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—
Valyria
Robert, along with Davos, Tyrion, and Sandor, stood in the armory of a Valyrian family. Rows of Valyrian steel swords, axes, spears, halberds, arrows, and sets of armor stood before them, a fortune that even the richest of nobles, whether in Westeros or the Free Cities, could boast to have.
"Gentlemen, pick armor and weapons for yourselves." Robert offered.
Loyalty was to be rewarded after all.
"Thank you, but I don't think they have anything for my size." Tyrion was interested in the prospect, as the offer of a Valyrian steel item did not come this easily.
"Pick two then; we can have one reworked to your size, and if you have children in the future, they can wear the other." It was mostly for ceremonial purposes, because Robert didn't intend to force the dwarf into any war, not if it was avoidable.
"Hopefully, I won't be in a place where I have to wear armor."
"Imagine Tywin Lannister, the lord who was willing to spend a fortune to acquire a single Valyrian steel sword, seeing you, the son he hates like an enemy, walking around with full plate Valyrian steel armor and a sword."
"You are right. I should pick some for myself." Tyrion moved forward before he realized something: "Tommen II Lannister's fleet. If I can find it, I can recover Brightroar. That would be a blow to my father; he would never recover from it." He could just imagine the look of cold fury on Tywin's face.
"I didn't see a fleet lying around, but you are free to search. Take some men with you; Davos can put aside what you choose." The knight in question was standing before a full set of plate armor, having already picked up a bastard sword.
Sandor had picked up a greatsword and was trying on the largest armor, but it would definitely need adjustments, as he was still growing up and would be taller than Robert.
Tyrion nodded and left to search for any remains of the fleet. If they had reached the island, then chances are, the demonspawn must have already killed them. If the fleet was sunk for some reason, he wouldn't be able to find Brightroar.
"My lord, vessels are approaching." A sailor rushed in, out of breath, and Robert sighed.
This was getting annoying.
"What flag?"
"Ironborn, my lord." Robert's eye twitched.
This was getting really annoying.
"Figures those rats would be here. I'll go make a statement; you continue to work." There was only one Ironborn he could think of who would make the journey here.
"Yes, my lord."
—
Over fifty Ironborn ships were approaching Valyria, but upon seeing Robert's dragon, they stopped.
He approached the lead vessel, theSilence.
Euron Greyjoy's ship.
Yay.
"If it isn't one of the squids. What are you doing near my lands?" He had already sent thirty ships full of loot to Asgard, along with Ra for protection, so by now, most of Westeros should know who the new owner of Valyria was.
"I came to see if you really did conquer Valyria." Robert was sure Euron had more in mind, but for all his madness, he was smart enough to realize any fight right now would be very one-sided.
And not in his favor.
"Now that you have, turn back or die." Robert warned, the beat of Obelisk's wings rocking the Silence, as if reiterating his warning.
"Why so cold, Baratheon?" Euron leered, leaning over the railings of his ship, but Robert didn't miss the beat and replied, "If you're cold, I can heat things up a bit."
Euron chuckled, and Robert considered just burning this madman right here and now. "Turn the ships around." But Greyjoy's order to leave stayed his hand, for now.
If Euron was stupid enough to even think about starting the apocalypse, Robert would be there to shove that horn up where the sun didn't shine.
—
Asgard
Rhaelle rubbed her eyes, weary from the work.
Back at Storm's End, she only assisted when Steffon asked for advice; otherwise, the Dowager Lady Baratheon enjoyed her life, especially now that she had a dragon.
Watching all the wealth pouring out of the ships, storing it, ordering new underground vaults to be dug, and managing the work that came with it was harsh on her, but she would endure.
It wasn't all that bad, in truth.
To know that her grandson, who brought dragons back to life, also managed to slay a demon and claim all the wealth of Valyria for himself? That was a fine balm.
The renewed vigor of the lords all over the Seven Kingdoms in sending marriage offers was another thing, and while she would be delighted to see Robert wed, it wasn't wise to push him since he wasn't interested in anyone.
The Free Cities were already aware of what happened at Valyria, and Rhaelle was sure Robert would be receiving offers from them soon enough.
—
Steffon rubbed his head for the umpteenth time, as the stormlords were petitioning nonstop for him to convince Robert to marry.
Why?
Because Robert decided to go to Valyria.
For anyone else, it would be a death sentence. All those expeditions made to Valyria were proof of that.
But not Robert; oh no, his son had to go and slay seven damned archdemons and take all of Valyria for himself.
Not only was his eldest son the richest person in the Seven Kingdoms and probably the Free Cities as well, but he also was the only one privy to the secrets of Valyria.
His dragons also evolved, as Robert called it, shrugging off scorpion bolts like nothing. The story of how the Dornish shot down Meraxes and killed Queen Rhaenys was a testament to the danger of these weapons in the hands of a skilled marksman, but Robert didn't have to worry about it anymore.
Meaning all those scorpions House Targaryen was building to cover King's Landing were becoming useless and a waste of coin.
Steffon slammed his fist on the armrest of his chair. "Enough! Stop squabbling like fucking children. You want Robert to marry your daughters?! Go talk to him, not me," he shouted, at the end of his patience.
The hall fell silent, and the Lord of Storm's End took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"Steffon, are you well?" His dear wife asked, holding his hand, and Steffon smiled, gently squeezing the smaller hand back.
He didn't know what to do without her.
"I will be, once Robert returns and all this is his problem from now on." Steffon grunted, wishing Robert would appear out of nowhere and the lords would turn their attention to him.
"We have a letter from King's Landing." She handed him the opened envelope, but he didn't need it to know the sender.
"What does King Rhaegar want now?" Tywin wouldn't send him a letter, not after Cersei, meaning the king was the only one who would.
Cassana stood straight now, all humor gone, and Steffon understood it wasn't to offer their heartfelt congratulations. "He wants to foster Renly and says it would be good to ensure the bond between our families continues." Steffon just groaned.
If it weren't for the animosity between Robert and the Targaryens, he would send Renly to the court for that exact reason, but Rhaegar just wanted an assurance against any possible attack from Robert.
"Oh yes, that will go so well with Robert." He had actually considered the offer the Tyrells made, as his house was getting isolated, but Robert's threat was unexpected, and he seemed serious enough to do it, and Steffon had to change his decision.
It was a blow to his pride to admit it, but Robert attempted to harm Rhaegar, possibly severely, in front of the late King Aerys, the Kingsguard, and most of the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. His eldest might have grown and matured since then, but he also had dragons.
He shouldn't have spoiled Robert so much.
—
Vale of Arryn
"So it is true." Elbert didn't have to read the letter his uncle and Lord of Eyrie was holding to know the truth.
His aging and weary face said it all.
"Yes, Robert did indeed slay a demon and intends to have it displayed at Asgard." Jon Arryn, Robert's foster father and the Lord of Eyrie, put down the letter and leaned back in his seat, and uncharacteristically, reached for the pitcher rather than the goblet.
"You always said Robert just needed to use his head, and he would do great things." His foster brother had unmatched charisma and could make friends from enemies as easily as he beat them into submission but never had the mind for the finer parts of ruling and nobility.
At least, before his exile.
"I didn't have something from the Age of Heroes in mind when I said that." Jon was happy for Robert, but he was also aware all the wealth and secrets of Valyria would also make him a target.
"Starks, Targaryens, Tyrells, Lannisters, and Tullys, they must be unhappy with the news." Robert's falling out with Ned and the broken betrothal meant he had no love lost when it came to the Starks. The Lannisters hated him because he tarnished their honor, even though it was all Cersei Lannister's fault, and the same with the Tullys due to Hoster's deception and Lysa's dishonor.
The Tyrells were allied with the crown, who hated Robert because of his dragons, and now he also had Valyria, birthplace of House Targaryen, meaning the royalty and five out of the seven great houses had a vendetta with his foster brother.
"Unhappy? My boy, that is an understatement. Starks may not try anything, but the rest? They must already be plotting to kill him." Tywin and the Tyrells, mainly Olenna, would try discreet means of removing Robert from the board; House Tully was incapable of doing anything right now, and the Targaryens didn't require any explanation.
"Shouldn't we do something?" Elbert didn't know who to worry about, his foster brother or the Seven Kingdoms, because one or the other would break, and the chances of it being Robert were becoming less likely each day.
"We could, but I don't think Robert will need it, besides some words of wisdom." Jon was going to send a letter to Robert to be cautious, though considering what happened with Cersei Lannister, Robert was plenty cautious.
"I suppose you're right."
—
Riverrun
Hoster Tully held the letter out to his brother and laid his head down on his forearms, resting on his desk. "I don't think it could get any worse than this." Rumors had already reached them regarding Robert's adventures, but the letter sealed the truth.
Brynden took the letter, giving it a cursory glance, and sat down.
For the first time in a long while, both brothers were on the same page.
"What now?" Brynden and Hoster hadn't gotten along for a long time, but with the hardships House Tully faced in the last years, they understood the necessity of sticking together.
"I don't know." Hoster had no cards to play, no moves to make, and not a single way of standing against Robert Baratheon.
They were still technically allied with the crown, as they were fostering his son with the tentative promise of a marriage, and his good-son's sister was the queen, and when a war between the Father of the Dragons and House of the Dragon eventually broke out, Hoster would have to make a choice.
Either betray his allies and stay neutral, or join them and face Robert and his dragons.
He didn't know what to do at all.
—
Winterfell
"This has to be a joke!" Brandon slammed his goblet down, spilling wine on his father's desk, who was already on edge due to the letter.
"It is not." Rickard Stark replied coldly, not in the mood for his heir and son's tantrum. The Lord of Winterfell already had enough on his plate.
"Fuck." Brandon snatched the goblet back, drinking it in one go. "What do we do now?" He asked, all the pent-up anger getting to him.
His father was keeping an even sharper eye on him ever since Storm's End, and Brandon didn't even get a moment's respite to enjoy himself, except for the drinks, which had been limited.
"We prepare the North and strengthen our alliances." For there was no other option.
"How is any of that going to stop Robert should he get any ideas?" Brandon rose, filling his cup again.
"Do you have a better idea, Brandon?" Perhaps you could do something extraordinary to give us an edge against Robert?"
Rickard was actually a bit resentful.
Brandon and Robert were similar, too similar in fact.
Both loved to drink, fuck, and fight, but where Robert had matured and become someone spoken of with reverence, fear, and respect, even more than Tywin Lannister, Brandon had become a joke among the Seven Kingdoms, not in the least due to his dalliance with Ashara Dayne and how Ned stepped up to claim the child as his and wed the Dornish woman.
He had made great strides in learning how to govern and control his urges but still fell short of Robert.
Just as many did.
Brandon sat down, silent as a grave.