Robert left King's Landing as planned. He brought only fifty men with him; even that was too much, as he initially wanted to go alone. Wearing no armor, like a man out on sightseeing, he rode fast.
Ser Barristan had also joined him at last. The old man had finally returned from Essos. It took a while for word of Robert's return to reach the old man's ears. Soon enough, Barristan stopped searching for the King and returned.
It turned out, the man had reached all the way to Qarth. It was a long ship ride back home from there. Heck, on the way, his ship was attacked by pirates. He was almost captured, but survived and eventually arrived at King's Landing. Sure enough, Ser Barristan had his own adventure.
Back in King's Landing, Robert left Tyrion in control of the ruling and coffers. And as a female companion, he'd brought along both Missandei and Rhaea. Thankfully, the two women weren't weak and knew how to ride horses in fast gallops.
"There's an ill feeling on this road, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said quietly. "No travelers, no signs of life since Moat Cailin. We'd do well to scout ahead and not rush into a snare."
"Send the bloody scouts, Barristan. But we're not slowing down."
Ser Barristan knew when not to push it and quickly sent scouts in all directions. They were somewhere in the middle of Moat Cailin and Winterfell. They were passing through Barrowlands, a hilly area where hiding was easy for the enemies.
Robert wasn't at all bothered by anything. There wasn't anything that could scare him anymore. Heck, he reckoned he could swim the seas better than a fish at that point. Perhaps even across the Sunset Sea.
Wars and battles were of no interest to him anymore. It was too easy to kill people even without his warhammer.
"AMBUSH!"
Ser Barristan roared suddenly, having noticed scouts rushing back with red flags raised high. The ambush was happening on both sides of the road, men dressed in rags coming out from beyond the hills.
Robert looked at the rag-tag army and sighed. They were clearly Wildlings. At least five hundred of them. It was a joke to him at that point.
"Barristan, protect the women!" Robert ordered his Kingsguards. "Podric, bring the bloody sack of stones here."
Quickly, the young squire trotted his horse to Robert's side and opened the sacks tied to his saddle.
Robert, with a grunting sigh, dug both hands into the sack and grabbed two fist-sized rocks. He wasn't enjoying himself at all. He didn't want to go North, where he'd buried the old memories. But the Wildlings had forced him.
"When… will… they fucking learn?!"
Woosh!
He threw the rocks towards the incoming ambush. Only a few of them had horses, so they were taking their sweet time to approach him, getting tired just from running.
But Robert didn't even allow that. He aimed at the faster horsemen. His control and strength were so high that the rocks broke the sound barrier, booming loudly. And then, they smashed into the chests or sides of the incoming riders.
Poof!
It was a bloody mist. The rocks were so fast and powerful that they exploded through their bodies, leaving behind massive, gaping holes.
Woosh!
After that, Robert did it faster. He grabbed rocks, threw, killed, and then repeated. He did it for the enemies on both sides and killed all the horsemen first. Then he started killing the Wildlings on foot.
While he threw and emptied the sacks, more sacks of rocks were brought to him. The fifty or so men he'd brought were more busy finding rocks around them for their King than actually focusing on the ambush.
Poof!
Blood mist was greater when he attacked those on foot. Since they were all running close to one another, a single throw often killed and injured five to ten Wildlings.
By the time the ambush neared them, their numbers were reduced to less than a hundred. They were scared, but also crazed; a do-or-die rush overcame their minds. With roaring screams, the Wildlings smashed into the well-trained Kingsguards and Baratheon soldiers.
Robert didn't have to do anything. The remaining Wildlings were slaughtered. Ill-equipped, wearing no armor, they got stabbed and sliced.
"Leave one or two of them!" Robert ordered, eyeing them. "We need answers."
Moments later, he had two Wildlings kneeling in front of him. They initially refused to kneel, but then the back of their knees were sliced, and their tendons cut
Pa!
Robert smacked a big, rough slap on the man's face first. "Name?"
"Fuck you!" the wildling spat.
Pa!
Robert slapped harder this time and knocked a few teeth, blood oozing. "I don't give a shit about killing you dimwits. It's your choice, make it painful or easy. Name?"
"Tormund Giantsbane."
"Hah! You? Giantsbane?" Robert chuckled and looked at the woman, redheaded, freckled, short, and thin. "Don't tell me the giants are the size of her?"
The woman spat towards Robert at that.
Pa!
Robert slapped her as well, holding nothing back. He knocked out most of her front teeth. "Beyond the Wall you might prance like a wild bitch, but here, you bend the knee or I break you in half. Spit all you like—means nothing. You've got no value, not even as a whore. No tits, arse like a board, mouth like a sewer. Seven hells, what are you proud of?"
The woman sneered, but was no longer in a state to spit or speak.
"What do you want in the South?" Robert looked back at the man. "Why cross the Wall?"
"To live, you mad fuck! We'll gut you kneelers from groin to gullet and take the whole bloody land. Heard there's fine women down south too, heard Winterfell's Lady's got a nice pair—don't worry, we'll keep 'em warm at night—"
Poof!
Robert just slapped the man with full strength and splattered his entire head like it never existed. Chunks flew away, towards the woman kneeling beside the man. Brain matter covered her face.
Robert furiously eyed the woman, panic stricken, scared of what just happened. "I'll count to five, though I doubt you cunts know how to count. Speak—why are you crawling round my realm, or I'll have you tied to my saddle and flogged to Winterfell. One… two… three—"
"WHITE WALKERS!"
Robert frowned and looked at Ser Barristan standing behind him.
"You're running a mummer's tale?" He asked.
"It's no mummer's tale! It's as real as it gets. The White Walkers are real, and they're comin'. They take our dead and make 'em theirs—worse than death. The Night King's not stoppin' 'til all's cold and dead. We lost too many already, and now they fight against us. We're not here to fight you—we've got a greater enemy."
"But you are," Robert said and stood up. "From what I've heard, you've burned two villages, raped and pillaged your way. If you're fleeing White Walkers, you've picked a poor direction. The only thing waiting here is a quicker death. Barristan—do it clean."
"N-N-No, no—"
Slash!
Barristan was swift and slit her throat with a quick slash. A quick death for the redhead.
Robert wasted no time and climbed onto his horse. Moments later, they were riding again.
####
Robert arrived at Winterfell fairly comfortably after butchering the previous ambush. He was welcomed by Stannis and Robb Stark, the new Lord of Winterfell. It felt eerily similar to that time as the Starks were once again lined up to welcome him. Only, there was no Ned, and Bran was in a wheeled chair.
"Your Grace." Robb paid respects, and he was genuine about it. Without Robert, Winterfell wouldn't exist. "Thank you for coming here so fast."
"Had to, Robb. Wildling scum are getting bold. Jumped us near Moat Cailin. Can't have this madness. They don't belong on this side of the Wall." Robert declared proudly and eyed the women. He merely nodded towards Catelyn and Sansa, but hugged Arya warmly, followed by Bran and Rickard. They were his children for all he cared.
Finally, he looked at Stannis. "What's the situation?"
"They've split into two bands, Your Grace. Near a hundred thousand in all, but only twenty to thirty thousand are fighters. They've taken Last Hearth and made it their base. The other group strikes Karhold, aiming for the river port. We've besieged Last Hearth, and our men press the Karhold attackers from behind—caught between us and the castle. They have no way out, though they won't give in."
Robert nodded, thinking deeply. "Who is their leader?"
"A man called Mance Rayder. They call him the king beyond the wall."
Robert sneered, as that was akin to challenging his status. "Where is this Mance Rayder?"
"In the Last Hearth, Your Grace," Stannis answered.
"Aye, we strike there. Robb, hold the Karhold dogs—make them bleed, but don't give ground. I'll tear down Last Hearth myself. Not a drop of mercy—Wildlings don't pray to our gods, don't know our ways, don't kneel to our laws. They'd steal our daughters and burn our homes if given a chance. Either they die or crawl back North where they belong." Robert gave commands and looked at the sky. "At sunrise, we attack."
With that, all men rushed to prepare.
Robert, feeling Catelyn's eyes on him, chose not to stay. Using the excuse that the Last Hearth was distant, he and his army left that night itself after the small feast.
In the dark of the night, nearly five thousand men crossed Wolfswood, using the trees to hide their movements. The moon was bright that night, thankfully.
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