Thank you all for your well wishes. I am much better now. The rest has helped me clear my mind and I am happy to be back. I am glad to have readers like you with me. Enjoy the chapter.
—
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Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.
—
Riverlands
Harroway
Robert jumped from Slifer's back, bending his knees to absorb the shock. He dusted himself and walked to Rhydan Roote.
Sandor followed behind, standing close to him.
"Lord Robert, welcome to Harroway once more." Rhydan said, holding out bread and salt, "It is an honor to have your presence here again."
"Many thanks."
"Allow me to express my regret and shame over letting one of Walder Frey's bastards into the bridge construction. I can assure you, it won't happen again."
"That is one of the reasons I am here."
—
Robert listened to the workmaster speak on the progress of the bridge. By all means, it was going excellently. The workers were fed, housed, and paid well, and in return, worked well.
Which was another brilliant idea of Robert, to treat people as they deserved, because whatever god existed out there knew the elite on both worlds he had been to cared more about power, wealth, and prestige than loyalty.
Completion was near, even with the delays, and it must have made Walder desperate enough to hatch a harebrained scheme like this.
He would show that bastard.
Rhydan was all too delighted to do his part for revenge.
—
The Twins
Weeks of work had brought Robert's demands to reality.
Obelisk soared high over the twins in the dark of the night, and he, dressed in dark colors, was slowly making his way down a Valyrian steel chain over the east side of the Twins.
Will was all too willing to speak about the layout of the Twins, and he knew enough to find Walder Frey. Landing on top of a tower, Robert pulled the harness off and the basket off, securing them to the door.
Climbing down the ladder, his line of vision was extremely short, and he had to be careful, feeling each step to avoid tumbling down.
The spiraling staircases were harder to navigate down in total darkness, but it also meant no one was around.
Walder Frey, as the lord of the Twins, had the largest and most lavish bedroom in the castle, at the highest floor.
Everything was seamless so far, and he made it off the tower; Lord Frey's room wasn't too far away. Down the hallway, he saw torches lighting up a section, with two sleepy guards in front.
He could wait for them to fall asleep, but there was no guarantee it would happen. Instead, he flattened his body against the shadowy walls, approaching the clueless men of House Frey.
Right at the edge of the light the torches gave, Robert tossed a piece of rock through the air in an arc, diverting their attention.
The guards sobered up, hands on the pommels, grumbling about rats, and turned to seek what caused the commotion. Sneaking up behind them, Robert held both guards by the heads and slammed them together.
There was a thump, and both men went down, heads ringing like the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor.
Pulling the unconscious men aside, Robert opened the doors, looking inside. Walder was in his bed, snoring, and he approached with careful steps.
"Psst. Walder, wake up," he whispered, rolling his wrist and then shoulder in preparation.
"Who is the fool disturbing me in my sleep?" Walder grumbled, rising from the bed and scratching his face.
"It's me, Robert," he whispered again, stretching.
This would be fun.
"Robert? Did I have a bastard named that?" the Lord of the Twins questioned. He wouldn't be surprised if the weasel actually had a bastard named Robert and didn't remember it.
"No, but you made an enemy named one," he said, calculating the perfect distance.
The words registered, and Walder's bleary eyes snapped open. His lips parted to scream, but Robert's hand whistled through the air, slapping Walder to the land of unconsciousness and out of his bed.
"Heh," Robert snorted, taking the sheets from the bed to tie Walder up and gag him before pulling the Lord of the Twins up from the neck of his robes.
Taking a torch for easier navigation back up, he kicked one of the guards that was about to wake up back into the ground.
With proper lighting, the way up was easier, and he quickly made it to the top of the tower. Stuffing Walder into the basket, he put the harness back on, looped his feet around the chain, and pulled it twice.
Above the clouds, Obelisk took off, rising high enough that Robert wouldn't get snagged by the highest points of the castle, and then flew away into the night.
—
Harroway
Obelisk landed on the courtyard of House Roote's keep as servants and guards rushed in to help him.
He took the basket, lowering it to the guards, who dragged the unconscious Lord of the Twins out, taking him to the dungeons.
"Lord Robert, I see you have succeeded," Rhydan said. The details of Robert's plan to kidnap Walder were wild, but if he could not succeed, then who could?
"Of course I have," Robert jumped down, "One Walder Frey, ready for his punishment."
"May I ask what you intend to do with him?" he asked. Robert hadn't deigned to share that part with him, but everyone with enough connections knew what he did to the corrupt High Septon.
"I don't want to spoil the surprise, but it will be legendary." Robert rubbed his hands, feeling giddy.
—
Walder Frey was cranky when he woke up as the first rays of the sun shone from the horizon.
Robert held the man out for Obelisk to hear his complaints and respond in an appropriate manner. Walder was silent after that, and he was shipped to Asgard under the watchful gazes of his men.
He would not let that filth be carried by his dragons.
—
Asgard
Valhalla
Having reached home by the end of the day, Robert let the handlers take Obelisk to be fed and made his way inside.
Reaching for the chilled mead in his fridge, he winked at the furious White Walker and took his seat.
"Tyrion, is this the face painter I asked for?" he asked, eyes going over the woman next to him. Flawless skin, a healthy blush, luscious eyelashes, sharp eyebrows, and crimson, plump lips.
"She is; I believe her talents will be exactly what you seek."
"My lord," the face painter courtesied, her accent revealing her to be Braavosi, "how may I be of service?"
"How good are you at your craft?" he asked, though going by her looks, she would easily find work under any lady in Westeros.
"I can make you prettier than any lady of the realm," the woman boldly declared.
Robert guffawed at her, "Exactly what I was looking for."
Now, they would prepare while Walder was transported to Asgard in around two days.
—
King's Landing
One advantage of being so close to King's Landing was that by the morning of the next day, a cart could be rolled out of a ship bearing Asgard's sigil. Horses pulled the cart to the Street of Silk, with two criers at the front.
When the sheet covering the back of the cart was pulled off, it revealed a woman, a rather ugly one, dressed in revealing clothing fit for the most lusty courtesans.
"Gods, my eyes. That is the ugliest woman I have ever seen." A richly dressed merchant looked away, rubbing his eyes.
"Hear ye, hear ye. Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, has been caught dressing as a courtesan in a pleasure house. Hear ye, hear ye, Walder Frey…" The criers continued to scream, drawing a crowd around who had come to realize that the ugly woman was, in fact, a man.
Walder, who had just woken up due to the sounds, found himself being paraded on the streets, dressed as a whore.
He shook the bars of the cage, screaming that this was all a plot, demanding to be set free, and when it all failed, he raged against the jeering masses.
Robert watched from the sidelines with Tyrion, Davos, and Sandor, sniggering.
For most of the day, Walder was dragged around the city, to the Flea Bottom, the Grand Sept of Baelor, and finally, the Red Keep. By the end of it, he was a crying mess, despairing over how it wasn't fair.
In the sight of the royal court, Robert finally revealed himself, winking at Rhaegar, who was at the top of the walls, watching the commotion.
"Walder, Walder, Walder," Robert tutted, "You just couldn't accept the competition and had to try to poison my workers, didn't you?" He asked, continuing before his prisoner could answer, "Too bad it backfired spectacularly."
"Now, you have two choices." He raised his voice, turning to the court.
"One is I let you go," he said, dangling the key to the cage, and pulled out a vial with a clear liquid inside from his breast. "The other, I give you this vial. You know what it is, don't you?"
Walder looked murderous, knuckles white as he gripped the bars of the cage, though taking him seriously was impossible.
"Yes, you do."
"You can die here, or live the rest of your life with the shame of this day," he laid out the choices before the Lord of Twins.
He could take the Tears of Lys, dying a very painful death before the court, or live the rest of his life as Walder the Whore and other colorful names.
"Give it to me." Walder held his hand out from between the bars. His life was over, and there was only one way out.
"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," Robert pulled the vial back. "First, you have to confess to your crimes in front of everyone here."
"Fine," Walder spat, "I sent that boy to poison your workers to stop the bridge work. Happy now?!" He screamed, trembling, eyes whirling around.
"Give me the damn poison." He held his shaking hand out again.
"Here you go," he handed over the poison.
Things you could force a man to do by driving him over the edge.
The Tears of Lys was a nasty poison, eating through the stomach and the bowels, and within minutes, Walder began to scream. The Lord of the Twins wrapped his arms around his abdomen, writhing in agony inside the cage.
Robert turned around, leaving Walder to suffer.
—
Reverberations of his punishment to Walder Frey spread like wildfire. Parading a noble around the capital of the Seven Kingdoms while the man was dressed and painted like a high-class whore was a lesson that would never be forgotten.
Robert wasn't dangerous just because of his dragons.
House Frey, humiliated to the point of almost starting an infighting, had sent a letter to Asgard, apologizing for the late Walder Frey's actions, and offered compensation in the form of free passage for the Asgard Trade Company.
Not that it would mean anything soon.
The bridge of Harroway would be completed within weeks, and Robert would be there for the opening ceremony. The bridge would have set passage fees, nothing like what the Freys were doing by gouging the merchants and travelers.
It was closer to King's Landing and Asgard, as well as many other important locations, making it the preferable passage. Jon would prefer the bridge of Harroway, owned by Asgard but managed by House Roote, as it was way closer to the Bloody Gate than the Twins.
The Frey monopoly over the safest passage would be broken, and he knew the nobles that were gleeful over it outnumbered Walder's bastards.
—
Robert was inspecting the silk workshop. The latest batch of silk moths had left their cocoons behind, and the workers were busy turning them into the luxury fabric.
Several samples were sent to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, except the Targaryens, and the orders had already swarmed his desk, along with queries on how he managed to produce silk.
He had just laughed them off.
Leaving the workers to continue without looking over their shoulders, he went to check on the preparations for the Advancement Fair.
There was still time for the fair itself, but he wondered how the participants were doing with their projects. He had given them the general idea for what he wanted, but creating the necessary culture and environment was more important than doing everything himself.
He could make many wondrous devices with what he knew, but after he was gone, what stopped the people from looking at him as if he was the Smith's chosen one? If they believed his knowledge was god-given, who would keep the process of inventing alive?
Long after he was gone, the people of Asgard would continue to create new ideas and then bring them to life.
Though, similar to birthing pain, the beginning itself wasn't easy. The participants did their best, but there were a lot of rough edges that needed to be smoothed.
A pen too large to be gripped properly would not see much use, if any at all.
While those smaller projects were important to ease the larger endeavors, he was more interested in the larger, industrial-scale projects. Blacksmiths, scholars, and carpenters had joined forces to make the proper drawings and then create a replica for the fair.
It was a costly affair altogether, but the idea of using the wealth of the dragonlords of old to make the lives of the common people prosperous was a funny thought.
He hoped those slaving bastards were suffering in whatever afterlife they had gone to.
—
"My lord, you have a lady wishing to court you outside," Tyrion quickly said as the first thing after entering the room.
"Aren't there like a million of them already?" or at least close enough, "Why bring it to my attention?" Robert asked.
They already made their desires known; why did Tyrion come to inform him in person this time?
The dwarf was trying to control his smirk but was failing. "This one challenges you to a duel for your hand."
"Shouldn't she challenge my father for that?" Robert asked, taken aback, "No, wait," he raised his hand. "That's not it."
"I am confused," he finally admitted. There were women that tried to assassinate him, but none had ever challenged him to a duel for marriage.
"Aye, I suppose you would be, considering this is most likely the only time in history a woman challenged a man to a duel for marriage," the dwarf said, not even bothering to hide his smile now.
"Is she at least pretty?" he asked. Robert had a thing for redheads, but the only acceptable one was already married, though their personalities did not match; her sister was a moron, and the last one had tried to assassinate him with a shadow demon.
He would settle for less as long as they weren't blonde.
"She would not remove her helmet," Tyrion said.
"You know what, the pretty ones are always on the wrong side of the Wicky Mendoza Diagonal," Robert rolled his shoulders. "Let's see what this one has to offer." He rose, ready to meet this challenger.
If nothing else, he would at least get a spar out of it.
"What the heck is the Wicky Mendoza Diagonal?" Tyrion whispered to Sandor, who snorted before replying, "Why ask me? I don't understand half the shit he says."
—
In the next chapter:
He had decided to inspect the city for the rest of the day. Nothing like the surprise arrival of the city's lord to ensure no one had any funny ideas.
The bustling market had three issues.
"Boy, where is the butcher?" he asked, glancing around the shop. There was something wrong.
The boy, not even ten years old by his estimate, jumped to his feet, eyes wide. "Master is inside, milord. I shall call him immediately."
The noise coming from the back changed his mind.
"Wait, I'll go see him," he said, pulling the boy back. He barged inside, lips slightly parted at the sight.
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