Update 118: Hail to the King
Droman
𐤊𐤍𐤏𐤍
118: Hail to the King
Weeks after Ser Marq Piper came to take Edmure home to Riverrun, Robert Baratheon landed at the Fingers.
Arriving at the head of several waves of reinforcements ultimately totalling to thirty thousand men, drawn from the Crownlands, Stormlands, Riverlands and the Vale itself and accompanied with the chivalry of the eastern kingdoms, he marched his way west to the mountains that had become Ungren's domain. His brother and Master of Ships Stannis Baratheon had arrived with the Royal Fleet as well, taking to directly hunting Euron Greyjoy, whom he had vowed to bring forth to justice.
Crow's Eye must have thought it a jape, a jest, a game. For he had stayed in the Narrow Sea to bait him, his ships sailing up and down, seen from Widow's Watch to Claw Isle. He would ransack a settlement here, a merchant's ship there, always evading the Lord of Dragonstone...
Until they met in the Bite between the Vale and the North, where a fifteen royal ships fought against a dozen of Euron's ships in a great storm. The sailors who survived said that Stannis had led the boarding action against Euron's own ship, had met the man in single combat and had cut him deep from chest to hip. It had been a gruesome sight to behold, but Stannis had no kraken corpse to display for his efforts, for he himself was not present. He had been tossed overboard during the chaos of the storm.
Feared dead from drowning, his men faltered and broke. His second, a maimed former smuggler-turned-lord called Davos Seaworth had been forced to take command, and between saving Stannis from a drowning in the rough waters and attending to the matter of the wounded foe, had directed his men to try and save their commander.
Of twenty seven ships that had fought during the storm, only a dozen had made it out in one piece and only ten of them had belonged to the crown. And Stannis Baratheon was not to be found on any of them, presumed drowned at sea much like his parents had once been.
Euron's surviving ships had went away after that, as if their master (if he had even survived) did not like the game anymore. Men claimed they had seen those ships sail east to Essos, no doubt to find sanctuary amongst some like-minded scum. Some spoke of the Rhoynar, others of Old Ghis or Valyria. Few could make a knowledgeable claim, instead seeking group consensus before staking their argument loudly.
What Ungren thought of this you didn't know, but you imagine the thought of facing Robert Baratheon's thousands with his paltry remaining loyalists must have struck terror in him. As if time had turned back, the tribesmen had turned to raiding rather than open battle, their numbers too diminished to stand against such opposition, if ever they had been truly capable. Injuries and deaths were slight but frequent, particularly with Ungren's favourite poisons in the mix.
Not that you could speak on this effectively, as you were kept somewhat distant from these battles at royal command, Robert instead keeping you close to use you as counsel on Ungren's ways. For few others still living had fought or had spoken to him as lengthily as you, and your reputation against the tribesmen had continued to grow and reach southwards.
Even as he hunted and whored on campaign, he kept you close at hand, a matter which was both ironic and uncomfortable to you. Attended as he was by Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister amongst others of the Kingsguard, you elected to have Arthur Dayne stay at a distance, to note what he could but keep to himself so as not to arouse royal suspicion or attention.
The king... the king was a man of two minds. There were days were you spoke to a jovial fellow, full of cheer and laughter who spoke to you of fond memories shared with Lord Stark or the deceased Lord Royce in these very lands, of chidings by Lord Jon Arryn for some childish misdeed or another.
He had always dragged your "father" into it, only for him to drag Robert back out of it. You almost find yourself liking him during these, only for his more brutish side to emerge, coming out more so after news of his brother's death had come to him. Caustic, aggressive, sarcastic, overly confrontational and emotional, this side to your king (rightful or not) has you baffled, disgust and uncomfortable in various times.
His drunken bouts where he mistakes you for your uncle Brandon Stark and speaks to you of your mother Lyanna are the worst of it, though there is many an episode regarding Stannis in their youth that you simply don't know how to address. You're not sure whether it's more or less pitiful that this man is the single most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Gods..." muttered Robert drunk and tearful one night, in one of his episodes "The gods are cruel beyond reckoning. My parents, Lyanna... and now Stannis. Truly they punish us beyond our own measures."
--
Of course, you're feeling less generous several days later, when attending on the King and Lord Jon Arryn as they await the arrival of his son the crown prince, trading tales with them and Lord Commander Barristan Selmy. You had only met Joffrey once before at Storm's End, but you'd wagered you hadn't made a good impression given how the king had treated him as he entertained you. Just as well, you suppose: It'd be hard to overthrow a king you actually liked, and you were already of two minds on both that and regarding Robert.
As he arrives to camp at the side of the Kingslayer, sent with a hundred men to escort him from his anchoring near Snakewood, you can immediately feel hostility radiating off him as he realizes your presence.
"I see my father has taken to replacing Moon Boy," he says in a drawling manner "Just as well I suppose. Tommen and Myrcella would have cried if he'd taken the fool away from King's Landing."
"You shut your mouth boy," slurred the King as he quaffed his third goblet of Arbor wine that day "He's been more use to me these past few weeks than you and your damn mouth or the Kingslayer's sword."
"Well my sword can hardly compare," commented Jaime Lannister dryly "It isn't a Valyrian blade after all."
"Yes," said Joffrey with a gleam in his eyes "Word reached even the capital in father's missives. How did you come across a sword of kings?"
"Bought it from a harbourmaster turned master of coin," you say smoothly enough as you have had to these past few weeks "Lord Baelish's men didn't quite know what they had, and I expect he'd never had chance to look at it much himself to know. A few silvers later, and it was mine."
"Yours," agreed Joffrey "Until now. My father conquered the Iron Throne, took it from House Targaryen. By right of conquest, it belongs to House Baratheon."
To me, went unspoken.
"It belonged to House Targaryen," you note in agreement "Before it passed into the hands of House Blackfyre, until the death of Maelys the Monstrous. It belonged to no one until Lord Baelish bought it, and then I bought it from him."
"Under false perceptions," argued Jaime as he entered the argument "One could say that you swindled our poor master of coin. Robbing a loyal citizen and public servant of his rightful due... why I suppose that could be considered a crime. One punishable by royal decree with confiscation."
"And being such a loyal citizen and public servant," continued the crown prince with a smirk "I am sure that he would agree that it belonged to House Baratheon."
You roll your eyes at this, before removing your scabbard and sword from your belt and raising it up before Joffrey's eyes, as if teasing him, taunting him with it's sight.
"I bought this fairly. If you want it, you could try buying it from me. I'm sure your lordly grandfather could afford my asking price."
"And that would be?" asked Jaime curiously "I'm sure my father could-"
"Casterly Rock, and the Westerlands besides."
"Ah. I don't believe he's willing to be that generous."
"Then you're shit out of luck," you say bluntly as you note the king and those in the tent watching the heating exchange with interest "And considering your father's propensity to shit gold, that might as well be the same thing."
"I could just take it from you boy," snaps Jaime as his right hand rests on his sword's lion-head pommel "One doesn't often deny the crown prince and live to tell the tale."
"I'm here fighting for a man who did just that," you retort with a gesture to the king "Seems to me he made out well enough. Well enough for me to try it myself."
"He had an army at his back," the Kingsguard points out as his hand moves down to the hilt "There isn't anyone here to stop me."
"I am an army," you growl as you unsheathe Blackfyre, throwing your scabbard to the side "And I'm not afraid of you, Kingslayer. Who'd you ever kill besides a elderly mad king? Arthur Dayne killed the Smiling Knight. Good Barristan Selmy over there killed Maelys Blackfyre, the Bastard of the Uplands, and a dozen great knights beside. Even I've killed more than old men."
"Sers, you embarrass yourselves." spoke the Lord Commander as he stepped in front of the King "Cease this insolence, the both of you. Ser Jon, sheath your blade."
"You think yourself my equal because you killed one self-righteous pious fool of a mountain lord?" questions Jaime casually as he unsheathed his own blade "You think yourself my equal because you beat a simple savage?"
"Two dozen men at Upcliff felt Blackfyre's kiss in two battles, and more fell at Iron Oaks, in the Mountains of the Moon. Not two months ago I damn near held the line and rallied the men to cut down a thousand enemy horse while you were playing at knighthood in King's Landing."
"Savages," said the Kingslayer dismissively "one and all. And as I am given to understand, Lord Belmore has the honour of ending this tribal king's surprise attack."
"Savages who could hold a weapon and fight back in steel armour with steel arms," you retort coldly "Who weren't old men half-mad or babes still sucking from their mother's teats. 'Hear me Roar'... Even your own house sigil says it all, Ser Jaime: known for words than feats. But words are only wind in hands such as yours, whereas in my hands... they're much more dangerous. So understand that when you look upon me, that when you speak to me, you do not speak to me as if I am your lesser. In the matters of chivalry, I daresay I am at once both your social equal and your moral superior. In matters of combat... well, if I were a Bolton, I'd already be wearing a lion's fur for a cloak."
A tense silence emerges at that, and as Jaime Lannister tightens his sword grip, Jon Arryn steps forward to act as peacemaker.
"Honoured sers, you are standing in the presence of your king!" He all but growls in hushed voice "Sheathe your weapons."
"I am a knight of the Kingsguard," says the Lannister languidly as he stares you down "sworn to serve and protect the king. Considering he drew first, he's the one who needs to sheathe his weapon."
"So it is my weapon then?" you ask mockingly as you acquiesce to Lord Arryn's request and sheathe "So kind of you to recognize that, Lannister."
"Enough!" snaps the Lord of the Eyrie in your direction, earning your silence as he turns to the King "Your Grace-"
"Let him keep the damn thing."
At that, all the tension and tightness leaves your body.
"Father-"
"He bought the damn thing didn't he?" says the King spitefully "He's using it to defend my throne, isn't he? The throne you'll be sitting on if you're ever learn not to steal from men who'll be giving you their lives one day. And it's just as well. I'd rather Ned's bastard hold the wretched thing than have any of my house carry it. Justice for Rickard, Brandon and Lyanna, that. A final vengeance on House Targaryen, that a damn Stark bastard held their most prized possession. Seven Hells, I'd as soon as melt it down than let you or Tommen carry a damn Targaryen sword."
"Then have it re-forged," protested Jaime "Tobho Mott in King's Landing can rework Valyrian steel I'm told. Or give it to my lord father. He'd appreciate such a kingly gift, especially after all his-"
"Your father should appreciate that his grandson will one day sit atop the Iron Throne," said the king with bite and loathing "And he wants his own Valyrian sword, he can damn well buy it off of Petyr fucking Baelish!"
"Father-"
"Did I bloody stutter, boy?" roared the king as he rose from his seat as he waved a fist dangerously "Or are you asking for me to give you a stutter of your own?"
"I-"
"Joffrey," said his uncle restrainedly as he laid his hand upon his shoulder "Your father has spoken."
With a frustrated snarl, the crown prince storms out of the tent, Jaime Lannister following soon afterwards. As they leave, Robert falls back into his seat, seemingly ignorant of all in the tent watching him.
"Gods," he moaned "How did I father such a son to my House?"
"The normal way, I'd imagine." You say automatically, before bowing slightly as he turns to you "Your Grace."
He looks at you then and snorts in resignation "Would that I had had a boy born to me such as you. Full of life and vigour. Staring down a bloody Kingsguard at the age of twelve! Gods boy, you've some balls on you."
"Only two last I checked, Your Grace. Same as most, I hope."
"Two! Hah!" says the King with a bitter laugh "You've gotten better at having a sense of humour I see. Among other things if you were truly challenging Jaime Lannister. He might be a dandy in that armour of his for the ladies of the court to swoon for at the jousts, but he's earned his pedigree as a warrior."
"Killing a raving old man with no one to protect him is a hardly a pedigree of much," you point out with a frown "Hardly a bastion of chivalry and valour either."
"They can't all be our good Ser Barristan the Bold I suppose," Robert half-agreed as he waved to the Lord Commander standing behind him "But then, I imagine Ser Grandfather will outlive me just fine. You can't kill men like him on a whim. Enough men have tried that and failed."
A moment of measured silence passes at that as Robert drains another goblet of Arbor wine, before he looks to you again.
"Do you really think you could have taken him, boy?"
You pause to consider that. Part of your bravado had been your inherent pride speaking, your refusal to recognize the superiority of another over you, but another part...
"Yes. If not today, then in a year or two."
"Fourteen," he muses as he looks you over "A fourteen year old bastard cutting down the pride of the Westerlands. Or even just humiliating him. Gods above, if Joffery didn't have you killed the day he was crowned king, I'd name you to the Kingsguard. "
"Your Grace honours me..."
"Don't look so worried, boy. It's only a passing fancy, and they've never amounted to much before. If they did, I'd have gone to war a lot sooner than this."
----
Enemy Gained! [Prince Joffrey Baratheon] - The crown prince really hates your guts.
Friend Gained! [King Robert Baratheon] - He likes your guts, your bravery. Reminds him very much of your uncle Brandon Stark.
Rival Gained! [Ser Jaime Lannister] - The White Lion of Casterly Rock is most eager to test blades rather than wits against you.
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GM Note: I'll write up an update for the storming of Griffin's Beak and afterwards later. Figured you'd appreciated this 2600+ word update first.
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