It doesn't take a grandmaester to put two and two together. Someone is bound to overcome their fear of this place in order to please the king." Robert said in an exasperated tone, the heat of his anger slowly returning.

"My cousin is right of course." A new and altogether far too familiar voice called out. A chill ran down Robert's spine as he turned to see Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur entering the clearing. He stepped in front of Lyanna trying to shield her from view.

"Rhaegar, what are you doing here?" Robert practically growled while he unconsciously took a combat stance with the knife he still had in hand. He noticed Ser Arthur tightening his grip on his legendary sword.

"Peace cousin. I assure you I mean neither you nor your lady any harm." Rhaegar replied while putting his arms up in a pacifying gesture. Robert didn't move an inch. Rhaegar continued to speak as he walked towards them carefully.

"I would not wish my father's wrath upon any man or woman, and I was simply seeking out the mystery knight to ensure no one else found them and brought them to the king for some reward. I am beyond surprised to find that it was a Lady who felled those three knights." Rhaegar spoke with genuine awe in his voice.

"Turn around and leave Rhaegar. Forget what you saw here. I will protect my betrothed." Robert was barely keeping his anger at check at this moment and his voice was harsh and clipped. The prince frowned but kept moving forward.

"We don't have to be at odds cousin." Rhaegar pointed at the shield laying up against the heart tree. "I can take the shield to the king and tell him that it was all that could be found of the knight, you can escort Lady Stark back to her family, and we need not ever speak of this again."

Robert was about to refuse when he felt a small hand on his arm encouraging him to lower the knife. He glanced over and saw Lyanna looking up at him, silently pleading with him to calm down. Howland too moved close

"My Lord Baratheon, it is not time for the stag and the dragon to come to blows." Howland's green eyes held a certainty that both reassured and worried Robert. After a few more tense moments, Robert finally relented.

"Very well, your grace." Robert said wearily. The words tasted sour in his mouth.

Smiling, the prince moved to collect the shield, as he picked it up, he turned and addressed Lyanna. Robert did not like the curious glint in the prince's eye.

"You rode with a skill that few seasoned knights can claim, my lady. With your beauty and strength, it is as if you are Visenya reborn. It is a shame you cannot continue competing and crown yourself queen of love and beauty." Rhaegar's tone was smooth and charming and absolutely grated on Robert's last nerve.

"Enough! We are leaving." Robert snapped, grabbed Lyanna's arm, and practically dragged her away from the prince completely ignoring her protests.

Chapter Text

"Robert! Robert Stop!" Lyanna's voice was barely cutting through the haze of anger that clouded Robert's judgment.

He didn't know where he was going, he was simply moving on instinct. His mind was focused elsewhere in the Riverlands. He was on the banks of the Trident with his Warhammer in hand driving towards his fateful confrontation with the Dragon Prince. The screams of men and the crash of metal ringing in his mind.

"Robert, you're hurting me!" She cried out, her voice finally piercing the emotions that drove Robert onward headless of all else.

He hadn't realized just how hard he was gripping her wrist. He turned to face Lyanna and the fear he saw in her eyes cut him to the core. He immediately let her go before turning away from her. He walked a few paces away from her and caught himself on a tree as all of the physical and emotional stress he had been ignoring reasserted itself with vengeance. In that moment he fully expected Lyanna to immediately run from him and seek out Rhaegar for protection. Despite all his efforts she would leave him just like before.

"Robert! What in all the hells is going on with you?" Lyanna's voice surprised Robert, and he turned to her with a puzzled look on your face.

"You're still here." He said weekly without thinking.

"Of course, I'm still here. Where else would I be? And you still haven't answered my question." Her tone was harsh, but Robert could hear the concern in her voice. He took a moment to study her. Her body language spoke of a variety of emotions, fear, anger, and plenty of confusion.

"I uh… I don't really know where to start." Robert said, while rubbing his temples to sooth the headache that had begun to form due to the stress of the situation. Lyanna's stern visage remained, but she softened her posture just the tiniest bit.

"How about you start with what your problem with Rhaegar is." She replied angrily.

"I don't want him taking you from me." The words spilled from Robert's mouth before he could think them through properly. Lyanna was obviously not expecting that answer.

"Why would he take me from you? I am not his to take. He's married for goodness' sake." She was obviously having a difficult time understanding that particular leap in logic.

"He would offer you an escape from me, and you would go with him." Robert was far too emotionally spent and mentally tired to truly think through his words at this time.

"Robert, you aren't making sense. In what world would I abandon you for a married man?" She asked, still struggling with the direction this conversation was taking. The realization that she wasn't even considering leaving him washed over Robert as if a balm for his weary heart. With a sigh, Robert put his back to the tree and lowered himself to the ground.

"One that I would never wish to see again." He answers her quietly.

Lyanna silently took a seat next to him, and the only sound that could be heard was gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. Robert closed his eyes and began breathing deeply in order to finally calm his wild emotions. Eventually, Lyanna broke the silence.

"You once told me…" She started, but paused, sounding unsure if she should continue. "You once told me that you dreamed of things that came true. Does this have to do with them and what happened in Winterfell?"

Robert turned his head to look at Lyanna while he formulated an answer. He didn't want to come out and admit things like he had with Ned, but at the same time he knew Lyanna would not accept a blatant lie.

"In my dreams I saw a world where you disappeared with the prince. It led to death, conflict, and tragedy. In the end I gained a crown but lost everything I ever actually wanted." He looked away while trying to banish the memories of the rebellion and the anguish that followed its end.

"You mean to say that you have been acting like this because of dreams? How can you even be sure they are even close to being true." It was obvious that Lyanna was struggling to accept what Robert was saying. It was another voice that answered.

"It is because gods' blood flows through his veins. Since the time of Durran Godsgiref, the blood of the sea god and the goddess of wind has run true in the line of Durrandon and now Baratheon. He dreams because the gods have anointed him as the Storm King reborn, chosen of the gods old and new." Howland said in a reverent voice as he led Lyanna's horse back to them.

"Fuck off Howland." Robert growled halfheartedly at the diminutive lord. His previously roaring anger had diminished to embers.

"Robert!" Lyanna chastised.

"I take no offense Lyanna," Howland said placatingly. "His house words are more than just a motto."

"I don't want to be king. I've never wanted to be king." Robert said the words almost like a prayer. But even now as he said those words, something inside him knew they were hollow wishes. Howland walked over to them and knelt before Robert and Lyanna.

"You can't change who you are, your grace." He said in a gentle and kind tone. "Everyone who is attuned to the will of the old gods can sense it. Even the pious Septons and Septas you've met during your time in the Riverlands could tell there was something different about you, even if they are blind to the truth of your anointing."

Lyanna was now looking on dumbstruck at the, frankly, ridiculous turn the conversation had taken.

"You are both mad." Was all that eventually came out of her mouth. Robert let out a low chuckle

"Without a doubt, my lady." Robert said before taking a deep breath and standing up. He offered his hand to Lyanna, and she reflexively took it and was pulled to her feet. "Even having experienced all that I have, I still find it hard to believe it is true. To be honest, I try my best not to think about it and just get on with my life as if the fate of the seven kingdoms doesn't rest on my shoulders."

Robert sighed; this day was definitely not going how he imagined when he had woken up. As he looked at Lyanna, who was still wearing half of the mismatched armored pieces, a terrible thought came to mind. One that he wished he could dismiss, but that was persistently gnawing at his heart.

"Lyanna, if you don't want to be a part of all this madness, I understand. There is still time for the betrothal to be put aside." He wasn't sure exactly why he said those words. But truthfully, he cared too much about her to drag her into this madness against her will. He didn't know how she would respond, but he was not expecting Lyanna to punch him in the arm.

"Is this some bad Jest?" She said hotly. "Did you just conveniently forget the whole conversation we had after the feast?"

"I rather imagine that things have changed since then." Robert replied, surprised at her sudden fire.

"I knew things weren't going to be simple since that whole ordeal at Winterfell. I decided that I would stand by your side, and I'm not changing my mind now." She said in a tone that brooked no dissension before giving him a comforting smile and continuing.

"All of this talk of dreams and destiny and being chosen by the gods is a lot to take in, but at least it means the life with you won't be boring." She said with a small laugh before lifting her chin and speaking in an all too familiar and playful aloof tone. "To be honest, I would hate to have to endure another suitor, it was bad enough dealing with you. I have at least found spending time with you to be bearable."

Robert laughed and laughed feeling as if his heart had been renewed.

"Thank you, Lyanna, I…" He managed to stop himself from saying something that, while true, he guessed she was not ready to hear. "I needed to hear that."

Though he wished he could leave things there, there was another issue that had to be addressed before returning to the Stark's tent. Hopefully Lyanna would be receptive.

"Lyanna, why did you feel the need to deal with those knights on your own?" He asked in a manner he hoped would encourage honesty. Lyanna's smile was replaced with a scowl.

"Because nobody else would." She replied bitterly.

Robert turned to Howland.

"You did say that we should leave it be, right?" Robert asked the crannogman

"Yes, your grace, but she was quite persistent." Howland replied, smirking at Robert's discomfort with the royal honorific. Lyanna was quick to respond.

"I saw injustice and it was in my power to do something about it. Brandon just scoffed at the idea of being the mystery knight and Ned told me to drop it. I couldn't just let it go." She explained with fierce determination.

Robert saw the passion in her eyes and couldn't help but admire it but knew that her naïveté would not serve her well going forward. As much as he wished she would never have to be exposed to the true cruelty this world contained, he understood that it was bound to happen someday. He just wanted to make sure that she was not destroyed when it did.

"I wish you would have told me of this plan of yours." He said trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"If I had you would have stopped me." Lyanna replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yes, I would have, but not for the reasons you thought. I dreamt of the mystery knight and saw how the king would react, but in my dreams, I had no idea it was you. Hopefully you can understand my reaction when I recognized you." Robert replied, doing his best to not sound too harsh.

"How was I supposed to know you had a prophetic dream about this? Can you honestly tell me that, without those dreams, you would have agreed to my plan if I told you?" She asked, her frustration growing.

Robert was about to say yes but stopped himself and thought for a moment. He probably would have tried to stop her, there was just far too much to lose if she had been revealed.

"Honestly, I still would have tried to talk you out of it." Robert said slowly

"See!" Lyanna exclaimed victoriously.

"Lyanna, it is the man's job to protect the woman. If I let you go forward with this plan without protest, I might as well throw my spurs into the God's Eye since I would be a piss poor excuse for a knight." Robert explained in frustration.

"I can take care of myself. And I am fine, there was no way those three could have beaten me." Lyanna said dismissively before continuing. "If I remember correctly, you were the one telling me that I could out joust most southern knights."

"I did, but you can never know that for sure." Robert fired back. "Even the greatest knights in all the kingdoms make mistakes. Even if you weren't hurt, simply being revealed would have been more than dangerous. This isn't the North where your father's bannermen would simply accept it as your wolf blood."

There was silence as Lyanna took in his words. She looked as if she wanted to argue, the defiance still evident in her posture.

"But nothing happened, I won, and justice was served." Though she was trying to stand firm, the waiver in her voice made it clear that her resolve was failing.

"Yes, in hindsight we can be happy with how things turned out. I'm sure once everything settles down, we can have a laugh over just how badly you humiliated those knights. But that doesn't change the fact that you took a massive risk for something that was, in the long run, inconsequential." Robert was hoping that she would finally understand.

In all actuality, Robert was actually surprised by how cautious and level headed he was acting now that the storm of emotions he had been experiencing had finally passed. He couldn't help but feel like he was channeling the wisdom of his foster father at the moment. Perhaps he had taken more of his lessons to heart than he realized.

Robert watched as Lyanna finally accepted just how reckless she had been. Robert thought it best to break the silence in order to give her some sort of reassurance.

"Lyanna, this is not me proclaiming that you must give up riding or jousting at rings. Hell, I might just commission a proper suit of plate for you. I don't want to change who you are, but we have to actually think about the consequences of our actions." Robert said in as comforting a tone as he could.

He saw Lyanna's posture relax a little at his words, but the worry did not leave her.

"Do you think Rhaegar will tell anyone about this?" She asked quietly.

"I don't think so, but I also wouldn't trust him beyond that." Robert said as his old hatred seeped into his voice.

"My lord and Lady," Howland spoke once again. "I do not truly have the gift of greensight like my father, but during my time on the Isle of Faces, I saw and experienced many harrowing things. I saw that the realm is walking on a knife's edge and the future is far from certain, but I do know that Prince Rhaegar and Lord Robert are at the center of a maelstrom of possibilities, and most disturbing of all there seems to be an outside power seeking to influence the realm's destiny."

Robert finally noticed that this was not the same Howland he had met on his trip to Winterfell. The young lord had been enthusiastic and lively when he had first met him, eyes sparkling with life. Now, Howland seemed aged by his sojourn to the Isle of Faces, that spark was gone. Robert felt dread begin to well up in the pit of his stomach. Though Lyanna was the first to respond.

"So, what do we do?"

Robert could hear the worry in her voice, and knew what he had to do.

"We get you out of the rest of that armor, get back to your tent, stay as far away from Rhaegar as possible, and enjoy the rest of the tourney." He said in the same confident tone he had used to command armies.

"But what about Rhaegar and what Howland said?" Lyanna replied anxiously.

"If you worry too much about a possible future, it will just drive you mad. So instead, we focus on the here and now and things we can actually change." Robert gave Lyanna a reassuring smile, and after a moment of hesitation, she returned it with a smile of her own. Though he could still tell her anxiety had not been fully banished.

"So, let's get you out of that armor, I'll be cutting the straps. I'm sorry, but it is too risky to keep it around." Robert said, once again pulling his knife out.

"I understand, thank you." Lyanna replied with a regretful sigh.

It was the work of a few minutes to extract her from the rest of the armor leaving her in only a poorly fitted arming doublet and a pair of trousers. There was something about the look Robert found quite attractive and he wondered how she'd look if it was actually fitted for her. He would have to make sure to have a set properly tailored for her soon. Lyanna was fishing out her dress from the bag when an errant thought that Robert had previously dismissed sprang up once again.

"Lyanna, how did you make your voice sound so different when you were the mystery knight?" he queried. She paused from her task and looked over at Howland with a pensive smirk.

"Ah, your grace, that was my doing." Howland responded on Lyanna's behalf.

"Oh?" Robert said, trying to ignore Howland's insistent use of that damned title.

"Yes, it was something I learned from the Green Men. They have many means to appear as someone or something other than what they are." The young lord replied happily. Robert was glad to see some of the enthusiasm returning to the man but could not help but notice that his eyes were still not quite as bright as they once were.

"I thought you said you couldn't use magic outside the Neck." Robert stated suspiciously.

"It is true that the Neck is a place still inundated with magic ripe for free use, but it is also true that those of old houses carry magic with us at all times." Howland said with an enigmatic flourish. Robert was not particularly amused at this answer.

"It's blood." Lyanna clarified quickly, her voice conveying her awe and interest.

"Blood?" Robert asked while staring at Howland warily.

"Well, it's not just blood." Howland said quickly in a defensive tone. "The magic is in the blood, yes, but it must be offered to the gods in a manner pleasing to them, for it is their power and blessing we seek. The First Men learned from the Children, the Valyrians learned from their dragon gods, and the Red Priests from R'hllor. The Green Men told me that even the Andals had their own form of blood sacrifice to gain their god's favor." Howland said in a quick and excited tone. It seemed as if this truly was the crannogman's passion.

"And whose blood exactly did you use for this deception?" Robert said, unsure if he actually wanted to know the answer.

"Fear not, your grace, it was my blood given up to disguise Lady Stark's voice." Howland said, showing Robert a bandaged hand.

"He wouldn't show me how to do it myself." Lyanna complained.

"Good." Robert immediately said. He was not comfortable with talk of blood magic and sorcery, let alone that his Andal ancestors dabbled in it as well. Perhaps he could write to Cedric about it.

"Well, um, I need to change into my dress now, may I have some privacy?" Lyanna said in an uncharacteristically shy tone. Immediately, Both Robert and Howland turned around and gave her time to change. One she was changed; Robert and Howland quickly dug a shallow hole and buried the mismatched armor before they set off towards the Stark's tent once more. Robert offered his arm to her, and she gladly took it.

"Robert," she said with a wry smile.

"Yes?" He responded in kind.

"If you are a secret king; would that make me a secret queen when we wed?" She teased.

"I suppose so." Robert said with a sigh still not keen on embracing that title again. Lyanna let out a laugh at his expense, but the smile on her face was more than enough for Robert to forgive her.

As they walked to the exit of the godswood, they chatted about many things. They recounted Robert's performance during the melee and Robert was interested to hear that Eddard had met with Ashara Dayne last night. He would need to ask him how that went. It was nice to simply enjoy time with Lyanna, but as they neared the entrance to the main castle grounds, they knew they would have to be careful in order to protect Lyanna's cover story of being ill. They did their best to not attract attention to themselves as they navigated past rows and rows of tents, keeping to the shadows being cast by the late afternoon sun. Eventually Lyanna led them to the rear of her family's tent where her bed was and began opening a flap that would have normally been fastened more securely.

"Benjen should be keeping people out of my chamber. I'll enter here and you can go around to the front entrance and ask for me." She quickly whispered as she undid the final fastener. Just then the flap was flung wide open and before them stood a grinning Brandon Stark.

"Lyanna, care to explain what…" He stopped as he saw Robert standing behind a very surprised Lyanna, his smile turning into a sneer. "What is he doing here?"

"I can explain!" Lyanna exclaimed.

Robert groaned internally; he was not looking forward to this particular family meeting.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar watched Robert drag a protesting Lyanna off into the godswood, he moved to follow after them in order to ensure that she would remain unharmed, when he was blocked by whom he assumed was just a boy acting as Lyanna's squire.

"You dare stand in my way?" Rhaegar said imperiously. Behind him Arthur stirred ever ready to jump into action.

"I am simply doing my duty as a sworn bannerman of House Stark." The boy said. Rhaegar took a moment to actually examine the one who blocked his path. The prince quickly realized that the person before him, though at first glance young, was simply short in stature. He noted the man's muscular build and confident stance and concluded that he would be a challenging opponent if underestimated.

"Is it your duty to stand by and watch as your lady is dragged away like that?" Rhaegar was growing impatient.

"My lady is in no danger from her betrothed, your grace." The Stark bannerman replied, his voice edged in steel. Rhaegar scoffed, was this little man suggesting that he was the greater threat to Lyanna's safety?

"And who are you to say such things?" Rhaegar was losing his patience.

"Pardon me, your grace, I am Lord Howland of House Reed, heir to Greywater Watch should my father still live." There was no warmth in Lord Reed's voice. Rhaegar realized that he was dealing with one of the principal banners of the North, a man that held power over a vast land that was practically unconquerable. Rhaegar would need to be more careful.

"I see, I hope you will find your father in good health when you return home." The prince replied diplomatically.

"If I may be so bold, your grace, I believe it is in your best interest to forget about Lady Lyanna. Dreams and prophecies are not always worth chasing after." The crannogman said in a warning tone.

Rhaegar's heart began to race. How did this man know of his dreams? Few within Westeros knew of such things, especially since the tragedy of Summerhall and the deaths of this great aunt Jenny and her woods witch friend. The few maesters he spoke to simply dismissed his concerns, but apparently the man before him had knowledge far beyond the wisest men in the realm.

"What do you know of dreams?" The prince demanded, unable to keep his excitement from his voice. Lord Reed's scrutinizing gaze would have caused lesser men to flinch, but Rhaegar was a prince and a dragon; he would not back down.

"I know that dreams can be difficult to discern and can often lead men astray. I implore you to turn from this path for I am sure of one thing: if you seek out Lady Lyanna it will only lead to the doom of your house." Lord Reed said gravely.

"How could you know that? Do you know how to interpret dreams?" Rhaegar struggled to keep the pleading from his voice, he was a prince after all.

"Nay, your grace, but if you must seek that knowledge then go to the Isle of Faces and petition the Green Men to share their knowledge with you. I must look after my lady and her betrothed now. I wish you fortune in the wars to come, your grace." Just as Lord Reed was about to turn and leave, his gaze landed on Ser Arthur and the famous sword he wielded.

"It is an honor to meet you Ser Dayne, I truly, truly hope we never have to meet again." With that the future lord of Greywater Watch collected Lady Lyanna's horse and hurried off in the direction that Lord Robert had fled.

Both the prince and his knight stood silent for some time, unsure of what to make of the strange crannogman. It was Arthur who spoke first.

"Prince Rhaegar, I think we should take that shield back to the king as you promised."

Rhaegar looked to his protector and friend and nodded, as they turned to leave the godswood. There was much to ponder and meditate upon. When his dreams had begun to grow clearer and more frequent, it was not difficult to interpret the general meaning of the dream. The prince that was promised would come from a union of House Stark and House Targaryen, from ice and fire. However, that did not mean it was as easy as approaching the Starks with an offer to take their daughter as his second wife. Without dragons to cow the faith, polygamy was not a viable path. The thought of putting Elia aside was a nonstarter as well. Even though their relationship was far from a loving one, he respected her far too much to explore that path. Not to mention the political backlash it would cause in Dorne.

So where did that leave him? The dragon needed three heads, and there were already concerns that Elia would not be able to carry another child after this one. He truly did find Lyanna to be beautiful and appealing. To have beaten those knights so thoroughly only served to highlight the strength that she would impart upon the prince. Perhaps he could have convinced Lyanna to join him as a paramour in the fashion of Dorne. Any bastards born could be easily legitimized when he was king. He would have had to discuss that with Elia first, naturally. Since her culture was more open to such arrangements, perhaps she would have been amenable to the idea. But ultimately this path was closed to him as well. Perhaps if she were being forced into an unwanted marriage with Robert, he would have had an avenue to approach her, but if the rumors were true, it seemed as if Robert had actually won her over with his trip to the North. He could not and would not interfere in a marriage between those in love. A loving marriage was something that both he and his own parents had wanted but had been denied. He was not so petty as to covet and rob others of that which he desired. And once again, the political repercussions would not be something he would want to deal with.

And so, his thoughts turned back to Lord Reed's warning. The man's words both excited and terrified him. As soon as the tourney was over, he would indeed seek out the Green Men. He had heard of them before of course, but it was difficult to sift the truth from the rumors. If they could give him the answers he sought after, then it was imperative that he speak to them. If pursuing Lyanna would be the doom of his house then he would need to know how to avoid such a fate while still ensuring the birth of the prince that was promised.

Doubt began to claw at his mind. Was he too focused on Aegon's dream? Lord Reed had said that dreams often lead men astray. But it was a dream that saved his family from the Doom of Valyria, so he couldn't dismiss them entirely. He couldn't afford to let doubt into his heart now. The second long night was coming soon. He felt it in his bones, it was as sure as the turning of the moon or the rising of the sun. But if House Targaryen fell, then there would be no one to stop the coming darkness.

A thought came to mind. What if the prince would come through the line of Lyanna and Robert? Was it possible he had misunderstood the stag's place in his dream? What if the she-wolf in the dream was Robert's daughter and the dragon his son? Robert after all shared the blood of the dragon, and if the rumors of Orys' relation to Aegon, his House carried the blood of Valyria since its founding. Jenny's woods witch had simply proclaimed that the prince would be born from the line of Aerys and Rhaella, she did not say that it would be the next generation or even the one after that. Rhaegar smiled at the thought of how it all might fit together in a way that would not only keep the peace but strengthen the bonds of blood that kept the realm from tearing itself apart in the absence of dragons.

And so, he decided that he would do everything he could to build closer ties to Robert. It was not terribly difficult to tell that Robert was not fond of the attention he was receiving from his father. What he didn't understand was Robert's antagonism toward himself. Rhaegar vividly remembers the moment they locked eyes at the welcome feast. The malice he felt from his cousin was discomforting to say the least. Though he thought he had been making ground with Robert throughout the day, their confrontation moments ago reinforced the idea that Robert held something against him. Rhaegar suspected that the king had already sent agents to whisper in Robert's ear in order to turn them against each other.

Regardless, he had a promise to keep and so sought out his father. He hoped that this would build good will with his cousin.

"Your grace, I have returned from my search for the mystery knight. It seems as if he has disappeared and all that was left behind was his shield." Rhaegar presented the shield to the king.

"That was fast," The king said suspiciously. "Robert is still out searching, are you perhaps trying to cover for this traitor?"

"Robert and I actually found this together in the godswood. It was his idea to search there." The lie flowed easily from Rhaegar's mouth.

"Oh? And why isn't he here then?" The king replied, disbelief clear in his voice.

"Robert entrusted this to me as he wished to check in on his betrothed who had taken ill today." Rhaegar answered. Half truths are always easier to sell than outright lies.

"He dotes on his savage too much." Aerys snarled. After a few moments of examining the shield, the king stood and tossed it into a nearby fire, watching it burn with a disturbing fascination. The king eventually turned back to the prince and was almost surprised to see that he was still there.

"Very well, get out." The king said dismissively.

Though the king did not seem particularly happy that he would not have the chance to execute a traitor, it seemed as though he was beginning to lose interest in the whole affair. It was a small mercy. An anxiousness that Rhaegar didn't realize was building dissipated as he returned to his chambers in the castle. When he arrived, a servant informed him that Elia had retired to her bed early since she was still feeling weak from the trials of her second pregnancy.

Rhaenys was simply happy to see that her father had returned and spent what little time they had together regaling him with stories of her grand adventures around the massive keep. But all too quickly it was time for her to go to bed as well. Rhaegar found himself feeling exhausted after a day spent with his father and fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Opening his eyes once again. Rhaegar immediately knew he was dreaming again as he found himself standing before the Iron Throne. Sitting atop the throne was his father, but not as the man currently was. It was his father in his prime, before the defiance, looking strong and regal. Though curiously his father's long gold-silver hair was worn straight covering one of his eyes.

"Pathetic." His father called out. Though Rhaegar thought that his voice sounded odd. "You doubt yourself."

"I seek only to ensure that the path I am on does not lead us all to ruin." Rhaegar replied angrily.

"You are going to let a frog eating nobody turn you from the path?" His not quite father spat disdainfully

"There is no harm in seeking counsel from others." Rhaegar countered.

"We are Targaryens, Dragonlords of Valyria, we are above the rabble that infest these backward lands. You do not need their counsel, you order and they obey, you want and they give." The man on the throne raved.

"No king can rule without the consent of the people." Rhaegar argued back.

"Weak, my son will be the weakest king since the first Viserys." The man wearing his father's image said mockingly.

"The path you speak of is wrong!" Rhaegar shouted. "It is evil and no good can come of it. It is not a weakness to seek a different way."

"There is no such thing as good and evil when the survival of all mankind is at stake. You seek Peace? Let me show you the peace that awaits all should you stray from the path." His father's imposter let out a mad laughter as pitch black wings stretched out from the throne to envelope Rhaegar causing the world to go dark.

Suddenly the darkness was peeled back and Rhaegar found himself on a battlefield. But this was unlike anything he had read of or experienced. He stood on a snow-covered field surrounded by an endless hoard of walking corpses whose baleful blue eyes hungered to tear him limb from limb. All around him he could hear the screams of living soldiers being ripped apart as they failed to stem the tide. There was no leader amongst the living. No flaming sword to drive back the darkness, just endless death. And soon they were upon him, he fought back desperately, but they kept coming even after suffering wounds that would end a living man. He was quickly overwhelmed and began to be torn apart before he finally awoke screaming from that terrible nightmare.

Rhaegar prayed to all the gods who would listen that he would never have to experience that again. Unfortunately, it would be a nightmare that would plague him for the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

RETCON ALERT:

Upon further research of the cannon for the Tourney at Harrenhal and looking at the pace and flow of this story, I have realized that I am going entirely too fast. The tourney was scheduled to last ten days with five of them being dedicated to nothing but jousting. I have already begun to rewrite much of the story to tighten up some of the plot (and hopefully alter some minor cringe dialogue that was pointed out). In fact, chapter 1 is already done. There won't be any major changes to the plot or what came before the tourney, but I think it is important to slide in an extra day to bring it closer into line with canon. So here is an updated timeline with notes on the goings on of the historic tourney.

Day 1: Welcome feast, no changes from what has been written. As a note, Lyanna was the one who pushed for Ned to dance with Catelyn since they were just sitting and chatting casually, in both their eyes it is completely platonic. Brandon was still the one who got Ashara to dance with Ned as in cannon, this dance turns out to be less platonic.

Day 2: Opening ceremony where Jaime is sworn in followed by the squire's melee and archery competition. No real changes to day two. I like the idea that they would give the boys a chance to show off before the main event, so they aren't completely forgotten. The archery contest is open to the smallfolk as well and is placed on the first day for much the same reason.

Day 3: Grand Melee, no changes to what is written. As a note, not all knights and lords who attend the tourney participate. There are many who don't want to risk the loss of their equipment because they were unseated during the chaos of the melee and prefer to make their fortune during the jousts. Robert still parties hard.

Day 4: First day of Jousts. This is the first day of the "lesser" jousts which are more round robin style than bracket style, with much less fanfare. The first two days of the jousts are for the large numbers of hedge knights, sworn knights, and poor landed knights in attendance. Basically, the people who nobody really cares about if they are hurt. Many poor knights will compete knowing they have no real hope of winning it all and simply look to earn some cash via ransom, pulling out after winning two or three tilts. Those that wish to compete in the main tourney must unseat at least three competitors in order to earn their place in the champion's bracket. Though they can still compete if they wish to accept challenges or claim more ransom.

This is the first major change to the story as Robert is not summoned by the king on this day since the king doesn't care to watch the rabble compete. He still wakes up hungover after the melee celebrations, and still has that moment of relief knowing he hadn't made a mistake. Without the summons he gets a full day of socializing with the lords and ladies of the North, Stormlands, the Vale, and even some from the Riverlands. His natural charisma helps him befriend many men he had not really interacted with previously. Of course, he gets to spend more time with the Starks. Brandon, while not hostile, maintains his distance. In the evening, he throws another banquet to honor those Stormlands knights that managed to secure a place in the main tourney in a single day.

Day 5: Robert wakes up and has the inner monologue about Lyanna being ill this day in the past and how she missed seeing the knight. He is still dismayed by the summons from the king. His interaction with the prince plays out the same, and the day goes mostly that same until Lyanna shows up as the mystery knight. Lyanna challenges the knight of House Haigh who accepts even though he has already won the necessary matches to advance, it's obvious he wants to punish such a pathetic looking knight for having the audacity to call him out. Jokes on him.

Afterwards, events go mostly the same as written but will be more in line with Meera Reed's description in canon. The king doesn't call for the head of the mystery knight immediately but commands his Kingsguard to defeat and unmask them when they show up for the champion's competition the following day. Robert leaves abruptly, still eager to find Lyanna and make sure she doesn't try and keep competing. Their interaction and dealings with the prince play out mostly the same, but with slightly altered dialogue. The prince still takes the shield to the king and explains that the mystery knight must have fled and must have not intended to compete any further, things then play out as written.

Day 6: The first day of the true tourney and will be covered in the current chapter and those to come.

END OF RETCONS, BACK TO THE STORY PROPER

"Brandon, don't just stand there, let them in." Eddard admonished his brother in a firm tone. Brandon simply grunted in response and held the flap open for them and motioned for them to hurry and enter.

"Ben! You were supposed to cover for me." Lyanna complained to her younger brother after she entered and saw him sitting on her bed looking thoroughly browbeaten.

"What was I supposed to do? Pull a blade on them?" Benjen shouted back defiantly. Lyanna simply sighed in resignation and sat next to her younger brother, obviously not that upset with him. Once everyone was settled Brandon spoke up.

"I believe you said you would explain. I especially would like to hear his part in all of this." Brandon said with a slight snarl while pointing a finger at Robert.

"Lord Brandon…" Robert began but stopped when Brandon quickly spoke over him.

"I'm talking to my sister right now, Lord Robert." Brandon sneered. Robert felt his anger swelling, but his betrothed jumped to his defense

"You're being an ass, Brandon." Lyanna said, angrily standing up and stepping close to her oldest brother. "Robert had nothing to do with this."

"I find that hard to believe, he'd do anything to get into your… good graces." Brandon countered, only barely managing to avoid being overly crass. Robert was furious and was just barely reigning in his anger at yet another slight. He knew no good would come from another brawl with Brandon, but oh, did his knuckles itch. Fortunately, Ned was quick to respond.

"Brandon, enough with the petty insults. I've listened to you groan and moan about Robert for our entire trip south. For once in your damned life, try to stop, listen, and think before jumping to conclusions." True to his moniker, his voice was barely louder than his normal speaking voice, but the anger and frustration that Eddard must have been holding back was more than evident in his tone. It was something that his siblings were obviously not used to hearing as they all stared at Ned, stunned into silence.

"Now Lyanna," Eddard continued in a much calmer voice while turning to his sister. "You say Robert has nothing to do with this, yet he is the one escorting you back to the tent. Care to explain?"

It took a few moments for Lyanna to respond as she was still shocked by her usually reserved brother's outburst.

"Um, he found me in the godswood while I was trying to get my armor off. Nothing untoward happened of course, Howland was with us the entire time." She said with the hints of a blush on her cheeks.

"Very well," Eddard sighed and looked very tired. "Do you know just how much of a mess you've caused?"

Lyanna, for her part, looked quite abashed.

"Yes, Robert was very clear about how angry the king was, and how things could have gone wrong if I had been unmasked in front of all those nobles." She said in a defeated tone.

"Who gives a fuck about the king and all those southron lordlings!" Brandon exclaimed. "Ned and I had to spend our time dealing with our bannermen rather than going out and looking for you."

"What?" Lyanna replied not expecting her eldest brother's complaint.

"Lyanna, many of the northern lords who have visited Winterfell have seen you tilting at rings." Ned explained patiently. "You have a very unique style, and it wasn't hard for those who know you to put it all together. Several were concerned as to why you found it necessary to sneak into the competition. Bolton even questioned Brandon's ability to rule since he can't even keep you in line." Eddard's mention of the Lord of the Dread Fort was laced with more than a bit of disdain.

"We also had to make sure they kept their damned mouths shut about it." Brandon practically snarled in frustration.

"I get it!" Lyanna shouted, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I'm sorry, I didn't think things through. Gods, first Robert, then Rhaegar, and now you." She had just about mumbled the last bit, but it didn't escape her brothers' notice. Eddard simply went white, having heard of Robert's tale of woe. While, of course, Brandon's anger once again flared.

"What has the prince got to do with this?" Brandon growled.

"He found us in the godswood. He said he would convince the king that the mystery knight fled and could not be found." She replied nervously. It took a few moments for Brandon to process what she had said before he turned and yelled for his squire.

"Ethan, get your ass in here!"

"Brandon what are you planning?" Eddard asked, obviously expecting to hate the answer. The eldest Stark didn't answer, and simply waited for his squire. Once the young Glover arrived, Brandon was quick with his order.

"Go prepare my armor and sword." The order was simple and direct, but it was clear to all that a wild anger was growing within the heir to Winterfell.

"Ethan, hold." Eddard commanded. It was a tone that Robert knew all too well, but one that took his siblings by surprise. They had yet to really see this side of their normally stoic brother. The boy froze, looking between the two brothers unsure of who he should obey.

"You can't order my squire, Eddard." Brandon snarled

"I can and I will when you are being a gods damned idiot. What's your plan? Go confront the prince on our sister's behalf? Challenge him to a duel?" Ned questioned angrily.

"I will make sure the prince knows what will happen should any harm befall our sister." Brandon said with a sinister smile.

"Are you mad? You'll just get yourself killed." Ned replied, bewildered by his brother's answer.

The two wolves looked ready to tear each other apart before Robert realized just how uncharacteristically quiet he had been so far. Robert had to admit that he was enjoying watching Ned act like the true Warden of the North, but figured it was probably time to step in.

"Enough!" Robert commanded in a firm tone. "Brandon, I more than anyone else understand where you are coming from, but the prince gave his word that no harm would come to Lyanna. I also don't think he is so eager for his father's approval as to willingly subject her to the king's whims."

"You would have me do nothing?" Brandon shouted back.

"Yes!" Both Ned and Robert replied.

"I can't stand here and do nothing. We can't trust our sister's safety to a damn dragon." Brandon argued back, though it seemed as if reason was slowly catching up to his anger.

"We can and we will." Eddard replied coolly, reigning in his own temper.

"Brandon," Robert said, stepping up and putting a consoling hand on his future good brother's shoulder. "You and I are men of action. If it wasn't for Lyanna and Howland making me see reason, I might have tried to attack the prince and Ser Arthur with nothing but my hunting knife. It was a hard lesson to learn, but Jon taught us that sometimes doing nothing is the best thing we can do."

"So where does that leave us?" Brandon asked, his demeanor like that of a hound being held back on a leash.

"Well, it leaves us with a night celebrating your sister's stunning victory over three so-called knights." Robert said with his most charming smile.

Brandon let out a heavy sigh and ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated growl in an attempt to wrangle in his wild blood before responding.

"Aye, I suppose it does." The eldest Stark finally replied, even managing a slight smirk of his own.

And so, they spent their night toasting to Lyanna's victory. She was able to tell the tale from her perspective and they spent the evening simply enjoying each other's company. Brandon even managed an apology for his accusation earlier, leading to a marked improvement in their relationship. As the festivities began to wind down, and Robert bid Lyanna a good evening he approached Eddard.

"Ned, let's talk, just the two of us." Robert's tone told Eddard that there was no escaping it, and he just sighed while leading Robert away from the tent. They found a fire pit that had been abandoned and Eddard took a moment to coax it back to life.

"What do you want to talk about?" Eddard asked nonchalantly.

"I want to talk about you." Robert said happily. "It's been five days and we haven't had any time for ourselves. Even with everything going on, I have not forgotten my third brother."

"There is not much to talk about." Eddard replied casually, his face an icy mask. To anyone else, this would simply be the Quiet Wolf living up to his name. But Robert knew his closest friend better.

"You're deflecting." Robert said with a sly smile.

"Am I?" Ned said, still maintaining his cool demeanor.

"It's almost as if you don't want to talk to me about your dalliance with a certain dornish lady." Robert accused in a good natured tone.

"Lyanna told you then?" He replied with a sigh, letting his façade drop.

"She just mentioned that you called on her after the melee celebrations" Robert said, happy to have gotten past his friend's defenses.

"I've actually called on Lady Ashara every night since the feast. Well, after the feast she called on me, but I have seen her each night since. That night was simply the first time Lyanna caught us." Eddard replied with a genuine smile on his face.

"Good for you Ned!" Robert gave Ned a hearty slap on the back.

"She's…" Eddard struggled to find the words. "She is intoxicating. Her smile, her wit, her laughter, her lips." He paused for a moment, obviously lost in a pleasant memory. "I never thought someone like her would be interested in a second son like me."

Robert noticed Eddard's wistful smile falter a little and remembered Ashara's fate in his previous life. Of course, he never got the full story from his friend, but he had heard all of the rumors as to why she threw herself into the sea. Many said that she had been dishonored here at Harrenhal.

"Listen, any lady would be lucky to have you and don't you forget it. Do you want to tell me what happened?" Robert asked cautiously. Eddard simply laughed in response.

"That proves that you are either some imposter or you truly have lived another life." Eddard replied.

"Oh, how so?" Robert said grumpily.

"The Robert I've known all my life would have just made a bawdy jape." Eddard said with a fond smile.

"You're right of course, but you are trying to change the subject again." Robert retorted.

"Yes, well if you must know, I came close to dishonoring her last night. She was willing and I probably would have if it weren't for…" Eddard trailed off, clearly not wanting to finish the sentence.

"If it wasn't for what?" Robert probed.

"If it wasn't for Lady Catelyn." Eddard said quietly, embarrassment clear in his voice.

"What, did she walk in on you two or what?" Robert wasn't exactly happy with where this was going.

"No, gods no," Eddard recoiled at the thought. "I just wouldn't want her to think I value a lady's virtue so little."

"Don't give me that Ned, it's not like you would announce it to the world. How about you tell me the real reason why thinking of Lady Catelyn gave you pause." Robert said in a tone that demanded a truthful answer.

"You're the one who saw our son!" Eddard blurted out defensively.

"So, you are throwing away your chance to be with a beautiful lady that actually likes you because of visions of a boy that may never exist?"

"Yes… No, gods, I don't know. It's so damn confusing!" Eddard spat in frustration.

"I thought we talked about this Ned." Robert said sternly. "We're going to live our lives the way we want. Not based on what might be."

"I know, I know, I want Ashara. I truly do. But I also can't stop thinking about Cat."

"Oh, she's Cat now?" Robert questioned sardonically. "When did you get so close to your brother's betrothed? You do realize what has to happen for that to work out right?"

"Gods, I know, and It's not like I wish ill on my brother." Eddard groaned. "Lady Catelyn and I have talked quite a lot during the tourney. She's very curious about the North and our traditions, and Brandon doesn't always have the patience for it. It's not like we've ever been alone together but talking to her is nice, relaxing even."

"Hmm," Robert mused as he tried to recall his old memories of the tourney. "I don't really remember seeing her around much the last time. Let alone spending time asking about the North."

"I think it has to do with her new faith. She seems quite taken with it and wants to know more about the old gods." Eddard said with a slight smile that betrayed his fondness for the lady in question before it turned into a sad frown.

"I don't think theirs will be a happy match." Eddard said quietly.

"Ned, it's no use longing over the things you can't have or worrying about the things you can't change. It seems like you have a good thing going with Ashara, and gods willing your brother will live long enough to actually see his wedding." Robert replied.

"I do, and I am glad I did not dishonor her. I want to do right by her and court her properly. I'd like to think that I didn't pick up too many bad habits from your younger self" Eddard teased. Robert simply laughed.

"Enough of all that, what are your plans after the tourney?" Robert asked after recovering from his laughter.

"I plan on heading back to the Vale to settle my affairs there before returning to Winterfell, my father wants me home and says he has plans for me. I will ask him to reach out to Lord Dayne to negotiate the betrothal. What are your plans?" Eddard asked.

"I have to go back to Storm's End. Apparently, a Lord Paramount is supposed to actually govern his lands." Robert said with a mirthless laugh before a sly grin appeared on his face.

"Though, I believe I have some business in the Vale as well. I think it is time for little Mya to come live with her family in Storm's End. She's only a year or so younger than Renly and I am sure he'll enjoy playing with her. It's settled, I'll travel with the Vale with you and then head back to Storm's End by way of Gulltown." Robert finished sounding exceedingly proud of his new plan. Ned smiled and shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Still finding clever ways to shirk your responsibility? And here I heard that you were settling into your role pretty well." Eddard replied with a teasing grin.

"It'll only be an extra moon, two at the most. Besides, being decent at something is still not the same as liking it." Robert grumbled. "I'm a warrior Ned, I am at my best with a hammer in hand and an enemy in front. Sitting on a chair and listening to people whine all day is not exactly how I wish to spend my days. At least I haven't died of boredom yet."

"Well, just make sure you talk to everyone about your new plans. For what it's worth, I am happy to hear of your growth and proud to call you brother." Eddard said earnestly.

"It's worth quite a lot actually." Robert replied, basking in the warmth of his closest friend's praise.

They continued on talking and reminiscing until they realized that the hour of ghosts had come and gone, their fire burning low.

"Well, I should get back to my tent and rest. I've got to poke some men with sticks in the morning." Robert chuckled.

"Aye, have you seen who you are up against first?" Eddard asked with a mischievous grin.

"I haven't exactly had a chance to look at the lists yet." Robert said, curious as to what had Ned grinning.

"Well then, I'll leave it to be a surprise. Lyanna and I will definitely be cheering you on." Eddard laughed before standing to bid Robert goodnight.

Robert just laughed it off before returning the farewell and returning to his own tent. When he arrived, it seemed as if everyone else had already turned in for the night and so he followed suit.

He awoke to the voice of his squire and slowly sat up to take a look at the boy. The bruises Walder had earned were finally beginning to fade, but Robert knew it was still too soon for his squire to take on his full responsibilities.

"Good morning, Lord Robert, I've prepared your horse and your armor. I took the time to check the lists and you have been placed in the second tilt of the day." Walder said with a happy smile.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Robert said as he accepted a warm wet towel to clean himself with.

"Don't worry about me, my lord, it only hurts when I take deep breaths. We have to make sure you are properly prepared for your first opponent." Walder said with far more excitement than would normally be expected in this situation.

"Boy, you need to take better care of yourself." Robert said sternly.

"As you say, my lord." Walder replied while holding up Robert's arming doublet clearly ready to assist Robert in dressing for the competition. Robert sighed, recognizing the tone his squire used when he was politely ignoring his suggestions.

"And who will I be facing down first?" Robert inquired curiously, remembering Ned's cryptic words from the night before.

"That would be Lord Stark." Walder replied with a beaming smile.

"Brandon Stark." Robert repeated while processing what his squire had told him. The eldest Stark was a very accomplished rider, and Robert knew that he would be a very difficult opponent to face this early on. Though the fact that Ned said he and Lyanna would be cheering for him caused him no small amount of satisfaction. Chuckling, he finally stood and motioned for Walder to help him dress.

"I didn't expect to face him so early in the tourney." Robert stated thoughtfully.

"Apparently, it's because neither of you have been seen on many lists, so the Master of Games had to put you both near the bottom. From what I can see you'll have to defeat six competitors to be crowned champion." Walder's enthusiasm was clear as he finished tying up all the hard-to-reach laces on the arming doublet.

It did occur to him that Brandon had won three tilts before being unseated by Rhaegar in the tourney the last time around. Robert had never paid much attention to the organization of the lists. Previously, he had just taken a simple pleasure in the violence of the joust, appreciating the clash of wood and steel; never having cared about the skill of those competing. That had changed of course since he decided to win the tourney for Lyanna and taken his training seriously. A thought occurred to him, if he was facing Brandon now did that mean he would compete against Rhaegar early in the competition?

"So, I might be facing the prince soon then." He said, voicing his thoughts.

"Sorry, I don't know why you'd think so, my lord." Walder said with a confused tone. "Prince Rhaegar is in a different group from you and won't start competing until tomorrow due to his victories in past tourneys. If you do meet the prince, it would be in the final tilt."

Robert took in the information and furrowed his brow. Why were things so similar yet so different? Has his return truly had so much of an impact on future events? Could he rely on any of the knowledge from his previous life anymore? He felt a headache coming on and decided that it wasn't worth the trouble thinking about such things. What he did know now was that his first opponent was an incredibly skilled rider, and he would need to be truly focused if he wanted to win.

In almost no time at all Walder finished tightening the straps and laces on the protective layer that Robert's plate would be fastened over, and the two moved to break their fast. Robert noticed Stannis sitting at the table finishing a light meal as he was reading over a fairly worn looking tome.

"Good morning brother, what have you got there?" Robert asked happily. Stannis did not bother looking up from his book.

"Good morning. It is a copy of A History of the Houses of the Reach. The maester here was kind enough to lend me it for the duration of the Tourney." Stannis said in his usual flat tone.

"Riveting." Robert drawled as he began to cut into a sausage. "How are things going with your young lady?" Robert asked with genuine interest. Stannis finally looked up, and Robert could tell there was a little irritation in his dark blue eyes.

"The Reach is a mess." frustration bleeding into Stannis' voice.

"Tell me something I don't know." Robert scoffed, "I believe I asked after your lady."

"Lady Delena is well." Stannis replied in his normal tone.

"You've spent nearly three whole days with her and that is all you have to say?" Robert asked in an exasperated tone. Stannis leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"I am fond of her, and she reciprocates the feeling." He replied coolly, obviously wanting this conversation to end.

"Wow, quite high praise. We'd best get the two of you wed before there's any holding of hands or, heavens forbid, you two share a kiss." Robert teased. Stannis said nothing but the look he gave Robert clearly communicated that he did not appreciate the sarcasm.

"Forgive me, I jest. It's good to know that my little brother won't be doomed to a cold marriage." Robert said jovially.

"I am concerned whether it is truly the best match for our house?" Stannis said, closing the book and pushing away from himself in irritation.

"Gods save me from dutiful men and their lady troubles." Robert groaned. Stannis looked like he wanted to protest, but Robert held up his hand. "We've had this discussion before, Stannis. I will not have you being even more miserable and cold than you already are due to sharing your bed with some ugly shrew because she was the most politically advantageous match. Your happiness is worth far more to me than that."

"True to form, you manage to both compliment me and insult me in a single breath." Stannis said with a scowl.

"I'm your big brother Stannis, it's practically my job. Why the sudden hesitation? You like her, she likes you, and she comes with a significant dowry. I'm not seeing the downside here." Robert asked, trying to get to the core of the issue.

"Yes, but in my time spent with Delena, I've seen just how fractious the reacher lords are, and that includes her family. Wouldn't it be safer if I married the daughter of one of your bannermen?" Stannis asked plainly, though Robert could tell his brother's heart wasn't truly in it.

"Well, for one, she'll be a Baratheon after you wed so if your future good family kicks up a ruckus it isn't like they can force me to do anything. Second, there is a strategic benefit here that I think you've somehow missed." Robert explained

"And what would that be?" Stannis inquired, showing a growing interest in his own subdued manner.

"Should war break out across the seven kingdoms, having close ties to the Florents could potentially protect us from the Tyrells." Robert said with a slight grin, watching as Stannis' strategic mind put the pieces together.

"The Tyrells are considered upstarts and stewards by many of the old houses of the Reach. A powerful house having the backing of another kingdom could easily challenge their control." Stannis thought out loud, before turning a piercing gaze on Robert. "Do you truly think there will be war in our time?" Stannis asked with just the barest hint of worry in his voice.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Robert said with determination. "But I also can't put it past the king to do something truly stupid enough to spark a revolt. The dragons aren't as loved as they once were. If it comes down to it, the lady you have fallen for so hard may give us a very valuable alliance. So, stop worrying, marry your fox, and have lots of babies with blue eyes and big ears." Robert finished firmly, hoping to dispel his brother's anxiety. Stannis stared at Robert intensely for a few moments obviously processing what Robert had said.

"She is only four and ten, marriage will be some years off." Stannis said in a matter-of-fact tone, though he wore the slightest of grins. Robert simply chuckled and shook his head, returning to his own meal. Stannis quickly finished his food and stood from the table, addressing Robert one more time.

"I am off to fetch Lady Delena, she will be joining me in the Stormlands box today. She asked me to tell you that she and her family wish you luck in the tilts today." Stannis said, in a tone that for the normally dour boy was downright merry. Just before he exited the tent he stopped and turned to Robert.

"Thank you." He said sincerely before striding out to meet his young lady. Robert was shocked at the candid gratitude his brother had shown, but quickly recovered knowing that he had to finish getting ready for his joust.

When he followed Walder to where his plate was, he saw that it was practically gleaming as if newly smithed. One would be hard pressed to believe that Robert had participated in a grand melee but two days ago. It must have taken quite a lot of work. He cast a suspicious glance at Walder who had the good sense to look contrite.

"I didn't do it all myself." The boy hurriedly explained. Robert shook his head and smiled.

"Right, come on then." Robert said while getting into position to be fitted with his armor.

Walder simply smiled and went about the business of encasing Robert in his shining steel plate. Now wearing his armor and beautifully stitched tabard, with antlered helm in hand, Robert mounted his powerful steed while his squire mounted his own horse with the Baratheon banner in hand. It was times like this that Robert felt like he was truly himself. Smiling he spurred his horse towards the tiltyard ready and eager to crown Lyanna with winter roses.

Chapter Text

Robert and Walder rode to where the knights and lords mustered for the opening of The Champion’s Joust.  The field was a riot of colors and sigils as over one hundred competitors gathered for the chance to win honor and glory.  The previous two days were merely a warmup for the spectacle that was to follow over the next three.  As was tradition, the day would begin with a grand procession where the assembled knights would parade for the honor of the young Lady Whent for whom the tourney was being held.  This was also when knights would normally go and publicly ask their chosen lady for their favor.  Robert had already received Lyanna’s favor when he participated in the melee but had returned it the previous night while  explaining the tradition.  She scoffed a little at the excessive pageantry but agreed to play along while giving him a wry smile.

Robert made his way to where the Stormlanders were gathering but was intercepted by Brandon.  His future good brother was encased in the finest plate northern smiths could produce. The steel was dark gray in color, matching the direwolf running across his ice white tabard, yet it was still polished to perfection and gleaming in the early morning sun. His helm was  simple as well with none of the embellishments a southerner of similar station demand.  In all, Robert had to admit that Brandon currently personified the simple strength and fortitude that House Stark was known for.

“Hail Lord Robert.” Brandon said congenially.

“Good morning, Lord Brandon.” Robert replied in a similar tone

“I feel it necessary to apologize to you.” Brandon said with a smirk. 

“Oh, I thought you’ve already done so.” Robert replied with a matching grin, guessing where this was going.

“True, true, but I meant that I wish to apologize for having to knock you from the tourney so early.  I hope your humiliation won’t wound your relationship with my sister too deeply.” Brandon said in a mockingly somber tone. Robert laughed.

“Save your apologies for when you are laying in the dirt and staring into the sky.”  Robert knew that Brandon’s words held no malice.  Though he would never count the eldest Stark amongst his closest friends, they had finally come to an understanding.  It seemed that being willing to fight the prince and one of the greatest knights in the realm with only a hunting knife was finally enough to prove that he was, in fact, good enough for Lyanna.  Now they spoke the language of boasts and good-natured mocking that was common amongst proud young men of their station.   Brandon for his part simply gave a roguish smile before heading off towards where the few northern lords participating in the joust were mustering.

The various lords and knights of the Stormlands were eager to greet Robert as he approached, and he happily returned their salutes.  He heard many of the men chatting about the mystery knight who had caused such a stir yesterday.  Robert, of course, listened carefully to what his banners were saying while trying not to let on that he was overly interested.  They all seemed to be keeping an eye out for the short ramshackle knight, since with three victories he had secured a place in the main competition.  One voice in particular caught Robert’s attention.

“Whenever that urchin playing at being a knight shows, I’ll have the honor of unmasking him.  I had a word with the Master of Games and made sure he would be my first opponent.” It was the voice of Ser Richard Lonmouth.

In his past life, Richard had been just the kind of man that Robert had enjoyed spending time with; loud, boisterous, merry, and a lover of drink.  Memories of the rebellion, however, soured his opinion of the man.  Ser Lonmouth had been an ardent supporter of Rhaegar and had died at the Trident along with him.  Memories of the battle outside of his fateful duel with Rhaegar were still blurry, but he was fairly certain that the man had fallen to Robert’s hammer while trying to bar his path to the dragon. 

“I hope I did not just hear one of my banners admitting to corruption and bribery.” Robert said in a jovial tone before laughing.  The laughter did not quite reach his piercing blue eyes, however. 

“Of course not, my lord.  I’ve known the Master of Games for years and I simply asked him a favor.”  Ser Lonmouth quickly clarified. 

“I see, it is good to be well connected then.” Robert replied happily. “Though, I don’t think that the honor of unmasking the Knight of the Laughing Tree will be yours.”

“You think I’m not skilled enough? I’m leagues better than those pissants he unhorsed yesterday.  I’ve been training with Prince Rhaegar for years now.” Ser Lonmouth replied confidently.  Robert sighed.

“I mean that I don’t think the knight will show.” Robert clarified in a patient tone.

“So, he’s a coward then? Doesn’t want to face the king’s wrath?” Ser Richard replied mockingly.

“I think, based on the fact that they challenged three specific knights and simply demanded that they train their squires better for the ransom meant that they had a point to prove.” Robert replied slowly as if explaining to a child. 

“You think they’d give up on the honor of competing in the champion’s tourney?” Ser Lonmouth replied skeptically.

“Not everyone feels the need to win their honor at the tip of a lance. If that was the case the men of the North would be bringing home far more victories.” Robert replied with a smirk.

“Then why do you compete, my lord?” Ser Richard replied while trying to hide his distaste for heathens of the North.

“Oh, that’s simple,” Robert replied with a chuckle. “I wish to give my lady Lyanna the crown she deserves.”

“Well best of luck my lord, but I think it will be Princess Elia who is crowned at the end of the tourney.  Prince Rhaegar has been in rare form recently.  He’s more motivated than I’ve seen in years.” Ser Richard replied in a playful tone, but his smile faltered when he saw Robert’s entire countenance change.

“We’ll see.” Robert ground out harshly before guiding his horse away from the now confused knight. 

“Is everything alright my lord?” Walder asked quietly once they had arrived at the front of the Stormlands contingent.  Robert took a moment to shake off the dark mood before responding.

“Yes, just some dark memories.” He said, giving his squire a reassuring smile. 

Not long after, the horn signaling the start of the parade. The gathered knights rode forward to honor the young lady Whent and to salute the king.  As they approached the stands, men would ride out to beseech their ladies for their favors before returning to the procession.  Robert was no exception as he directed his horse towards the Northern contingent where he saw Lyanna standing tall and proud at the front of the group waiting for him to approach. In his eyes her beauty eclipsed all the ladies of the realm.  If Robert was more of a poet, he might even be able to do her justice.  Her attire was nowhere as showy and elaborate as what was common in the south, but it suited her in a way that only accentuated her noble and strong bearing.  She was a winter rose growing boldly amidst a harsh clime.  She smirked as he approached.

“My lady, might I have the honor of your favor so that I might win glory in your name?” He called out loudly.

“Oh, my honorable and gallant shining knight, it would be my greatest honor to bestow upon you the most honorific honor I can possibly give.”  She replied in an overly dramatic approximation of a stereotypical southern lady as she pulled out the piece of gray fabric with an exaggerated flourish.  “Just don’t fall off your horse and get it dirty.” She continued with a sly smile after switching into her normal northern brogue, eliciting laughter from the surrounding northern lords.  Robert joined in their laughter. He was pretty sure some of the nearby southerners scowled at the mockery, but he couldn’t care less.  This was the proud and mischievous lady he was going to wed. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” Robert said confidently before using his lance to retrieve the favor.  He bowed to her and returned to the parade. 

Once all of the pomp and circumstance had finally played out, the jousts were officially opened.   No two tourneys were the same when it came to the jousts.  For this grand event, the Master of Games declared that the victor in a match would be the first to break five lances or to unseat their opponent.  Ties would be resolved on the ground with the combatant’s weapons of choice, something that suited Robert just fine. 

Robert quickly moved to the staging area where he would await his match with Brandon.  He watched as two knights he didn’t recognize face each other from across the tiltyard.  One was garbed in yellow with three hedgehogs on his chest and the other in blue-green sporting some sort of strange fish atop his greathelm.  It took eight passes before the hedgehog knight was able to claim victory and he heard the Master of Games announce his match. 

As he guided his horse to the starting point, he felt that familiar rush that preceded any good fight.  Heart pounding in his chest, he donned his helm.  His vision narrowed but grew ever sharper focusing on the gray wolf at the other end of the tilt.  The sounds of the crowd were drowned out and yet it was as if the stamping of his steed, the rattling of his reins, and the beating of his heart came into even clearer focus.  He reached out and patted his steed on the neck affectionately.

“Alright Storm, this is what we’ve been training for, I know you’ll do us proud.” He quietly spoke into his horse’s ear, and his companion shook his head and stomped at the ground as if to confirm his readiness. 

This steed had been with him for well over a year now.  He had never thought much of the horses he had ridden in either of his lives, usually never even bothering to name them.  Storm was not a particularly original name for a Baratheon steed, but Robert had never been overly creative.  It had been Lyanna’s advice about forming a close relationship with one’s steed that had changed how he viewed the powerful beast.  The reliable charger had taken him from the Vale to Winterfell, dashed through the Wolfswood chasing after the woman he intended to marry, rode across the Stormlands to meet his banners, and spent hours with him practicing in the tiltyard.  He trusted the warhorse beneath him, and it was time for them to go out and prove that their training was not a waste. 

He held out his hand without ever taking his eyes off his opponent and soon found the familiar weight of a tourney lance in hand.  Walder was truly an efficient squire.  He quickly saluted the elder Stark and saw the gesture returned.  All that was left was to wait for the horn to blow and for the flags to drop.  He took a deep breath and let it out just as the signal was given.  Robert spurred his steed on, and the great black beast shot forward more than happy to be able to let loose. 

Seconds stretched on for eternity as the two warriors closed.  Robert saw Brandon lowering his lance and began to follow suit.  In the last few moments before they made contact, Robert noticed that Brandon had dropped his lance further down than expected and recognized the trap for what it was.  Lyanna had used a similar trick against her opponents the previous day.  Brandon was trying to bait Robert into overcommitting by making it look as if his own strike was going astray only to raise it just enough to land a solid blow in the last second.  It took quite a bit of skill and concentration to pull off successfully and demonstrated just how talented of a rider Brandon was.

Robert shifted his weight in the saddle to ensure the lance could only glance off his breastplate, but this also threw off his own aim, and as the men made contact neither were able to break a lance.  As he turned his mount to return to the starting point, he heard Brandon call out to him.

“Looks like you actually learned something since you left Winterfell.”  His voice was muffled by the helm he wore, but Robert could still hear that it was more respectful than mocking.

“I had the proper motivation.” Robert replied as he passed by giving the customary solute.  

Soon after, they were at their respective starting points, waiting once again for the signal to start.  A few heartbeats passed and the flags dropped.  Robert saw that this time Brandon had eschewed shrewd strategy and was coming at him dead on.  There was little doubt that Brandon would break his lance if not unseat Robert altogether. Rather than adjust to defend from the strike, he followed suit and committed to his own strike.  His whole focus was on bracing himself against the incoming blow while keeping his lance tip trained on the upper left corner of Brandon’s shield.  Everything else faded away and Robert felt as if he was flying over the ground towards the inevitable collision. There was an infinitesimally short moment of silence and peace before contact.  Then, all at once Robert’s senses were overwhelmed.  There was the deafening crack of shattering wood, the ear splitting peel of his steel plates being struck, the staccato pings of hardwood splinters ricocheting off his greathelm.  Robert felt himself falling backwards and was unsure if he would be able to right himself.  Almost as if his steed knew he needed help, Storm kicked his hind legs out giving Robert just enough leverage to pull himself up fully into the saddle. 

Even though the whole affair lasted mere seconds it felt as if a lifetime had passed for Robert as he took stock of what had just occurred.  His horse had come to a stop at the end of the lane, and he looked at what was left a shattered lance in his hand.  Part of him was surprised then he let himself smile as he was one step closer to victory. It was then that the roar of the crowd finally reached him.  He was confused at first because the audience would hardly be in such an uproar over broken lances.  He guided his steed back around and was shocked to see the heir of Winterfell slowly picking himself up off the ground.  Robert stared in shock for a few moments before finally pulling off his helm and riding over to his future good brother.  Fortunately, Walder was quick to take his horse’s reins and Robert was able to dismount and help Brandon up.

“Looks like I truly underestimated you.” Brandon said with a cough and a wince.  “I didn’t expect you to lean into my strike like that.”

“It nearly cost me the match.  I barely managed to stay in the saddle.” Robert replied congenially. 

“Aye, but then we would have been tied and I would have had to face you on foot.  That didn’t end well for me last time.” Brandon laughed before offering Robert his hand.  Robert took it and they shook as brothers in arms with the crowd once again cheering at the camaraderie displayed.  They quickly cleared the lane to allow the next set of competitors to have their go and moved to the staging area.  It wasn’t long before they were joined by the rest of the Starks as well as Ser and Lady Rogers. 

“I told you he wouldn’t be a pushover, Brandon.” Lyanna teased victoriously.

“Yes, yes, I know. I should listen to you on all things riding related.” Brandon replied, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Come now nephew, niece, there’s no need for that.” Landy Branda intervened in a motherly tone. 

“My Lords, you both rode brilliantly.  Even though it was over quickly, your match was quite a start to the day’s matches. Not many knights are willing to go all in like that at the start of a tourney.”  Ser Rogers spoke up

“Would you believe that it was because I didn’t know what else to do?” Robert replied with a smirk. 

“Aye, I could believe that.” Brandon spoke up a hint of vindication in his voice. “So, it was beginner’s luck then.”

“I won’t deny it, but if I were a lesser man, you might have won.” Robert replied boastfully. They laughed. 

“Right, well if you are done with your boasting,” Ned chimed in.  “It seems as if your next match won’t be until much later in the afternoon. Would you like to join us until then?”

“Of course, I’ll join you!” Robert said enthusiastically before turning and looking for his squire. “Walder, help me get my plate off.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Walder replied happily and quickly got to work. 

“Does anyone know who I will be facing next?” Robert asked.

“Either one of Lord Whent’s sons, Ser Danwell I think, or Ser Andrew Banefort.” Eddard said helpfully. “You’ll know for sure by the midday meal.”

“If I had to guess, it’ll be Ser Banefort.” Lyanna spoke up excitedly. “I watched him ride yesterday.  He’s very accurate with his lance.”

From there the conversation turned into a general discussion on the various competitors.  Ser Rogers provided quite a bit of insight into the various knights and lords Robert might face.  Even if the older knight had chosen not to compete himself, he was a veritable font of knowledge when it came to the tourney scene.  Once Robert had doffed his plate they proceeded to return to the stands.  While sitting with the Starks, he took to chance to visit with a number of their banners as well.  True to his nature, he found it easy to ingratiate himself amongst the normally insular northerners.  He particularly enjoyed spending time with the Mormonts. 

Lady Maege and her daughters were cut from the same cloth as Lyanna.  Even at just two and ten, Lady Dacey was a head taller than most others her age.  She and Lyanna had become fast friends during their time at the tourney.  Robert found it difficult not to think about the fate of the young Lord of Bear Island.  He knew that Jorah would eventually be banished for selling some poachers to Tyroshi slavers, and that he would end up spying on the Targaryen kids in exchange for a pardon.  Right now, however, the young man was happily enjoying the tourney with his new wife, Arra Glover.  Robert wondered how he could fall so far in the coming years, wishing that he had asked old Ned about it.  Maybe it involved that Hightower lass he picked up after the Greyjoy rebellion.  Regardless, it wasn’t something he could prevent for now so he just enjoyed the time for what it was.

It was also interesting to watch Lady Branda reconnect with the various Northern ladies she had known growing up.  She seemed to be at the center of a web of connections spun when she traveled across the North at her father’s side.  Lady Branda had taken Lyanna in tow, teaching her how to properly socialize with the various groups of Northern ladies.  Robert had heard her explain that the great game of gossip was something that women of the north shared with their southern counterparts.  Though she also noted that gossip in the southern kingdoms was far more cloaked in euphemism and flowery words than the straightforward and comparably blunt approach northern ladies took.  Lyanna seemed worried at that bit of information, but Branda reassured her that she would be there with her in Storm’s End to help her adjust. 

As they were taking their midday meal, word was delivered that Ser Banefort had indeed defeated the first of Lord Whent’s sons.  Robert smiled and finished his meal quickly so that he could be ready for his next match.  As Walder finished fastening the last few plates into place, Lyanna approached Robert.

“Ser Banefort is short in stature and likes to ride fast and close to the tilt, he is exceptionally accurate while doing so.  I think you should go with a longer lance this time.” Lyanna advised confidently.

“I can see the advantage, but I haven’t really practiced much with the longer lances.” Robert replied thoughtfully. Lyanna grinned, seemingly happy that Robert had not dismissed her outright.

“Robert, you are one of the strongest men alive, I don’t think the extra weight will be too much for you to compensate for.” She replied teasingly, patting him on the arm. “Besides, you won’t need to be particularly accurate, any half decent hit will send the man from the saddle.”

“You know for this being your first tourney you are awfully insightful.” Robert said with a bit of admiration.

“We may not partake in the pageantry of tourneys, but the men of the north still learn the joust.  For us it is not a game of honor and glory, but practice for war.” Lyanna replied, pride for her homeland evident in her voice.

Robert smiled, gently took her hand in his, and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.  He smiled at the fierce blush that lit up her face.

“Thank you, I will do as you say and I look forward to dedicating this victory to you.” He said in a soft low voice, savoring just how flustered Lyanna had become.  She rallied quickly, however.

“I did just say we don’t enjoy the pageantry, right?” She said in an annoyed tone, but Robert could see that she was fighting a smirk.  Robert simply laughed and bid her farewell as he mounted up. 

He called for Walder to bring him the longest lance they had so that he could test its weight.  True to what Lyanna had said, the extra foot in length only added a few pounds to the overall heft, something that Robert hardly noticed when he was holding it upright, but when he practiced bringing it down, he got a quick practical lesson in leverage.  He practiced a few more times raising and lowering the long lance before a messenger finally arrived to summon him to the tiltyard. 

As Robert guided Storm into position and peered down the lane at his challenger.  The knight of House Banefort wore a black hood over his helm making him look like his house sigil come to life.  True to what Lyanna had said, the man was shorter than average for a man of the West, and he was riding a smaller horse that looked to be bred for speed rather than power.  Robert knew he would not have much time before the man was upon him. 

When the horn sounded and the flags dropped, Ser Banefort sped towards him even more quickly than Robert expected.  The man was riding so close to the rail that one could almost hear the metal of his greaves scraping on the wood.  They both lowered their lances, but Robert immediately realized he had made a mistake.  Even with his impromptu preparations he still struggled to control the point.  When they met, Robert’s lance barely glanced off his opponents shield before a moment later he felt the impact of a lance upon his own shield and grimaced as he heard the snapping of wood and the sound of splinters peppering his armor.  It was hardly as powerful as Brandon’s last strike, but it still numbed his arm for a bit.  They reset and charged each other once again with similar results.

Robert was growing frustrated and was now behind two lances to none.  He knew that to win he would have to lower his lance much earlier in order to have time to bring it under control.  It would give his opponent more time to react, but if he didn’t try something he would lose due to broken lances alone.  Having returned to the starting line, he waited once more for the flags to drop.  When they did, the Westerman sped towards him just as before.  Robert leaned forward into his saddle and urged Storm to gallop forward with all he had.  Robert lowered his lance early giving himself time to steady the tip for a solid strike.  His opponent saw this and managed to adjust to better take the strike, but the power Robert was bringing to bear would still be considerable.  None would call it a particularly good strike, but as Lyanna had predicted the sheer weight of the impact was far too much for the smaller knight to handle.  Ser Banefort had been unhorsed and Robert claimed victory taking him one step closer to his ultimate goal.  

Chapter Text

Robert once again spent the evening reveling with his bannermen. It was a celebration for not only his own accomplishments, but those of the half dozen or so Stormlanders who had advanced to the second day of the Champion's Joust. He had also invited the Starks and they had joined him and his brother at the head table, honoring the upcoming union of their two houses. With Lyanna sitting at his side, he couldn't have been happier. His worries all faded into the background as he sat and enjoyed this time with those he loved.

Stannis had invited Lady Delena to the gathering and after the opening of the feast he began introducing her to the various lords and ladies present. Lyanna had rather insightfully mentioned that the two seemed to complement each other very well. Between Stannis' seriousness and Delena's playfulness, they seemed to ground each other in a way that would hopefully lead to a happy union. Robert wouldn't mind putting up with the rest of the ambitious foxes if it meant his brother had a good wife. Eventually the two made their way back to the head table and approached Robert and Lyanna. Delena dropped into a respectful curtsey and Stannis addressed them.

"Brother, Lady Lyanna," he said respectfully.

"No need for the formality, Stannis, we're to be family soon." Lyanna interjected with a smile.

"As you wish Lyanna. Robert, Lady Delena would like to visit Storm's End after the tourney." He stated in his normal matter of fact tone. If he had not gotten to know his brother more over the past few moons, Robert would have missed the subtle nervousness in his voice and posture.

"Oh?" Robert asked happily.

"Yes, My Lord Baratheon." Delena replied in a respectful but cheerful tone. "Stannis has told me much about your home, and I would very much like to see it myself."

"Very well," Robert happily replied. "I'll speak to Lord Florent tomorrow to get things sorted out."

"Thank you," she said with a pretty smile before turning to Lyanna. "Lady Lyanna, it seems as if you caused quite a stir today."

"Really?" Lyanna's voice betrayed some wariness, and she leveled a skeptical glance at Delena.

"Oh yes, several of the ladies I spoke with were quite scandalized by the mockery you made of the pageant." Delena's smile turned into a conspiratorial smirk. "I for one found it refreshing. Sometimes I think that we make too much of our traditions here. If it is not an imposition, I would like to spend time with you during the tourney. It might be presumptive of me since nothing is official, but I hope to have good relations with my future good sister." She said, giving Stannis' arm a gentle squeeze. Lyanna finally returned her smile.

"I'd love to Lady Delena." Lyanna replied, seemingly happy for the opportunity to make more southern friends.

"Seems like you caught a stag and aren't letting it go my lady. I see no reason why we shouldn't make it official." Robert exclaimed, letting out an amused chuckle. "Since things are going so swimmingly between you two, I'll talk to your uncle about finalizing the betrothal as well."

Delena truly beamed at his declaration. Though if Robert wasn't mistaken, he thought he saw quite a bit of relief in her expression. He also saw Stannis gently put his hand over hers. Robert recognized that something was going on that they weren't sharing with him, but this was definitely not the place to address it. Besides, the musicians had just struck up one of his favorite songs.

"Lyanna, care to dance." He asked in a warm tone.

"I'd love to." She replied with a beautiful smile. They danced the night away and Robert was happy.

Robert awoke abruptly very early the next morning, the memories of the fell dreams that drove him into the waking world quickly fading. It seemed as if he was the only one awake at the moment, and seeing as he would not be returning to sleep himself, he decided to take a walk. Without the company of his friends and loved ones to distract him however, he had trouble ignoring the subtle sense of unease he had been feeling since he had entered the castle. As he wandered the massive castle grounds, it dawned on him that since arriving, he had yet to visit the local sept to pray. It was easy to make the excuse that he had been too busy, but it felt hollow when he considered what he had been spending his time on. The sept wasn't far, and Robert realized he had no excuses at the moment.

The sept of Harrenhal was one of the few places in the mostly run-down castle that had been constructed after Aegon's conquest and had fortunately been properly staffed and maintained ever since. To Robert it seemed like a bastion of peace in a place that felt wrong, or if one was to be dramatic, cursed. As he entered, he was greeted by the local septon. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, if Robert judged correctly, and wore the traditional white robes and belt or seven strands that was common to the priests of the faith. Though Robert did notice that the crystal necklace normally worn by septons was hidden beneath his robes.

"Good morning how may…" the man's sentence trailed off as he laid his eyes on Robert. The man simply stared; slack jawed for a few moments.

"Are you alright?" Robert asked, breaking the awkward silence. Robert's voice seemed to help the man shake off whatever had caused him to lose his words.

"Apologies my Lord Baratheon, I was not expecting such an esteemed guest this blessed morning." The Septon beamed.

"Think nothing of it. It has been too long since I have offered proper prayers and I just came to fix that." He said dismissively, though the man's enthusiastic response did put Robert off.

"Of course, my lord. It seems as if tales of your piety are well founded." The Septon replied happily. Robert stopped and glared at the man for a moment, causing the Septon's smile to falter a little.

"Tales of my piety?" Robert asked carefully.

"Ah, yes, word has spread far and wide of your travels along the king's road, and how you made a point of visiting as many septs as you could." The man explained.

"Really?" Robert replied skeptically. "It was hardly the reason for my trip. Besides, several of the septons didn't exactly appreciate my… unusual approach to prayer."

"There were those who spoke of your impropriety when approaching The Seven. But I can see now that they must be mistaken." He said earnestly, a little awe in his voice. Robert recalled what Howland had said in the godswood and decided to push the man a little.

"Oh, I just walked in the door, and you can just tell how pious I am?" Robert said with a teasing tone.

"Well, few lords have come to pray during the festivities." The man countered, though it seemed as if the man was not very confident in his own explanation.

"Well, as you said, there are those who find my prayers to The Seven to be improper, and yet you already have the measure of me." Robert smiled but fixed the man with a gaze that dared the septon to give such simple platitudes again.

"Again, apologies my lord, for my impertinence and the vagueness of my answer, but as soon as I saw you enter the sept, I knew in my heart that you are favored by the gods." The man seemed nervous to admit this, but Robert could also sense the man's excitement and expectation. Robert's smile faded and he let out a deep sigh, not exactly enjoying the fact that Howland spoke true regarding his connection to the divine.

"Have I offended you, my lord?" The man asked anxiously.

"No, you have simply proven something that I had hoped was not true." Robert said with some exasperation. Seeing the frown on the septon's face he felt the need to lighten the mood and smiled. "You have also proven that you are a true follower of The Seven as well. May I have your name?"

"Thank you, my lord, I am Septon Clement." The man smiled brightly at Robert's compliment.

"Well, Clement, you have been doing a fine job here. Your sept is an island of peace in this dreadful place." Robert said honestly. He hadn't really noticed it since he had been so distracted with everything going on, but there had always been a slight feeling of foreboding or unrest that permeated the castle. When he had noticed it, he had rationalized it as his own worries about what had happened here in his past life. Now he wasn't so sure.

"You feel it too then." Clement said gravely. "I shouldn't be surprised that someone blessed as you are, would notice the unnatural nature of this place. For many moons I have sought to rid the castle of this darkness, but it seems as if the gods are angry with this place."

Robert paused as he picked up on the peculiar way the Septon had described Harrenhal.

"You say the gods are angry with this place, not The Seven?" Robert inquired cautiously. The man seemed slightly panicked and reached for where his pendant was hidden by his robes.

"Calm down, I don't mean any harm. I assume that you follow Septon Cedric's teachings?" Robert said, holding his hands up placatingly. Clement's demeanor changed rapidly as worry was replaced by eager curiosity.

"You have heard his teachings, my lord?" His eyes practically shined with hope.

"Yes and no, the last time I spoke to Cedric was at the Gates of the Moon, just before my trip. He helped answer many questions I had about the faith. Of course, this was before he started preaching in the Riverlands. But I have heard about what he's been up to recently from Lord Tully's eldest daughter." Robert explained. Septon Clement took a moment and pulled out the weirwood star he had been hiding.

"I had traveled to Riverrun to witness the debate. Septon Benedict is the representative of the High Septon in the Riverlands and is a man of no small reputation and influence. I was moved by the truth of Cedric's words and found Benedict's reasoning lacking." The man paused and seemed to be debating whether to continue sharing. Eventually he made up his mind and spoke in a much softer tone.

"When I returned, I began visiting the godswood more often, and though it may seem blasphemous I think I have found myself more in tune with the will of the gods old and new. I can feel the old god's anger here and I can understand it. This is a place where much evil has been done in the sight of the gods. Harren's tyranny, Aegon's Conquest, and the Dance of Dragons, all terrible events that have left their mark on this place and this land. I wish I knew how to appease their anger and cleanse this place, but I don't know where to start." The septon's voice was forlorn as he ruminated on his failures. Robert wasn't sure how to respond and the two stood in silence for a few moments until the Septon seemed to pull himself out of his dark mood.

"I apologize my lord; I am keeping you from your prayers with my prattle." He said in a deferential tone.

"Think nothing of it. Have you thought about reaching out to those in the North? If there is anyone who can help, you would find them north of the Neck." Robert said helpfully as he moved to retrieve candles for his prayers.

"Perhaps I will write to my brothers in White Harbor." The Septon said with a smile. "The Crone has truly blessed you with her wisdom, Lord Baratheon. May The Warrior bless your efforts in the tourney today." The Septon bowed low and went about his business leaving Robert to his own devices. Robert quietly lifted his own prayers to The Seven before returning to his tent to prepare for his upcoming matches.

When Robert returned to his tent, he would discover that today would not be an easy day. His first opponent would be none other than Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. Robert was informed of another change made by his entry on the lists as it seemed that the prince's first opponent had changed to Jon Connington. Robert wondered if the Lord of Griffin's Roost would simply let Rhaegar win; it was well known how much the man admired the prince.

Regardless of what would happen with the prince, Robert knew that Oswell was riding for the honor of his niece and as an experienced knight he would not be an easy opponent. If he managed to come out of that match victorious then he would be facing either a knight from House Fossoway or Oberyn Martell. Between the two, he would put his dragons on the Red Viper over a red apple. Robert steeled his resolve. No matter who he faced, they were all simply obstacles in the way of him achieving his goal for this historic tourney.

"It looks as if the prince will have the honor of the first tilt today." Walder said in a cheerfully conversational tone as he continued securing Robert's armor. Robert simply grunted at the mention of prince Rhaegar. Walder continued unaware or uncaring of his Lord's mood.

"You are to compete in the third match of the day. After you beat Ser Whent, your next match will most likely be several hours after midday." The former stable boy said with utmost confidence. Robert couldn't help but grin at his squire's high opinion of him.

"My Lord, Lord Eddard and Lady Lyanna have come to call on you." Robert's steward announces.

"Well, show them in already." Robert replied happily. Shortly after, the Starks were escorted in.

"Ned, Lyanna! It's good to see you both this morning. I'd expect you to be in the stands already." Robert exclaimed as he greeted his favorite wolves.

"I'm not particularly interested in the first few combatants this morning" Lyanna said dismissively, but something in her demeanor betrayed a hidden worry.

"We thought it best to minimize the amount of time Lyanna was exposed to the prince." Ned confessed with a small grimace. Robert nodded and frowned at the thought of the prince even glancing at Lyanna. He shook the thoughts though not wanting to dwell on it at the moment.

"Right, well Lyanna, got any good advice for me this time?" Robert asked with a smile eager to change the subject.

"Don't fall off your horse?" Lyanna replied with a guilty tone. Robert just raised his eyebrow in response.

"I'm sorry Robert, but I didn't catch his first joust yesterday, so I don't have much to offer. this time" She replied apologetically.

"Think nothing of it then." Robert said with a dismissive wave and smiled. "I'll just have to focus on not falling off my horse then."

Lyanna returned the smile and they began discussing the various little ways Robert could improve his form, and the conversation wandered from there. Robert was happy. Even as they talked, they could hear the sounds of the tourney in the background. From the cheers of the crowd, they could tell the prince had most likely won his first victory. They continued talking for just a bit longer before a messenger finally arrived to call Robert to the ready area.

"Well, I'd best be off." Robert said not wanting the time with his betrothed to end.

"Yes, you best. Ned and I should make our way to our seats. I'm looking forward to seeing you defeat a knight of the kingsguard." Lyanna replied with a smile.

"Now I can't lose. I'd hate to disappoint you so." Robert replied with a laugh. He lingered for just a few moments more before giving a final farewell and turning to mount his steed and make his way to the tiltyard.

Robert arrived just in time to see the previous match come to a less than spectacular conclusion. He didn't recognize either of the competitors and the match had apparently been decided by broken lances alone. It took a few more moments for the field to be cleared and for the herald to announce the next competitors. Robert took his position across from Ser Whent. The veteran warrior was resplendent in his white Kingsguard armor, though the bat wings sweeping back from his helm paid tribute to his house. Robert felt his nerves begin to rise. While neither of his previous opponents had been weak, facing down such an experienced knight was far more daunting than Robert initially imagined. He did his best to tamp down his growing anxiety and focus on defeating the man in front of him.

The signal was given, and the two warriors charged at each other. Robert knew that he had a few extra inches of reach on the older knight and figured he could take his time to line up his strike. He lowered his lance as he had practiced countless times taking aim at Ser Whent's center of mass, but found it being skillfully deflected by his opponent's own lance just before it made impact. Robert saw his lance glance harmlessly off the top of the Kingsguard's shield. At the same time, Whent's lance struck Robert's right shoulder right at the edge of the pauldron, shattering on impact. Robert let out a loud grunt as pain shot down his arm. His shoulder was throbbing with every heartbeat, and moving it was now a painful ordeal. He managed to stay in the saddle, but this match was not starting out well for him.

As he trotted back to the starting position, he tried to work out the pain in his arm but was simply rewarded with more pain. This felt much worse than when that damned Lannister had struck him during the melee. A wise man would probably withdraw at this point to avoid further injury, but Robert was far too stubborn to back down now. Gritting his teeth, he took his position and awaited the signal once more.

When the flag dropped, he once more urged his steed forward. Determined to even the score, Robert braced himself and focused on putting his lance into Ser Whent's lower breastplate. It would be unlikely to unseat the man, but it would most likely break a lance and be difficult to parry. It would have been a solid plan, but as he lowered his lance, pain shot through his arm and he was unable to bring it to bear properly. Fortunately, he was able to brace himself behind his shield and weathered the incoming strike without further injury. As he trotted back to the starting position, frustration began to grow along with the pain as he found himself behind by two broken lances.

Robert gritted his teeth as the signal was once again given and he raced across the field. He was still struggling to control his lance and the pass ended much like the previous one. Robert knew that at this point it would be very unlikely for him to catch up and win by lances so he focused his will on unseating the Kingsguard. As he once again rode down the tilt, he fought against the shooting pains in his arm in order to keep the tip of his lance on target and ended up overcompensating sending his strike high. Robert roared in a mix of pain and frustration thinking he had missed yet another strike. Though apparently luck was on his side.

The tip of Robert's lance narrowly missed the top of Ser Whent's shield, slid across his gorget, and found purchase in the small gap between the pauldron and breastplate. The Kingsguard was violently twisted by the awkward placement of the lance and his own strike veered off course. Robert felt the weight transferred down the lance into his throbbing arm and fought to hold on tight, knowing that this was his only chance to unseat his foe. The lance eventually snapped from the forces involved, but not before Ser Whent had already been knocked from his saddle. It seemed as if fortune had smiled on Robert, and he had been able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

As Robert rode back to his tent and his blood began to cool, the pain in his shoulder resurfaced with vengeance. Robert was no stranger to injury and was pretty confident that it had in fact been dislocated. This of course was both good and bad news. The good news was that if it was the only injury he sustained, it would be a relatively easy fix and he should be able to continue in the tourney. The bad news was that the process of fixing such an injury was not exactly something he was looking forward to.

After making sure the local maester had been summoned, Walder did his best to remove Robert's armor without causing excessive pain, something that was easier said than done. Once the arming doublet was removed Robert looked over and saw that his arm was a riot of colors. Black, blue, yellow, and even a small bit of green bruising both old and new told the story of just how much punishment his arm had taken over the past few days. Eventually, the same maester that treated Walder was shown in and began inspecting his arm as gently as he could.

"So, how bad is it?" Robert asked the healer.

"Not as bad as it could have been, my lord. It seems as if it was only a partial dislocation. I surmise that the proper fitting of your armor prevented it from being worse." The maester replied warmly. "Though resetting the joint is going to be rather unpleasant, apologies in advance, my lord."

"Right, get it over with then." Robert had never actually experienced this himself but had seen the procedure done enough to know what came next. He did his best to relax.

"Of course, my Lord. On the count of five. One, two, three…"

Robert yelled in pain as the maester suddenly and violently shoved his shoulder back into its popper place. Robert wanted to be mad about the whole five count thing, but he had heard that it was a way to prevent the injured from tensing up and preventing the procedure from working properly. Either way, after a few moments, the shooting and intense pain he had been feeling reduced to a dull throb. Robert groaned in relief as the maester applied a pungent smelling paste to his arm and wrapped it in linen bandages.

"Fortunately, the muscle around the shoulder was not torn, so the injury should heal well. The poultice should help reduce swelling. It is my recommendation that you withdraw from the tourney in order to allow your shoulder time to heal properly." The maester explained in a tone that indicated that he already knew that Robert would not take his advice. Robert couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"Thank you for your advice maester, but I have a lady to crown and will not be backing out now." He said with a wince as he tested his arm.

"Of course, my lord, then at least make sure it stays wrapped tightly. I will leave some poultice with your steward so that your bandages can be replaced when needed. Do take care of yourself my lord." The maester replied in a resigned tone as he began packing up the rest of his supplies. With a slight bow, the healer took his leave. Robert slumped into the chair he was sitting in and did his best not to aggravate his throbbing shoulder. He closed his eyes and did his best to relax as he listened to the faded sounds of the ongoing tourney. Part of him wanted to go out and enjoy the festivities, but he knew that he would need to spend as much time recuperating before his next match. Robert was pleasantly surprised when Walder brought him a goblet of wine to help take the edge off. The boy was truly a godsend.

Robert wasn't sure how long he had just been sitting there as it seemed he had dozed off, not realizing just how tired he was. He awoke to his squire gently tapping him on his good shoulder.

"The steward is calling on you, my lord." Walder explained as Robert regained his wits from his unintended nap.

"What? Oh, sure." Robert muttered as he blinked the remaining weariness from his eyes. Walder opened the tent flap for the Steward and the older man entered.

"Good afternoon, my Lord. Lord and Lady Stark have come to call on you." The Steward said in the even and professional tone that Robert had come to expect from the man. The news he brought did the job of clearing away any remaining fatigue he had, replacing it with eager excitement.

"Of Course! Send them in." Robert exclaimed excitedly, jumping to his feet. Though he winced a bit when his sudden movement disturbed his shoulder, he noted that it was far less sharp than before. A moment later, his friend and betrothed entered the tent.

"Robert, I made sure to stay and watch your next op…" Lyanna's excited announcement died on her lips when she saw the extensive bruising and wrap around Robert's shoulder. She immediately turned to her brother and shoved him angrily

"You said he was fine!" She yelled at Ned before moving to Robert's side.

"I am fine."

"He is fine."

The two foster brothers said in almost unison, causing Robert to chuckle a little and Ned to give a small grin.

"It doesn't look fine. Are you going to have to withdraw from the tourney?" Lyanna's voice and expression was a mix of concern and disappointment.

"Truly it looks much worse than it is. Much of the bruising is from the Melee." He said taking the time to show off his arm's mobility without grimacing too much. In truth, he recognized that he probably should wait another day or two before trying anything too taxing, and it would be a moon or more before he would be back to normal, but time and tourneys wait for no man.

"Are you sure? I know that you are doing this mostly for me. I don't want to be the reason you are more seriously injured." She said, placing her hand gently on his.

"Truly, I'll be fine." Robert repeated, in a reassuring tone. Lyanna still wore a frown.

"I wish I had watched Ser Whent before, maybe I could have helped you better." She said in a frustrated tone.

"I'm sure it would have helped, but no use worrying about it now. If I'm not mistaken, I think I heard you mention something about staying and watching my next opponent?" Robert said, hoping to lift her spirits. Her frown turned into a determined grin.

"Yes, you'll be facing Oberyn Martell in the very last tilt of the day." She said enthusiastically. Robert did not share her enthusiasm.

"Fuck." Robert let out with a sigh.

"Robert, try not to swear in front of my sister." Eddard warned.

"Apologies, Lyanna, I know I said I would be fine, but I am not exactly excited to face the Red Viper at anything less than my finest." Robert replied with a scowl.

"Actually, I think it might work to your advantage."

"Oh?" Robert said, raising his eyebrow.

"I asked Delena and she said that the men he's faced off against have not been particularly skilled, and it looked like he was barely putting in the effort against Ser Fossoway. No offense, but since your victories have seemed to be more luck than skill, and with an apparent injury, I think Prince Oberyn will probably underestimate you too." Lyanna explained with a smile.

"I see," Robert sighed, trying not to take offense at the mention that his performance, while exciting, hadn't been particularly skillful. "So, what do you think I should do?"

"Well, he rides quite fast and has been using a longer lance so that he hasn't needed to think too much about defense. I think it would be best if you went with a shorter lance and focused on defending against his initial strike, that should leave him wide open." Lyanna explained insightfully.

"Alright then, that's what we'll do." Robert replied confidently.

"But for now, you're going to take it easy and rest up before your next match." Ned interjected, fulfilling his role as the voice of reason. Robert knew he was right; he was fortunate that his next joust was to be the last of the day since it gave him nearly three hours to rest. The Starks stayed and chatted for a while until Lyanna mentioned that Delena was expecting her. They said their farewells and Robert did his best to make sure his shoulder didn't grow too stiff. Eventually it was time for him to don his armor once more and prepare to face the Red Viper.

Robert did his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his shoulder as he rode once more to the staging area. He asked Walder for a shorter lance and tested the strength in his arm. Fortunately, the reduced weight made it just bearable for him to control. It hurt quite a lot, but pain was something that he had plenty of experience fighting through. He heard his name announced and made his way to the tourney grounds.

As he took his place, he stared down at the far end of the tilt and took in the sight of the Red Viper. The Prince of Dorne was an impressive sight. Clad in the finest plate and bearing the sun and spear of his house proudly upon his shield, Oberyn Martell sat confidently atop his sand steed stallion. Robert offered a salute, trying his best to ignore his complaining joint, and the prince returned it in kind.

A few moments later the signal to charge was given, and Storm exploded into a gallop. Robert took the few seconds he had to observe the prince. True to what Lyanna had said, Oberyn rode without a care to his own defense, appearing to be supremely confident in his ability to unseat Robert without fear of reprisal. Robert braced himself for impact and brought his own lance to bear. The two knights met with two thunderous clashes.

It took a few moments for Robert to shake off the impact of Oberyn's lance against his shield, but he remained firmly in the saddle, broken lance in hand. Robert felt a sense of triumph building in his chest until he heard the gasps of the crowd and a cry of pain from behind him. He turned to see Prince Oberyn slowly rising from the ground nursing a clearly broken arm.

Chapter Text

The moments after the joust had been a hectic flurry of activity. Robert had watched as members of the Martell household rushed to the prince's side and began giving aid. Robert was far too shocked at the moment to render any kind of assistance and simply stood back and watched as they took him away. His mind was racing. How would this change things going forward? Had he just maimed a prince of Dorne? Did he just start a feud with House Martell?

"Robert!" The voice of Lyanna called out breaking him from the stupor induced by the scene before him.

"Lyanna?" He said turning his horse to face his betrothed. It did not take her too long to close the distance.

"Well, you won." Her voice was conflicted as she looked towards where the prince had been taken.

"Right, I think I will go see him in a bit, make sure there are no hard feelings," Robert said shaking off the shock. He dismounted and gave the reigns over to Walder before offering his arm to Lyanna, escorting her away from the tiltyard.

"Accidents happen, Robert, if he didn't want to be hurt, he wouldn't have ridden so carelessly." Lyanna reasoned almost as much for her own sake as it was for Robert's.

"Yes, but not everyone is so reasonable. I'm going to go bathe have my arm seen too and then call on him. Hopefully, by then, he'll be ready to receive me." Robert said with a pained sigh before rubbing his forehead remembering that he had other business to attend to as well. "I also need to hammer things out with Lord Florent."

"I got to spend time with Delena and Stannis today. She's fun for a southern girl." Lyanna said with a smile that faltered after a moment of thought. "I don't think she's happy with her family."

"What makes you say that?" Robert asked curiously.

"Well, every time I asked about them, she would just give me this strange smile and try to change the subject," Lyanna explained

"I see," Robert mused, wondering if this was why the young lady wanted to go to Storm's End so badly. Did Stannis know? Probably, it would explain his hesitance over the union earlier.

"I'll keep that in mind when meeting with the old fox. Don't worry, I'll make sure she's well taken care of." Robert said with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you. As much as I'd love to stay and talk, my aunt has plans for me to socialize more." Lyanna said with a disappointed sigh. Robert let out a soft chuckle.

"I do not envy you. I'd take the injured shoulder over the tittering gossip of ladies any day."

"I'm glad you understand my pain," Lyanna said with a playful smirk.

"I wish you good fortune in your trials, my lady," Robert said as he took her hand and brought it to his lips planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He couldn't help but smile at the blush that appeared on her cheeks. She recovered quickly.

"Right, well there's my family, I'd best get going."

She spun and took a few steps before stopping and looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Take care, Robert." She said in a gentle tone that warmed Robert's heart and helped him forget all his aches and pains for a moment. He stood watching her go for a few moments before the reality of his situation reasserted itself. He grimaced at the throbbing pain in his arm and made his way back to his tent to have it seen too.

The process of reapplying the poultice and rewrapping the bandages took far less time than he expected. Between his steward and squire, he had been cleaned up and prepared for the evening in short order. After thanking them for their hard work, Robert got up and began making his way out of the tent fully intending to call on the injured Dornish Prince.

"Where are you going?" Stannis' stern voice calls out. Robert stops and turns with a grunt of frustration.

"I'm going to call on Prince Oberyn to make sure he is fine," Robert replies gruffly not appreciating the tone of his younger brother's voice.

"What about meeting with Lord Florent? He has been told that you wish to speak with him regarding the betrothal and is expecting you." Stannis says in an all too familiar tone. It's the tone he uses when he feels that Robert is making a stupid mistake.

"I think a prideful prince beats an overreaching reacher lord in importance." Robert grins feeling particularly proud of the wordplay. Stannis does not appreciate it.

"Yes," His younger brother drawls while maintaining a straight face. "It is quite in character for you to call upon an injured man with no announcement expecting to be seen immediately rather than attending a meeting with a Lord whom you had plans with."

Robert was not entirely fond of the sarcastic wit his formerly dour brother had been developing. Perhaps Ser Rogers was to blame or his lady. Regardless, his brother had a point. Naturally, his pride as the older brother dictated that he couldn't give in too easily regardless of the truth of the statement.

And so, the two brothers squared off and the tension in the room rose as the servants mentally prepared themselves for the roaring shouting match that might erupt at any moment. Robert was the one to break the silence after having felt that enough time had passed to satisfy his ego.

"Fine," Robert waved his hand dismissively. "We'll go sort out your lady problems first."

Stannis clenched his jaw, obviously taking offense at the jest. Robert allowed himself a small amount of satisfaction from getting under his brother's skin before calling for his squire.

"Walder! Go call on the Martells and ask them politely if they would be willing to entertain me in say an hour or so."

"Yes, my lord," Walder said with a slight bow before hurrying out of the tent.

The walk to the Florent camp was uneventful and they were quickly invited in to treat with Lord Florent. Robert, not wanting to spend the rest of the evening amongst the foxes, decided to cut through the usual pointless small talk and get directly into the negotiation for the betrothal. Though Lord Florent seemed put off by the lack of decorum, he nonetheless agreed to move the conversation forward. Robert was happy to have experience negotiating his betrothal with Lord Stark, and soon the affair was settled in a way that was acceptable to both houses. Robert then thought to bring up Delena's request.

"Now, I believe my future good sister wished to travel to Storm's End after the tourney. I assure you; we would be happy to host her and provide for her as if she were already one of ours." Robert said jovially. Lord Florent smiled as well, though it seemed far too predatory for Robert's liking.

"Yes, my niece did inform me of her wish.  Though I am loath to see her gone, and while I am sure her mother would miss her dearly, I am amenable to her going. There is merit in a lady learning more about the house she will be joining." The man paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"I do have concerns of course; it is a matter concerning her honor. I would insist that a man from my house accompany her for the duration of her stay.

You must understand our concerns, Delena is still a maid, and we would hate for that to be questioned on her wedding day."

Stannis tensed, barely keeping himself from jumping across the table to throttle the pampered lord in front of them.

"You would question my honor?" Stannis ground out, barely managing to keep it from being a shout.

"By no means young Lord Stannis. I know you would never dishonor your betrothed, but people talk." The man dared give Robert a knowing look, causing the anger to begin burning in his stomach as well. Robert fought the rage down, knowing that now was not the time to lose control. Even still, Robert's scowl and posture made it clear to Lord Florent that he was sailing into stormy seas. After an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, the older lord's confident smile faltered, and he shrank before the roiling tempest gathering on the horizon.

Seeing that the man had clearly understood his misstep, Robert spoke.

"Very well, who would you be sending?" Robert's voice was not nearly as friendly as it had been previously.

"I believe my brother Axell was willing to be her escort." Lord Florent said quickly trying not to further antagonize Robert.

Robert was not particularly happy with the response. Lord Alester's younger brother had not exactly endeared himself to Robert in the few encounters they had had while Robert was king. Axell was just as greedy and ambitious as his elder brother but without any of the social graces to smooth it over. Robert was convinced that given the opportunity Axell would gladly stand by and watch his brother be murdered if it meant he could gain more power.

"I'll never let an ugly wretch of a man like your brother step foot within Storm's End," Robert growled, his anger overtaking his good sense.

"Lord Paramount you may be, but I will not suffer such insults to my house," Lord Alester replied angrily, having found his courage in the slight shown to his family. "If you are unhappy with my choice of escort then I am inclined to deny the request altogether. I trust my brother to keep my niece's best interests in mind. Need I remind you that it is more than common for a lady to not see her new home until her wedding day."

Robert was just about done with the conversation and was about to let the older lord know exactly what was on his mind when a hand grabbed his arm.

"Robert." To any outsider, Stannis would have seemed just as stone-faced and stoic as always, but Robert had learned to see past the mask over the past few moons. What he saw instantly communicated how important this was. He saw worry in his brother's eyes. That combined with the slight pleading in Stannis' voice blew away the growing storm of anger that threatened to be loosed upon the head of House Florent. Robert released his remaining frustration with a long sigh and looked back at Lord Alester.

"Very well, we would be honored to host your brother at Storm's End until the wedding," Robert said sternly, making sure to not give the impression that the older man had gotten one over on him.

Robert couldn't help but notice the sly grin and scheming gleam in Lord Florent's eyes as he looked back and forth between the two brothers. It dawned on Robert that Lord Alester must think that he has found a way to manipulate me or something. Maybe he thinks that Stannis is a weak link he can exploit in negotiations. Robert couldn't help but grin at how badly Lord Alester had misjudged their relationship.

"Excellent, my Lord Baratheon. It has been a pleasure negotiating with you. I can see that you have learned well from the Old Falcon." Lord Florent said happily.

"Yes, we'd best go. I am sure we will speak again." Robert said with a nod before turning and striding out of the tent, Stannis following closely behind. Robert waited until they were well away from the Florent encampment before stopping suddenly and turning to face his brother. "Care to explain what in all the hells that was about?"

Stannis had the decency to look slightly apologetic.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath through his nose as he clenched his teeth, looking as if he was struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he managed to speak.

"Delena is not well-liked by her family," Stannis says with a hint of frustration. "Especially by her elder cousin Selyse.

I think they are jealous of her beauty and the attention she gets compared to the rest of the Florent ladies.

"I can see why," Robert said with a chuckle.

Florent ladies were well known to be exceptionally plain. Lady Selyse and Delena were the exceptions to that rule on opposite sides of the spectrum. Lady Selyse, even at six and ten, was beginning to resemble The Crone. While Lady Delena was pretty enough to turn the heads of many men. Robert didn't think she was amongst the top one hundred beautiful ladies in the realm; though he would never mutter that within earshot of Stannis.

"I noticed the subtle barbs when I first began calling after her. Her elder cousins even hinted that I should be pursuing one of Lord Florent's available daughters even if they are older than me. The petty squabbles are what had me doubting the match early on." Stannis scoffed before giving the barest hint of a smile. "Despite the constant verbal abuse, Delena learned to not only endure their insults but developed a sharp tongue of her own. She has quite a keen mind."

There were a few moments where Stannis seemed lost in his thoughts. Apparently, it was a Baratheon trait to fall hopelessly in love with fierce women. Robert figured it must have started with Orys and Argella. Regardless, Robert didn't have time to let his brother daydream, so he cleared his throat pointedly signaling for his brother to continue. Stannis frowned once more and continued.

"It seems like my interest in her has escalated the conflict. Yesterday morning when I went to call on her, I interrupted a confrontation. Selyse and her brothers had torn up several of her dresses and looked as if they were ready to assault Delena." Stannis was shaking in anger at the memory. "This was not the first time they have gotten physical with her. The older Florents always turn a blind eye thinking it to be nothing but a childhood rivalry, but I have seen the old bruises. If the price of getting her away from all that is suffering the presence of Axell Florent, then I pay it gladly."

Robert should have been shocked and appalled, but when compared to all the evil he has seen in his life and the grand mission he had been given it seemed rather trivial. Of course, he didn't like it, and he would be happy to spirit the young lady away from it, but he couldn't help but find the whole thing to be trivial.

Robert did however find something particularly amusing about how his brother was reacting to all of this.

"Ah, it's Proudwing all over again. Found yourself another pretty little bird to nurse back to health?" Robert couldn't help but chuckle. A moment later everything went black. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground with an aching jaw and seeing stars. Stannis was standing over him looking exceptionally livid while simultaneously proving that Brandon Stark punched like a woman. It seemed as if Robert had touched on a sore spot.

"Delena is not some broken bird to be mocked and abandoned," Stannis growled as he loomed over Robert.

"Huh, I suppose I might have deserved that," Robert grunted as he began standing up. "I am sorry Stannis, I didn't realize you were still sore about that whole thing."

Stannis was still visibly angry, but his stance changed a bit as confusion was added to his anger. Robert continued once he was back on his feet.

"Listen, we'll take care of your betrothed. You will live long happy lives together, and she'll never have to suffer the idiocy of her kin again." Robert said attempting to reassure his brother. "Also, I think it is high time I gave you a proper apology about the whole Proudwing thing. You know, the first time I went hawking in the Vale, I told Jon and Eddard all about Weakwing. I still remember the disapproving look Jon gave me when he explained that goshawks are perch hunters and never fly higher than treetop level. I was essentially making fun of a bird for doing exactly what it was bred to do. He told me I should write you an apology, but I was young and even more hardheaded than ever so I refused. I had forgotten about the whole thing till now."

"Is this some jest?" Was all Stannis could manage after a few moments of staring at Robert slack-jawed.

"No, no jest here brother. I know Uncle Harbert convinced you to get rid of the poor thing. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why no one ever pointed this out to you. I think we might need a new falconer at Storm's End." Robert mused while rubbing his still-aching jaw. He then grabbed his brother's shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Listen Stannis, if there is one thing that this proves it's that you have a good heart beneath that stony exterior of yours.

You care. Sometimes you are the only one who does. I need someone like that by my side. I need you by my side. Be proud of who you are and never let the world shame you for it."

Stannis just stared wide-eyed, struggling to process everything Robert had just said. It was not as if Robert hadn't apologized in the past six moons, or as if he hadn't tried to make amends. The brothers were closer now than they had ever been in either of Robert's lives, but Robert could always sense some reluctance from Stannis as if his younger brother was still waiting for Robert to revert to his old self. Apologizing for this particular slight seemed to have done more towards mending their relationship than he could have ever expected. It felt good.

"Now Stannis, there is one more thing I want you to remember no matter what," Robert said gravely

"What is that?" Stannis managed to ask before being laid out by a powerful uppercut from Robert.

"Nobody sucker punches me and gets away with it. Even if I probably deserved it." Robert laughed. He saw a range of emotions pass over his brother's face with resignation finally winning over the others as he stood up.

"I supposed I should not have expected anything different from you," Stannis said, his words, much to Robert's surprise, held none of the bitterness he had come to expect from his brother. Even more shocking was the hint of fraternal affection that had replaced it. "We should return to the camp. I am sure your squire will have news of the prince by the time we return."

Stannis' prediction proved true as they walked into their tent and Walder approached to relay a message from the Dornish party.

"My lord, Prince Oberyn has been tended to and is willing to entertain you at the time you requested." The squire said confidently,

"Good Lad," Robert said with a smile before bidding his brother farewell and heading towards the Dornish camp. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of the castle and a considerable walk. A walk that allowed Robert to let his thoughts dwell on what might go wrong should the prince take offense. He had never been one prone to nerves or second-guessing himself; he was first and foremost a man of action. But he knew that he did not want to make enemies of House Martell; he had enough problems to deal with already. Robert shook off the growing unease and reassured himself that everything would be fine. It was an accident and Oberyn would surely understand. Frankly, he and the prince weren't so different. If anything, he was a little envious of the man for living the life he had wanted for his own. As more and more stray thoughts began warring for his attention Robert picked up his pace wanting to get to the meeting as soon as possible.

Finally, he arrived at the dornish camp and was greeted by a smartly dressed servant in Martell colors.

"Lord Baratheon I presume?" The man said with a bow.

"The prince is with his family but wanted you to be led in as soon as you arrived. Please follow me."

The statement gave Robert pause. What did the man mean by family? Did he mean the man's bastards? The only other option would be Elia. More ghosts he wasn't ready to face. He couldn't back out now, so he followed the servant and soon found himself in a well-lit room. At the center of the room was a pale-looking Oberyn reclining on a well-appointed bed, his arm bandaged and in a sling. He was surrounded by three young girls who must have been his eldest bastards. The eldest of them gave him a fierce glare, the second looked at him with more contempt than a girl her age should, and the third's eyes studied him intensely. Sitting on a cushioned bench not far from the bed was the woman he was not exactly excited to see tonight. She held herself regally with her hand resting on the small bump of her growing pregnancy. Robert squashed all the shame and regret that threatened to overtake him as memories of those dark days resurfaced in his mind. He put on a friendly smile and greeted the group.

"Good evening, Princes Elia, Prince Oberyn, young ladies. Thank you for seeing me." Robert said congenially, but before either of the adults could respond, a small girl interposed and placed herself in between him and the rest of the room's occupants.

"You hurt Nuncle Oby! Go away!" She cried. Robert looked down at little Rhaenys and the emotions he had been suppressing roared back into his mind. He couldn't help but see the little girl wrapped in red cloth. He heard his callous voice calling her dragonspawn.

"Rhaenys! That is not how we greet guests." Elia fiercely scolded her daughter.

"He hurt Nuncle. He bad!" The little princes argued back. Robert felt her words deep in his heart, and his smile faltered.

"My dear little sun dragon," Oberyn said in a kind but firm voice. Though he put on a strong front, it was obvious that the prince was still in quite a bit of pain. "It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. If anything, it was my fault for being too proud and reckless."

Finally, Robert managed to take a deep breath, steady his nerves, and kneel in front of the little girl.

"I'm sorry you… your uncle got hurt. I never wanted it to happen." He said, wincing slightly at the slip of the tongue. The almost two-year-old girl eyed him with suspicion for a few moments.

"Okay." She said quickly before running to the bench her mother was sitting on and climbing up to cuddle with her.

"Rhaenys, you owe Lord Baratheon an apology for the disrespect you just showed him," Elia said sternly.

"Sowy" Rhaenys muttered into her mother's dress.

"Sorry, my lord." Elia corrected. "He is a lord paramount, and you need to show him proper respect."

"Sowy m'lawd," Rhaenys said with an exasperated sigh.

Robert couldn't help but give a sad smile. He could tell that given time, she would grow into a fierce and formidable woman. He swore once again to himself that she would be given that chance.

"There is nothing to forgive. Children will say what they will. My daughter is the same age and would have probably said the same thing if it was me lying injured." Robert said with a dismissive wave and a smile born of fond feelings for his Mya.

"Oh, so the rumors are true then?" Oberyn said with a raised eyebrow. "You have a little stone running around the Vale then."

If it had been any other man who had said those words, Robert might have taken it as a slight. But it was Oberyn Martell he was speaking to, and the three girls by his side proved that the man did not likely mean it as an insult.

"Yes, though she will be joining me in Storm's End soon, she looks every bit the Baratheon and deserves to grow up in her ancestral home." He said happily, always the proud father. Oberyn's eyes widened in surprise. Robert knew that few lords ever cared for their bastards, even fewer for base-born children. It seemed as if he had won not a small amount of respect from the Prince of Dorn.

"Oh, and what does your bride-to-be think of this? Not many women would suffer to play host to their husband's bastard." Elia interjected. Her tone was not mocking, however, and it seemed as if she was genuinely curious about where his betrothed stood on this matter.

"Well, she was not enthused by the idea at first, your grace," Robert said honestly. "But we have talked at length and she agrees that my daughter's place is with me. While I am not expecting her to be a surrogate mother for my daughter, she has agreed to allow Mya to be raised alongside any future children we may have. The fact that Mya already considers Eddard her uncle helped convince her." He laughed remembering the look of surprise on his friend's face the first time Mya had called out for Nuncle Ned to pick her up.

"Interesting," Oberyn said, clearly intrigued by Robert's response though he winced in pain from sitting up a bit straighter. "You are not what I expected, and I'm looking forward to seeing how the Stormlands will fare under you and your betrothed's rule. Who knows what will happen?"

Robert scoffed. Hopefully, nothing would happen, and they would live a long, uneventful, and fruitful life surrounded by half a dozen children. Yes, everything pointed towards that not being the case, but he planned on ignoring his destiny for as long as possible.

"Well, I could go on about my daughter for days, but I came here to offer apologies for my part in your injuries. I hope they aren't too severe, and I would happily pay for any additional treatment you need." Robert said slipping into the more formal façade he had built for himself over the past few moons of ruling the Stormlands.

"As I told my niece, the injury was my fault.

My arm got wrapped up in the reigns and I nearly pulled my steed down during the fall. He panicked and stomped down on my arm. If it were not for the quality of my armor, I fear the bone would have been shattered. It was a clean break though, and I should be back to fighting fit within a year or so." Oberyn explained.

"I am glad to hear it. I will be praying for a speedy recovery for you then. So, what's next? Back to Essos?" Robert asked out of genuine curiosity. He truly didn't know what the man had been up to during the rebellion. He hadn't cared enough before, but he couldn't help asking now.

"No, I think the women of Essos will have to do without me for some time yet." The prince said with a roguish smile that earned him a glare and tut from his royal sister. "I need time to heal, and my sister has convinced me to spend my time recovering by her side in Kings Landing before I pick up my wandering ways once more."

This answer took Robert by surprise. Even injured, Oberyn was still a very dangerous man. If anything did happen before he left for Essos, the princess and her children would have that much more protection. Robert actively prayed that there would be no need for conflict, but he most definitely was going to start preparing for it.

Having the Red Viper in King's Landing seemed like a step in the right direction.

"Well, I can imagine traveling down the king's road in your state won't be particularly pleasant. Let me pay your passage over the water." Robert quickly offered.

"Ah, it is good of you to offer, but I already have a ship waiting for me in Saltpans. The captain of the Feathered Kiss is a very spirited woman and after some…" Oberyn paused and flashed Robert a mischievous smile. "Intense negotiations, I have retained her service for some time yet."

"Oberyn," Elia responded with an exasperated sigh. "Am I to expect another niece soon?" The prince simply smiled back at her.

"It could be a nephew," Oberyn said playfully.

"The three beautiful ladies behind throw doubt on that." Princes Elia said with a smirk that was accompanied by the snorts, giggles, and titters of the three young sand snakes. Robert felt like he was intruding and decided to take his leave.

"Well, I'm glad to see you in such high spirits. Don't hesitate to call on me should a need arise. I will pray for a speedy recovery." Robert bowed and after a round of farewells, he began making his way back to his tent. He felt the distinct need for a stiff drink.

Chapter Text

Sleep would not come easy to Robert.  Not only was it difficult to find a comfortable position with his injured shoulder, but his mind refused to allow him to rest.  His thoughts flitted unheeded between the feelings dredged up by his meeting with the Princess and her daughter, and the fact that he would be facing down none other than Ser Barristan Selmy in tomorrow’s tilt with far less than ideal circumstances.  His tired body screamed at him for rest and yet it took nearly an hour of tossing and turning followed by a stiff drink to find it.

When he finally slipped into the realm of dreams, he was again beset by his greatest failures, regrets, and tragedies.  However, as he watched the memories, he felt the calming presence of The Mother enveloping him.  This was no punishment, but a reminder of what he was fighting to prevent.  He was reminded why he had worked so hard in preparation for this tourney, and what was at stake.  The Mother’s comfort slowly changed into a sense of divine determination that suffused his very being lifting his heart.

“You have done well so far Storm King.” The voice of The Warrior called out.  Robert spun around and took in the sight of the martial aspect of The Seven. The Warrior towered over the shifting memories clad in unadorned yet immaculate plate.  He held a massive greatsword out in front of him, its tip buried in the ever-shifting ground of Robert’s dream world. “Though in your current state, I highly doubt you will be able to best one of the greatest men to have donned the white cloak.”

At his words, Robert felt the phantom pains in his shoulder.

“I don’t care about what the chances are, I have to win,” Robert said with a defiant grin.  The Warrior laughed.

“Good, good, I should expect nothing less from a man that is said to be my incarnation.  But alas, your body is still mortal and has its limits.” The Warrior said while walking up to Robert and patting him on the head as if he was a mere squire.  Robert wanted to protest but remembered that he was currently interacting with his god. 

“So, I am going to lose then, and you are telling me to accept my defeat with dignity and honor?”  Robert asked bitterly, knowing full well that he stood little chance against a man who had been able to slay nearly a dozen Northern warriors after having been wounded by spear and arrow.

“Ah, it is one of my favorite songs to sing.  The young warrior eager to win glory fighting through pain and injury, only to be felled by the one at the apex of knighthood.  The younger swears to one day defeat the older and the older welcomes the challenge with joy.  It is an ancient tale that sits near the heart of mankind.  Though I admit part of me would also appreciate a more romantic ending to this particular song.” The Warrior said with a roguish grin. Robert heard The Maiden’s melodious laughter echoing around him.

“I think I would prefer that as well,” Robert mumbled.  The warrior guffawed before scowling.

“Regardless, it seems as if others are determined to intervene in the story.  Some amongst the Old Gods wish me to sully this beautiful tale of human struggle with sorcery.  Apparently, they demand that their mortal kin be healed so as not to shame them.” Disdain and annoyance are clear in The Warrior’s powerful voice.

Robert blinked, taking in what his god had just said and slowly connecting the dots. 

“Are you telling me that Durran’s story is true?  Are the gods here?” Robert exclaimed.  The form of The Warrior shifted and shrank in on itself and a moment later The Crone stood in his place.  She wore the kind of smile one would give a child who had said something profoundly silly.

“Yes, the story is true, after a fashion.  Few tales can survive over the millennia completely unscathed. As for the Sea God and the Goddess of Wind, they have been with you all your life.  Have you not felt her touch and gazed upon his power as you stood atop the walls of Durran’s Defiance?  Your kin may have turned away from the Old Gods, yet never did they think to remove the god’s presence from their home.  If you wish to speak to them, you need only listen.” Almost as if to prove her point, Robert heard the howling of winds and the crashing of waves.  The Crone tsked in annoyance before responding.

“Yes, yes, I’m getting on with it. Now young Storm King, due to our… unique connection, it has fallen to me to heal your arm and restore you to top fighting condition.” The Crone said in a tone reminiscent of the various maesters Robert had been forced to endure over his life. She took a few steps closer to Robert, a pitying look on her face.  “Prepare yourself, it will not be pleasant.”

Without giving Robert time to respond, The Crone reached out for his shoulder and, incredibly, her hand passed through it.  He could not help but let out a scream as burning pain shot through his arm and his dreams were enveloped in darkness.  His pained screaming followed him into the waking world as he bolted straight up in his cot and grabbed at his arm.  The pain itself faded after a few more moments taking with it the dull throbbing Robert had been enduring since his match with Ser Whent.  He tested his arm’s mobility and found that the pain and stiffness had completely disappeared.  There was still significant bruising, and he was frankly happy to not have to come up with an excuse as to why they would have disappeared overnight.

“My lord,” Walder called from outside Robert’s room. “Is everything alright?  The maester will be here soon to see to your shoulder.”  

“Ah, that won’t be necessary.  He won’t say anything we don’t already know.”  Robert said quickly, hoping to avoid answering questions as to why his arm was miraculously fully healed.

“As you say my lord,” Walder said with a tone that Robert didn’t particularly like. “But both Lady Stark and Lady Rogers insist that you be seen this morning and that the maester clear you to compete.  I believe Lady Stark’s exact words to me were ‘Don’t let that stubborn man worm his way out of this.’”

“Tell me, are you my squire or hers?” Robert said gruffly.

“Yours my lord, and as such it is my duty to make sure you are well taken care of.” The boy responded solemnly.

“I have no say in the matter then?” Robert groused as he slung his legs off his bed.

“It would seem not, my lord” His squire’s voice was far too jovial for his liking.  Robert just grunted and ordered the boy to help him get ready for the day. 

True to Walder’s words, the maester arrived shortly after Robert had broken his fast.  The man went about his inspection with a methodical attention to detail one might expect from a master of their craft, and as the inspection continued, a curious frown grew on the man’s face.  Robert suspected what was troubling the man.

“Anything wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong. Which is in fact the curious thing.  From what I can tell, your shoulder is completely healthy.  If I were a man of youthful fancy, I would call it a miracle.” The maester said with a scoff.

“Ha, perhaps the gods felt like seeing a good match rather than a lame man being ridden over by a living legend,” Robert said jokingly even though he knew that it was exactly what had happened.  The maester did not seem amused.

“The gods, if they truly exist, do not care for the lives of mortal men.  No, we live in a world of reason and order.  I have no doubt someday all things will be able to be explained through careful experimentation, even the incredible healing of your shoulder.  Ignorance of the how is no excuse for rational men to espouse nonsense explanations such as magic or divine providence.”  The man said bitterly.

“That is an interesting point of view.  You must be very popular with The Faith.” Robert said with a well-meaning chuckle.  The maester, for his part, had the decency to look abashed at his sudden outburst and lack of decorum. 

“My deepest apologies Lord Baratheon for my lapse in etiquette.” He said bowing his head, “Let us just say that there is a reason I had to leave Oldtown and accept this most… prestigious post, rather than staying to continue my studies.”  The tone of his voice betrayed his discontent with his assignment.  “At least I was not forced to freeze in some forsaken keep in The North.”

“So,” Robert said after a few awkward moments of silence. “Am I clear to compete?”

“Yes, my lord. You are hale and whole.” The maester replied quickly before packing away his supplies.

“Very good, you can see yourself out. I have a joust to prepare for.  I leave the job of reassuring the ladies that I am well up to you.”  Robert said happily, purposefully ignoring the indignant look the maester was giving him.

Having finally dealt with that particular annoyance, Robert's thoughts turned to the daunting task ahead of him: defeating Ser Barristan Selmy in the joust.  He knew from the start that he would have an uphill battle as he pursued his end goal of defeating Rhaegar and crowning Lyanna as queen of love and beauty.  The optimist in him boasted at having already defeated one kingsguard, what was one more?  The realist in him scoffed at that thought as it was ridiculous to count a lucky shot against Whent as any great feat when facing down a man like Selmy.   Robert did his best to shake that thought as he made his way to where he would don his armor. 

Robert couldn’t help but smile at the work his household put into maintaining and preparing his plate for the day.  The metal gleamed and a fresh new tabard had been prepared for the occasion.  The day would begin with a ceremony to honor the four remaining competitors, and he would not be outshone by the other knights. 

“The Prince and Ser Dayne are scheduled to face each other an hour after the presentation of the champions, my lord,” Walder explained as he double and triple-checked the straps and buckles of Robert’s armor.  “Your match against Ser Selmy will be held immediately after, then the winners will be given two hours to rest before the final match.”

“Very good, boy.  Well, no reason to stay here and talk all day. Let’s be off.” Robert replied as he mounted his steed and began guiding it towards where the four remaining competitors were told to muster.

As he entered the waiting area, he noticed that only one other knight was present, and as fate would have it, it was Ser Barristan.  Robert let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding in.  He had not been particularly eager to spend more time around his royal cousin. On the other hand, he was more than happy to speak with Barristan the Bold.  That was a man who would forever hold Robert’s respect.  He urged his steed forward and noticed that the man’s nephew was nearby acting as his squire. 

“Hail Ser Selmy,” Robert called out.

“Fair morning Lord Baratheon.” Ser Barristan responded politely.

“It would be fairer if I wasn’t facing one of the greatest knights of the realm soon,” Robert said with a congenial chuckle.  Ser Barristan grinned at the praise.

“Don’t think the outcome certain my lord. Anything can happen on the tiltyard.  I must say, you have trained your squire well. Perhaps if my nephew here hadn’t fallen for that mad dog’s ploy the melee might have had a more dignified ending. How goes your recovery boy?” Barristan asked Walder.

“It goes well Ser; it barely even hurts anymore.” Robert’s squire answered proudly. The older knight grinned at the display of youthful bravado. 

Robert smiled proudly at his squire, but it faltered when he saw the approaching black and red of the Targaryen banner.  Much to Robert’s chagrin, the prince was wearing the same armor that he wore that fateful day on the Trident causing memories of the affair to arise unbidden.  Robert quickly quashed the growing anger, and he quickly noticed something about the prince was askew.  Rhaegar had always comported himself with an elegant arrogance when in public, but the man before him was riding slumped in his saddle as if carrying an impossible weight on his shoulders. The prince seemed lost in his thoughts and barely even noticed the others in the staging area.  Something was wrong with the prince, and Robert felt that this could only bode ill for the future of the kingdom.

“Hail, your Grace,” Robert called hoping to gauge Rhaegar’s response.  The prince was startled from his thoughts and immediately straightened his posture and looked toward Robert. Robert immediately took note of the dark bags forming under the prince’s eyes and watched as his features shifted through several emotions. Surprise, fear, anger, and sorrow all played across Rhaegar’s face before it was all hidden behind a noble smile. 

“Hail, Lord Robert.  A fine day to conclude the jousts is it not?”

Robert was frankly impressed with the man’s ability to cover his weakness so quickly.  If it were not for the physical signs of fatigue, Robert would have been convinced that the prince was in fine form. 

“As you say, your grace,” Robert replied as an awkward silence fell between them.  Robert felt unease building in his chest.  Something wasn’t well with the prince and that did not bode well for a peaceful future.  He was particularly anxious to hear if something had happened that might endanger Lyanna.  He knew it would be wisest to simply keep silent, but he found himself speaking up anyway.

“It seems as if the chatter surrounding that mystery knight has died down.  Even the king seems to have lost interest, are you still seeking the man, your grace?”

Rhaegar just stared at Robert head tilted slightly as if trying to determine where Robert was going with this.  Silence reigned a heartbeat longer than Robert would have liked.

“Have you not heard? All that was found was the man’s shield.  I delivered it to my father, and he promptly threw it in the hearth to burn and lost interest. Did you have some new information that the crown would be interested in?” The prince replied with a slight frown.

“No, no, nothing new, it was just all anyone could talk about for some time.  Just wanted to know if any new gossip had spread.” Robert said quickly.  The prince raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I would not have thought you one to chase after rumors.  I find them often to be naught but the idle chatter of bored women.” Rhaegar said dismissively.

“Gossip almost always contains elements of truth in it. A good lord should not dismiss it out of hand.” Robert countered quickly.

“Hm, an interesting bit of wisdom. And what truth might be found in this gossip?” Rhaegar asked with a smirk that had Robert’s hand itching to grasp his hammer. 

“I am simply concerned with the state of his majesty’s wrath,” Robert said while trying to maintain his calm. He did not like this game the prince was playing. Granted it was his fault for blundering into the other man’s favored battlefield. 

“Well then as I said, the whole affair has passed from my father’s mind.  Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” The prince said with an indifferent wave. 

Robert was by no means satisfied.  Something was wrong with the prince, and he did not like the implications that came with it.  Robert foresaw another trip to the sept this evening, as prayer seemed to only answer to stilling the unease in his heart.  One thing was for certain, he did not want to spend much more time in the presence of his royal cousin lest he say or do something unwise.  Fortunately, the call for the start of the ceremony came before this meeting got any worse. 

Chapter Text

Robert took in the roar of the crowd as he and the others rode into the tiltyard, eagerly letting the energy of the gathered masses drown out the turmoil caused by his encounter with the prince.  Robert was, for good or ill, well-practiced at ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with, and he put the skill to good use as he focused on his future match.  Whatever affliction that burdened the prince could wait; he had a match to win.  If he didn’t, there would be nothing stopping history from repeating itself.

The four remaining competitors guided their mounts towards the royal box where the mad king sat exuding an aura of gloom and malice.  Robert silently muttered a prayer of thanks to all the gods that he had not been summoned by the king since the whole affair with the Knight of the Laughing Tree.  Perhaps Aerys thought that Robert should focus on competing, though trying to guess the motives of a madman was madness in and of itself. 

The ceremony proceeded without incident with the each of the final riders being announced by the herald and presenting themselves before the king.  The whole time Aerys seemed to be muttering to himself, only looking up when it was his time to give his blessings, which he did with a disinterested wave of the hand as if he was above the cares of the mortal world.  Finally, the herald announced the time of the next match, and the ceremony was concluded to the cheers of the crowd.  Stress that Robert had not noticed building up finally flooded out of his previously tense shoulders.  He guided his steed to his place in the staging area and dismounted.

“Nervous?” A soothingly playful voice called out from behind him.  Robert smiled and turned to see Lyanna being escorted by Eddard.

“To face a man who nearly has as much experience as the rest of the riders combined. Not at all.” Robert chuckled.

“Well, you are certainly no green boy, you’ve clearly earned your place amongst the champions.  Everyone knows that no man is unbeatable.” She replied with an encouraging tone, but even Robert could hear that she was trying to convince herself as well.

“Regardless of the outcome Robert,” Eddard chimed in placing a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I think you have accomplished what you set out to do here.”  

Lyanna looked at her brother in confusion, clearly not understanding the true meaning behind his words.  Robert appreciated the sentiment though, and in truth Ned was right.  Lyanna being convinced to run off with his royal cousin seemed well beyond the realm of possibility at this point.  But ultimately, Robert was hardly one to back down from a challenge. 

“You may be right, but I said I would crown Lyanna and I mean to follow through,” Robert said resolutely. “With that in mind, Lyanna, any words of advice for me?”

Lyanna flashed a warm smile at Robert before placing a hand on her cheek while she thought deeply about the question. 

“I don’t think you should try anything You haven’t practiced before.  A knight as experienced as Ser Selmy would be able to take advantage of any flaws in your technique.  Without a doubt, you have better reach and strength, so perhaps you should ride slightly further off the tilt than you would normally, but not so much that you feel uncomfortable.”

“So, focus on my advantages and hope Ser Selmy doesn’t adapt too quickly?” Robert summarized.

“Yes, it is rather simple.” Lyanna responded with a smirk.  Any further strategizing was put aside as several Lords and ladies made their way to greet Robert, wishing him good fortune.  Over the next hour or so, they greeted and spoke with nearly all the lords and ladies of the Stormlands who were present at the tourney along with a good number of northern men and women.  Robert was impressed with how well Lyanna handling it.  He knew that Lady Branda was working with her, but it was something else to see the work put into practice. 

Eventually a trumpet call was heard across the castle signaling the impending start of the final few matches.  Conversations were cut short as the gathered nobles moved to take their seats.  As soon as the last of their visitors had taken their leave, he saw Lyanna physically sag with relief. 

“That was exhausting.” She muttered to herself.

“Truly? I’ve always found socializing to be invigorating.” Robert said casually.

“I thought you hated dealing with court and all of that lordly nonsense,” Lyanna said with a skeptical frown.

“Yes, of course, but that is court, and this is just some friendly banter,” Robert replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You realize that there is never ‘just’ friendly banter between a lord and his bannermen.” Lyanna sighed in exasperation, before snarling in anger.  “Not to mention the ladies. If I must respond to one more veiled comment about how I could never satisfy you, I will claw someone’s eyes out.”

Robert blinked, unsure of exactly how to respond to that.  Of course he was angry that anyone would disparage his betrothed, but she seemed to have it well in hand.

“Well, I can’t speak for the ladies,” Robert started with slowly. “But I 'just' have friendly banter with my bannermen all the time.  If they do try to bring their schemes to me I just change the subject. Frankly, they know that if they have anything truly important, they can bring their concerns to me at Storm’s End like everyone else.” Robert explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“And that works for you? How have you not earned the ire of all the Stormlands?” Lyanna was clearly skeptical of his answer. 

“It seems to.  What can I say? I’m charming.” Robert said with a roguish smile.  Lyanna did not seem convinced.

“It is truly one of his most infuriating character traits,” Eddard interjected. “Come Lyanna, Bran and Ben are expecting us in the stands.”

Eddard reached out to Robert in a show of support, and the foster brothers happily clasped arms.

“Good fortune in your match Robert. May the gods grant you victory.”

“Thank you.” Robert turned to his betrothed, “I look forward to crowning you as the queen of love and beauty.”

“Perhaps you could just charm them into laying down their lances.” Lyanna said, arms crossed defiantly. Though the slight smile on her face showed that she was not truly upset.  “Go out there and win.”

Robert took her hand and gave her knuckles a chaste kiss.  Enjoying the blush that lit up the face of his fierce she-wolf. 

“As you wish.”

With that Eddard escorted his sister back to the stands and Robert was left to his own thoughts.  Even though there was still time before he faced Selmy, he knew he had to stay focused.  He could not let his mind wander down the paths of what might be, or he would lose sight of his goal.  That was why he chose not to watch the prince’s joust.  Of course, he could hear the roar of the crowd, the thunder of hooves, and the clash of steel in the distance, but he did his best to tune it out. Despite his best effort to clear his mind and focus, his thoughts began drifting towards his miraculous healing and the revelation of his House’s divine ancestors. 

Robert felt the wind change and something stirred deep in his heart.  He bent all his will towards listening and for the slightest of moments, he could just believe that he could make out the barest of whispers. Not truly with his ears, but within his very being.  Before he could explore this feeling any further, he was brought back to reality by the call of his squire.

“My Lord, the match is over.  The prince has unseated Ser Dayne and they are calling for you.”

Robert shook himself and donned his antlered great helm.  Robert couldn’t help but smile as he guided his steed towards the tiltyard.  The world around him faded into the background as the familiar thrill of battle suffused his very being and he savored every moment of it.  Robert barely even paid attention to the herald’s calls as he focused in on his opponent.  Even though Robert was without a doubt the physically greater of the two men, he couldn’t help but feel like he was facing down a giant. A few tense moments passed before the flags dropped, the trumpets sounded, and Robert spurred his mount forward. 

As the seconds seemingly stretched into minutes Robert bent all his will towards striking true.  Just as Lyanna had advised, Robert rode his mount at the furthest extent away from the tilt as he felt comfortable hoping to stay out of Ser Barristan’s ideal reach.  Unfortunately, it seemed as if the old knight had read his thoughts and rode daringly close to the tilt while still maintaining his perfect form.  Robert couldn’t help but admire his opponent even if he would be lucky to come away from this exchange still in the saddle. 

They clashed.

Steel rang, wood splintered, and Robert instinctually flexed his core, putting all his considerable strength into staying upright in his saddle.  Somehow, he managed it.  As he took stock of the situation, he looked at the broken lance in his hand and could help but let out a booming laugh.  He had broken a lance against Ser Barristan.  Though as he observed his opponent, it seemed as if the older knight also held a shattered lance, so the two remained tied. 

As he guided his horse back to the starting area, that strange feeling from before returned and he couldn’t help but notice that the myriad of banners and pennants that flew over tourney were dancing in the shifting winds. It seemed that the wind would be at his back for this pass, and it gave him a strange sense of comfort. Though before he could think too deeply on it, he was hailed by Ser Barristan who had lifted his visor in salute.

“Excellent form Lord Baratheon.  You have improved much since last we faced each other.”

“Well, when one has the right motivation, any thing is possible good Ser.” Robert said tapping Lyanna’s favor that had been tied around his arm.

The older man let out a chuckle before lowering his visor and moving on to his own starting area. Robert did the same and was soon back at the starting line, new lance in hand, waiting for the flags to drop once more.  He did not have to wait long.

Robert’s steed eagerly bolted forward, and he was soon lowering his lance in preparation for the coming exchange. Seconds before they were set to strike, Robert knew without a doubt that a powerful gale would soon rip across the tiltyard.  Instinctually, he braced himself against the wind in a way that would normally see him easily unhorsed.  Ser Barristan however was caught wholly unprepared by the force of the powerful gust and the dust it had thrown into his face.  Ser Selmy was unable to recover before the two finally met and his lance found no purchase upon Robert’s armor.  Robert’s lance however landed squarely upon the kingsguard’s upper breastplate.  With a mighty crash, Ser Barristan Selmy was unhorsed. 

As Robert rode to the end of the tiltyard and turned to survey the results of the clash, he could scarcely believe what had just happened.  He knew the wind was coming, he knew how to move with it, and the words of The Crone rang in his mind.  Robert took a moment to focus on the sound of the wind.  Finally, he could make out the whispers. A voice not carried on the wind, but the voice of the wind itself. The words were not spoken into his ears, but into his soul directly drowning out the world with their silent power.

Congratulations, you’ve finally learned to listen. If you wish to speak again, meet us at Durran’s Defiance.  The Dragon is yours alone.

The voice faded as quickly as it came and the uproarious cheers of the assembled masses once more assaulted Robert’s senses.  So much was going through his head that he couldn’t even form a coherent thought. Amid the swirling emotions, Robert once again did what he did best, and pushed it aside to deal with later.

He doffed his helm and handed of the reins of his steed to Walder who had rushed to his side.  He strode over the Ser Barristan, who had just managed to sit up with his nephew’s assistance. 

“I was certain you had me good Ser.” Robert declared with a laugh while offering the older knight a hand.  Ser Selmey took his arm and stood up.

“Aye, you are a skilled rider, but I was fairly sure of my victory, my lord.  Though I learned long ago that one can never count a victory until the battle is well and truly called.  Now, if I am not mistaken, the people are expecting at least a little more pageantry.” Ser Barristan said with a slight smirk before turning to the crowd and raising Robert's arm in the air in a show of honor and chivalry.   The assembled crowds once again showed their exuberant approval and Robert reveled in the praise.  Though the warmth of the crowd’s adulation was quickly snuffed when he saw the cruel smile on the Mad King’s face as he gestured for Robert to join him.  Robert let out a deep breath and steeled himself for whatever might come as made his way over to the king.

“Well done Lord Robert, your martial prowess truly knows no bounds.  Even the mightiest knights in the realm fall before you.” The king spoke with a manic grin, but his eyes were as cold and merciless as ever.

“My thanks, your grace” Robert replied, hoping to sound as neutral as possible so as not to push the king’s mercurial mood in a new direction.

“Yes, yes, soon you will face my son.  Do not hold back, if anything does happen, I do have another.” The king’s smile grew crueler, and Robert schooled his face so as not to grimace at the sight.  Robert gave a respectful bow and responded.

“I plan on winning, your grace” Robert replied in as even a tone as he could.  He hoped the neutral response would not anger the king.  Much to Robert’s surprise the king let out a crooning laugh.

“You know, after your grandsire was felled by that malformed pretender, your father said the same thing to me when I asked him what he was going to do when they next met in battle.  If only you could have seen him, he was like a raging storm on the field that day and none could stand before him.  Barristan might have felled the beast, but only because your father opened the way. Now you have taken back the honor that should have been your father’s.  I look forward to the match.  Go on and get ready then, you are dismissed.” The king said with an almost childish smile waving Robert away a haughty gesture. 

Robert once again bowed and retreated as quickly as dignity would allow.  For a second time in far too short a span, Robert’s thoughts were ablaze.  While he loved to hear tales of his father’s exploits, he hated that this one came out of that foul creature’s mouth.  Beyond that small issue, was the fact that the king had just condoned the death of his own son and heir.  Of course, Robert was motivated to defeat Rhaegar, but he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the prince was slain.  The old bitter part of him exulted in the thought of laying the prince low again, after all, you do not normally get a chance to kill someone twice. He shook his head to get rid of the dark thoughts.  Regardless of what darkness seems to be afflicting Rhaegar, the prince had not yet done something that warranted his death.   

Between the prince, the gods, and the king, Robert had far too much on his mind. Frankly, it was giving him a headache.  Fortunately, he was spared further thought when he heard his friends and family calling his name.  So once again Robert buried his worries and focused on the joyous celebration that awaited him.  He had at least an hour before he had to think about any of his myriad issues.  

Chapter Text

Dawn of the 6th day of the Tourney of Harrenhal 

Rhaegar stared forlornly out of the window of his quarters in the Kingspyre tower, fruitlessly trying to soothe his weary mind with the strings of his harp, his morning meal having grown cold. Since the harrowing dream he experienced the previous night, he has not been able to find peace.  He had visited both the recently restored sept and the grotesque heart tree within the godswood to seek answers and peace, but all he found were the echoes of his father’s mocking laughter.  It was a small mercy that he did not have to compete on the first day of the champions round as the dishonor of withdrawing from the competition would undo much of the goodwill he had built with the lords of the realm. 

As he strummed out the last few notes of Jenny’s Song, he reflected on all that had happened over the past few moons.  His dreams had become more and more dire and now they had reached new heights of torment.  Just the mere thought of what he saw in his nightmare caused his heart to race and his fingers to slip on his harp causing a string of discordant notes to echo throughout his chamber.  Rhaegar nearly threw the offending instrument out the window in a fit of anger, but he stopped himself.  He was a prince of the blood, the one who was supposed to bring forth the promised prince, he would not lose himself to momentary bouts of emotion.  He was not his father.

Rhaegar stood and began pacing.  He needed council, but no one here could possibly understand.  His wife, though a dutiful listener and wise beyond her years, was dealing with a difficult pregnancy.  It was best to leave her in blissful peace.  He laughed at the thought that the local maester or septon might provide council, and none of the lords here were learned enough to provide any insight.  Rhaegar paused.  That was not entirely true.  The crannogman had spoken with knowledge of the mysterious world of dreams and prophecies.  His green eyes were far older than they should have been for a man barely out of his youth.  The future Lord of the Neck had spoken of the Isle of Faces, and that he might find answers there.  Answers he must have. 

“Ser Arthur,” the prince called to his closest companion and a moment later the knight entered the chamber.

“Yes, my prince?”

“I need to go to the Isle of Faces, quietly If at all possible. Can I leave the preparations to you?”

The Sword of the Morning could not hide the confusion on his face clearly wanting to question the order, but the man was considered the greatest knight in the realm for more than just his skill with a blade.  The kingsguard knew his duty well and gave a simple reply.

“As you command my prince, I will make ready to leave within the hour.”

Rhaegar was grateful to have such a loyal companion at his side.  It was a lonely road walking the path of one destined to reign as sovereign over millions of souls, doubly so for one tasked to ensure mankind was prepared for the long night.  Ser Arthur made walking the path just a little less arduous.

The prince decided to try and rest as he waited for his kingsguard to return for him.  Even though he was physically and mentally exhausted, he knew he had to always maintain the façade of a powerful prince.  It was difficult to still his mind and force his body to relax, but the hope that answers might soon be found helped. 

True to his word, Ser Arthur returned within the hour having obtained a guide and planned a discrete exit from the castle.  Both the prince and the knight changed into much less noticeable clothing and slipped from the castle amongst the throngs of small folk who were coming and going from the tourney.  Their guide showed them the way to a small dock, and with the exchange of some coins, likely more than the man would see in several moons, they ensured his silence and obtained a sailboat with which to cross the lake.  Fortunately, Ser Arthur grew up on the sea and was well-versed in piloting such a craft.  His friend assured him that with favorable winds they would reach the island in no more than one- or two-hours’ time. 

Rhaegar could not help but feel both anxious and excited as they made their way to the island. He was soon to have his answers, to have a clear path forward.  They made good progress but as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, the island itself grew no closer.  At first, he thought it must have been a trick of the light or perhaps an odd feature of the lake, but as time progressed even Ser Arthur commented on their lack of perceived progress. It soon became clear that something unnatural was at work.  He was being denied access to the answers he sought.  Anger burned in his heart.  He was so close yet the answers he craved were being held just out of reach.  He stood and roared in defiance and frustration.

“I am Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen! Prince of Dragonstone! Heir to the Iron Throne! Blood of Old Valyria! I will not be denied what I deserve!” His throat burned and he heaved great breaths as he attempted fruitlessly to reign in his emotions.

“My Prince, I think…” Ser Arthur’s words failed as the enraged prince fixed the knight with a fierce glare, madness glowing like the coolest embers behind his deep purple eyes.  The shocked look on his companion’s face helped Rhaegar finally reign in his lapse in self-control.  Taking several deep breaths, the prince sat back down and turned his eyes back to the ever-distant island.  

“Please, I humbly come seeking answers to my dreams.” He called out in a pleading tone. Rhaegar’s heart fell as his words were met with only the sound of the waves lapping at the sides of his boat.  As the silence stretched on, Rhaegar finally lost hope and turned to ask Ser Arthur to take them back to shore.  But before the words could leave his mouth, a dense fog rose from the water's surface.  In mere moments, the mists surrounded them and blotted out the sky.  But as quickly as the fog enveloped them, it was blown away and the prince and his knight found themselves on the banks of the Isle of Faces.  A sea of red leaves and bone-white trunks carved with faces depicting the full spectrum of human emotions greeted them. 

As Rhaegar stood in awe of what was now before him, a man stepped from the forest, cloaked in green with antlers sticking up out of a cowl that otherwise obscured the man’s face.  Ser Arthur nearly drew his sword, but Rhaegar held out a hand prompting him to wait.

“Thank you for allowing us passage to your island my good man.” The prince said, adopting a diplomatic and noble posture.  The cloaked man had the gall to scoff at the princes’ greeting.

“’Twas not I tha alud ye te walk beneth the sacred glade. Nor would I if twer ma say.”

Rhaegar maintained his smile, but the previous anger he felt had been stoked all the same.

“You may not have allowed it, but someone must have.  I would assume they are awaiting our arrival.” The prince reasoned. 

“Nay, I was bade only te allow the prince te follow, yon bondsman may wile away his time on the boat.”

“Absolutely not!” Ser Arthur said fully drawing Dawn in protest.  The man in green recoiled in fear of the blade and shielded his eyes as if the milky white blade were the sun itself. 

“Surely you would not have a man sworn to defend me with his life break his oath. I am well versed in how seriously followers of the old gods take such things.” Rhaegar said calmly. Though internally part of him couldn’t help but take some small satisfaction in the man’s discomfort.  He may need the answers that could be found here, but he was still a prince and was due some measure of respect.

“Aye, bade yer man to put away yon star sword, it unsettles those who call the glade hame.  I was bade te offer guest rights. Bread and salt.  Ye will no be harmed before the eyes of the gods. Surely you ken how seriously the gods take such things.” The man replied, making his displeasure clear in his voice as he produced said bread and salt from a satchel he was carrying.

Without hesitation, Rhaegar partook of the bread and salt and turned to address Ser Arthur.

“Sheath your sword Arthur and stand watch here, if this is the only way I can find my answers then so be it.” The kingsguard grimaced and nearly growled at the cloaked man, but he obeyed.

“Good, follow me,” The cloaked man said, and turned to enter the maze of weirwood trees.  

Rhaegar hurried to follow him, the two walking in silence.  The experience of traversing this ancient grove of red and white trees was beyond surreal.  Rhaegar could feel the weight of ages hanging heavy in the air making it almost stifling to breathe.  Worst of all, it reminded him of the dream he had moons ago at Summerhall.  He half expected to see a stag chasing after a wolf.  After walking what felt like hours but could not have been more than a handful of minutes, he was led into a clearing where he saw the largest heart tree he had ever seen, though one might describe it as many trees with many faces having grown into one.  At the base of the tree, there was a bench made of old white branches woven together and topped with green moss.

“Sit, the singer will be along soon,” his guide said brusquely before turning and leaving. 

And so, Rhaegar was left alone in a place so otherworldly he could only imagine it in his dreams.  Even though the sun was high in the sky, its light barely touched this place.  Thinking of nothing else to do, he sat as he was told.  Now that he was alone in this mystical place, he could not help but feel unnerved.  Doubt began clawing at the back of his mind.  Who was this singer his guide spoke of? Would they have the answers he sought? Was he mad for coming here in the first place?

“Greetings dragon prince” An ethereal voice greeted him.  Rhaegar jumped up from his seat looking all around for the speaker.  Moments later something he never even dreamed he would lay eyes upon gracefully descended from the branches of the great heart tree.

“A child of the Forest,” Rhaegar said in awe at the being in front of him.  She, he assumed, was no more than three and a half feet in height but looked neither like a dwarf nor a child, in fact, she seemed to carry a maturity one would expect of a crone upon her slight shoulders.  She had wild auburn hair braided with thin twisted weirwood branches.  Her skin was a deep brown dappled with spots not unlike a dear.  In her clawed hands, she carried a white wooden bowl with some sort of red paste inside.  Her large golden cat-like eyes were narrowed in annoyance as she looked over him. 

“Child? I was here to witness your ancestor turn Harren’s folly into the melted monstrosity it is today.  We call ourselves those who sing the song of earth, though I am not blind to the fact that in your common tongue, it is much to say.  You may refer to us as singers, though I am called Root.”  Her voice was beautiful, yet cold and it took Rhaegar a few moments to take in all she had said. 

“Apologies, Lady Root.” He said with a slight bow of the head, though he could tell by her exasperated expression that she did not appreciate the honorific.

“For all your learning, you still know so little,” Root said forlornly. Her large ears twitched, and she turned her head as if to listen to something nearby.  “They are nearly done with their discussion, one way or another, you should have the answers you seek soon.”

“I don’t hear anyone else,” Rhaegar said, unable to hide the distrust in his voice, even though hope started to build in his heart at the prospect of answers.

“Yes, your ears would not be able to hear the True Tongue.  Kneel.” Root responded in a tone that brook no disobedience.  Rhaegar for his part hesitated his mind instantly thinking of the human implication of the gesture.  Though as Root’s eyes bore into him expectantly, he eventually acquiesced and knelt before the Singer. 

She dipped one of her clawed hands into the red paste and reached up to spread it across his forehead and along his ears.  She opened her mouth to sing, but the sounds coming from her mouth were unlike anything a man might speak.  She sang in the language of nature itself; he heard the babbling of a brook and the wind blowing through the trees. Rhaegar was entranced and was startled when she once again spoke in the common tongue.

“You may listen to them now if you wish.  Open your mind and let their voices wash over you.”

Rhaegar was unsure of what she meant but took a deep breath and focused his mind on hearing the voices she was speaking of.  Slowly, he began hearing new sounds. The sound of a fierce storm, a bear’s roar, rocks tumbling violently down a mountain, and the cawing of crows.  The sounds began to grow louder and louder until they rattled his mind and caused a searing pain in his head, he could barely breathe.  He closed his eyes and tried covering his ears, but the sounds kept coming.  At first, all he could feel was the pain, but then he began to make out emotions and meanings behind the sounds.  He sensed two voices locked in a heated discussion.

Again, I declare him my kin and call upon you to honor your oaths and cease your interference.

It is you who interfere, this is our place.

Our pact is binding, you will not keep me from him.

Your song is discordant.  You will fail.

That is far from certain.

We eagerly await your replacement

And with that final jarring statement, the battle was over, and he was released from the overwhelming pressure that had come.  Desperately gasping for air, Rhaegar felt blood trickling from his nose and ears and tasted the metallic liquid in his mouth.  What had that child done to him, and what had he just been privy to?  He felt a gentle hand being placed on his cheek and a clawed finger wiped away the blood from his nose.  He heard yet another of the child’s songs, yet this one was softer and helped chase the pain away.  He opened his eyes to see a sad look on the singer’s face.

“Apologies young prince, mortal men are not meant to comprehend the unfiltered true tongue, but I thought that you needed to hear that.  The one who holds the answers you seek is not your friend.”

“What happens now?” Rhaegar said after taking a few moments to steady himself.

“You must consume weirwood paste and lay amongst the roots of the heart tree,” Root replied. 

“Will it be as bad as listening to those voices?” Rhaegar asked cautiously.  Root tilted her head in contemplation and took a few moments to respond. 

“Nay, your mind will slip into the roots of the heart tree and will walk within its memory.  Beware, only a true greenseer can control what they see.  Those without the gift will be left adrift and at the mercy of those who do.  You will see much young prince, do not lose yourself there.” 

With that warning, Root offered up the bowl of paste to Rhaegar.  He studied it for a few moments, part of him was screaming at him to turn back now, to flee this place and never return.  But he could not do that.  He was Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, burdened by destiny.  He would not turn back now that he was so close to his answers.  Not allowing himself to dwell any further on those thoughts, he dipped his hand into the bowl and consumed the paste.  He nearly gagged at the bitterness of the concoction, but the taste soon changed becoming sweet yet spicy, reminding him of some of the most delectable treats he had consumed in the past.  He began to feel tired and felt himself being led to the base of the tree.  As soon as he sat down, he was surrounded by darkness and silence.  He wanted to call out, but no voice issued forth. 

Without warning, he found himself on a battlefield. Two armies fought across a river that was quickly turning red with blood.  He spied banners of House Targaryen and House Baratheon. He saw Robert Baratheon charging toward him like a demon of the seven hells screaming for blood.

Just as quickly as the scene had come, it changed.  He saw a young woman who he somehow recognized as his sister walk into a flame and walk out with three dragons.

He saw a young boy falling from a tower and turning into a raven.

A dead king with the head of a wolf.

A girl without a face slaying an entire house.

A one-handed lion strangling its mate.

The visions grew more bizarre and came faster and faster passing before he could even make sense of them. Until finally one vision came into focus.  A man stood at the head of an army as The Wall came tumbling down.  His features were ever-changing, strait hair of silver gold shifted and changed to a dull brown then to dark curls. His eyes changed color from slate grey to brilliant sapphire blue and through all the shades of purple.  He was of towering height then shorter than the average man.  He was heavily muscled and powerful then lithe and agile.  Even his companions were ever changing, a great black dragon, a massive white direwolf, a woman with hair kissed by fire, or a woman with golden hair.  Throughout the ever-shifting nature of the vision, one thing remained the same. In his hand, he held Lightbringer, the sword that would banish the long night and summon the eternal summer.   The vision ended as the prince raised his sword and bellowed the order for his army to charge, and once again he was floating in the void.

Panic once again began to rise when he found himself standing in the throne room, the imposter once again staring down at him from the monstrosity that his ancestor had created. 

“So, you have come seeking answers.” The shade of his father declared.

“Not from a man who would hide his true face. Show yourself.” Rhaegar demanded.  The man shifted forms and soon took on the form of a man the prince recognized as Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven.

“I tell you to show yourself and you take on the form of a dead man?” Rhaegar sneered.

“Dead? No, death has not yet found me. I live on to see my great work to completion.” Bloodraven replied with a smirk.

“So, the rumors were true, you are some sort of unnatural sorcerer,” Rhaegar replied with disdain.

“I have done what I had to, no more, no less,” Bloodraven answered, his tone weary as if he had explained himself far too many times.  Rhaegar considered the man, anger dimming as his desire for answers grew.

“What did I see before I was brought before you?”

“Possible futures. Things that may or may not come to pass.  The future has grown increasingly more difficult to divine.” Bloodraven explained dismissively. 

“And yet I am still dreaming of things to come.  You have some control over this place, are you responsible for my dreams as well?” Rhaegar questioned, remembering what the singer had told him.

“Yes, I have been the one guiding your gifts of foresight.  You must be set upon the correct path. For the good of the realm, for the good of all mankind.” Lord Brynden explained with conviction.

“You speak of guiding me, but all I have received is torment!” Rhaegar screamed in answer, his pent-up anger being unleashed. 

“The world of dreams is not always easy to influence. I am limited in my tools, and I chose one that would spurn you to action.  And now, here you are. Now we may talk freely.” Bloodraven replied.

“So then talk, tell me why you trouble me so.” The prince said impatiently.

“The Great Other is stirring, and his servants begin their inexorable march south bringing the long night once again.  The realm has no more than three decades before they attempt to assail the wall.  My servants and I are doing all that we can to delay their coming, but in time there will be nothing more for me to do and the dead will march on the land of the living.”

Silence reigned as Rhaegar took in Lord Brynden’s words.  Aegon’s dream was soon to be fulfilled.  Rheagar without a doubt knew that this man who claimed to be his kin was speaking the truth.  He knew it too in his very soul.  This is what all his dreams, all the prophecies, everything had been leading to.  He once thought that he was the prince that was promised, but of course, it could not be him.  He would be a king and in his waning years by the time the enemy arrived.  He knew that it would be his duty to raise the true savior of mankind.  The coming of the prince could not wait another generation like he had hoped.  Even as he grew more excited with the answer he had received; doubt began to claw at him. 

“The dreams you have sent me insist that the prince must be born of a union between House Targaryen and House Stark.  I know that according to Aegon’s dream, the dragon must have three heads and that they will be born amidst salt and smoke.  Tell me, where does the wolf play into all of this.” Rhaegar questioned firmly.

“The hero of old who drove back the other was the first Stark. In their blood, they carry to power needed to throw back the great enemy, but it is not enough to end it.  That is why they built the wall.  They knew the enemy would return.  But a union of Dragon and Direwolf, of fire and ice, blood of the kings of old and blood of new kings, would finally be enough to end the threat and usher forth a world without dark winters.  There is but one Stark now that may bear such a hero.” Bloodraven explained patiently.

Rhaegar’s heart dropped into his stomach. 

“There has to be another way.  Lyanna is betrothed to Lord Baratheon.  The chaos it would cause if I stepped between them would tear the realm apart.” Rhaegar argued.

“I have seen no other way, and there is no more time.  We cannot delay another generation.  You would throw away our best hope for survival against the true enemy for fear of the petty squabbles it may cause? I thought you were made of sterner stuff my prince.  Perhaps your father was right about you after all.” Bloodraven taunted. 

Rhaegar’s anger burned, and he lunged at the one-eyed man hoping to strangle him.  As soon as he made contact, however, only darkness and the cawing of a thousand crows greeted him.  When the darkness cleared, he was standing at the base of a snowy hill topped by a wild grove of weirwood trees.  Amongst the branches, he spied a massive three-eyed crow, its third eye full of malice.  When it opened its dark serrated beak, Bloodraven’s voice issued forth.

“Your time in this place has come to an end.  In your hands rest the fate of all mankind.  Throw away your honor and do what must be done.  I believe a nightly reminder of your duty will keep you on the right path.”  The crow mocked, its voice full of malevolence.

“No!” Rhaegar cried before darkness once again enveloped him.  He felt as if he were floating for an eternity left alone in silence, unable to cry for help, unable to move, alone with a terrible truth.  After an age and an instant, he felt as if he was falling, with a sudden crash he opened his eyes and took in a blue sky empty of clouds. 

“My Prince! You are awake!” Ser Arthur’s voice cut through the remaining fog left over from his ordeal. 

“What happened?” Rhaegar asked as he slowly sat up, realizing that he was once again in the boat.

“They brought you back and claimed that the trial had drained you. Are you well?”

“I am exhausted, but otherwise I am whole.” The prince replied checking himself over.

“Did you find the answers you were looking for?” Ser Arthur asked, the worry still obvious in his voice. 

“I found answers.” Rhaegar answered, “But I am not sure they were the ones I was looking for.”

The knight frowned but pressed the prince no further.  Their return to the castle was made in silence and the sun was just beginning its final descent beyond the horizon as they made their way back into the castle.  When the prince wearily approached his chambers, he saw Ser Darry standing vigil before the door.

“The princess is waiting to call upon you, your grace.” The knight explained.

Rhaegar nodded and took a deep breath, attempting to banish the ill feelings and exhaustion he was experiencing.  When he opened the door, he was greeted by a little girl running into his legs.

“Papa!” Little Rhaenys exclaimed.

“Hello, Little one.” He smiled at his daughter but could not fully hide his distress.

“She refused to get ready for bed until she could properly greet you.” His wife explained. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing that you should burden yourself with.” He replied in a kind but tired tone.  His wife was clearly not satisfied with the answer but did not press him.

Rhaegar was thankful for her prudence.  How did one explain that the fate of the world rested on him bedding a maiden of five and ten?  Could he even do it? Both his father’s and Bloodraven’s voices echoed in his mind mocking his weakness.  He would not be remembered as a weak king, nor would he become a monster like his father or Lord Brynden.  He was better than them, he would find a way. 

After Elia had escorted his daughter away for bed, he prepared to get some much-needed rest.  Unfortunately, The Crow once again tormented him with the consequences should he fail to bring forth the promised prince.

Chapter Text

Midday, the 8th day of the Tourney of Harrenhal

Robert couldn't help but let out another victorious shout and laugh as he approached the crowd of well-wishers.  Several of his bannermen jockeyed to be the first to offer their congratulations, and he was happy to receive them, reveling in the attention.  He eventually made his way through the crowd to the tent he had been assigned within the staging area, where his family and friends were waiting for him.  As he entered, he saw his betrothed, and the smile on Lyanna's face almost made everything else fade away.  After the initial round of greetings and congratulations from the group, Lyanna spoke up with a teasing smile.

"Well, Robert, it seems as if you were right.  Even the greatest of knights can fall victim to bad luck.  If it hadn't been for that ill-timed wind, Ser Barristan would have laid you low."

"Usually, being told I am right is much more satisfying," Robert replied with a soft chuckle before shifting into a more serious and ominous tone. "Perhaps the goddess of wind herself willed my victory." 

Robert took a few moments to survey everyone's response.  Lyanna's eyes widened in wonder and excitement. Eddard immediately hid behind his natural cold demeanor, probably uncomfortable with his statement given what he knew. Brandon could not help but snort derisively.  Stannis scowled at the mention of the gods he did not believe in. All the while, Delena curiously examined everyone's reactions like the sly fox she was.  Robert let his statement hang in the air before letting out a barking laugh, causing the mood to lighten once again. 

"Maybe the gods will favor you again.  You'll need it against the prince." Lyanna teased.

"The gods care not for our mortal woes, my lady.  As we all know, it is up to the skill of the knight and the fickleness of fortune to carry the day." An all too familiar, all too sociable, and all too royal voice spoke. 

The festive air of the tent evaporated with Prince Rhaegar's arrival.  Robert closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing all negative thoughts and emotions away before turning to face the prince.  Rhaegar stood in the tent's entryway clad in his bejeweled black plate.  The same plate that had been broken on the Trident. Once in Robert's past life and a thousand times in his dreams.  Even now, Robert needed to focus on the moment and not let his mind take him back to the battlefield.  The man had the gall to stand there smiling as if he were meeting his closest companions.

"If the gods did not care for our woes, they would not have given us their laws, nor would they bother with our immortal souls," Robert responded, disagreeing with the prince almost completely by reflex.  The prince's smile did not falter, but he did quirk an eyebrow in interest.

"I did not take you for one so pious, cousin," Rhaegar said with the slightest chuckle.

"It is a recent thing, your grace.  Was there something I could do for you?" Robert replied, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice.

"Yes, I know that it is an inopportune time, but I wished to have words with you, one knight to another, before our match.  Privately, if your guests would allow it." His tone carried the command that his words did not.  The group hesitated to move for a few moments. It was Eddard who spoke first, patting Robert on the shoulder.

"We won't be far; we can finish celebrating when you are done. Come, let us give the Prince and Robert their privacy."  The look on Ned's face made it clear that he did not want to hear any complaints from his siblings. 

Robert nodded to Stannis, who understood and escorted his young lady out with the Starks.  Before she left, Lyanna reached out and squeezed his hand and gave Robert a comforting smile, her eyes bidding him to stay calm.  Robert nodded and returned the smile, and once the others had left, he turned his focus on the prince.

"Well, we're alone now, your grace.  What have you to say that could not be spoken before my family?"  Robert was not in a particularly generous or forgiving mood, and it carried in his voice.  The prince was about to retort but seemed to think better of it.  He frowned, and his posture shifted, looking once more like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"What do you know of Northern tales, Lord Robert?" Rhaegar asked, his voice barely being kept from trembling.

"Quite a bit, I would say. I spent many hours listening to these tales while in Winterfell." Robert replied, honestly taken aback by the question.

"So, you know of the Long Night, The Great Other, and The Last Hero who drove them away.  Do you think them to be true or merely tales to scare young ones into obedience?"  Rhaegar's voice grew stronger and more hopeful.

Robert paused, unsure what to make of the prince's questions.  Does Rhaegar know of the coming long night? Is that what drove him to do what he did?  Robert decided to tread lightly going forward.

"One does not build a wall one hundred leagues in length out of solid ice to keep men at bay.  There is something supernatural at work there; not even your house's dragons could pass over it if the tales are to be believed." Robert reasoned.  Rhaegar's eyes lit up as if he had just heard the most exciting news. 

"You are right, of course.  Robert, I believe that the long night will come again within our lifetime and that the dead will walk to snuff out the living. What I share with you now is something that House Targaryen held closely for generations.  Knowledge that was almost lost after the Dance and that I rediscovered upon Dragonstone." Rhaegar paused, letting the tension build like some mummer trying to wow gullible smallfolk. Robert did not appreciate it, and his expression made it clear.  The prince caught on and continued.

"Aegon the Conqueror did not set out to unite the seven kingdoms out of vainglory.  He dreamed of the coming darkness and knew that it was within his power alone to unite the realms of man to stand firm against the coming darkness and that a man of his line would be the last hero reborn, a prince promised to usher in the everlasting summer."  The prince became increasingly animated as he shared the dream; he seemed to stand straighter as if sharing this tale lifted the weight he had entered with. Robert was unsure exactly how to respond.

"What would you have us do?" Robert spoke after several long seconds of silence.

"You believe me?" Rhaegar responded excitedly.  Almost as if he expected Robert to call him mad. 

"I…" Robert paused to choose his words carefully.  Howland said the realm's fate balanced upon a knife's edge. The ease with which he could push it one way or another was chilling, to say the least.

"I have also dreamed of the coming night." He eventually finished.

"You have?" Prince Rhaegar responded, disbelief clear in his voice.  The tone stung Robert's pride, and he spoke before he could catch himself.

"What, is my blood not pure enough to dream? I may be a simple lord, but I am the descendant of kings. House Baratheon has been closely tied to House Targaryen throughout the generations." Robert growled angrily.  He regretted every word that came out of his mouth.  The prince's eyes widened in surprise at Robert's response, and he spent a few moments deep in thought before shaking his head and raising his hands placatingly.   

"Peace, cousin, I meant no disrespect.  There are frankly not many who would even admit to such things. Especially amongst the Andals who do not think highly of magic." Rhaegar explained.

"Sorcery and witchcraft are perversions of the human soul, but the crone often lights the way in our dreams." Robert quoted from a commentary on the Seven-Pointed Star, which he had read not long ago.

"Words straight from Septon Barth; I did not expect you to be well versed in the writings of The Faith," Rhaegar replied curiously.

"As I said earlier, it’s a recent development.  Less than a year ago, I was very nearly taken into The Stranger's embrace.  I’ve been interested in the gods ever since.  I am not much of a scholar, but that particular quote stuck in my mind." Robert said, hoping the half-truth would satisfy the prince. 

"I see, but we are drifting from the purpose for which I came to you today.  You see, many prophesies surround the birth of the Promised Prince.  Such as the dragon must have three heads, he will be born beneath a bleeding star, and most importantly his song will be of ice and fire." The prince emphasized the words 'ice' and 'fire' as if they held a particular value.  Part of Robert thought he understood the meaning but refused to acknowledge the idea as even a remote possibility.

"What, so you think you are this Promised Prince?" Robert scoffed.

"No! No, I am not the one, but it was prophesied by the Ghost of High Heart that the prince would come from a union of Aerys and Rhaella. There was once a time that I thought it might be me, but I know now that the prince who was promised will be my son."  There was silence as Robert digested this information, his mind working feverishly to sort through a torrent of thoughts.  One thought in particular grabbed his attention. 

"Forgive me as I am not well-versed in King's Landing gossip, but isn't The Ghost of High Heart the woods witch Jenny brought to court?" Robert asked.

"Yes, that is true." The prince replied cautiously, unable to see where Robert was leading with the question.

"It simply seems odd to me that this witch would give the exact prophecy needed to take attention away from the mess that was Prince Duncan's marriage." Robert's tone clearly indicated that he still thought little of House Targaryen's slight against his house.

"If it were not for that 'mess,' as you call my uncle's marriage, you would not be standing here today.  Regardless of the circumstances, the woods witch was well known to have visions of the past and future." Rhaegar explained as he slowly began to lose his patience.

"Let's stop dancing around the issue, your grace." Robert's voice dripped with false reverence as he, too, felt his anger burning in his chest. "What is it that you have come to ask of your loyal servant? And be quick if it pleases you. If you remember, we are scheduled to hit each other with pointy sticks in less than an hour."

"Very well, it is my firm belief that my son, the prince that was promised, will be born of a union of House Targaryen and House Stark," Rhaegar said resolutely.

"No," Robert muttered in sheer disbelief at what the prince suggested. "Absolutely not. You are married with one child and another on the way.  What you are even trying to suggest is utter madness."

"I am not mad!" the prince snapped before taking a deep breath to center himself. But in that one moment, Robert caught it. The same madness that blazed in the king's eyes smoldered within Rhaegar's. 

"I am doing what I must for the realm and all mankind.  The dragon must have three heads," The prince continued. "Gods bless my wife. Though love never bloomed in our marriage, she is a dear friend and partner. It is sad, but I do not think she has the strength to carry a third child to term.  Beyond that, she and my daughter are subject to torment in court from my father.  She has no desire to be queen, and we have often discussed ways we might part amicably."

Robert could not quite believe what he was hearing.

"You want me to give up my marriage based on the words of dead men and mad women?"

"Those prophecies are what built this kingdom and will save mankind.  Even you claimed to have dreamt of the long night's approach.  Besides, you are not married yet, and betrothals can be broken. I am sure we can work something out if we take some time to discuss things with Lord Stark." The prince tried to reason.

"There is nothing to discuss. Prophecies spouted by mortal men are nothing but traps, and the future is far from set in stone. What you suggest will only bring pain and suffering.  Do you think your mother thinks highly of the prophecy that bound her to the king?" Robert argued back angrily.  The prince flinched at the mention of his mother, and his resolve seemed to waver. Unfortunately, the moment of weakness passed quickly. 

"It is not the same.  My parents did not understand the significance of the great destiny placed upon them and let bitterness and selfishness destroy what could have been a partnership that ushered in a new age.  I am sure Lady Lyanna would understand if we could explain the seriousness of the situation.  Furthermore, I would never treat her as my father treats my mother." Rhaegar said passionately, almost pleading for Robert to understand.  Robert was not moved and fell deeper into the embrace of his anger.

"You will stay away from Lyanna," Robert ordered, barely keeping it from being shouted out for all to hear.  The prince could no longer hold back his own anger. 

"And who are you to command a prince, Lord Baratheon?" Rhaegar nearly shouted back.

"I am the…" Robert barely stopped himself from declaring his sovereignty.  He took a deep breath to calm his anger and give himself time to think of something to say that might dissuade the prince from his folly. "I will be Hand of the King and will soon speak with your father's authority."

Upon the declaration, Rhaegar's demeanor changed completely.  He straightened up and schooled his features into the impassive mask that those surrounded by concealed enemies must maintain.

"Very well, future hand.  You have my word that I will stay away from your betrothed for the remainder of the tourney." Rhaegar said in a surprisingly cordial tone. "I must go; as you said, we are scheduled to hit each other with pointed sticks soon, and I must be prepared."

Robert knew he had just made a misstep and felt the chances of salvaging this situation slipping through his fingers.

"My prince, believe me when I say that I will be there when the long night comes, standing with a realm united and ready to drive back the darkness." Robert declared, hoping his words might strike a chord with the prince.

"Remember those words when you are surrounded by the dead, and there is no light to pierce the night."  With that, the prince nodded and slipped from the tent.  Robert could think of only one thing to say at that moment.

"Fuck”

Chapter Text

After the prince had left, his friends and family hurried back into the tent. Lyanna was the first to speak.

"Robert, is everything alright? The prince seemed less friendly when we saw him leave. I tried to get close and listen in, but Ser Arthur insisted that the conversation stay private," she said, concern coloring her words.

Robert was about to give a full explanation when his eyes fell on Stannis, still escorting Delena. She may be his future good sister, but he did not know her well enough to share his most closely guarded secrets. 

"The Prince and I had a difference of opinion. I will happily discuss it with you another time. If any good came of the meeting, it is that I am even more motivated to unhorse the man." Robert replied with a laugh and a smile, hoping to convince them, and perhaps himself, that everything was fine. It seemed to work for most of the group, but the look Ned gave him made it clear that his friend had seen through his bravado.

"Very well, I would very much like that crown.  I don't think winter roses would look good on Princess Elia." Lyanna spoke in her mock southern tone.  Robert laughed, but the memory of Rhaegar crowning Lyanna quickly came to mind.  He knew now was not the time to be lost in his past and willed the memory away. 

"So," He barked, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Do you have any advice on how I might fulfill your desire?" Robert asked. Lyanna's eyes lit up as she dove into her obviously prepared explanation.

"Well, from what I have seen, the prince is incredibly accurate with his strikes even though he uses a longer lance than most.  His form is peerless, but he is otherwise straightforward in his strategy. You have one major advantage against the prince, and that is weight.  Both you and your steed are larger than the prince and his.  You will have a similar reach, so if you can withstand his strike, there is a good chance you can unhorse him with even a mediocre strike."

"So, expect to take a solid hit, brace for it, and make sure I land something on him as well?" Robert asked.

"That is a decent summary," Lyanna replied with a smile. Robert returned the smile, gently taking her hand and kissing it. She blushed.

"What would I do without you?" Robert asked affectionately.

"You would be out of the tourney in the second round," she replied affectionately as steel grey gazed into pools of deep blue. Robert wished the moment would last forever, but unfortunately, her eldest brother opened his mouth.

"Alright, Florian. If I must endure your flirting any longer, I might just lose my lunch," Brandon growled. Lyanna shot him a scathing look, but he did not back down.  It was then that Eddard stepped in to assist.

"Let them be, Bran; they will part ways in just a few days and will not see each other for several moons, if not more than a year. If you cannot stomach their affections, why don't you spend time with your own betrothed?" Ned admonished; Brandon simply huffed.  It was clear that there had been a shift in the dynamics between the heir and the spare since the confrontation over Lyanna's stint as a mystery knight.  Robert couldn't help but feel happy to see his usually reserved and quiet foster brother coming out of his shell a bit.

The group fell into superficial chatter while waiting for the herald to announce the final bought.  All the while, Robert was fighting hard not to let his mind dwell on the conversation with Prince Rhaegar.  He had to focus on the match, not what could possibly lie beyond it if he was to stand any chance of winning the tourney.  Before long, the call came, and Robert mounted his steed for the final time in the tourney.

"Best of luck, Robert," Lyanna called as he turned Storm towards the tiltyard. 

"I don't need luck; I have you," he replied, tapping the favor tied around his arm.   Lyanna blushed furiously but rallied.

"You are terrible." She scowled.

"And you love it." He laughed and rode to the starting area. 

Robert was buoyed up by the cheers of his soldiers as he made his way to the battlefield…no.  He shook his head. He was not on the Trident; he was at Harrenhal.  It was not his soldiers cheering him on, but the throng of gathered smallfolk and highborn calling his name.  True, the foe was the same, but this was not supposed to be to the death.  His heart was racing, its pulse thundering in his ears. He was forced to take deep breaths to refocus his mind and stay in the present.  He barely paid any attention as the herald announced him and the prince to the crowd, and Walder had to get his attention when he was called to salute the king and his opponent.

Finally, it was time.

He was at the starting line, facing the man he had sworn to defeat. Today was not the day that the smiles would die. Robert would defeat the prince and give Lyanna the crown she deserved. The flags lifted. He tightened his grip on his reins. The flags fell. He spurred his steed forward, and once again, time slowed to a crawl as he focused solely on the coming exchange with the prince. 

They thundered down the lane, and, true to Lyanna's prediction, Rhaegar's Form was perfect.  In fact, it was so perfect that in the few moments before impact, Robert could tell that the prince was aiming for his previously injured shoulder.  Sacrificing the accuracy of his own strike, he turned his body just enough to allow the lance to slide off his pauldron.  When they passed, there was a clash of metal but no telltale crack of wood from broken lances.  No progress was made in the first round.  The two competitors returned to their starting places without exchanging a single word.

Once again, the flags were lifted, and the flags dropped.  Determined to at least break a lance this time, Robert leaned forward more than he usually would.  The prince seemed to be aiming for the center of his breastplate this time.  He ignored Rhaegar's lance and focused solely on landing his own blow.  He felt the shock of the impact on his armor almost simultaneously as he connected squarely with the top of the prince's shield.  He pushed hard into his stirrups and flexed his core, willing himself to stay in the saddle as splinters sprayed across his helm.  Once again secure in his saddle, he turned to see the prince still atop his destrier broken lance in hand.  Robert looked down at the shattered weapon in his hand and grunted. They remained even.

Thrice they clashed, and thrice their lances were shattered.  On each pass, Rhaegar tried a different target, and each time, Robert would brace or lean to keep himself from being unseated. Still, he could not land a definitive strike despite having the weight and power to break his lances.  Robert's entire body ached from the repeated impacts, and even Storm was beginning to show signs of fatigue. Though, to his credit, the valiant steed was still eager to race down the lane.

Robert grew more and more frustrated with each pass. He thought he heard Ned telling him to calm down, but the crowd's cheers had grown to a fever pitch. Robert decided that it would end here, one way or another. So, for their fifth pass, he would throw caution to the wind and focus solely on landing a clean hit. While trotting back to the starting position, he leaned close to Storm's ear and spoke to his partner.

"One, last pass.  Give it everything you've got, and you can rest well."  Robert said while giving the warhorse an affectionate pat on the neck.  The great beast snorted and shook his head, picking up a little speed on their way to the starting area.  Once there, Robert received a fresh lance from Walder and gave the herald the ready signal while his steed eagerly stamped at the ground. The flags were raised, and a moment later, the flags dropped.  Robert didn't even have to spur his horse as they shot out of the starting area like an arrow from a bow.  As he and Rhaegar approached and lowered their lances, Robert's sole focus was planting his lance directly upon the ruby-eyed dragon upon the prince's chest, completely ignoring the prince's weapon.  Robert watched the tip of his lance impact the prince, felt the force transferring down his arm, and then everything went black.

When Robert came to, he was face down in the dirt.  His helmet was slightly askew, his vision was blurry, and there was a ringing in his ears.  His whole body hurt, but he managed to push himself onto all fours before sitting up.  He had no idea where he was, but it was loud. In fact, he could make out the cries of Robert and Rhaegar amidst the din.  Of course, this was the Trident.  He had finally managed to get that rapist to take the field.  He didn't know how, but he must have had his horse stricken from beneath him.  He worried for a moment that his army would break without him.  He needn't fear that, though, as he heard the commanding voice of his foster brother, bidding him stand, cut through the noise of battle. Ned would keep the men together until he could find the rapist and end this. 

As his vision slowly unblurred, he finally was able to find and focus on the man who had started everything by stealing his Lyanna.  He swore he could even hear her voice calling out his name, but that didn't make sense.  The prince wouldn't have brought her to the battlefield.  Other things about his surroundings didn't make sense either.  The roars of the soldiers were not accompanied by the clashing of steel. He heard trumpets blaring calls one would never hear on the battlefield.  Someone was announcing his dual with Rhaegar.  In light of all these things, a voice in the back of his mind was warning him that this was all wrong, that he could not be at the Trident, and for him to come to his senses.  Ultimately, he crushed those thoughts, for the thieving bastard was before him now. 

He reached for his hammer, but it was nowhere to be found.  He called out, and soon after, he was handed a warhammer.  It didn't have the same heft as his favored weapon, but it would have to do.  He started moving towards his sworn enemy and laughed out loud as that poor excuse of a man offered him a proper salute.  Robert considered not giving one in return, as there was little place for honor on the battlefield, but he would not let anyone say that Prince Rhaegar was more honorable than he at the end of things.  Robert returned the salute and then charged; he had a dragon to slay.

Lyanna was more than a little nervous as she took her seat.  She truly wanted Robert to win, not because she was particularly interested in the crown, even if they made it out of her favorite flowers.  Lyanna wanted Robert to win for many reasons. Mainly, she wished to see him rewarded for all his hard work, and if she were honest about her selfishness, she wanted to feel the satisfaction of knowing she had helped him win.  Even if he lost, she was already proud of him.  Lyanna was under no illusion that the prince would be an easy opponent.  She had watched the match between Ser Arthur and the Prince, and it was truly eye-opening.  Both men had given their all, and while Lyanna knew she was excellent at the joust, these men were a league beyond her.  She wasn't sure if Robert was simply japing about the gods willing his victory but muttered a short prayer for his success nonetheless; it couldn't hurt.

She happily let out a loud cheer as Robert was announced and entered the arena for the final joust of the tourney.  However, as she watched him, she noticed he seemed slightly off.  Even though encased in his steel plate, she could tell he was far more tense than usual.  He even had to be prompted to offer his salutes. 

"Robert will be fine, right?" she asked Eddard with forced optimism. Ned, who was wholely focused on his foster brother, frowned. It took a moment before he gave her what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure he will prevail," Eddard replied with a forced smile.  It was clear that neither of them was particularly convinced.

The crowd's cheers were reduced to a low roar as the signal flags were raised.  Lyanna felt as if her heart would leap from her chest.  The flags fell, and she watched them charge forward.  Robert's form looked better than it had all tourney, but the prince was so steady he seemed to be gliding over the tiltyard. Their pass was over in a mere moment, with neither man breaking their lance.  From her vantage point, it seemed as if Robert had overdone his defense, and while it meant that Rhaegar could not break his lance, neither could Robert.  The crowd's reaction was a mixture of disappointed groans and excited cheers.

It was a matter of minutes before the signal flags were raised once more, and the men prepared to charge.  The flags dropped, and at first, it looked like it would be a repeat of the previous pass.  This time, however, Robert was more focused on landing a good blow.  Their second pass resulted in a deafening crash of steel and wood shattering.  Robert was rattled but looked stable in the saddle.  The prince, however, was falling backward and to the side, reeling from Roberts's strike. Shocked gasps and shouts from the audience could be heard, and Lyanna couldn't help but let out a preemptive cheer.  Her cheer died in her throat as Rhaegar somehow managed to pull himself back into the saddle.  The crowd, however, erupted in excitement at the decisive clash and near fall.  Lyanna almost let out a curse at the prince's dogged persistence. 

Three more times, she watched as the prince somehow withstood terrific blow after terrific blow.  By no means was Robert coming away unscathed, but the sheer determination the prince showed was both admirable and annoying. Why wouldn't he just let go and fall?

"Damn, Robert is getting frustrated," Eddard said to no one in particular before yelling out. "Robert! Calm down! Focus!"

When the flags fell again, she was surprised by the extra speed Robert's mount exhibited.  She watched the competitors with bated breaths as they raced towards their fifth encounter.  She gasped when she saw that Rhaegar had aimed his lance for a strike against the head and went pale when she saw that Robert was not adjusting as he had in the previous passes.  She forced herself to watch despite wanting to close her eyes or turn away.  Lyanna let out a scream as both lances struck true with calamitous results.  She watched in horror as Robert's head snapped back violently, and he limply slid from his saddle, hitting the ground with a crash and rolling until he was lying face down in the dirt. At the same time, she saw the prince dramatically flung from his horse with no hope for recovery, hitting the dirt with enough force to send up a large cloud of dust.   

The audience exploded in thunderous cheers, shouts, and screams.  Rhaegar was the first to stir, though he seemed much worse for wear, grasping at his chest.  She could see the new dent put into his breastplate and couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.  However, it didn't last long as her gaze fell on her betrothed.  If Robert could not stand soon, that match would be given to the prince.

"Get up, Robert!" Ned roared in a voice so commanding she would have jumped out of her seat had she not already been standing.

"Stand up!" she cried as loud as she could, but at this point, the assembled masses had grown even louder in support of their preferred champion. 

After a few seconds, which felt like hours, Robert stirred.  Lyanna let out some unladylike cheers as she watched Robert slowly stand and regain his bearings.  As the trumpets did their best to calm the roar of the crowd, the herald began to announce the rules of the final duel.  The match would continue on foot until one of the men yielded or could not continue.  Lyanna's hope soared; Robert's skills at the joust might have been inferior to the prince's, but he was a peerless warrior on foot.

Robert called for his weapon, and Walder quickly produced the tourney hammer that had been approved for the match.  Robert took the weapon and began advancing on the prince immediately, returning Rhaegar's salute with almost mocking insincerity.  Something was different about the way Robert was approaching the prince.  She had watched him spar many times during his stay at Winterfell; she even admitted to herself that she found him quite handsome while he worked the training yard.   He had always approached fights with a joy that could be seen in how he carried himself. That joy was missing now.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ned tense up. 

"He's going to kill the prince," Eddard muttered as the blood drained from his face. 

"What?" Lyanna nearly shouted at her brother.

"I've only seen him like that once before when we were attacked by mountain clan raiders. It was like he was a completely different person," her brother explained.

"Would it truly be a loss? Accidents happen during tourneys all the time; Robert could hardly be blamed if something happened." Brandon scoffed coldly. Lyanna opened her mouth but ultimately had no response to her brother's casual callousness.  She could only watch with growing unease as Robert charged at the prince. 

It took a single clash between the men for Lyanna to see what Ned meant.  Robert's swings were faster and more violent than she had ever seen while watching him train.  If he were wielding his signature hammer, she was sure the prince's shield would be close to breaking, if not his arm.  The prince, of course, was no sluggard when it came to swordplay, but he was ill-prepared for Robert's deadly intent and was immediately put on the back foot. To the prince's credit, he adjusted quickly to the fight's pace, managing a few well-timed reposts. Rhaegar even managed to land several hits that might leave lesser men reeling, but Robert barely noticed them.  The jovial warrior she knew had been replaced by some demon hell-bent on ending the prince's life.  Clearly, the prince would not last much longer under his assault. 

Lyanna was torn. She wanted to see Robert win but didn't want him to face the consequences of killing the prince in cold blood. 

"Robert, slow down! Don't kill him!" She yelled with all her might, trying to be heard over the frenzied crowd.  She could only hope that she would break through whatever madness had taken Robert before he slew the prince.   

Chapter Text

Robert was moving completely on instinct as he pressed the attack.  The only emotions he felt were fury and annoyance at his foe’s continued resistance.  Robert intuitively knew that the fight should have been won by now.  His attacks were crisp and powerful, not a single wasted movement. If not for the lighter hammer, the prince would have long ago been crushed beneath him.  Robert’s hammer moved like a blur; it was a testament to the prince’s training that he could keep up with him at all.  Rhaegar even managed to deflect a backhanded swing enough to land a counterstrike to the lesser protected part of Robert’s knee. Pain bloomed, but Robert ignored it.  Whoever was maintaining the prince’s weapon must have been doing a shit job, as a strike like that should have drawn blood. Too bad for the rapist.  Robert surged forward and slammed his shield into the prince, knocking Rhaegar off balance.  The man was no doubt caught off guard by Robert’s disregard for his injuries.  Though Rhaegar managed to stay on his feet, he was left open for another punishing swing from Robert’s hammer.  It was a powerful overhand strike that finally buckled the prince’s shield with a satisfying crack followed by a cry of pain as the head of the hammer carried on and struck the prince’s pauldron.  A blindingly quick follow-up broke Rhaegar’s hasty guard, driving the man to his knees. Robert had the prince in his hands. The next strike would be the killing blow.  Rhaegar would be dead; he would march on King’s Landing to take the throne and give Lyanna a real crown, one far better than what the prince gave her at Harrenhal.

That small thought was just the opening that his mind needed to slip past the madness that had overtaken him.  Lyanna’s cries finally broke through, and his eyes fixed on her. She looked terrified as she screamed his name.  Finally, the illusion was dispelled, and the Ruby Ford was replaced by the tourney grounds of Harrenhal. 

Robert was just about to bring his hammer down when the veil was lifted, and he faltered.  That single moment of hesitation was all Rhaegar needed to recover and lash out with a kick towards Robert’s leg.  Robert instinctually stepped back from the attack, giving the prince time to stand up and launch a desperate assault.  Robert managed to parry or block the first several attacks easily enough since Rhaegar seemed to be struggling with an injured shield arm. But as his mind fought to make sense of the jarring shift in perceptions, his body began to rebel.  Without the focusing power of his unmitigated rage, his heart began to race, and every ache and pain he had ignored bloomed in full.  He could barely bear weight on his knee, and his head ached so fiercely he began to feel increasingly nauseous.  His breaths came shallower and faster, and soon, he felt a sense of panic grow as he took in more and more of the increasingly stale air within his great helm.  His arms refused to move as quickly as physical and mental exhaustion took their toll.  He fought on, but Rhaegar was beginning to slip even more hits past his guard, worsening the already dire situation.  Doing his best to focus through the increasing pain, Robert saw an opportunity to step into a clinch with the prince and possibly take his opponent to the ground with a hip throw.  If Robert were in true form, he would have seen the trap for what it was, but in his eagerness to end the fight he committed to the attack, and the prince punished him for it.  In moments, Robert once again found himself face down in the dirt, disarmed and defeated.

It was over.  Robert’s world spun as he rolled over onto his back.  The prince held out his sword, and Robert heard Rhaegar yell something at him but could not make it out over the sound of his own shuddering breaths and heartbeat.  Robert tried to focus again, and he could just make out the prince commanding him.

“Yield!” The prince’s shout sounded as if it were miles away. 

Even now, Robert wanted to shout ‘no,’ scramble for his hammer, and continue the fight, but he knew that he was spent. He had yet to even regain control of his breathing. Nevertheless, despite how emotionally and physically drained he was, his pride would not allow him to utter the damnable word. Robert simply raised his hand in answer. It was a defeat that tasted as bitter as his victory at the Trident tasted sweet. 

He slowly sat up, working hard not to show his weakness in front of the kingdom.  He would not give the dragon the pleasure of seeing the stag laid low. However, before he could force himself up, he felt a set of strong hands holding him down while another worked at removing his helm.  Freed from the prison of metal, he took great gulps of fresh air for the first time in what felt like an eternity.   He was blinded for a moment by the bright sun, and it took a moment for his eyes to readjust.  When they did, he was met by the angelic visage of his betrothed. Her eyes were red with unshed tears, and she wore an expression of profound worry.  Robert felt a deep sense of shame grow in his stomach. He had failed her.

“I… I a…” He tried speaking through ragged breaths.

“Don’t speak, just breath.” She spoke, though her voice was nearly drowned out by the fanatic cheers of the crowd. Robert did as she bid and finally managed to regain control, though as he managed to maintain a steady flow of air into his lungs, he felt his hands beginning to shake.  Lyanna seemed to notice, too, and took hold of them, granting Robert a measure of strength he was not sure he had at the moment.

“You were magnificent,” she said, staring straight into his eyes and pouring as much warmth and affection as she could into those few words.  They were all he needed to hear.

“Help me up,” Robert said with a tired smile.

“Come on then, it’s not like you’d listen to me if I told you to stay down,” Eddard said from behind him, as the hands he had felt holding him down were soon helping him to his feet.  He made it upright just in time for the crowds to finally heed the herald’s trumpet calls. 

“Your grace, King Aerys of House Targaryen, second of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.  We present to you, Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Champion of the Tourney of Harrenhal!” The crowd once again went wild at the announcement.  If he had not been so burnt out, Robert’s anger would have once again raged at those words.  Still, it did not sit well with him, and frustration gripped his heart like a vice.  The look on the king’s face signified he was not alone in his disappointment. 

The crowd quieted down as the prince bade them to let him speak. Robert grimaced, not particularly interested in hearing what the prince had to say about his victory.  If his knee wasn’t in so much pain, he would have already left.  It would not do to be seen hobbling away from the tourney grounds like a whipped dog.  He would stride out with purpose once he was able.

“My good people, I dedicate this victory to one who sought not laurels or personal glory but to seek justice for wrongdoings. A truer knight I have not seen in many years.  May all knights aspire to the honor and daring shown by that lowly mystery knight.” The prince’s gaze fell on Lyanna for a mere moment, but it was enough for Robert’s blood to begin boiling once again. 

He began to take a step forward but felt Ned’s grip on his arm tighten as Lyanna interlaced her fingers with his. He looked at her and saw that she had taken on the icy visage perfected by the Starks.  The prince moved to the grandstand, where he was to collect the crown of blue roses from the young lady Whent. Robert couldn’t help but feel a grim sense of satisfaction as the prince struggled to lift his shied arm to collect the crown.  At least the man would know how close to death he truly was.  That sense of satisfaction evaporated as it was time for Rhaegar to crown a new queen of love and beauty.  Robert’s heart quickened. Would the Prince have the gall to crown Lyanna in front of him after vowing to stay away from her?

“Despite my victory being dedicated to a knight, I still must crown a queen of love and beauty.” Robert gritted his teeth as he watched the prince pause.  For a brief moment, it looked as if the man might turn towards Lyanna.  But Rhaegar, it seemed, chose to follow a different path this time as he moved towards the royal box where his wife was seated.  There, he crowned Princess Elia to the elation of the crowds.  The laughter most definitely did not die this time, and Robert let out a breath he did not know he was holding. He honestly didn’t know what to feel in the moment.  Of course, he was relieved that the prince chose not to cause an uproar by crowning Lyanna, but that speech about the knight of the laughing tree was still unsettling.  It was clear that Rhaegar was trying to win favor with his fiancé, but if the look on Lyanna’s face was anything to go by, it was not working.  Robert was feeling far too many emotions and was in no state to deal with them.  After watching the royal party leave the tourney grounds in silence, Robert let out a tired chuckle.

“I think you were right,” Robert muttered to Lyanna.

“What are you talking about?” She responded.

“Winter roses don’t suit her,” Robert said, gesturing to Princess Elia, who was smiling and waving to the crowd.

“It was said in jest, Robert; after everything that just happened, that is all you have to say?” Lyanna said with a mirthless laugh.

“Fuck all if I know what else to do right now besides crawl into a bed and sleep for the next three days,” Robert growled, his frustration over the tourney’s conclusion bubbling over.  He caught himself and made ready to give an apology for his behavior, but the look on Lyanna’s face told him that she understood and did not take offense.

“I know, but do not think you can run away from talking about what happened during the duel or what you discussed with the prince earlier.”  She warned him gently

“No running away,” Robert replied with a tired smile he hoped hid his apprehension.

“Well then,” Eddard cut in. “I think we’d best get you to your tent. We can get you sorted out, and then we can talk all we want.”

As reasonable as the statement was, Robert was still not looking forward to it.  Robert tested putting more weight on his leg and made sure that he would not be hobbling off the tiltyard before they all began to make their way towards the Baratheon camp.  They hadn’t made it very far when a voice called out.

“Lord Baratheon, his grace requires your presence.” Ser Darry of the Kingsguard said in a tone that brooks no disobedience.

“Surely the king would be merciful enough to grant Lord Baratheon some time to recover from his bout,” Eddard replied with steel in his voice.

“The king is indeed merciful; however, his mercy has its limit.  Allow me to clarify, my Lord Baratheon; the king demands your presence. Immediately.” The knight said with a finality that sent a shiver down Robert’s spine.  What in all the god’s names did the Mad King want now? Regardless, he could not ignore such a direct order from the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“As the king wishes.  If you’ll give me a moment to bid my companions farewell, I’ll be along shortly.

He felt Lyanna’s grip on his hand tighten and turned to see a determined look on her face.

“We’ll be along he means, good ser,” She said, adopting the mask she had been developing under the tutelage of her aunt over the past sennight.

“Lyanna…” Robert started but was cut off by his betrothed.

“Robert,” She interrupted defiantly.  In no way did Robert want to expose the young lady to the king’s madness, but it seemed as if she was determined to throw herself into harm's way.  It was as endearing as it was infuriating.  As their standoff progressed, he hazarded a glance at the kingsguard and saw that the man was growing increasingly impatient.  The knight probably did not appreciate being used as a glorified messenger.  Fortunately, Eddard stepped in.

“Come Lyanna, the king did not summon you. It would be unwise to unduly test the king’s patience,” His voice was stern.  Far sterner than he normally was with his sister.  She obviously wanted to argue but withered under his stony visage.

“I won't be gone long,” Robert said quietly before gently bringing her hand up to his lips and placing a kiss on her knuckles.  He let her go and began limping towards Ser Derry, not daring to look back lest his will falter.  He fought hard to mask the pain he was feeling and was not looking forward to the long walk to wherever the king was staying now. Fortunately, his squire once again came through for him.

“Your mount, my lord,” Walder said quietly.  The boy had brought around his loyal warhorse so that he could mount up with his good leg.  Once again Robert’s mind drifted back to his ordeal in Winterfell and decided that the harrowing experience was well worth it to save this boy’s mind.  Robert focused his thoughts, as he had a different kind of monster to face down now.

Robert was glad to see that he was being led to a tent not far away from the tourney grounds instead of one of the towers where the king was most likely spending his nights, knowing full well he was in no shape to climb the stairs of one of those monstrous towers.  He couldn’t help but feel a pit of anxiety grow in his core as he saw the Targaryen banner waving languidly over the tent in the cool breeze that swept across the castle grounds.  Robert closed his eyes and took a breath; he lifted a silent prayer to The Seven asking for wisdom in dealing with the challenge before him.  As he prayed he felt the chill of the wind on his face and with it came a sense of calm that untangled the knot that had grown in his stomach.

He dismounted, lifted his head high, and strode forward.  Even if he could not help but show a limp, he would be damned if he were to project an image of anything other than a conquering lord.  The tent flap was pulled aside, and he was ushered into the king’s presence.  The horrible man was seated at a table brooding over a cup of wine guarded, as always, by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.  When Robert was announced by the king’s servant, Aerys looked up at him with a manic smile.

“Ah, Robert, my boy, so good of you to come so soon after your bout.” The madman’s voice seemed genuinely paternal; it made Robert’s blood boil.

“You called and I answered, your grace.” He responded in as neutral a tone as he could manage.  The king barely seemed to acknowledge his response.

“And what a battle it was! The strength and ferocity you exhibited were unlike anything seen upon the tourney fields before.  Even Ser Hightower commented on how he would hesitate to face you on the battlefield. Isn’t that right?” The king said turning to his guardian.

“Lord Baratheon demonstrated a strength that could carry the day on almost any battlefield, let alone a tourney meant simply for winning the applause of the people.” The Lord Commander said in a tone that carried no small amount of chastisement.  The king simply laughed.

“You had my son in your grasp and yet you let him go.” The king’s kind smile suddenly turned perilous, his eyes darkening. “Why?”

The question was simple, yet as dangerous as a dagger in the dark.  Robert took a moment to respond, deciding that telling the truth, or as close to the truth as he dared was most likely the safest path forward. 

“The prince’s blow in the final tilt addled my mind, your grace.  I truly believed that I was in a real battle for some time.  Fortunately, my senses returned to me before I could do anything to stain the honor of the tourney.” Robert said in a matter-of-fact tone.

The king stared at Robert silently for an unbearably long time before frowning.  Surprisingly, it was not anger in the mad king’s eyes.  Even more terrifying, there was something almost akin to familial disappointment in the king’s expression.

“Robert, my dearest cousin’s son.  You need not lie to me.  You may tell whatever truth you wish to the rest of the rabble, but I would have you give me the real reason you let my son win.”

Robert was at a loss; the king truly was living in his own world completely divorced from reality.  He felt his mouth drop open out of sheer disbelief but tightened his jaw to prevent himself from looking like a fool in front of the king. He needed time to think of something, anything to get him through this situation.  The truth, apparently, did not matter to the king, so a lie would have to suffice.

“Yes, I let the prince win.” He said in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone.  The king’s eyes seemed to shine with manic excitement, his cruel smile triumphant, and his posture practically begging Robert to continue.

“That is, I let the people think that the prince won, your grace.” Robert continued, pausing for both effect and to give him the time to come up with something the king would accept.

“Yes, yes, that much is obvious,” Aerys nearly shouted clearly eager to hear whatever Robert managed to come up with.

“Of course, your grace, I mean to say that the prince is well trained and would know when he was beaten.  He knows I let him win, he knows I am the superior warrior.” Robert said proudly, trying to mask his wavering nerves.

The king stared at him silently demanding that he get to the point.  Robert cursed the man’s mad pride.  If the king hadn’t already decided what the truth was, he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.  That thought, however, triggered a cascade in Roberts's mind that showed him a possible way through this morass of a conversation.

“I let your son win to let the people know that you and House Targaryen are still strong while making sure the prince knew that his victory was hollow.  Should he defy you, he knows who he will have to face.” Robert said confidently, though the words sickened him to the core.

There were a few moments of intense silence as the king’s pale purple eyes bore into Robert before the man broke out into deranged laughter.  Knowing the mercurial nature of the mad king, Robert refused to let down his guard.

“Good, good, I knew I had chosen wisely.  It is decided.  I will not wait any longer for you to take up the post of Hand of the King.  You will accompany me back to Kings Landing where you will take your rightful place by my side, the place your father was supposed to stand before he was murdered.”

Robert was stunned.  He had only said he would accept the position of Hand of the King Rhaegar out of panic.  He did not truly seek the position, frankly he had hoped the king had forgotten about making a Lord who had yet to see his twentieth name day the second most powerful man in the realm.

“Yes, my king” was all he could say as he bowed his head as was expected.

“Now, go on, you may spend the night celebrating your achievements with your house and those barbarians you seem so taken with.  We leave midday tomorrow, make sure you are not late.”

Robert bowed at the dismissal and left without a word.  There was nothing left to say, and his mind was a squall of competing thoughts and emotions.  Walder was waiting for him with his mount as he left the tent, and he mounted up without a word, riding into a future that was more uncertain than ever before.

Chapter Text

Robert rode slowly towards his tent in roaring silence, the sounds of the throngs of tourney goers drowned out by the weight of his thoughts. Robert, to put it bluntly, was confused. He had told that self-righteous prick that he would become Hand of the King to oppose him. He had achieved what he said he would do, even though it was upon the whims of a madman. He should have counted it a victory, but it felt as if it was anything but. In truth, he didn't want to be anywhere near the throne, let alone sit in on even if it was only in place of the king. He admitted to himself that his ultimatum to Rhaegar had been ill-thought-out, and it infuriated him that he was now forced into the position. He was left with a single path forward and hated it with a burning passion. It was a familiar hatred, comfortable like a warm cloak. It was a hatred of dragons that burned so deeply in his soul that he had once thought the murder of defenseless children was justified. Recognizing that old hatred gave him pause. He knew he could not fully give in to such blind animosity again, but there is such a thing as righteous anger. He would have to move forward with caution and guile. He would have to play the game. The mere thought made bile gather in the back of his throat and caused his anger to burn even hotter.

He was shaken out of his brooding by the voice of his betrothed calling his name. He looked up to see her moving towards him as fast as dignity allowed for a well-dressed lady. He smiled and dismounted to meet her. She looked as if she were preparing to leap into him, but she seemed to reconsider her surroundings just in time and came to a stuttering stop just before him.

"My lady," Robert said with a fond smile.

"You are well?" She replied cautiously, seemingly unsure if it should be an observation or a question.

"I am no worse for wear than when we last spoke," he said, hoping to allay her concerns. Lyanna smiled, though she could scarcely hide her desire to launch into a dozen questions. Robert reached out and gently held her hands to reassure her.

"I know we have much to discuss, Lyanna, but I'd rather not have to tell and retell the story. So, please be patient until I can tell everyone who needs to know all at once," he said in what he hoped was a convincing tone. He then offered his arm to escort her back to the tent. She accepted his arm with a sigh.

"I suppose I'll have to be patient," she said while giving him a look that promised consequences should he not follow through.

"Of course, there are some things that need to be shared in confidence. How about a ride in the godswood after we make our appearance? Ned can act as our escort, and I will answer any other questions you have." Robert suggested. Lyanna smiled and agreed.

Once they were finally in the tent, Robert saw that his family, friends, and a score or more of his bannermen had gathered for an impromptu celebration. A small cheer went up as he entered the tent. He may not have clinched the ultimate victory, but his performance was still impressive. He acknowledged the greeting and prepared to share the king's decision.

"Thank you all for being here to celebrate the end of the tourney with me, even if it did not end exactly the way we would have wanted it to. If you haven't heard already, the king summoned me immediately after the end of the ceremony, and to cut right to it, he has appointed me as Hand of the King. He demands that I return to King's Landing with him tomorrow morning."

The response from the gathered lords and ladies was about what he expected. He saw their shock morph into a hail of cheers and congratulations. His banners were more than happy to have their liege taking up such a prestigious position, as it would no doubt open doors for them. Robert made eye contact with Ned and could immediately sense the tension in his foster brother's posture. Robert gave him a small nod of acknowledgment before he held up a hand to call for silence once again. He turned to Stannis, who had once again donned a stony mask. If it were not for the moons he had spent working closely with his brother, he might have taken it for anger or jealousy, but now he could tell it was worry hiding beneath the mask.

"Since I will not be staying here until the end of the tourney, I leave the household here in your capable hands, Stannis. Furthermore, I am entrusting our home to you while I am away. You are a grown and capable man now and will rule our kingdom in my stead," Robert said, nodding to his not-so-visibly surprised younger brother. Delena beamed as she squeezed Stannis' hand in support. Robert continued.

"Your first task will be to gather a proper household to join me in King's Landing. I would rather not be left alone for long in that foul city."

"I'll see it done," Stannis replied dutifully.

"Pardon me, my lord," Robert heard Ser Penrose speak up. "But you will not be alone. It will be my honor to act as your shield while you serve in the Red Keep."

Moments after the declaration, there was a small rush of knights offering to act as his guards in the capital. Robert could tell that most only sought the prestige of such an honored position. Fortunately, he had spent enough time with this group of warriors that he was able to pick out a handful of knights he could trust to shield his back should his worst fears come to fruition. In the end, Robert would be accompanied on his journey to King's Landing by seven knights. The number was pure coincidence; it was simply just how many men present he could truly count on. No doubt, some overly zealous septon would see this and retell the tale as some divinely inspired affair. Robert squashed the thought with an internal grimace before once again addressing the crowd.

"Thank you once again for your support. Please enjoy the hospitality of House Baratheon for as long as you wish. Though I must take my leave, as I have promised to accompany my betrothed on a ride," he said as the crowd responded with a few cheers and perhaps some slightly suggestive comments. As expected, Brandon played the part of the concerned brother, demanding that they be accompanied, and Ned was quickly roped in to do so.

The ride to the godswood was blessedly short, as he could tell that Lyanna was nearly shaking with the effort it took to keep her questions at bay. It was not until they dismounted and stood before the grim face of the heart tree that she turned to speak to him. Though she was a maiden of four and ten and nearly a head and a half shorter than he, the intensity of her grey-eyed glare made him feel as if she were towering over him.

"I would like to know everything going on between you and the prince and the king, Robert. If I am to be your wife, I will not be coddled and kept in the dark. And before you speak, remember that we are standing in the presence of the old gods, and they will not tolerate lies." Her tone was firm, though Robert could detect no true anger in her. He took a few deep breaths and thought about where to begin.

"I am not the only one who dreams," He started tentatively. "Prince Rhaegar and I both have seen signs that the long night will soon return, and the others will come to conquer the realms of man."

Lyanna's eyes widened at the revelation, and she seemed to want to interject, but caught herself and bid Robert to continue.

"Unfortunately, we differ in how to address this threat. Rhaegar seems to be convinced that the long night can only be stopped by a promised prince, a prince born of fire and ice, a prince born from House Stark and Targaryen." Robert stopped and let out a deep breath to calm the rising heat of anger in his chest. Lyanna's mouth dropped in surprise at the revelation, but it was Ned who spoke first, disdain for the prince dripped from his words.

"That is why he took Lyanna? He plunged the realm into chaos for the sake of forcing my sister to carry some promised hero?"

"You say that like it already happened, was it not just a dream?" Lyanna said, confusion on her face. Ned schooled his features and remained silent, clearly frustrated by his slip. Robert considered his next words carefully. He wanted to shield her from the terrible truth, but he also wanted to honor her desire to be treated as a partner. How could he trust Ned more than her?

"If it was a dream, then it was the most life-like dream anyone could have. I lived a life of triumph and sorrow and regret. The gods, old and new, have given me a chance to rewrite fate, but it seems as if some things are unavoidable. I told you before that I saw a life where I lost you to Rhaegar, and I'll be damned if I let that happen again." He could not help but let his anger bleed through into his words.

"Is that why you are becoming the hand of the king?" Lyanna asked. Robert let out a humorous laugh.

"Yes, and no, it has been in the king's mind since at least the start of the festival. He seems convinced that I can check his son's traitorous ambitions. However, when Rhaegar and I spoke, I used my potential position as the Hand of the King to force him to agree to leave you alone. I am not nearly as excited about that appointment as I made it sound in front of my banners." Robert said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"So, what do we do now?" Lyanna asked softly, clearly still processing everything that had been said.

"First and foremost, we get you back to the North as soon as we can. Even Rhaegar would not dare to approach you in your father's hall." Robert replied gruffly.

"I agree, but with everything happening, Brandon insisted that I accompany him to Riverrun. He's going there so he can learn to appreciate his betrothed's culture," Lyanna said, the last few words imitating her father's stern baritone.

Robert let out an amused huff at the idea of Brandon ever appreciating something southern.

"Well, I will not dismiss the idea of Rhaegar trying something under the nose of Lord Tully, but he is still a Lord Paramount. You should be safe there, but I would prefer if you would not tarry long. In that other life, you disappeared with the prince while on the road. Have you told anyone outside of your house of the change in plans?" Robert asked, hoping to allay some of his growing concern.

"No, we haven't, and I'm sure I can convince Brandon to find an excuse to leave River Run early," Lyanna replied with a comforting grin. Robert returned it.

"Hopefully, once you are out of the prince's grasp, he will have time to think through this madness. I will do what I can from King's Landing," Robert paused and let out a heavy sigh. "Not that I know what else I can do, other than weather the king's madness and try and curtail the worst of it."

"I will ask the old gods to give you strength, and perhaps even light some candles for you while I am in Riverrun," Lyanna said, gently placing a hand on Robert's arm.

"I will ask my father if I can join you in King's Landing," Eddard said in a tone that told Robert that he was not taking no for an answer. "It may be some time, but I cannot stand idly by while you are in the depths of that cesspit of a city."

Robert was touched, truly so. He felt as if just a small portion of the burden placed upon him would be lifted in time. He could not have asked for a better friend in Ned, and as with all true friends, moments such as these cannot go on without some amount of teasing.

"Your desire to come south has nothing to do with being closer to a certain dornish lady?" Robert teased. Lyanna giggled, and Eddard took it in stride.

"Well, there might as well be some benefit for me," Eddard responded in a matter-of-fact tone. They all laughed, and for a brief moment, Robert could let himself forget the looming storm on the horizon. Perhaps with his brother in all but blood at his side, he could weather the king's madness. Perhaps it wasn't going to be as bad as he imagined.

Chapter Text

Things were not as bad as Robert originally imagined. They were worse. Robert knelt before a statue of The Mother; a candle burned low as he repeated another prayer for patience. The day he left Harrenhal, the king had summoned him far earlier than expected, leading to an even more rushed departure. They had been on the road since shortly after sunrise, and the king was driving the large retinue at a relentless pace, hoping to cover the more than three-hundred-mile trek in less than a fortnight. The small sept was a blessing that Robert did not take for granted, as he had little opportunity to find solitude and pray during the past few days.

Though the pace of their travel was exhausting, what truly tested Robert's fortitude was the king. The madman required his presence nearly all day. He was subjected to hours upon hours of the king retelling the failures of previous Hands, especially Tywin, about how no one could see the greatness of his plans, how so many of them worked against him, thwarting his grand plans to bring prosperity to the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Robert learned quickly how to ride the fine line of not seeming too much of a sycophant while at the same time not offending the king's insane ego. It was utterly exhausting.

On top of becoming intimately acquainted with the thought process of a lunatic, Robert, much to his surprise, learned that beneath the king's madness was what some might recognize as a keen political mind. A mind more than capable of making moves that would throw his foes' plans into chaos. It was most unfortunate that Aerys saw schemes where there were none and believed allies to be enemies. Aerys revealed that he had been paying close attention to the growing web of alliances and marriages between the high lords sworn to him. Of course, in Aerys' mind, it was Tywin pulling all the strings. He gleefully explained how taking the golden cub as a kingsguard had killed a marriage in the works between Jaime and Lysa Tully. And that by winning Robert to his side, the king had prevented the alliance between the Vale and the North from coming to fruition. Robert's self-control was tested to its breaking point when Aerys went on to insinuate that the old falcon had coerced Robert's father into accepting the fostering to ensure the Stormlands were brought into the growing alliance against the king.

Robert quickly came to realize that the king had suspicions of all the high lords except his father. Perhaps Stefan's death had cemented him as the only true friend and ally he had. An ally whom the king was utterly convinced had been slain by the long-reaching claws of the lion. Robert's thoughts drifted to that conversation.

They had been riding down the kingsroad for hours, and the king had been silently brooding and muttering to himself the whole time. Robert hoped to be free from the king's attentions for just a little while longer, but of course, his hopes rarely came to pass now. Robert was nearly startled out of his saddle when the king suddenly exploded in anger.

"Damn you Tywin! When I find tangible proof of your treachery, I will make your son watch as you are burned at the foot of the Iron Throne! The realms will laugh at the depths House Lannister has fallen to when its head is a malformed underage imp!" The king turned his crazed gaze to Robert, and for a moment, Robert thought the king was going to lash out at him. But as quickly as the crazed anger had come, it vanished and was replaced by deep melancholy.

"Oh, my dear boy, what that damned lion did to your father and mother is unforgivable. If he were here now, none of this would have happened." The king said, choking up as if he might be reduced to tears at any moment.

Robert had heard the king mention the insane theory that Tywin had somehow assassinated his parents. Out of sheer exasperation, and against his better judgment, Robert finally confronted the king.

"Your grace, I watched as my parents drowned. I saw the swells smash them against the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay. I know Lord Tywin's grasp is far and his pockets deep, but one cannot buy the loyalty of the wind and waves." Robert said, doing his best to keep his emotions out of his voice. It did not help that he could have sworn he heard mocking laughter drifting on the gentle breeze.

The king stared at Robert in shock, and for a moment, Robert thought he had truly stepped over the line. After a few agonizing heartbeats, the king's expression shifted from surprise to that of a deeply disappointed parent.

"Oh, you sweet summer child. You will have to be more aware of the plots around you when in the Red Keep. You see, after the death of your father, I had many dockworkers… questioned. My men quickly discovered that the Windproud had taken on several new crew members while at port in King's Landing. One of whom hailed from Lannisport. Clearly, he was Tywin's man and ensured that the boat would not reach its destination." Much to Robert's horror, the king reached over and gently patted him on the face. It took everything he had not to flinch away as the king's disgusting nails slid across his cheek.

"Fear not," the king continued, "I will teach you all you need to know of the schemers and plotters in the capital. I can't have someone pull the wool over your eyes so easily."

Disgust and anger pulsed in Robert's veins, and he gripped his reins so tightly that his knuckles quickly turned white, and his hands began to tremble. The king saw this and laughed.

"Good, good, you see it now, and your hate for that traitorous false friend grows as it should. I knew I could rely on you."

Later that day, when they finally stopped for a rest, Robert took the chance to let out some of his frustration. Several men-at-arms of House Targaryen walked away from the training ring with more bruises than they should have, and from then on, only the bravest or most skilled knights elected to spar with him. The king found the whole situation amusing, praising Robert for showing the appropriate response to accepting the truth. Robert's mood did not improve.

As his thoughts returned to the present, he prayed that when they had finally reached the city, he would have some time to get away from the king before he fell into the same kind of madness that had gripped the king. With heavy eyes, he snuffed out the last candle, stood, and began to make his way to the inn where the king and his retinue had chosen to stay for the night. As he prepared to finally lie down and rest, his thoughts turned to his friends and family, and he prayed they were faring better than he.

Catelyn Tully sat before the heart tree within the River Run godswood, taking in the silence and trying to sort through her conflicted emotions. When she was a little girl, she never understood why they would keep a tree with such a sad face at the center of such a happy garden. Ever since she began to follow the teachings of Septon Cedric, her attitude towards the weirwood had changed. She could let out all her worries, knowing that the gods were present and listening. Where once the weirwood was just a strange tree with a sad face, now it was a silent confidant lending an empathetic ear. That empathy brought with it the peace and clarity she needed now more than ever. It had been two days since she, her uncle, and the Stark siblings had arrived from Harrenhal. Between settling in and the welcome feast, it was only now that she had time to think about all that had happened.

She first reflected on her trip home. During the long days on the road, she had gotten quite a bit more time to get to know her betrothed. Brandon had been incredibly charming as they shared stories of their homes and kingdoms. She would have been happy to admit that she was smitten with the tall and handsome heir to the North if it were not for her experiences accompanying her father on his trips across the Riverlands. During those trips, she got to watch as various riverlords used honeyed words and grand gestures to hide their true feelings. She learned through quiet observation how to tell when someone was being disingenuous. And it was this skill that was causing her heart no small amount of discomfort. No matter how charming Brandon was, she could see the insincerity in his eyes. She could not help but compare him to Eddard at that moment. Never once did she feel looked down upon while talking with the younger Stark. Discomfort stirred in her heart. The man to whom she was promised held no sincere interest in her, and the man who only spoke sincerely to her sought the affection of another woman. She quashed the thought immediately and steeled her heart. Promises had been made between the two families; she would do her duty and honor her wedding oaths no matter how many bastards her future lord husband might sire across the North.

She let out a sigh, willing herself to dismiss the pain the self-made pledge caused her. Her thoughts turned to the day of the homecoming and the strange interactions with her foster brother, Petyr. She had been glad to see him and embraced him as she did the rest of her family, but he seemed far too tense. It didn't take too long for her to figure out that Brandon was the source of Petyr's terse mood. Throughout the day leading up to the welcoming feast, he practically refused to leave her alone with her betrothed. Not even Lysa and Edmure wished to monopolize her time as he did.

Furthermore, it was exhausting playing peacekeeper between the two young men as they sent poorly hidden barbs at each other under the guise of manly banter. That night, though he must have thought he was hiding it well, Catelyn could not help but notice the anger in Petyr's posture as Brandon escorted her into the dining hall for the welcoming feast, kissing her knuckles gently before flashing Petyr a mocking smirk. Catelyn's cheeks burned as she couldn't help but relive the embarrassment she felt at that moment. She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps on the well-maintained stone path that led to the heart of the godswood. Turning, she saw her future good sister approaching.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to be alone?" Lyanna apologized. Catelyn smiled and motioned for her to take a seat as well.

"I did, but I would welcome some company nonetheless," Catelyn said in an encouraging tone.

Lyanna had been a bit of a mystery of late. Throughout the journey to River Run, Lyanna had seemed nervous, especially when they would stop at one of the local inns. Contrary to what everyone said about the girl, she did not seem especially excited to ride across the open fields of the Riverlands, opting to stay close to her family guards and brother the entire time. Catelyn had tried to speak to Lyanna to determine what might be wrong, but she would always deflect and change the subject. When they entered the gates of Catelyn's ancestral home, it looked as if a weight had lifted off Lyanna's shoulders, and she seemed to return to her old self.

"It is good to see your spirits lifted, Lyanna. I hope you are finding Riverrun's hospitality agreeable." Catelyn said with what she hoped was a comforting smile.

"Yes, it's good to be off the road, though I am eager to return home. I didn't realize just how safe the North truly was." Lyanna said with a small sigh.

"Has my father's realm truly garnered such a reputation for banditry?" Catelyn replied, her tone slightly defensive.

"Ah, no, not really…" Lyanna seemed to fumble for a response, having sensed that she had inadvertently offended her hostess. "Apologies, I suppose I might have been overly fearful. When my aunt forced me to socialize with her friends from the Stormlands, Lady Swann recounted her experience with bandits in the Kingswood. Perhaps I assumed the whole of the South to be the same."

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation for her behavior; at the same time, however, something about Lyanna's response didn't seem to match up with her tendency to deflect while on the road. Before Catelyn could follow up on that suspicion, Lyanna changed the subject.

"So, how goes courting the heir of the North?" Lyanna said with a lighthearted tone. Catelyn smiled to hide her discomfort with the question.

"It goes well; he has been quite charming these past few days." She said, hoping to satisfy the younger girl's curiosity. Lyanna, however, raised an eyebrow clearly not accepting the answer.

"Perhaps I do have some reservations though," Catelyn responded with a dejected sigh.

"Catelyn, I'll start by saying that I do, in fact, like you. You are not what I imagined when I first heard of the betrothal, and I wish for your future in Winterfell to be a happy one," Lyanna said in an honest tone, pausing a few moments to ensure her words sank in before continuing. "Brandon is charming because he has been told in no uncertain terms that this marriage is happening, and he must be on his best behavior. Beyond that, he has no real interest in."

Catelyn opened her mouth as if to respond to Lyanna's frank declaration, but no words came. Lyanna pressed on.

"I know my brother, and he is probably far too set in his beliefs. I have no doubt he sees you as another weak-willed Southern lady raised to be obedient and quiet. From what I have seen so far, I don't think you have shown him that you are any different."

"So, I should find a pair of trousers, spit, and swear like one of the guardsmen?" Catelyn responded in frustration. She knew she was taking it too far, but suppressed frustration pushed her onward. Lyanna raised her hands in defense.

"No, no, I don't mean it like that. Remember, I am on your side here," Lyanna replied. "Generally, ladies in the North aren't too different than Ladies in the South, the Mormonts and Crannogmen notwithstanding. Even still, a harsh land makes for harsh people. Lady Ryswell would easily fit into most southern courts, but she is more than willing to fight when it comes to the horses she cares for. I am fairly certain that she caught Brandon's attention after she yelled at him for trying to ride a stallion that had not been broken yet. If you want to get Brandon to take you seriously, you must show him that you have some fight in you."

Catelyn sat in silence for a moment, mulling over Lyanna's words. Indeed, she had very much played the part of the demure maiden in all of their interactions. That was what her septa had taught her men would expect. Though what would her septa know of what northern men would want? Furthermore, Lyanna's naming of Lady Ryswell did not go unnoticed. Apparently, she was in a competition with a woman she knew nothing of. Lyanna's words had been enlightening, and she now knew the issue, but no practical solution presented itself.

"I see, and how do you think I can show him some fight?" Catelyn asked with a hopeful tone.

"Maybe you could tell him to stop picking on that lovesick boy who's always following after you," Lyanna said helpfully.

"What? Who?" Catelyn responded in bewilderment

"Are you serious? What does everyone call him? Littlefinger," Lyanna replied, seemingly equally confused by Catelyn's shock.

"Petyr? Please, don't use that demeaning title. He's my foster brother; we grew up together. We're family." Catelyn shot back in clear denial. Lyanna let out an amused laugh that struck a nerve with Catelyn.

"Family doesn't fight for your affection like that," Lyanna countered.

"No, he simply does not think that Brandon is treating me well; he said it himself. He's acting like any good brother would," Catelyn argued while trying to keep the sinking feeling at bay.

"Please tell me you are not that blind to his motives. The boy is practically drooling after you. He's not a brother looking after his sister, he's a love-sick fool whose beloved is being stolen away," Lyanna said in growing frustration with Catelyn's refusal to see what was obvious to others.

Catelyn wanted to argue, to deny the baseless accusations, but long-buried memories soon came to the forefront. So many little things that Petyr had said, so many things he had done. The touches, the kisses, and more were put into a whole new light. The pieces began to fall into place, and she felt a pit growing in her stomach. Disgust and anger began twisting inside of her.

"Excuse me, Lyanna, I have a family matter to attend to. We should find time to talk again soon." Catelyn said while standing up. Lyanna gave her an encouraging smile.

"Of course, I would be happy to speak again, perhaps on happier topics."

With a nod, Catelyn turned and walked briskly towards the family wing of the castle. She was heading straight to Petyr's room to sort this insanity out once and for all. It was not a particularly long walk to his chambers, but Catelyn took her time. Hopefully, the extra few moments would give her time to think through what she might say. When she arrived at his door and knocked, there was no answer. She was about to knock again when she heard someone running towards her. Turing, Catelyn saw her sister frantically flying down the hallway. It took a few beats for Lysa to recognize her, and when she did, Lysa skidded to a halt and lunged for Catelyn grabbing her dress while sucking down big gulps of air while trying to talk.

"You must… Stop…him…he'll die!" Lysa was sobbing hysterically at this point and making little sense. Catelyn wrapped her sister in a hug and began rubbing her back to calm her down.

"Lysa, please, I don't understand. Who'll die?"

"It's Petyr, he…he…" Lysa began sobbing again. Catelyn immediately tensed at the mention of her foster brother.

"What did Petyr do?" She said in an almost icy tone.

"He challenged Lord Brandon to a duel," the words tumbled out of Lysa's mouth just before she burst into tears again.

"Go to your room. I will handle this. No one is going to duel today." Catelyn said resolutely. She hitched up her skirt and moved as quickly as she could towards the training yard, all the while cursing the foolishness of men.

When she arrived at the training yard, it was just in time to see Petyr warming up with a borrowed longsword dressed in naught but an arming doublet. Catelyn was dumbfounded at the thought that her ever so clever foster brother would be so daft as to challenge one of the greatest warriors of the North when he owned no armor and barely trained with the sword. She scanned the field and saw that Brandon was with young Edmure, who seemed to be acting as Brandon's squire. They were in the process of removing his well-crafted armor to match Petyr's unarmored state.

Catelyn could barely process the insanity of it all. Neither of the young men had seen her enter the yard, and for a moment, she hesitated, unsure how or if she should intervene. It was, after all, a matter of honor at this point. Lyanna's advice cut through her hesitation, however. She would show him how much fight she had in her. Squaring her shoulders, she channeled all the authority she could into her voice.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Both men stopped what they were doing and turned to her. Brandon was the first to respond.

"Just a matter of honor that needs settling, my dear lady. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You may not wish to stay here, as I would not want you to witness this," Brandon said with the same charming tone and expressionless eyes she had come to know very well.

Catelyn turned to him and fixed him with a gaze that caused the man to pause for a moment.

"I will deal with you in a moment, my lord. I need to address a family matter first." Catelyn said, keeping her tone cool. Inside her heart was racing. Never had she ever imagined addressing a lord in such a way, let alone the heir to the North and her betrothed. Regardless, she could not let her momentum stall now. She spun to face Petyr, fixing him with the same glare that her father had used against many a squabbling banner. In response, Petyr took a step back and his face drained of color.

"By all that is holy, what has gotten into you?" Her tone barely rose above her normal speaking tone, but her voice seemed to echo across the field. It took a moment before Petyr found his voice.

"He has been showing you nothing but contempt since he arrived, and I could not let it stand," Petyr said, puffing out what little chest he had.

"You couldn't let it stand? In what world would you think it was your place to insert yourself into my relationship with my betrothed?" She countered, maintaining the same strict tone.

"He doesn't love you, Cat. Not like you deserve. Not like I do. I challenged him, so you could be free of this farce of a betrothal. So that we could have a chance to be together." Petyr practically pleaded. Those words cemented Catelyn's worst fears, and she steeled herself for what she would say next.

"No matter how dearly you wish it, we will never be together. I may love you as a brother, but that is all it will ever be, and even that is no longer certain." Catelyn spoke with a finality that seemed to break Petyr's heart. "There will be no duel for my hand. I will not see you be gutted over this madness."

"Apologies, my lady, but that is not up to you. A challenge was issued, and a challenge was accepted. Honor demands that our blades meet." Brandon said in a friendly tone, but the cruel smile on his face made it clear that he was more than happy to go forward with this farce of a duel. Catelyn spun on her heel to face him and let out her pent-up frustrations.

"I said there will be no duel, your honor be damned," Catelyn growled. She felt panic begin to rise in the back of her mind, unable to believe such words managed to leave her mouth. But she couldn't back down now. "I don't believe for a moment that you didn't push and prod him into challenging you. You probably look forward to spilling his blood. Well, it will not happen."

"You forget position. Why don't you step aside and let the men take care of our business?" Brandon said, contempt dripping from his words.

"My position? I am the Lady of Riverrun and have been since my mother's passing. I will not be spoken to in such a manner. Now, both of you leave this training yard before I have the guards escort you out. If I hear any more talk of duels, I will have my father send you packing back to the North with all the shame that you deserve."

Silence settled over the yard as the men took in what had just happened.

"Cat…" Petyr tried to speak but was silenced by a glare from Catelyn. Moments later, he retreated from the yard. When Catelyn turned her gaze back to Brandon, what she saw made her breath hitch. For the first time in nearly a moon, her betrothed looked at her as if she truly existed. Her heart began to pound, and then he spoke.

"So, the pretty little trout can bite. Apologies for the disturbance. I look forward to seeing you tonight for the evening meal." Brandon said with a smirk and a bow. The look he gave Catelyn before he turned to leave made her blood run cold. Mixed emotions warred in her heart and mind. She had finally gotten him to see her as something other than a chore, but that final gaze was not of a man falling in love, but that of a wolf who had found new prey. For some reason, Catelyn wished Eddard were here instead of Brandon.

Chapter Text

Lyanna watched Catelyn go with a small smile.  She couldn’t help but bask in the warmth one felt when having done right by another, having both given sound relationship advice and opening Catelyn’s eyes to the infatuation the Baelish boy obviously carried.  She sat before the weirwood, basking in the feeling for a few more moments before her gaze focused on the sad face carved into the heart tree.  She regarded the tree curiously.  It was both very different and very similar to the Winterfell heart tree.  It was clearly younger than the one back home, and there were signs of it being pruned and manicured, something that was generally looked down upon in the North.  Regardless, the tree had the same presence as all the heart trees she had seen.  It brought her a small amount of comfort that, even here in the South, she could find a sense of familiarity.

Her thoughts turned to the religious discussions she had with Robert. She realized she had never once set foot in a sept. True, Wendel Manderly had invited her to pray with him in White Harbor a few years ago, but she had found an excuse to avoid him when she realized he was only trying to court her. Now, she wondered if Robert felt the same presence in his places of worship that she felt when before a heart tree. She remembered the castle’s sept had been pointed out to her and her companions when they arrived. She hadn’t cared at the time, but curiosity urged her to visit now. She stood, brushed herself down, and set off to the seven-sided sandstone building. As she approached, she felt impressed by the elaborately carved, gilded exterior, which seemed to draw her eyes toward the heavens. She reached the building’s ornately engraved doors and hesitated for a moment before pushing them open.

Lyanna felt awe at the multicolored beauty before her. Sunlight filtered through rainbow-colored stained-glass windows, casting the sept in a riot of colors. The red sandstone exterior contrasted with the brilliant white marble walls inside. Each wall of the seven-sided structure displayed elegant paintings of The Seven. At the front, behind a marble altar inset with gems, The Mother and The Father held hands side by side. The feminine gods were to the left, the masculine gods to the right. Counting only six gods, Lyanna turned and saw The Stranger painted above the entrance. The whole display was breathtaking as it was alien. Lyanna was torn between staying to appreciate the beauty and fleeing from a place where she did not belong. She was startled from her indecision by the sound of a side room door opening. A man stepped out who, by his clothing, must have been the local septon.

“Welcome, my lady, how may I…” The man paused as recognition flashed in his eyes. “Lady Stark, it is an honor. I had heard that Lord Tully was hosting visitors from the North, but I did not know that the Starks themselves were in Riverrun.”

Lyanna was experiencing no small amount of mental whiplash at that moment.  She was surrounded by the Andal gods, being greeted by a man who, if not for his vestments, sounded as if she could have met him on the streets of White Harbor.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” was all she could muster in the moment.

“Oh, apologies,  I forget myself.  I am Cedric Snow, Septon of this beautiful place of worship.  No, I would not expect you to know me, but I would recognize a Stark anywhere.  I once saw your Lord Mother and Father when I was a young boy, before I left for Old Town.  You resemble Lady Lyarra greatly, that and you would find few southern ladies clothed in grey and white,” he added with a small chuckle.

“You are of The North?” Lyanna asked. The answer was obvious, but it was all she could manage as she regained her bearings.

“Aye, my lady, a fact that I have grown prouder of over the past few moons.” He said, no longer bothering to suppress his distinct accent.

Slowly, as her bewilderment faded, she began to piece together bits of information she’d picked up since meeting Robert in Winterfell. Not long after, realization dawned.

“You are the septon that Robert spoke so highly of.” She stated.

“Yes, Lord Baratheon and I spent several nights discussing the faith together before he went north to meet you.  I am humbled to hear that I was worth mentioning to others.  I must say that without him, I would not have started down the path I am now on. It was truly a blessing from the gods that our paths crossed.” Cedric said reverently before continuing. “Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?”

Lyanna paused at that question.  She had come to the sept out of curiosity more than anything, but now that she was here, she might as well ask some questions.

“I was visiting the godswood not long ago and was surprised to see it so well taken care of. I have heard you are teaching others to venerate all the gods, both old and new.  Would you have anything to do with the state of the heart tree?” she asked. Cedric gave her the smile of a man who had just been given the chance to share their deepest interests.

“Alas, no, my lady.  Godswoods with a proper heart tree are no more than status symbols in the south, having long lost their religious significance.  After the Andal conquests, the most fanatical of converts cut theirs down; however, many who once followed the old gods refused to do so out of lingering fear or to honor long-held traditions.  I do not know what motivated the Tullys of Riverrun to retain their heart tree all these years, but I have noticed them and their household treating it with reverence once again.  I suppose I might have had a hand in that.” He finished with a small self-satisfied smile.

“Tell me, why do you think that the two faiths can coexist?” Lyanna asked somewhat casually. While she believed in the old gods and honored them as her family had for uncounted generations, she never considered her belief to be a major part of her life. It seemed to be in stark contrast to how the Faith seemed to be much more ingrained in the lives of southerners.

“Ah, the same question that Lord Tully asked when I was brought to him in chains,” Cedric replied as if reliving a fond memory. “In some way, they already do coexist. The beliefs held by the first men in the south never truly died away.  Guest rights are by far the best example, but one only needs to observe the small folk for a short time to see the old roots buried beneath the transplanted beliefs of the Andals.  It occurs to me that while there is considerable overlap, the old gods and the Seven have fundamental differences in what they value. The Seven is focused on how man can live up to his highest ideals. The old gods are more concerned with how man fits into the existing realm of nature.  I envision a world in which the Seven Who are One is worshiped as the highest ideal mankind strives to achieve and is recognized as the judge of our eternal souls.  While at the same time, mankind must recognize that while our souls belong to the Seven, we physically exist as an integral part of a world ruled and watched over by the old gods.  We cannot truly find our place in this world if we deny that fundamental truth. What that leaves us with is a unique fusion of beliefs that would be a truly Westerosi faith.” Cedric finished with a look of fervent belief that almost caused Lyanna to take a step back.  Despite this, his words gave Lyanna much to think about.

“Can you tell me more about the Seven?” Lyanna asked hesitantly, curiosity overcoming the caution she had when she first entered the sept.  The joy the man before her gave warned Lyanna that she might have just extended her stay longer than she had originally intended.

Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and reluctant Hand of the King, scrunched his nose in disgust.  Shortly after the city came into view, the winds shifted, carrying with them the distinctive odor of the city.  Robert suspected the goddess of wind actively brought him this discomfort; he would not put it past her, given the apparent history of his house. Regardless, the smell was another indicator that the journey was almost complete.  Robert counted it a small blessing that the king had once again retreated into his mind and was not imposing himself onto Robert’s sanity.  After a few more hours of riding, it was well after midday when the king’s entourage finally reached the Old Gate.  They proceeded into the city and towards the Red Keep with little fanfare beyond the smallfolk paying lip service to the king. Robert noticed that Aerys seemed to regain some vigor as they drew closer to his seat of power, even deigning to wave to the massed smallfolk as if he were gracing them with his mere presence. Robert buried his rising emotions and focused on guiding his horse towards the massive castle where he had spent nearly his entire adult life.

The sight of the massive red fortress atop Aegon’s Hill filled Robert with a sense of dread.  He felt as if he was being escorted to a prison.  To combat this, he reminded himself that he would have the power to do good as Hand of the King.  It was his duty to guide the realm away from the edge of war and ensure they were prepared for the coming darkness.  His thoughts began to drift towards the Wall and the Night’s Watch.  Perhaps he could convince the king to send more supplies by making it sound like he was weakening the power of House Stark.  Maybe they could get more people to settle the gift by convincing the king he needed more people loyal to House Targaryen in the North.

Focusing on planning for the future helped keep his negative feelings at bay, and the king’s party finally reached the gates of the Red Keep.  There, they were greeted by the former Hand, Lord Owen Merryweather, who stared at Robert with poorly disguised hatred.  The man had only held the position for less than two moons, having replaced Lord Tywin after the king announced Jaime’s appointment to the kingsguard.  Robert scanned the crowd, which included what must have been other members of the small council.  He easily picked Varys and Pycelle out of the crowd but did not recognize the others. He supposed that the man of Valyrian heritage must have been the Master of Ships from House Velaryon, whose name escaped him.  Robert let out a small sigh and figured he would meet them formally soon enough.  However, there was one more familiar face in the crowd.  Clad in golden armor and a pure white cloak, Jaime Lannister stood, his face uncharacteristically impassive.  Though as they made eye contact, Jaime’s signature cocky grin reappeared, if only for a moment, as the young man subtly gestured towards the group of servants standing by to assist the king’s party settle back into the keep.  Robert could not help but notice that one of the girls was watching him intently.  What jumped out at him most was her uncanny resemblance to Lyanna, at least in terms of stature and coloring, though she must have been some years older.  The desire to strangle his gods given knight grew in his heart, but he tamped it down, knowing that now was not the time.  Perhaps a not-so-friendly spar was in order.

Finally, the king dismounted, signaling for the travelling party to do the same. Lord Merryweather approached and knelt before the king.

“Your Grace, the Red Keep is yours.” The former Hand said, his voice smooth despite his tense posture.

“I know it’s mine, you sniveling excuse of a lord. Now, take off that badge and present it to your better. You are dismissed,” Aerys growled, pointing towards Robert.  Lord Merryweather rose, quickly took off the pin denoting his rank, and walked as calmly as he could up to Robert, who had just handed his reins off to one of the keep’s stable hands.

“Best of luck to you, my lord,” Merryweather said, insincerity dripping from each word as he thrust the badge into Robert’s hand and stormed off without any further words.

Robert said nothing and just stared at the pin for a few moments before he heard the king call his name.

“Lord Robert, it was a hard journey.  You’ve got your pin, I give you two days to rest and settle in before we hold court,” The king said, sounding rather magnanimous.  On the trip, Robert had begun to learn how to read the man’s moods. In this moment, overt gratitude on his part was what the king expected.

“You are most kind and generous, your grace,” Robert said with a bow, before fixing the pin to his doublet. The king answered with a crooked grin, soaking in the praise before turning and heading further into the castle, accompanied by Ser Hightower and Jaime.  With the king’s exit, the rest of the entourage began going about their own business.  Robert turned to his contingent of knights, all of whom looked relieved to have finally reached their destination.

“Well, good sers, we have two days to settle into the tower of the hand.  Hopefully, we will not have to wait long before a proper household arrives from Storm’s End. Until then, we’ll have to be beyond vigilant. Ser Cortnay, sort out a guard rotation so that all of you can get some well-deserved rest.  I will not be entertaining visitors, so feel free to turn anyone away who doesn’t carry the king’s orders.”

“It will be done, my Lord Hand.” Ser Cortnay replied, his response being echoed by the remaining six knights.

Robert smiled and gave them a nod in appreciation. He was about to head into the tower when he was approached by the servants led by the Lyanna look-alike.  Robert schooled his features, not wanting to take out any residual anger on an innocent servant.

“Welcome, my Lord Hand. I am Lydia, the head servant for the tower of the hand. It will be my pleasure to make sure you and your men are well taken care of.”

Robert studied the young woman for a moment.  The similarities between her and Lyanna were uncanny.  Uncanny in a way that served to heighten their differences.  He was not particularly enthusiastic to have her flitting about the tower he was to call home, though he did not wish to be overly harsh with her either; she was the unwitting pawn in someone’s attempt at a jest.

“And how long have you been in this position?” He asked, trying not to sound too aggressive in his questioning.  The young woman was clearly dreading the question and stuttered in her response.

“I…It’s…I was assigned three days ago, my Lord Hand, but I promise I can handle the job,” she said, rallying a little even though her cheeks burned with embarrassment.  Robert scanned the gathered servants and saw that more than a few seemed to be enjoying their new leader’s discomfort. Though there was one who stood out amongst the crowd. She was an older woman, near the back, wearing a disinterested frown, clearly taking no joy in the ongoing drama.

“I see, while I have no doubt you would perform adequately, I do prefer someone with more experience to hold the position.  You should report to the steward for reassignment elsewhere in the keep.  I will send word that this was due to no fault of your own.” Robert said in a firm, but not unkind tone.  The young woman’s face fell, and she bowed quickly, trying to hold back tears of embarrassment.

“As you wish, my lord.” She quickly muttered before hurrying off. Robert sighed; he clearly felt for the young maid, but he would not change his decision out of pity.  He pointed to the older woman he had noticed earlier.  She looked as if she had been around for some time, perhaps somewhere between her thirtieth and fortieth year, and had a no-nonsense look about her.

“You there, how long have you served in the red keep?” He asked. The woman quickly overcame her surprise at being addressed and bowed before answering.

“Since I was but a young scullery maid, my lord. Almost too many years to count.” The woman replied with a confident tone.

“Good, take charge here and see that my men are settled in,” Robert said before turning towards the Tower of the Hand.  He paused for a moment and glanced back. “And have a bath prepared for me as well.”

He continued towards the tower, confident that the woman would be capable of sorting things out.  If not, he would simply have to wait until his brother could send him a proper household from Storm’s End.  Now, all he wanted to do was get some much-needed sleep and a long-overdue bath.

Naturally, as he entered the tower and began to climb the stairs towards his assigned chambers.  Unbidden, his mind wandered to the last time he was here.  He had come to visit his stricken friend and return the badge that had been thrown down in protest of his unyielding hatred.  He tried to block out the memories, but as he opened the door to his new chambers, he couldn’t help but see for a moment a feverish Eddard lying on the bed.   He shook his head and reaffirmed that he would never again allow such a thing to come to pass.

Falling onto the bed, exhaustion pulled him into a dreamless sleep. To his mind, hardly any time had passed before he was roused by a servant informing him that his bath was ready. His room was bathed in the orange-yellow light of the setting or rising sun, his mind currently unable to discern the difference.

“What hour is it?” He inquired as he blinked away the drowsiness.

“It is an hour or so till sundown, my lord. We tried to rouse you earlier, but your knights said not to disturb you.”  The servant replied humbly.

“Right, well, lead me to the bath then. I hope it is still warm.” Robert replied as he finished shaking off the remaining drowsiness.

“Yes, my lord, it was kept warm for you.”

Robert was led to a side room where a tub was filled with scented water, gentle steam rising off its surface in the cool air of the keep.  It was quite a welcome sight, and Robert happily took his time letting the warmth soothe away the aches of travel.  He nearly let sleep take him again, but the growl of his stomach roused him.  He called out for the attending servant.

“Have a meal delivered to my solar.  Something simple and filling, no need for a banquet tonight.”

Drying and dressing himself, he made his way to his new solar, a place he had visited on many occasions while he was king.  A place he never imagined he would call his own.  He once again pondered how he had ended up so far away from where he had intended.  Fortunately, his dinner’s arrival distracted him from diving too far down that hole.  He began tucking into the expertly baked bread and well-roasted chicken. Unfortunately, he hadn’t even made it halfway through the meal before a knock at the door interrupted him.

“Enter,” He replied quickly.

The door opened, and Ser Cortnay walked in, accompanied by that damned golden-haired excuse for a knight.

“My Lord, Ser Jaime says he has been sent with a message from the king.” Ser Cortnay said, his tone sharp, barely concealing contempt for the knight clad in white behind him.  Ser Cortnay’s scowl and Jaime’s smug smirk led Robert to believe that the man whom the gods had foisted on him had already applied his unique charm to force his way into the tower.

“Well, go on then, let’s hear what his majesty wishes to share,” Robert said, wanting to get this encounter over with as soon as possible.

“Of course, my Lord Hand, but I believe that the king wishes for my words to be heard by no one else,” Jaime said smugly, the smirk he wore made it clear that the king he was referring to was not Aerys the Mad.  Ser Cortnay was about to protest, but Robert held up a hand.

“I’m not in the mood for an argument.  Leave us be, I hardly believe the king sent his man to do me harm.” Robert said in exasperation.  Ser Courtney bowed, though his scowl deepened. He turned and left the room, closing the door just hard enough to state his frustration without being overly disrespectful. There were a few moments of silence afterwards before Jaime broke it with an amused guffaw.

“I must admit, your grace,” Robert noted the mocking tone Jaime applied to those two words. “I most definitely did not expect this turn of events.  Not but eight days after arriving at the Red Keep, I received word that you had been appointed Hand of the King.  It took all I had to keep from bursting out in laughter at the gods' sense of humor.”

“If all that you have for me is snark and mockery, I would expect this meeting to end the same way our last one did.” Robert rumbled, even though they both knew it was an empty threat. Jaime sighed, and the smirk fell away. His defenses dropped, and Robert saw the ghost of the man who strangled his own twin in the eyes of the youth who stood before him now.

“No, your grace, I made an oath to the gods old and new that I would serve their chosen king faithfully and right the wrongs of my past.  In that vein, I come to tell you that I have not been idle since arriving here.” Jaime said in a somber tone. The shift in demeanor threw Robert off for a moment, and a moment of silence passed before he motioned for Jaime to elaborate.

“I have put the vaunted Lannister gold to good use,” Jaime paused, and the mask of arrogance and nonchalance returned. Robert fought the urge to roll his eyes. “With that gold and, of course, my ever-so-effective charms, I have been able to turn the spider’s little birds to our side.  They will continue to report to him so as not to arouse suspicion, but the full reports will be brought to me first. As an added benefit, they have begun showing me all the little paths that Maegor placed in this damned place.”

Robert was taken aback; he had not expected Jaime to actually do something worth a damn beyond protecting the young princess and prince from his father’s men.

“How in all that is holy did you manage to accomplish that? Why did you even think to approach them?” Robert replied incredulously.

“I can answer both those questions with one statement.  Varys is not a good man.” The edge returned to Jaime’s voice as the name of the Master of Whispers passed his lips.  “Despite professing to be working towards order and stability, he caused not but chaos to ensure his Blackfyre pretender could take the throne.  For that alone, I intend to end him, but what he has done to keep his little birds in line has ensured his death will be slow and painful.”  

“Well, this is a side of you I have never seen,” Robert said after taking in what Jaime had just said.  Though the comment saw the reborn knight immediately raise his guard again, his arrogant smirk hid any other emotion he might be feeling.

“I know that of Tywin’s sons, I am the slow one, but I am Tywin Lannister’s son, nonetheless.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, your grace, I am supposed to be resting in my chamber before my next shift guarding her highness.  If you do find any mysterious notes left on your desk, make sure to burn them after you read them.  We wouldn’t want anyone else to know about our little friends.” Jaime gave a respectful bow and turned towards the door. Before he opened it, though, he turned back towards Robert with a grin.

“I understand you dismissed poor Lydia, I heard she hasn’t stopped crying since you humiliated her in front of the rest of the servants,” Jaime sighs dramatically. “You know it cost me quite some coin to track down a maid that might suit your tastes.  I thought you’d be more appreciative.”

Robert stared at the knight, heat rising in his stomach at the intentional insult.  His knuckles began to itch as he contemplated a repeat pummeling of the smug face in front of him.  It was then he noticed that though the smile was cutting and teasing, Jaime’s eyes were sharp and testing.  Jaime was testing Robert, and Robert refused to let the golden-haired twit get the better of him.  Robert let out a deep, calming breath.

“I have made an oath to The Maiden that I would honor women. I will be faithful to my wife.” Robert said with steel in his voice.

“Even if that wife is my sister?” Jaime replied, no longer smirking, but staring Robert down like a lion prepared to pounce on its prey. 

“Get out,” Robert shot out of his seat and all but shouted at Jaime.  The knight bowed once again with a victorious grin before leaving the room.

It took Robert some time to calm himself after that last exchange. He refused to entertain the idea that he would be wed to that harlot again.  He would save Lyanna, and they would live long, happy lives together as man and wife.  He repeated that thought to himself again and again, trying to banish any doubts in his mind.  Eventually, he calmed enough to sit back down and truly think through the whole meeting with his god sent servant.  Robert sat there staring at his meal, having lost his appetite, trying to parse out all that this would mean for him and his time in the Red Keep.  Ultimately, he fell back on old habits and decided to stop thinking about and distract himself with something more enjoyable. He pulled out a pen and parchment to write some overdue letters to his loved ones.  He wrote well past the setting of the sun, taking particular care in his letter to Lyanna.  He went to bed that night praying that the gods would guide him through the trying days to come.