Chapter 9: The King's Bargain
The silence that fell in the wake of Stormbreaker's flight was a dense, suffocating thing, heavier than any physical weight. It was the silence of shattered norms, of a world knocked off its axis. In that single, impossible moment, Thor had done more than disarm a king; he had dismantled the core belief that governed the Seven Kingdoms – the absolute, unquestionable supremacy of the monarch. He had revealed a power that did not kneel to crowns or titles, and in doing so, had plunged Winterfell into a crisis more profound and more dangerous than any winter storm.
The immediate aftermath was a tableau of frozen shock. Ser Jaime Lannister, his golden sword held in a perfect, steady guard, did not advance. For all his arrogance and skill, he was a warrior who understood power, and he knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, that his Valyrian steel would be as effective as a butter knife against the being that stood before him. Queen Cersei's beautiful face was a mask of incandescent rage, her lips pulled back in a silent snarl. This was an affront of the highest order, an act of rebellion that demanded blood. Her son, Joffrey, mirrored her expression, but his was the impotent fury of a spoiled child, his hand clutching a dagger he now clearly knew he would never have the courage to use. Tyrion Lannister, however, was leaning forward, his mismatched eyes alight with a positively gleeful fascination. He was witnessing the birth of a new epoch, and he was taking meticulous mental notes.
It was Eddard Stark who moved first, his body reacting with the instincts of a lifetime spent averting disaster. He stepped into the space between the fallen king and the silent god, his hand raised not in a threat, but in a desperate plea for calm. "Your Grace!" he said, his voice a low, commanding force that cut through the paralysis. "The man is… simple. From a strange land. He knows not our ways. He meant no disrespect."
The lie was so bald, so transparent, that it was almost comical. Thor looked anything but simple. But it was the only shield Ned could offer in that moment.
King Robert, his face a mottled canvas of shock and fury, was hauled to his feet by two of his white-cloaked Kingsguard. He shook them off, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on Thor. The drunken haze was gone, burned away by the raw energy of the axe and the cold fire of humiliation. He, Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident, the conqueror of the Targaryens, had been thrown on his arse like a common tavern brawler. In his own hall. In front of his court.
"Simple?" Robert roared, his voice cracking. "He commands lightning, Ned! That is not simple! That is… sorcery! A demon!"
"He will be punished, Your Grace," Cersei hissed, stepping forward, her voice silk over steel. "He will be taken and…"
"Silence, woman!" Robert bellowed, turning his fury on her. For once, she recoiled, shocked by the raw venom in his tone. The King's pride had been wounded to the quick, and he was lashing out at everything and everyone. He pointed a trembling finger at Thor. "You… what are you?"
Thor's gaze did not waver. He lowered Stormbreaker, letting its head rest on the stone floor with a soft thud. "I am a guest in this hall," he said, his voice calm, resonant, and utterly devoid of fear. "You laid hands on my property. I advised you against it."
The sheer audacity of the response, the refusal to cower or beg forgiveness, left the court breathless. It was not the plea of a simpleton, but the statement of a peer. An equal.
"Seize him!" Joffrey shrieked, his voice a high, petulant whine.
But the Kingsguard did not move. They looked to their King, and the King was staring at Thor, a strange, complex expression on his face. The rage was still there, but beneath it, something else was churning. It was the grudging, bitter respect of a warrior for a greater power. It was the fear of a man who had just looked into the abyss and seen something he could not smash with a hammer.
"Enough," Robert growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The feast is over." He turned without another word and stormed from the hall, his guards scrambling after him. The Queen shot a look of pure hatred at Ned and Thor before sweeping out, her son trailing in her wake like a venomous pet.
The hall emptied in a flurry of whispers and frightened glances, the southern courtiers scurrying away from the source of the unnatural event. Soon, only the Starks, a few of their most trusted men, Tyrion Lannister, and Thor remained in the vast, silent hall.
"By the gods, old and new," Ser Rodrik muttered, his face pale.
Catelyn looked at her husband, her face a mask of vindicated terror. "I told you, Ned," she whispered, her voice a fragile, broken thing. "I told you he would be our ruin."
That night, Winterfell did not sleep. Thor was escorted to his chambers by a guard of ten men, a pointless gesture that everyone knew was for show. He went without protest, the silent giant retreating back into his solitude, leaving the Starks to deal with the political hurricane he had unleashed.
The next morning, the summons came. A grim-faced Kingsguard informed Lord Stark that the King demanded his presence in the solar. It was not a request. Ned dressed carefully, his face set in grim lines. This was the most important meeting of his life, a meeting that could decide the fate of his house, and the fate of the strange, broken god he had taken under his protection.
He found Robert slumped in a chair, a flagon of wine already in his hand, though it was barely dawn. The King looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot, his face puffy. The royal hangover was a legendary beast, and today it was clearly in a fearsome mood.
"Ned," Robert grumbled, not looking up. "Tell me I dreamed it. Tell me I was just piss-drunk and imagined the whole bloody thing."
"I cannot, Your Grace," Ned said quietly.
Robert slammed the flagon down on the table, wine sloshing onto priceless Myrish carpets. "He made a fool of me! In front of my own court! My own wife! That… that creature of yours!"
"He is not my creature," Ned said, his voice firm. "And you laid hands on him first, Robert. You challenged him."
"I am the King!" Robert roared, surging to his feet. "It is my right to challenge anyone! It is not his right to throw me on my back with a flash of light!" He began to pace the room, a caged, furious lion. "The whispers have already started. 'The King was unseated by a northern savage.' 'He has sorcerers in his employ.' Cersei is demanding his head. Joffrey too. The boy has his mother's taste for blood."
He stopped and looked at Ned, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of rage and a desperate, pleading vulnerability. "What am I to do, Ned? If I let this stand, I am weak. If I try to execute him… I saw that axe, Ned. I saw his eyes. I do not think he can be executed. And if we tried, he might bring this whole bloody castle down on our heads."
Here it was. The crux of the problem. Robert was a king whose power was built on the perception of his own invincible strength. Thor had shattered that perception. But Thor's power was so immense, so absolute, that to challenge it directly was suicidal. The King was trapped by his own pride and his own limitations.
"He meant no harm to you, Robert," Ned said, choosing his words with immense care. "He was defending himself. He is a man of… strange honor. He has given me his word he will not harm anyone in this household."
"Honor?" Robert scoffed, but there was less force in it now. He slumped back into his chair, the fire of his rage banking into a sullen, resentful smolder. He was silent for a long time, staring into his wine cup. "Jon Arryn is dead," he said finally, his voice flat, the change of subject so abrupt it was jarring.
"I know, Robert. I was sorry to hear it," Ned said, treading carefully.
"I am not. Sorry, I mean," Robert muttered. "He was a good man, he was like a father to me. But he was old. Weak. He was drowning in a sea of whispers and secrets, and I didn't listen. He was trying to tell me something, Ned. About the Lannisters. About the Queen." He looked up, his eyes sharp and sober for a terrifying moment. "I am in a pit of vipers, Ned. I am surrounded by liars and flatterers and schemers. The only man I ever trusted is dead. And I am King of the whole bloody mess."
He leaned forward, his massive frame seeming to shrink, to become vulnerable. "I need you, Ned. I don't just want you. I need you. I need a Hand I can trust. I need a man who will tell me the truth, even if it's a truth I don't want to hear. I need a wolf to watch my back. I came here to ask you to be my Hand. Now, I am begging you."
The offer, the one Ned had been dreading, had come. But it was not a command, not a political appointment. It was a desperate plea from a friend, from a king who knew he was drowning.
"Robert, my place is in the North…" Ned began, but Robert cut him off.
"Your place is by my side! Where it has always been! We won the kingdoms together, we should rule them together!" He gestained vaguely towards the window, in the direction of Thor's confinement. "And now… now there are things like that in the world. Demons. Sorcerers. Gods. I don't know what he is, Ned, but he's real. The world is not the place I thought it was. The songs are coming true. And I am not the hero of the song anymore. I'm just a fat, old man with a crown."
He took a deep breath, his mind clearly made up. He had found his solution, his way out of the impossible corner Thor had backed him into. It was a mad, desperate, brilliant solution, born of fear and political necessity.
"So here is my bargain," the King declared, his voice regaining some of its old authority. "You will be my Hand. You will come south with me to King's Landing. And you will bring your… monster… with you."
Ned stared at him, stunned into silence. "Bring him? To King's Landing? Robert, that is madness!"
"Is it?" Robert countered, a cunning glint in his eye. "The court saw him defy me. Now they will see him at my side, a ward of my Hand. They will see him tamed. A monster on a leash. My monster. It turns my humiliation into a show of strength. And besides," he added, a grim smile touching his lips, "I'd rather have a demon I can see than one I can't. And it might be useful to have a man who can command lightning when you're surrounded by vipers."
The sheer, insane logic of it was breathtaking. Robert was not just pardoning Thor; he was appropriating him. Turning him into a political asset, a symbol of the King's power to tame even the supernatural.
"He will not agree," Ned said, his mind reeling. "He is a proud man."
"He has no choice," Robert said flatly. "The alternative is that I declare him an enemy of the crown and leave him here for you to deal with. And sooner or later, my proud bannermen will demand I do something about the demon in the North. This is his only path to survival. And yours. Make him understand that, Ned. You are my Hand. This is your first command."
Ned left the solar feeling as though the world had tilted on its axis. He walked back to Thor's chambers, the weight of two kingdoms on his shoulders. He found Thor sitting by the window, staring out at the grey, unforgiving sky. He looked like a prisoner on the day of his execution.
"The King has made his decision," Ned said, his voice heavy. He relayed the conversation, the bargain, the mad, brilliant, terrible plan to bring a god to the viper's nest of King's Landing.
Thor listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When Ned was finished, a low, humorless chuckle rumbled in Thor's chest.
"A monster on a leash," he said, the words tasting like ash. "His monster." He had come to this world a king, had been reduced to a drunkard, had struggled back to being a man, and now he was to be a pet. A curiosity for a southern court.
"It is your only choice, Thor," Ned said, his voice filled with a weary resignation. "It is the only way I can protect you. And my family."
Thor stood up and walked to the center of the room. He was a caged animal, his vast power constrained by the political realities of this small, fragile world. He could refuse. He could fight. He could bring this castle down around their ears. But what would that accomplish? He would be a fugitive, a monster hunted by the very people he was trying to live among. He would be condemning the only man who had shown him honor to an impossible choice between his king and his guest.
He thought of his new, cold clarity. He was trapped in this world. His purpose was to survive, to rebuild, to become something new. Perhaps this was the path. Not a path he would have chosen, but a path nonetheless. To go into the heart of the vipers' nest, to face the schemers and the liars, was a challenge. And a warrior needed a challenge.
"King's Landing," he said, the name sounding foreign and strange. "It sounds like a terrible place."
"It is," Ned agreed.
Thor was silent for a long moment. He looked at Ned, at this good, honorable man being dragged into a game he was not made to play. He looked, in his mind's eye, at the faces of Ned's children, at Arya with her fierce loyalty, at Jon with his quiet understanding. He had brought this storm upon their house. It was his duty to help them weather it.
"A monster on a leash is still a monster," Thor said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "And a leash can be broken." He straightened to his full height, a flicker of the old, defiant fire returning to his gaze. "Tell your King I accept his bargain. The God of Thunder will go to King's Landing. Let the vipers beware the storm."