RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
Please just don't do the Hollywood thing of killing him because 'murderers must suffer!'
[ASOIAF][SI] No Promises
- Thread starter Nugar
- Start date
I think it was more of "Just stay down!" and less "DIE ALREADY!"
Ah this is deeper than just Robert walking in on them isnt it.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
It is Robert after all. He's fit, so it'd take more thsn a couch.
- Location
- US-Ark
- Location
- Underground
Hmm...wasn't the dead servant described as chunky? Was his face recognizable or just so much hamburger/salsa?
You know who is chunky and prone to wearing disguises? Varys. Wouldn't it be funny if Varys was there in disguise and plotting something but it backfired and all his webs just don't matter in the face of Robert's random murderous rampage.
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It's funny actually. From an out of universe persective I am genuinely sympathetic to Cersei and had she been screwing literally anyone else my response would be "**** the fat man". The problem is that she IS screwing her own brother and deliberately having his children, the sheer stupidity and selfishness is gobsmacking.
While by admission the main character is biased he is going to have to pick a side quickly. Either Robert or Cersei were always going to die. Either by poison or head caving sooner or later something was going to go. That said his procrastination is very human and understandable.
Still it will be interesting to see where this goes next. Keep up the great work!
While by admission the main character is biased he is going to have to pick a side quickly. Either Robert or Cersei were always going to die. Either by poison or head caving sooner or later something was going to go. That said his procrastination is very human and understandable.
Still it will be interesting to see where this goes next. Keep up the great work!
- Location
- The Holiest of Cities
So clearly something is up. As I've mentioned before, there's no reason for Robert to have come with his hammer unless he had been told what was happening by someone. Why would Robert also be alone, without a Kingsguard? So here's my theory on what happened:
Varys or one of his agents tell Robert what's going on, making sure it happens in such a way to be the most destabilizing - with no Kingsguard around. Maybe they dismiss the Kingsguard, maybe they sneak through one of the secret passages - but in any case, they make sure it's just Robert and whoever's leading him. Meanwhile, Varys somehow clears the immediate area of servants and guards.
Robert arrives at Cersei's rooms. The maid tries to prevent his entry, he hammers her arm, the second maid also tries to prevent his entry and he hammers her chest. Jaime tries to defend Cersei and is crushed by the hammer, and Robert throttles/backhands Cersei. Then he turns his anger on the messenger, because of course you shoot the messenger:
Now, the question is what to do. As I see it, there are two options, each with two sub options:
We know 1a was the one chosen, and I'm not sure it was the right choice. Let's do a quick analysis:
So: 2a is probably the unfeasible. 1b is feasible, but features all the disadvantages of 1a plus the kingdom falling to shit very quickly. So, the choice is between 1a and 2b. I think 2b is the better option, but it has a prerequisite - Nuddard needs to be willing to kill his father. We've already seen he's incapable of that(very nice work, @Nugar, I didn't expect that question to be so meaningful in the long run), even indirectly, to say nothing of directly. So the best and only choice left is 1a - Don't kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible, which is what he chose.
Varys or one of his agents tell Robert what's going on, making sure it happens in such a way to be the most destabilizing - with no Kingsguard around. Maybe they dismiss the Kingsguard, maybe they sneak through one of the secret passages - but in any case, they make sure it's just Robert and whoever's leading him. Meanwhile, Varys somehow clears the immediate area of servants and guards.
Robert arrives at Cersei's rooms. The maid tries to prevent his entry, he hammers her arm, the second maid also tries to prevent his entry and he hammers her chest. Jaime tries to defend Cersei and is crushed by the hammer, and Robert throttles/backhands Cersei. Then he turns his anger on the messenger, because of course you shoot the messenger:
Now, the question is what to do. As I see it, there are two options, each with two sub options:
1. Get the hell away as fast as possible.
1a. Don't kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
1b. Kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
1b. Kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
2. Stay and try to sort it out.
2a. Don't kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out.
2b. Kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out.
2b. Kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out.
We know 1a was the one chosen, and I'm not sure it was the right choice. Let's do a quick analysis:
1a. Don't kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
Pros: get away from the danger, there's still a titular head to run the kingdom.
Cons: hunted by unknown forces/Robert, kingdom will slowly descend into chaos as Robert and Tywin clash, have no support or supplies until you get to Tywin or something.
1b. Kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
Pros: get away from the danger, Robert not being there to organize the chase.
Cons: hunted by unknown forces, kingdom will definitely descend into chaos with no king or prince, have no support or supplies until you get to Tywin or something.
2a. Don't kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out.
Robert is not really one to try and sort it out, and will most likely want to kill Cersei and possibly Nuddard as well.
2b. Kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out - pin the blame on Jaime. Explain the situation you found yourself in. You're king, take care of everything.
Pros: You keep all your stuff, get even more power, can do what is needed for the Kingdom.
Cons: You need to deal with people, actually convince people your story is true, there's clearly someone behind the scenes manipulating the situation who might go for you next.
Pros: get away from the danger, there's still a titular head to run the kingdom.
Cons: hunted by unknown forces/Robert, kingdom will slowly descend into chaos as Robert and Tywin clash, have no support or supplies until you get to Tywin or something.
1b. Kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible.
Pros: get away from the danger, Robert not being there to organize the chase.
Cons: hunted by unknown forces, kingdom will definitely descend into chaos with no king or prince, have no support or supplies until you get to Tywin or something.
2a. Don't kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out.
Robert is not really one to try and sort it out, and will most likely want to kill Cersei and possibly Nuddard as well.
2b. Kill Robert, stay and try to sort it out - pin the blame on Jaime. Explain the situation you found yourself in. You're king, take care of everything.
Pros: You keep all your stuff, get even more power, can do what is needed for the Kingdom.
Cons: You need to deal with people, actually convince people your story is true, there's clearly someone behind the scenes manipulating the situation who might go for you next.
So: 2a is probably the unfeasible. 1b is feasible, but features all the disadvantages of 1a plus the kingdom falling to shit very quickly. So, the choice is between 1a and 2b. I think 2b is the better option, but it has a prerequisite - Nuddard needs to be willing to kill his father. We've already seen he's incapable of that(very nice work, @Nugar, I didn't expect that question to be so meaningful in the long run), even indirectly, to say nothing of directly. So the best and only choice left is 1a - Don't kill Robert, get the hell away as fast as possible, which is what he chose.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
It's not like the SI is prone to making the right choices. Dude sided with Cersei instead of having her recalled to the rock by her father, for a visit which becomes forever. Or even exile.
Making stupid decisions is what this story is about.
Making stupid decisions is what this story is about.
- Location
- Hell
- Pronouns
- She/Her
To everyone in this thread, someone at SB remembered something that Nugar mentioned a few chapters ago - 'Basalisks' in this world have a venom that makes it's victim go into a blood rage.
Nugar also mentioned leaving some Checkhov's guns around in that same chapter.
Why did the servants get targeted by Robert? The poison.
If Robert walked in on them, why was everyone fully clothed, and why would there be 2 servants around? Because he didn't walk in on them in the act - he walked in and was given the venom, or it activated after he got there - perhaps the servant poisoned him.
Why would Robert attack our SI without saying anything? The poison.
Nugar also mentioned leaving some Checkhov's guns around in that same chapter.
Why did the servants get targeted by Robert? The poison.
If Robert walked in on them, why was everyone fully clothed, and why would there be 2 servants around? Because he didn't walk in on them in the act - he walked in and was given the venom, or it activated after he got there - perhaps the servant poisoned him.
Why would Robert attack our SI without saying anything? The poison.
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- Location
- US-Ark
I edited the fight a bit to fix some wording and also show more of how Robert picked his targets. It should better indicate how Cersei survived.
Also:
Thanks. I'm really glad I decided to go back and rewrite what I had, showing the events leading up to this conflict. It makes it much more meaningful, and establishes a lot of internal conflict.
Arranging for Cersei to get sent to Casterly Rock in effective exile would have a lot of consequences. One, it'd be seen as a major snub of Lannister interests, pissing off Tywin badly. Two, in the same respect, it would be open season for other families to start fighting to raise their position in the Lannister vaccum. More people scheming to give Robert a new wife, with potential new heirs to favor.
But mainly, it'd be seen as a major betrayal by Cersei. Being rejected by Robert is one thing, she hates him. But being rejected by her own son? Shiiiiiiit. I wouldn't want none of that.
Of course, the pro mom bias is strong in me. It is what it is. It's not always convenient, but I refuse to call it a mistake.
You, and all my readers, are welcome to see it that way, though. Because logically, yeah, you're pretty much right. That's not the choice you make to keep power and position.
Also:
Thanks. I'm really glad I decided to go back and rewrite what I had, showing the events leading up to this conflict. It makes it much more meaningful, and establishes a lot of internal conflict.
Arranging for Cersei to get sent to Casterly Rock in effective exile would have a lot of consequences. One, it'd be seen as a major snub of Lannister interests, pissing off Tywin badly. Two, in the same respect, it would be open season for other families to start fighting to raise their position in the Lannister vaccum. More people scheming to give Robert a new wife, with potential new heirs to favor.
But mainly, it'd be seen as a major betrayal by Cersei. Being rejected by Robert is one thing, she hates him. But being rejected by her own son? Shiiiiiiit. I wouldn't want none of that.
Of course, the pro mom bias is strong in me. It is what it is. It's not always convenient, but I refuse to call it a mistake.
You, and all my readers, are welcome to see it that way, though. Because logically, yeah, you're pretty much right. That's not the choice you make to keep power and position.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
Aye, the woman's insane, and self defeating. Best chances of survival aren't linked to her, especially since any trueborn sons of Robert need to be protected by plot armour to survive her. And being ASOIAF, that plot armour could fail at any time for any reason.
I appreciate that you've got a bias and that you know it'd destroy your characters chances and are writing it that way. SIs who survive and thrive constantly through bullshit get annoying.
I appreciate that you've got a bias and that you know it'd destroy your characters chances and are writing it that way. SIs who survive and thrive constantly through bullshit get annoying.
- Location
- US-Ark
Yeah, yall got it right. Eddard doesn't know it yet, and it'll be a while before he figures it out, but he's not an omniscient narrator.
- Location
- Little Rock, AR
So he was fighting hurting his boy while intoxicated? Awwww.
- Location
- Alabama
He's always intoxicated so that awwww is revoked.
This was pure and simple blood rage, dun be gettin your feelings and shit in the way of a good zerking.
- Location
- Minas Tirith
I'd say hammer down on Selmy's oath, 'protect the king, even from himself' get Robert declared insane and unfit to rule, and let Lord Arryn be the Regent till your majority. It's not terribly hard to prove Robert's questionable sanity now.
- Location
- US-Ark
Not an update. Actually, notice of a lack of update. I've been trying to post a chapter per weekend, with monday or tuesday after counting as close enough, but I've been playing Far Cry 5 and had some inspiration for a one shot fic for it. It's Jess, one of the allies, and a female deputy main character, with some kissing and cuddling. Too lewd for here or SB but a long way from porn. Still, just in case, you can read it on Questionable Questing in the NSFW board. It's called In Hell I'll Be in Good Company. For an insane christian cult, the peggies of FC5 never say anything about teh gays, but I figure that's ubisoft montreal not wanting to trigger anybody. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I hadn't stopped writing, just had to do a side thing to get it out of my head. If you really don't want to go to QQ you can also get access to it from my discord server.
Discord - Free voice and text chat for gamers
Discord - Free voice and text chat for gamers
Chapter 8: Sure to be cleared up in no time.
- Location
- US-Ark
xxxxxxxxx Chapter 8: Sure to be cleared up in no time.
Robert. My father. It's weird, the whole second life thing. I mean, reincarnation is cool and all, but definitely not something I was prepared for. And my first father was basically perfect. I mean, words almost can't express how well we synched, even though he was significantly more outgoing than I am.
Robert, though, had this weird sort of role where he was there but not all the way there. I'd have been out of luck if I needed him to connect to me as a child, but fortunately I wasn't really a child mentally, so that part worked out well enough. But you're also supposed to respect your father, or at least I was originally raised to.
Plenty of fathers don't deserve respect, but that's not something I had run into. Robert, though… As a warrior, he deserved respect. The man was a born leader and made to kill. Even as fat as he got, sparring against him was like trying to fight a bear. He was the superior fighter in literally all aspects. But on the other hand, watching him treat Cersei like a particularly annoying problem he could stick in a closet and ignore, that wasn't cool. The cheating, the alcoholism, the, let's be honest here, rampant assholitry, those I did not respect. The way he spent money like water.
I mean, I thought Baelish was the source of most of the kingdom's money woes, and he basically was, but even with him not around, Robert still managed to blow money like crazy. I didn't even have much success getting him to spend it on useful things. I convinced him to fix the existing sewer system in King's Landing, but not to expand and improve it to the level it actually needed. He liked some of my 'inventions' for the common soldier and guard, and I got a better, more centralized equipment issue set up… which quickly turned into a rats nest of corruption and thievery. Frustratingly enough, by the time that rolled around, it was mostly my own money I was pouring into those projects.
And I wouldn't even mind it as much, if he was spending stuff on the kingdom itself. Even castles and statues and such had their uses. No, the guy spent literally hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dragons on fucking tournaments and parties. Those have their uses, too, but no knight deserves fifty fucking thousand gold dragons for poking people with a stick. And I was completely unable to get him to stop. He'd do these tournaments like, at minimum, three times a year. That's a stupid ridiculous amount of money.
Robert, by his goddamn self, is responsible for more hedge knights suddenly becoming landed nobles than any other king in Westeros history.
But, I will admit. Every one of those knights loved him. They'd march to war for him at a single word. The throne itself had many enemies, within and without, but for the most part, that was all weird old allegiances and grudges. As if the Targaryens actually deserved to be kings. Listen, incestuous dragon riding foreigners demanding crowns is no way to build a government. Robert, honestly, didn't have what it takes to be a good king, either. But he did inspire his men. And up till now, he'd done decent enough by me.
I don't know if I was going to be able to forgive trying to kill me and my mother.
All this went through my head as I knelt by Robert's side. I had moved the ruined couch off him, hidden the warhammer, and also used some twisted cloth to tie his feet and hands. He was still breathing, which was good, but it was kind of fast and shallow, which wasn't. His pulse must have been in the two hundreds, it was literally faster than I could count. His eyes were dilated, and little tremors ran through his muscles. He also had a lump forming on the back of his head, apparently from where he'd gotten knocked out.
So. I can't say he was healthy. He was a fat man who'd overexerted himself and gotten knocked the fuck out. I almost wanted to say he looked like he'd overdosed on some kind of stimulant, but I hesitated to say that because Robert's rages were literally legendary. Songs and everything. Was this normal for him after a berserking? I've never read any medical literature on berserk warriors. I mean, the human body is capable of some weird shit, Baratheons are known for their 'furies', and Robert was particularly notorious for his. Also, there's magic. The twitches were particularly worrying, but was that adrenaline, a drug, or just a normal seizure from head trauma? None of those are good options.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
So I did what I'd do in any other OD situation. Laid him on his side, propped against the wall, made sure he was breathing and his airways were clear, and if he throws up he won't drown in his own vomit.
I have a bottle of laudanum in my medical supplies. Opioids and alcohol will slow his heart rate, but also potentially thin his blood. If he's having a heart attack, that could be good. If he's having a stroke, that's bad. Given the bump on the head could cause bleeding in his brain on its own, I'm leaning no. Given I have no idea what kind of interactions it might have with 'the fury' I'm really leaning no. And he's been drinking all morning, and doesn't need any more depressants in his system, that's three nos. If I had thorazine I'd give it to him in a heartbeat, but I don't even remember the chemical formula for that.
Well, he's just going to have to take that bump on the head like a man and sleep off the fury. I'm so going to kick his ass for this. Tywin is going to try to kill him, which is going to put me in conflict with fucking Grandfather Tywin, and all things considered that's not where I want to be. And that's assuming he wakes up sane. Look, finding out your wife cheated on you with her brother is upsetting, but don't take it out on your son! I'm so Baratheon I shit warhammers, don't fucking tell me you think I'm Jamie's kid.
"And where the fuck are the Whitecloaks?!" I yell in frustration.
No one answers, though I do hear a noise from the room with Myrcella and Cersei.
Shit, what if this is a coup? Like, I don't know how it could be one, but something's going on. I grabbed my crossbow. Still in my underwear, though. Do I risk going to my room and leaving the girls undefended?
No, no I do not.
But at the same time, I don't have anyone to fight right now either. So, feeling kinda silly, I put the crossbow down, but close at hand.
Hmm, Jamie should be covered.
I grab a large drop curtain thing from one of the rooms. I forget what it's called, it's not covered in pictures like a tapestry, but it's also not covering a window. It's big and its heavy and its cloth, and I drape it over my late uncle.
"Edd! Mother's waking up!" Myrcella called.
I grabbed my weapons and shield and hurried in there.
Cersei was still moaning and groaning a bit, but she had lifted her arms and was rubbing her temples gently. Myrcella was kneeling by her side, worriedly watching.
"Don't touch your cheek, it's going to hurt like a bitch," I warned.
"Mm'cheek's num'," she said thickly, immediately doing what I told her not to do and touching it.
Huh, I guess the morphine cream was working better than I-
"NNNNNNNNNN!" Cersei moaned, pressing just a little too hard.
-nevermind. I've never had any cracks in any of my skull bones but I've been informed it's basically agony dialed up to 11 if you touch it. One of these days, it's going to happen to me, and I already know I'm going to touch it. It's just what you do.
"Mother! Don't touch it! Do what Brother tells you, please!"
"Thank you, Myrcella," I praised. "You took a nasty hit, Mother. Please, stay with us. I've got something for the pain but I need to ask you some questions." I can fake calm under pressure, but my heartrate is probably the same as Robert's. It's a good thing she didn't need stitches, I'd probably sew my own hand to her face with these trembling fingers. Only in my head do I have control, and even there I'm babbling a bit.
"J'me… Jaime!" she gasped and tried to sit up, only for me to hold her back, both arms around her. "Jaime, where's Jaime?!"
With Myrcella desperately hugging her from the other side, I tried to be as gentle as I could. "Mother… Jaime… he didn't make it."
"No! NO!" she cried, bursting into tears.
I found myself crying as well, and Myrcella bawled into Cersei as she sobbed into my arms.
Goddammit.
Just. Goddamnit.
I don't know how long we were like that. Myrcella cried herself out pretty quickly. Cersei was still sobbing, but starting to get herself together. She loved her brother, no question. And this wasn't the Cersei that had buried almost all of her loved ones; this was the first time she had lost family since her mother. She was only 35, younger than I was when I had died or whatever. She was family and I loved her and it hurt, it hurt bad to see her hurting.
She suddenly flinched back, then cried more, louder as she accidentally pressed her cheek into me. I pulled away.
"Hold on, Mother. I've got something that will help with the pain." It took some effort to disentangle myself from her, but by substituting Celly in, I got them holding onto each other so I could get in my medical bag.
The laudanum bottle was squareish and made of tin, with a top that doubled as a measuring cup. I poured her a standard dose, which should be enough to kill the pain and leave her a bit groggy but not actually incoherent or unconscious. Frankly, it was more than she needed, but I wanted her to stop hurting and it was what I had. I had a bottle of raw ether, too, but that was for actual surgery. Or bat country, whichever.
"Drink this, Mother. It's nasty and bitter, but it'll stop most of the pain." I held the little tin cup up with the cloudy liquid inside.
She trusted me, and even though she grimaced at the taste, she obediently tossed back the half shot of painkiller.
Then I repacked my medical bag and put it back in my travel pack. Not really because, at that point, I believed I was about to go anywhere, but just because I needed something to do.
Cersei still sniffled a bit, but about two shots of vodka's worth of alcohol and a good dose of opioids will kick in fast, and she slowly settled down onto the bed, seeming to almost merge with the comforters.
"Eddard?! Prince Eddard?!" I heard call from the other room. Cayla's voice.
"Prince, I couldn't find the Whitecloaks," Sandor's voice called immediately after.
"I'm coming!" I yelled back.
"Stay here, Celly," I ordered, grabbing the loaded crossbow and stepping carefully to the door and peeking. "Stay there," I ordered my two friends.
Both halted. Partially because of the order, partially because I had a loaded crossbow pointed in their general direction.
Because I had a nasty thought.
"Sandor, I gotta check. I… uhhhh… Shit." Shit. You get bored and paranoid and you prepare for situations like these, but then the event actually happens and you completely forget all your preparations. "Uh… uh, fat bottom girls!"
Sandor hesitated a moment, and the crossbow turned and pointed at him. He sighed, then thrust his right hand in the air and tilted his head back and to the left while his left hand grabbed at something invisible in front of his chest. "You make the rocking world go around," he said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice.
Hah! I forgot I'd made him learn the movements, too.
"Cayla," I said, switching to her. "Get back to twerk."
"What? Work?"
"No," I corrected. "Twerk. 'T' –werk."
Her eyes got about as big around as saucers. "My Prince, is this really the time?"
"Sorry, Cayla, you know the Faceless men exist. I made you learn those things for a reason, I know you remember me showing you that. I want to trust you, but I have to know that it's you." I was also pointing my crossbow at her. If anyone had been replaced, it was probably the normal sized Cayla rather than hulking seven foot Sandor. I don't know the limits on magical disguise but there's got to be one.
She gasped, and then her expression hardened and grew serious. "That is a good point, my Prince." She turned around, cocked her hips a bit, and gave a pretty enthusiastic booty shake. It wasn't a great twerk, but the movements were there. I doubt she'd ever practiced it, so the only time she'd ever actually seen a twerk was my hilariously bad effort to reproduce it. Also her skirts covered her booty a bit too much. But the important thing was, she was Cayla, or someone able to read minds, or Cayla had told someone. And if it was the second two, I was already fucked, so best to assume it's her.
"Alright, sorry about that," I said, pointing the crossbow at the ceiling. "New rule though, as long as this shit is going on, check with people if you aren't sure. I don't think this is some Faceless man thing, but we ain't gonna fuck around and get killed if it is one, okay?"
Both nodded.
"So what the fuck is going on?" I asked.
"I found a dead Whitecloak, Ser Meryn Trant, killed by hammer blows in the Hall of Crests," he reported, referring to a linking hallway close to the royal suites. "The servants have mostly fled, but there were two dead outside the King's solar. I found two servants who didn't know what was going on and another who was in the process of leaving, having heard rumors of a coup. There were no other King's Guard in the Keep."
"It's the Baratheon armsmen!" Cayla added. "I heard that the Queen had made an attempt on the King's life and was going to have Lannister armsmen take over the Keep, but when I talked some Lannister and Florent men who had been drinking together they only reported that Baratheon men had suddenly started attacking Lannister barracks and had no idea why. They were gathering for defense but more and more armsmen from other houses were joining the Baratheon men."
"What."
Here's the thing. There's not really anything like fully discrete groups of armsmen in the city, unless it's visiting nobles. Instead, given that Robert is king and Cersei is queen, they simply form the second and third largest sub groups of the common guards. And since the royal family is a Baratheon-Lannister union, they're fairly closely allied, but general in-group pressures mean that, for the most part, guards from Lannister owned lands tend to have their own barracks, while Stormlanders have separate facilities. The largest group is actually just local Crownlanders with no particular house allegiances other than what they form based on the friends they drink with, so they form the matrix that keeps otherwise fairly insular groups working together. It's actually a great metaphor for how the kingdom works in general.
Of course, it all breaks down when what is increasingly looking like some sort of FUCKING CIVIL WAR breaks out.
"Until Sandor told me of Robert's attempt on the Queen's life, I had no idea what was really happening."
"I was there and I still have no idea what the fuck is going on," I growled. "Who told Baratheon men to attack the Lannisters?"
"I'm not sure about the guardsmen, but the Baratheon bannermen got orders from Lord Bryce Caron."
"Ohhh yeahhhhh, I'd forgotten about Renly's men," I admitted. "Stannis isn't in town, thank god. We don't particularly like each other, so I doubt he'd be helpful. I've always gotten along with Renly, though. Can we get his gay ass up here so he and I can order the fighting to stop? Cersei is still alive and won't gainsay me, and that leaves Ser Ilyn Payne as the highest ranking man loyal to the Lannisters, and he sure as hell won't say anything to counter my orders. He doesn't have a tongue."
Mute jokes, hahah. Never a wrong time for them. I mean, what are they going to do, complain?
I also have a terrible mental condition where I suddenly become the funniest motherfucker in the world and make jokes when I'm feeling really upset or uncomfortable. You should have heard the one I told when I was in the hospital after the accident that took my wife. But I digress. My mind and mouth wandering when I'm really upset is what I do. And I'm really, really, really fucking upset. I'm not actually trying to be funny, I'm trying to keep a handle on myself.
Cayla was looking at me really worriedly. Sandor had this expression like, 'look what I put up with'. From a man with half his face covered in burn scars, that's a pretty intimidating expression.
"I don't know if we can do it safely," Sandor admitted. "If I could find the King's Guard and some bannermen I trusted to guard you, maybe. But we'd have to send a messenger to him and we have no idea where he is."
"Where in the fuck ARE the Whitecloaks?" I demanded. "Their whole fucking job is to stop shit like this happening to the royal family. For that matter, where is the Small Council? Pycelle I could see fleeing, but keeping shit like this from happening is exactly what Jon Arryn does. For that matter, does anyone know where Varys got to?"
"I don't think that this is the Master of Whispers handiwork," Cayla offered.
"I didn't say it was, but he's also not up here explaining how he missed it getting started nor who's behind it all. He's supposed to be better than this." I ran my fingers through my hair and paced back and forth a bit.
"Why don't you let Sandor guard you while you get dressed?"
I hesitated, the nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea."
I poked my head back in where Cersei was lying, though she was looking in my direction and apparently alert. Myrcella was gently stroking her hair. Both looked at me.
"Hey, Sandor is going to guard you while I get dressed. Cayla is here with me. We don't know what's going on yet, but Trant is dead by Robert's hand and the rest of the King's Guard is missing." I pulled back before they could react.
"Alright, guard this door," I ordered. "We don't want some clever fuck coming in over the balcony while you're in the hall."
Sandor hesitated. "And you?"
"Cayla can guard me," I replied. "I'll give her the crossbow."
He nodded. Cayla looked resolute.
The two of us hurried to my room. Cayla immediately started flinging open chests and cabinets, but I had to stop her.
"No, I'll get dressed myself. You guard the door, remember?"
She stopped and swallowed nervously, then firmed up again, taking the dragon bone compound crossbow with its mechanical broadhead bolt and taking up guard at the door frame. She only had one shot if someone came running, but that bolt would go through three of them at once if they lined up.
Of course, this would also be the prime time for her to assassinate me if she was so inclined. But if Cayla wanted me dead, she could have killed me a thousand times today alone. I'm paranoid but sometimes you just have to trust people, and I'm pretty sure she didn't even tell Varys about twerking.
Varys. This doesn't seem like his handiwork at all. I mean, this is a mess, and importantly, other than Jamie, the whole royal family is still alive. It doesn't make any goddamn sense. But that's also the problem.
It doesn't make any goddamn sense.
I have no idea where to go from here.
So I got dressed. Not in my tournament plate, not the armor I wore while jousting. That's heavy as hell, awkward to move in, and incredibly difficult to put on by yourself. I put on the regular plate I used for training in melee. It's nowhere near as ornate; in fact, mine was pretty much covered in scratches and dings. Since a lot of my practice is either with hammers or against people with hammers, dents are a common theme, and I use cheaper, less elaborate armor because of it. Most of me ended up being covered by good metal plates, proof against most of what the world had to offer, and the gaps and joints were covered by overlapping scales attached to chain mail.
It's still heavier than what I wear for, say, hunting boar, and I wouldn't want to ride to war in it, but I would want it in my baggage train for the actual battle. The only thing I left off was the helm, which I secured with a strap to my side.
Dressed and armored, I strapped my backsword, the valyrian steel edged one, to my waist, alongside my warhammer. The catspaw dagger went into an upside down sheathe on my right chest, positioned so that I could draw it in secret behind my shield with the shield hand. I put a quiver of arrows, mechanical broadheads all, on my back and covered it with my shield.
I also gave a quiver of bolts for the crossbow to Cayla. I wasn't sure if she was strong enough to cock it using the foot cock method like Sandor and I used, but hell, she might. Ah, it was adjustable, a feature of modern compound bows I'd copied. Two bolts could be turned to change the preload on the limbs and reduce the draw weight. I'd do that when we made it back to the others.
For myself, I grabbed my glaive in one hand, still in its sheathe, and my compound bow in the other.
Of course, all of this took forever. At least thirty minutes, not that I've bothered to keep a personal clock in my room. Pressing an elbow against the wall trying to get at a strap, getting a buckle upside down, that kind of thing. I usually have at least Cayla or Sandor for this. When it came to some straps, I actually had to just give up and ask Cayla to put down the crossbow and help. Also, it's fairly heavy stuff, all total probably sixty pounds of weapons and armor. I still left my helmet off, though. Vision and hearing seemed more important to me right then than protection. Also, I hate hats. I hate having anything on my head heavier than a bandanna or sunglasses.
Once we got back to Cersei's rooms, I put my glaive and shield to the side, in case I needed them. But mainly, I was relying on my bow. Mechanical broadheads were another 'invention' I'd introduced, though they were expensive and difficult to make, so only the few archery inclined lords bothered to get any.
Amazingly, hammers tended to be better at killing people in plate than swords. Thanks to my efforts to emulate Robert, I was also actually better with a hammer than I was with my sword. Now, the sharpness and durability of valyrian steel is well known, and my sword did have the edge, but even valyrian steel swords needed a mighty blow in just the right spot to do more than leave scratches. Polearms worked pretty well, though. You build up a hell of a lot of momentum with a long pole. My glaive, with its valyrian steel edge, was a decent performer against plate. Unfortunately, in the cramped conditions of the stone rooms and hallways, it would be my last choice.
My first choice was my crossbow, but Cayla had that. This left my second choice, my compound bow. Historically, plate armor didn't really start falling out of style until firearms became a thing. Yes, the English with their longbow using armies won a lot of battles with French knights, but it turns out even the power of longbows usually did little to penetrate good plate, and often failed against even the much lighter chain mail. Light crossbows were popular because they were easy to learn how to use, not because they were particularly deadly. Even heavy crossbows or arbalests were like every other ranged weapon of the period, bouncing off plate like a wren hitting a patio door. Sometimes they'd get lucky and hit a weak spot or a gap and cause some damage, but for the most part, if you were in plate with a shield, bows and crossbows were not your problem.
Modern compound bows, on the other hand, produce around 250% the speed of longbows or light crossbows, and even outperform arbalests. Only ballistae, what the locals called 'scorpions', could match the power of my dragonbone compound bows. Modern arrows and bolts are far lighter than their historical ancestors, but the total impact force of modern equipment is still more than 150% of historical on the low end.
Additionally, there was the question of the arrowhead.
Westeros archers had a choice between broadheads or bodkin points, both commonly made of soft, spongy iron. Broadheads had large, sharp blades at the tip designed to cut about an inch and a half swath of blood vessels and flesh, but were tip heavy and tended to catch the wind and go off course. They were murder on animals or unarmored targets at close range, but inaccurate at long ranges and the tip just crumpled on impact with armor. It'd usually still penetrate a little into mail, but not particularly deeply once the sharp iron blades were turned into a dull shapeless mass. Bodkin points weren't generally any bigger around than the shaft of the arrow, making them more aerodynamic, and were also thicker and edgeless, with all their mass focused behind a point designed to penetrate armor. They were more accurate and punched through light armor pretty well, but also tended to just make a hole. If they only hit muscle, they didn't even cause much bleeding.
The modern day solution for penetration was a hybrid. A steel point head much like a bodkin, but with three or so thin grooves running along it that steel razor blades hid in. There were various blade shapes designed for specific penetration depths, but all had a blunt flange of some sort that stuck out of the groove. In flight, the tiny blunt flange wouldn't affect the accuracy, but upon striking something firm, like flesh, would be caught and force the blade to fold open on hinges until it locked open. Thus, you had the performance and penetration of a single strong point, but the internal cutting diameter of a broadhead. And all this was made with much stronger, sharper steel. Complicated steel arrowheads were incredibly expensive, so only some archery inclined nobles had been interested, but I had plenty for my own uses.
In the case of mine, they would penetrate three inches, enough to get past armor, padded gambeson, and rib cage, then bloom into a razor blade flower three and a half inches across as it reached the organs and major blood vessels. Now, admittedly, the blades would usually snap off as the arrow hit the ribs or armor on the back, but then it was just a bodkin point as it kept going. They were hilariously lethal, almost actually unfair. They did not give a shit about any sort of mail, and only bounced off or shattered on scale and lamellar one time in ten or twenty.
This was an exceptionally good thing to have on my side, because only a few minutes after I rejoined Sandor, Ser Barristan The-Fucking-Bold Selmy, the greatest swordsman in Westeros, came in with blade drawn and duty in his eye.
He visibly started when he saw Robert lying on his side against the wall, but took in the rest of the corpses with a cool, calm demeanor.
"What," he said with terrifying finality, "is going on here?"
This was the King's Guard of King's Guards. The only man I've ever heard that was better than him was Ser Arthur Dayne, and that's insane to even imagine. Selmy didn't give a shit about anything but his duty, which, above all else, was the protection of the King.
And here we were, rumors of Cersei trying to kill Robert floating around the city, dead people everywhere, and Robert's fat ass lying against the wall like a dead man.
I don't think I've ever drawn a bow and aimed so fast, in this life or the last.
Selmy just looked calmly at me, at Cayla, who also had her crossbow pointed at him, and at Sandor, who was out of my vision and I didn't dare look away.
"I'm here to find out what's going on, and I want answers," he said calmly. "Now put that fucking bow down, boy, before I take it away from you and spank you with it."
I put the fucking bow down.
I may be the Prince of This and That, but I ain't the Prince of Stupidity.
Robert. My father. It's weird, the whole second life thing. I mean, reincarnation is cool and all, but definitely not something I was prepared for. And my first father was basically perfect. I mean, words almost can't express how well we synched, even though he was significantly more outgoing than I am.
Robert, though, had this weird sort of role where he was there but not all the way there. I'd have been out of luck if I needed him to connect to me as a child, but fortunately I wasn't really a child mentally, so that part worked out well enough. But you're also supposed to respect your father, or at least I was originally raised to.
Plenty of fathers don't deserve respect, but that's not something I had run into. Robert, though… As a warrior, he deserved respect. The man was a born leader and made to kill. Even as fat as he got, sparring against him was like trying to fight a bear. He was the superior fighter in literally all aspects. But on the other hand, watching him treat Cersei like a particularly annoying problem he could stick in a closet and ignore, that wasn't cool. The cheating, the alcoholism, the, let's be honest here, rampant assholitry, those I did not respect. The way he spent money like water.
I mean, I thought Baelish was the source of most of the kingdom's money woes, and he basically was, but even with him not around, Robert still managed to blow money like crazy. I didn't even have much success getting him to spend it on useful things. I convinced him to fix the existing sewer system in King's Landing, but not to expand and improve it to the level it actually needed. He liked some of my 'inventions' for the common soldier and guard, and I got a better, more centralized equipment issue set up… which quickly turned into a rats nest of corruption and thievery. Frustratingly enough, by the time that rolled around, it was mostly my own money I was pouring into those projects.
And I wouldn't even mind it as much, if he was spending stuff on the kingdom itself. Even castles and statues and such had their uses. No, the guy spent literally hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dragons on fucking tournaments and parties. Those have their uses, too, but no knight deserves fifty fucking thousand gold dragons for poking people with a stick. And I was completely unable to get him to stop. He'd do these tournaments like, at minimum, three times a year. That's a stupid ridiculous amount of money.
Robert, by his goddamn self, is responsible for more hedge knights suddenly becoming landed nobles than any other king in Westeros history.
But, I will admit. Every one of those knights loved him. They'd march to war for him at a single word. The throne itself had many enemies, within and without, but for the most part, that was all weird old allegiances and grudges. As if the Targaryens actually deserved to be kings. Listen, incestuous dragon riding foreigners demanding crowns is no way to build a government. Robert, honestly, didn't have what it takes to be a good king, either. But he did inspire his men. And up till now, he'd done decent enough by me.
I don't know if I was going to be able to forgive trying to kill me and my mother.
All this went through my head as I knelt by Robert's side. I had moved the ruined couch off him, hidden the warhammer, and also used some twisted cloth to tie his feet and hands. He was still breathing, which was good, but it was kind of fast and shallow, which wasn't. His pulse must have been in the two hundreds, it was literally faster than I could count. His eyes were dilated, and little tremors ran through his muscles. He also had a lump forming on the back of his head, apparently from where he'd gotten knocked out.
So. I can't say he was healthy. He was a fat man who'd overexerted himself and gotten knocked the fuck out. I almost wanted to say he looked like he'd overdosed on some kind of stimulant, but I hesitated to say that because Robert's rages were literally legendary. Songs and everything. Was this normal for him after a berserking? I've never read any medical literature on berserk warriors. I mean, the human body is capable of some weird shit, Baratheons are known for their 'furies', and Robert was particularly notorious for his. Also, there's magic. The twitches were particularly worrying, but was that adrenaline, a drug, or just a normal seizure from head trauma? None of those are good options.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
So I did what I'd do in any other OD situation. Laid him on his side, propped against the wall, made sure he was breathing and his airways were clear, and if he throws up he won't drown in his own vomit.
I have a bottle of laudanum in my medical supplies. Opioids and alcohol will slow his heart rate, but also potentially thin his blood. If he's having a heart attack, that could be good. If he's having a stroke, that's bad. Given the bump on the head could cause bleeding in his brain on its own, I'm leaning no. Given I have no idea what kind of interactions it might have with 'the fury' I'm really leaning no. And he's been drinking all morning, and doesn't need any more depressants in his system, that's three nos. If I had thorazine I'd give it to him in a heartbeat, but I don't even remember the chemical formula for that.
Well, he's just going to have to take that bump on the head like a man and sleep off the fury. I'm so going to kick his ass for this. Tywin is going to try to kill him, which is going to put me in conflict with fucking Grandfather Tywin, and all things considered that's not where I want to be. And that's assuming he wakes up sane. Look, finding out your wife cheated on you with her brother is upsetting, but don't take it out on your son! I'm so Baratheon I shit warhammers, don't fucking tell me you think I'm Jamie's kid.
"And where the fuck are the Whitecloaks?!" I yell in frustration.
No one answers, though I do hear a noise from the room with Myrcella and Cersei.
Shit, what if this is a coup? Like, I don't know how it could be one, but something's going on. I grabbed my crossbow. Still in my underwear, though. Do I risk going to my room and leaving the girls undefended?
No, no I do not.
But at the same time, I don't have anyone to fight right now either. So, feeling kinda silly, I put the crossbow down, but close at hand.
Hmm, Jamie should be covered.
I grab a large drop curtain thing from one of the rooms. I forget what it's called, it's not covered in pictures like a tapestry, but it's also not covering a window. It's big and its heavy and its cloth, and I drape it over my late uncle.
"Edd! Mother's waking up!" Myrcella called.
I grabbed my weapons and shield and hurried in there.
Cersei was still moaning and groaning a bit, but she had lifted her arms and was rubbing her temples gently. Myrcella was kneeling by her side, worriedly watching.
"Don't touch your cheek, it's going to hurt like a bitch," I warned.
"Mm'cheek's num'," she said thickly, immediately doing what I told her not to do and touching it.
Huh, I guess the morphine cream was working better than I-
"NNNNNNNNNN!" Cersei moaned, pressing just a little too hard.
-nevermind. I've never had any cracks in any of my skull bones but I've been informed it's basically agony dialed up to 11 if you touch it. One of these days, it's going to happen to me, and I already know I'm going to touch it. It's just what you do.
"Mother! Don't touch it! Do what Brother tells you, please!"
"Thank you, Myrcella," I praised. "You took a nasty hit, Mother. Please, stay with us. I've got something for the pain but I need to ask you some questions." I can fake calm under pressure, but my heartrate is probably the same as Robert's. It's a good thing she didn't need stitches, I'd probably sew my own hand to her face with these trembling fingers. Only in my head do I have control, and even there I'm babbling a bit.
"J'me… Jaime!" she gasped and tried to sit up, only for me to hold her back, both arms around her. "Jaime, where's Jaime?!"
With Myrcella desperately hugging her from the other side, I tried to be as gentle as I could. "Mother… Jaime… he didn't make it."
"No! NO!" she cried, bursting into tears.
I found myself crying as well, and Myrcella bawled into Cersei as she sobbed into my arms.
Goddammit.
Just. Goddamnit.
I don't know how long we were like that. Myrcella cried herself out pretty quickly. Cersei was still sobbing, but starting to get herself together. She loved her brother, no question. And this wasn't the Cersei that had buried almost all of her loved ones; this was the first time she had lost family since her mother. She was only 35, younger than I was when I had died or whatever. She was family and I loved her and it hurt, it hurt bad to see her hurting.
She suddenly flinched back, then cried more, louder as she accidentally pressed her cheek into me. I pulled away.
"Hold on, Mother. I've got something that will help with the pain." It took some effort to disentangle myself from her, but by substituting Celly in, I got them holding onto each other so I could get in my medical bag.
The laudanum bottle was squareish and made of tin, with a top that doubled as a measuring cup. I poured her a standard dose, which should be enough to kill the pain and leave her a bit groggy but not actually incoherent or unconscious. Frankly, it was more than she needed, but I wanted her to stop hurting and it was what I had. I had a bottle of raw ether, too, but that was for actual surgery. Or bat country, whichever.
"Drink this, Mother. It's nasty and bitter, but it'll stop most of the pain." I held the little tin cup up with the cloudy liquid inside.
She trusted me, and even though she grimaced at the taste, she obediently tossed back the half shot of painkiller.
Then I repacked my medical bag and put it back in my travel pack. Not really because, at that point, I believed I was about to go anywhere, but just because I needed something to do.
Cersei still sniffled a bit, but about two shots of vodka's worth of alcohol and a good dose of opioids will kick in fast, and she slowly settled down onto the bed, seeming to almost merge with the comforters.
"Eddard?! Prince Eddard?!" I heard call from the other room. Cayla's voice.
"Prince, I couldn't find the Whitecloaks," Sandor's voice called immediately after.
"I'm coming!" I yelled back.
"Stay here, Celly," I ordered, grabbing the loaded crossbow and stepping carefully to the door and peeking. "Stay there," I ordered my two friends.
Both halted. Partially because of the order, partially because I had a loaded crossbow pointed in their general direction.
Because I had a nasty thought.
"Sandor, I gotta check. I… uhhhh… Shit." Shit. You get bored and paranoid and you prepare for situations like these, but then the event actually happens and you completely forget all your preparations. "Uh… uh, fat bottom girls!"
Sandor hesitated a moment, and the crossbow turned and pointed at him. He sighed, then thrust his right hand in the air and tilted his head back and to the left while his left hand grabbed at something invisible in front of his chest. "You make the rocking world go around," he said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice.
Hah! I forgot I'd made him learn the movements, too.
"Cayla," I said, switching to her. "Get back to twerk."
"What? Work?"
"No," I corrected. "Twerk. 'T' –werk."
Her eyes got about as big around as saucers. "My Prince, is this really the time?"
"Sorry, Cayla, you know the Faceless men exist. I made you learn those things for a reason, I know you remember me showing you that. I want to trust you, but I have to know that it's you." I was also pointing my crossbow at her. If anyone had been replaced, it was probably the normal sized Cayla rather than hulking seven foot Sandor. I don't know the limits on magical disguise but there's got to be one.
She gasped, and then her expression hardened and grew serious. "That is a good point, my Prince." She turned around, cocked her hips a bit, and gave a pretty enthusiastic booty shake. It wasn't a great twerk, but the movements were there. I doubt she'd ever practiced it, so the only time she'd ever actually seen a twerk was my hilariously bad effort to reproduce it. Also her skirts covered her booty a bit too much. But the important thing was, she was Cayla, or someone able to read minds, or Cayla had told someone. And if it was the second two, I was already fucked, so best to assume it's her.
"Alright, sorry about that," I said, pointing the crossbow at the ceiling. "New rule though, as long as this shit is going on, check with people if you aren't sure. I don't think this is some Faceless man thing, but we ain't gonna fuck around and get killed if it is one, okay?"
Both nodded.
"So what the fuck is going on?" I asked.
"I found a dead Whitecloak, Ser Meryn Trant, killed by hammer blows in the Hall of Crests," he reported, referring to a linking hallway close to the royal suites. "The servants have mostly fled, but there were two dead outside the King's solar. I found two servants who didn't know what was going on and another who was in the process of leaving, having heard rumors of a coup. There were no other King's Guard in the Keep."
"It's the Baratheon armsmen!" Cayla added. "I heard that the Queen had made an attempt on the King's life and was going to have Lannister armsmen take over the Keep, but when I talked some Lannister and Florent men who had been drinking together they only reported that Baratheon men had suddenly started attacking Lannister barracks and had no idea why. They were gathering for defense but more and more armsmen from other houses were joining the Baratheon men."
"What."
Here's the thing. There's not really anything like fully discrete groups of armsmen in the city, unless it's visiting nobles. Instead, given that Robert is king and Cersei is queen, they simply form the second and third largest sub groups of the common guards. And since the royal family is a Baratheon-Lannister union, they're fairly closely allied, but general in-group pressures mean that, for the most part, guards from Lannister owned lands tend to have their own barracks, while Stormlanders have separate facilities. The largest group is actually just local Crownlanders with no particular house allegiances other than what they form based on the friends they drink with, so they form the matrix that keeps otherwise fairly insular groups working together. It's actually a great metaphor for how the kingdom works in general.
Of course, it all breaks down when what is increasingly looking like some sort of FUCKING CIVIL WAR breaks out.
"Until Sandor told me of Robert's attempt on the Queen's life, I had no idea what was really happening."
"I was there and I still have no idea what the fuck is going on," I growled. "Who told Baratheon men to attack the Lannisters?"
"I'm not sure about the guardsmen, but the Baratheon bannermen got orders from Lord Bryce Caron."
"Ohhh yeahhhhh, I'd forgotten about Renly's men," I admitted. "Stannis isn't in town, thank god. We don't particularly like each other, so I doubt he'd be helpful. I've always gotten along with Renly, though. Can we get his gay ass up here so he and I can order the fighting to stop? Cersei is still alive and won't gainsay me, and that leaves Ser Ilyn Payne as the highest ranking man loyal to the Lannisters, and he sure as hell won't say anything to counter my orders. He doesn't have a tongue."
Mute jokes, hahah. Never a wrong time for them. I mean, what are they going to do, complain?
I also have a terrible mental condition where I suddenly become the funniest motherfucker in the world and make jokes when I'm feeling really upset or uncomfortable. You should have heard the one I told when I was in the hospital after the accident that took my wife. But I digress. My mind and mouth wandering when I'm really upset is what I do. And I'm really, really, really fucking upset. I'm not actually trying to be funny, I'm trying to keep a handle on myself.
Cayla was looking at me really worriedly. Sandor had this expression like, 'look what I put up with'. From a man with half his face covered in burn scars, that's a pretty intimidating expression.
"I don't know if we can do it safely," Sandor admitted. "If I could find the King's Guard and some bannermen I trusted to guard you, maybe. But we'd have to send a messenger to him and we have no idea where he is."
"Where in the fuck ARE the Whitecloaks?" I demanded. "Their whole fucking job is to stop shit like this happening to the royal family. For that matter, where is the Small Council? Pycelle I could see fleeing, but keeping shit like this from happening is exactly what Jon Arryn does. For that matter, does anyone know where Varys got to?"
"I don't think that this is the Master of Whispers handiwork," Cayla offered.
"I didn't say it was, but he's also not up here explaining how he missed it getting started nor who's behind it all. He's supposed to be better than this." I ran my fingers through my hair and paced back and forth a bit.
"Why don't you let Sandor guard you while you get dressed?"
I hesitated, the nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea."
I poked my head back in where Cersei was lying, though she was looking in my direction and apparently alert. Myrcella was gently stroking her hair. Both looked at me.
"Hey, Sandor is going to guard you while I get dressed. Cayla is here with me. We don't know what's going on yet, but Trant is dead by Robert's hand and the rest of the King's Guard is missing." I pulled back before they could react.
"Alright, guard this door," I ordered. "We don't want some clever fuck coming in over the balcony while you're in the hall."
Sandor hesitated. "And you?"
"Cayla can guard me," I replied. "I'll give her the crossbow."
He nodded. Cayla looked resolute.
The two of us hurried to my room. Cayla immediately started flinging open chests and cabinets, but I had to stop her.
"No, I'll get dressed myself. You guard the door, remember?"
She stopped and swallowed nervously, then firmed up again, taking the dragon bone compound crossbow with its mechanical broadhead bolt and taking up guard at the door frame. She only had one shot if someone came running, but that bolt would go through three of them at once if they lined up.
Of course, this would also be the prime time for her to assassinate me if she was so inclined. But if Cayla wanted me dead, she could have killed me a thousand times today alone. I'm paranoid but sometimes you just have to trust people, and I'm pretty sure she didn't even tell Varys about twerking.
Varys. This doesn't seem like his handiwork at all. I mean, this is a mess, and importantly, other than Jamie, the whole royal family is still alive. It doesn't make any goddamn sense. But that's also the problem.
It doesn't make any goddamn sense.
I have no idea where to go from here.
So I got dressed. Not in my tournament plate, not the armor I wore while jousting. That's heavy as hell, awkward to move in, and incredibly difficult to put on by yourself. I put on the regular plate I used for training in melee. It's nowhere near as ornate; in fact, mine was pretty much covered in scratches and dings. Since a lot of my practice is either with hammers or against people with hammers, dents are a common theme, and I use cheaper, less elaborate armor because of it. Most of me ended up being covered by good metal plates, proof against most of what the world had to offer, and the gaps and joints were covered by overlapping scales attached to chain mail.
It's still heavier than what I wear for, say, hunting boar, and I wouldn't want to ride to war in it, but I would want it in my baggage train for the actual battle. The only thing I left off was the helm, which I secured with a strap to my side.
Dressed and armored, I strapped my backsword, the valyrian steel edged one, to my waist, alongside my warhammer. The catspaw dagger went into an upside down sheathe on my right chest, positioned so that I could draw it in secret behind my shield with the shield hand. I put a quiver of arrows, mechanical broadheads all, on my back and covered it with my shield.
I also gave a quiver of bolts for the crossbow to Cayla. I wasn't sure if she was strong enough to cock it using the foot cock method like Sandor and I used, but hell, she might. Ah, it was adjustable, a feature of modern compound bows I'd copied. Two bolts could be turned to change the preload on the limbs and reduce the draw weight. I'd do that when we made it back to the others.
For myself, I grabbed my glaive in one hand, still in its sheathe, and my compound bow in the other.
Of course, all of this took forever. At least thirty minutes, not that I've bothered to keep a personal clock in my room. Pressing an elbow against the wall trying to get at a strap, getting a buckle upside down, that kind of thing. I usually have at least Cayla or Sandor for this. When it came to some straps, I actually had to just give up and ask Cayla to put down the crossbow and help. Also, it's fairly heavy stuff, all total probably sixty pounds of weapons and armor. I still left my helmet off, though. Vision and hearing seemed more important to me right then than protection. Also, I hate hats. I hate having anything on my head heavier than a bandanna or sunglasses.
Once we got back to Cersei's rooms, I put my glaive and shield to the side, in case I needed them. But mainly, I was relying on my bow. Mechanical broadheads were another 'invention' I'd introduced, though they were expensive and difficult to make, so only the few archery inclined lords bothered to get any.
Amazingly, hammers tended to be better at killing people in plate than swords. Thanks to my efforts to emulate Robert, I was also actually better with a hammer than I was with my sword. Now, the sharpness and durability of valyrian steel is well known, and my sword did have the edge, but even valyrian steel swords needed a mighty blow in just the right spot to do more than leave scratches. Polearms worked pretty well, though. You build up a hell of a lot of momentum with a long pole. My glaive, with its valyrian steel edge, was a decent performer against plate. Unfortunately, in the cramped conditions of the stone rooms and hallways, it would be my last choice.
My first choice was my crossbow, but Cayla had that. This left my second choice, my compound bow. Historically, plate armor didn't really start falling out of style until firearms became a thing. Yes, the English with their longbow using armies won a lot of battles with French knights, but it turns out even the power of longbows usually did little to penetrate good plate, and often failed against even the much lighter chain mail. Light crossbows were popular because they were easy to learn how to use, not because they were particularly deadly. Even heavy crossbows or arbalests were like every other ranged weapon of the period, bouncing off plate like a wren hitting a patio door. Sometimes they'd get lucky and hit a weak spot or a gap and cause some damage, but for the most part, if you were in plate with a shield, bows and crossbows were not your problem.
Modern compound bows, on the other hand, produce around 250% the speed of longbows or light crossbows, and even outperform arbalests. Only ballistae, what the locals called 'scorpions', could match the power of my dragonbone compound bows. Modern arrows and bolts are far lighter than their historical ancestors, but the total impact force of modern equipment is still more than 150% of historical on the low end.
Additionally, there was the question of the arrowhead.
Westeros archers had a choice between broadheads or bodkin points, both commonly made of soft, spongy iron. Broadheads had large, sharp blades at the tip designed to cut about an inch and a half swath of blood vessels and flesh, but were tip heavy and tended to catch the wind and go off course. They were murder on animals or unarmored targets at close range, but inaccurate at long ranges and the tip just crumpled on impact with armor. It'd usually still penetrate a little into mail, but not particularly deeply once the sharp iron blades were turned into a dull shapeless mass. Bodkin points weren't generally any bigger around than the shaft of the arrow, making them more aerodynamic, and were also thicker and edgeless, with all their mass focused behind a point designed to penetrate armor. They were more accurate and punched through light armor pretty well, but also tended to just make a hole. If they only hit muscle, they didn't even cause much bleeding.
The modern day solution for penetration was a hybrid. A steel point head much like a bodkin, but with three or so thin grooves running along it that steel razor blades hid in. There were various blade shapes designed for specific penetration depths, but all had a blunt flange of some sort that stuck out of the groove. In flight, the tiny blunt flange wouldn't affect the accuracy, but upon striking something firm, like flesh, would be caught and force the blade to fold open on hinges until it locked open. Thus, you had the performance and penetration of a single strong point, but the internal cutting diameter of a broadhead. And all this was made with much stronger, sharper steel. Complicated steel arrowheads were incredibly expensive, so only some archery inclined nobles had been interested, but I had plenty for my own uses.
In the case of mine, they would penetrate three inches, enough to get past armor, padded gambeson, and rib cage, then bloom into a razor blade flower three and a half inches across as it reached the organs and major blood vessels. Now, admittedly, the blades would usually snap off as the arrow hit the ribs or armor on the back, but then it was just a bodkin point as it kept going. They were hilariously lethal, almost actually unfair. They did not give a shit about any sort of mail, and only bounced off or shattered on scale and lamellar one time in ten or twenty.
This was an exceptionally good thing to have on my side, because only a few minutes after I rejoined Sandor, Ser Barristan The-Fucking-Bold Selmy, the greatest swordsman in Westeros, came in with blade drawn and duty in his eye.
He visibly started when he saw Robert lying on his side against the wall, but took in the rest of the corpses with a cool, calm demeanor.
"What," he said with terrifying finality, "is going on here?"
This was the King's Guard of King's Guards. The only man I've ever heard that was better than him was Ser Arthur Dayne, and that's insane to even imagine. Selmy didn't give a shit about anything but his duty, which, above all else, was the protection of the King.
And here we were, rumors of Cersei trying to kill Robert floating around the city, dead people everywhere, and Robert's fat ass lying against the wall like a dead man.
I don't think I've ever drawn a bow and aimed so fast, in this life or the last.
Selmy just looked calmly at me, at Cayla, who also had her crossbow pointed at him, and at Sandor, who was out of my vision and I didn't dare look away.
"I'm here to find out what's going on, and I want answers," he said calmly. "Now put that fucking bow down, boy, before I take it away from you and spank you with it."
I put the fucking bow down.
I may be the Prince of This and That, but I ain't the Prince of Stupidity.
Old AN: Would you trust a man who got the nickname 'The Bold' to stop and listen to explainations when it looks like you killed the King? Sometimes you need to make a man sit down, and a magic bow with hi-tech murder arrows is a fairly convincing argument.
New AN: Would you defy a man who got the nickname 'The Bold' and is widely regarded as the best swordsman in in the world when he tells you to settle the fuck down? Especially as it turns out, modern arrows don't punch straight through plate like they do mail. Whoops. Also, it's fucking Selmy, he can probably just cut the arrow out of the air with his sword like some old bastard in an anime. I had always planned on his response being a warning to stop aiming at him or else, but it was originally going to be the start of the next chapter. Given responses, probably best to use it here.
I am, however, very glad that, while opinions are divided on whether or not aiming at Selmy was a good idea, it was at least considered a reasonable decision to made on the part of Eddard, and not just stupidity.
New AN: Would you defy a man who got the nickname 'The Bold' and is widely regarded as the best swordsman in in the world when he tells you to settle the fuck down? Especially as it turns out, modern arrows don't punch straight through plate like they do mail. Whoops. Also, it's fucking Selmy, he can probably just cut the arrow out of the air with his sword like some old bastard in an anime. I had always planned on his response being a warning to stop aiming at him or else, but it was originally going to be the start of the next chapter. Given responses, probably best to use it here.
I am, however, very glad that, while opinions are divided on whether or not aiming at Selmy was a good idea, it was at least considered a reasonable decision to made on the part of Eddard, and not just stupidity.
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He asked WTF and is answered with a drawn bow, that looks bad. It also puts him in the situation of sit there and get shot or act to prevent it.
...Yeah, I dunno, I understand why SI is trying to 'force him to listen' but a good rule of thumb is never to draw a gun on someone unless you plan to use it. More to the point, Barristan Selmy put his loyalty to the country before his loyalty to a dead king with Aegon, there's not much reason for him to do it differently if Robert is dead now. Barristan would want answers too much to start stabbing people immediately and if Robert is dead he's not going to get any deader.
Making a threat to his life puts it on a different and less political area where you may not be seen as the Prince and potential new king so much as the guy pointing something nasty at him. A guy in close swording range when Selmy has drawn.
Don't blink.
Making a threat to his life puts it on a different and less political area where you may not be seen as the Prince and potential new king so much as the guy pointing something nasty at him. A guy in close swording range when Selmy has drawn.
Don't blink.
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- Location
- US-Ark
Similar questions were asked in other boards. Here's my answer.
I agree. Pointing an arrow at Selmy isn't the greatest idea.
I'm going to defend it, because it's also not the worst idea. Robert does look dead. The rumor is that Cersei tried to kill him. Eddard and Sandor ARE the ones who put Robert down. Now, Selmy is not the kind of guy who would kill Eddard first and ask questions later, but I do think that, much like Eddard, his first instinct is going to be to assert control of the situation so he can figure out what's happening. If Eddard has control, and Selmy doesn't like his answers, Eddard still has options. If Selmy is in control, Eddard's ONLY option is to convince Selmy that he, and by extension, Cersei, are innocent.
Remember, outside of perhaps Selmy himself, Robert could order the Kingsguard to kill Cersei and they'd do it. Eddard won't take the risk. The only people he trusts are right there in the room with him. Selmy is trustworthy, but he's NOT Eddard's man. He's Roberts. And Robert just tried to kill him.
The problem with that idea is that you pretty much only have that control so long as you're pointing an arrow at Selmy. He might be honorable, but I don't think he's above pretending to be convinced and then doing whatever he feels is right once you're distracted or lower the bow and your explanations certainly won't ring as true with that opening. You can try to get a read on him and kill him if you don't like the look on his face... But will Eddard really do that?
That said, it's a plausible and understandable decision for someone who is trying to gain control of the situation.
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While appropriate to the mindset of a panicking schemer, it is a damn bad idea for not getting cut down or gaining Selmy's trust/support.
He is the head bodyguard of your family, acting like he is an enemy would just make him suspect you did something to merit it. Especially after he asks what happened, seeing a weapon being readied in response would look like you were intending to kill him as part of a coverup.
Hamadryad
The Return!
- Location
- Sweden
She ain't tho?
I mean, not exactly like Robert is innocent, but you gotta admit she's the worst of the two.