Hello there,
If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.
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.
—
Volantis
The Temple of the Lord of the Light
"Ah, there you are," a deep, aristocratic voice called.
What should have been a catacomb was instead a cave covered in an orange, crystalline layer. The light radiating from it illuminated the room.
In the middle of it stood a ten-foot-tall creature with its back turned to Robert.
R'hllor slowly turned around, each step leaving a scorch mark on the ground.
Seeing the Red God, he understood why Melisandre said he liked innocent and beautiful people. His face was handsome with a sharp jaw, and he had eyes of glowing coal with a river of flame as hair that reached his shoulders. Not to mention, he was ten feet tall.
Wearing a robe that blurred the line between silk and flame, he looked like an aristocratic fuckboy.
"Yeah, Melisandre told me where to find you," he said, twirling the hammer.
R'hllor looked up. "I instructed her to do so."
Which means they wanted him here. How convenient for him. "She is dead."
"I am aware. When you are dealt with, I shall have to resurrect her," R'hllor replied. His voice was like silk, soft yet firm.
"You do realize it's all her fault, right? She tried to kill me for some insane reason."
"That too was done under my instructions," he said with a smirk.
Huh, he didn't see that coming. "Why though? I simply banned your priests from entering my city. I didn't start a freaking crusade against you."
"You are becoming too much of a nuisance to live. The final war against the Great Other approaches. My champion must be the one to finish it."
Robert grinned. The bastard wanted his champion to be the one to lead the fight against the Others because it must have something to do with his ascension.
"Don't worry, after you, I'll kill them all too," he said and charged.
R'hllor shook his head.
He was using the hammer to test what R'hllor would do. If the bastard didn't dodge, he would go with the sword. Otherwise, he'd have to get him to lower his guard.
He swung so hard even a dragon would suffer a broken skull, and it went through R'hllor. He continued with the swing, trying to turn back, but a hit that he felt through the armor sent him flying away.
He rolled to his feet. R'hllor's hand was stretched as if he had just swatted a bug.
Robert chuckled. Hard way it is, he thought.
Whenever Renly was learning how to swing a blade, Robert would take a hand in it too. He smacked the boy around a bit when he got cocky. It was both amusing and educational.
The ensuing fight against R'hllor was much the same. As expected, the God of Light smacked him around as if he were a child. Whenever his hammer would make contact, R'hllor's afterimage faded away, and he was smacked aside. There was no attempt to kill him yet.
However, each hit wounded him in some way.
The top half of his armor was torn away. His ribs were bruised; perhaps some were even fractured. His left leg felt as if there were knives embedded in it. Yet, he stood up, brandishing his weapon with labored breaths.
"Submit, and I shall let you live," he offered.
"Fuck you," he grunted. R'hllor frowned. He blurred forward and slapped Robert aside.
He definitely felt something break this time.
"Such a waste," he shook his head, clicking his tongue as if chiding a child. "You could have been my champion. Spread my name to the world. In return, I would have made you the greatest warrior alive."
Robert began to laugh, coughing blood as he did so.
"It seems you lost your mind," R'hllor huffed.
"Lost my mind?" He coughed, splattering blood and saliva on the ground. "No, I just find it funny that you want your name to be spread when nothing anyone ever did matters."
"And why not?" he asked, looking at the downed human.
"This world is nothing but the stories on the pages of a book, created by a fat man who likes incest. I was just another human in that world, watching and reading the events of this world for my amusement," he revealed the truth.
The Red God scoffed. "You lie."
"You are a god; can't you tell whether I am speaking the truth or not?" he asked. If not, then he was even more disappointing than Robert assumed.
His face, serene and handsome so far, twisted into an ugly sneer. "You must be lying."
"Melisandre must have told you. Haven't you wondered how I knew the things I did? How to hatch dragons—who would the children born to the Targaryens be?"
"You have the blood of the dragon," he reasoned.
"A quarter of it. Even pure-blooded Targaryens barely have one dreamer in centuries; you think I have that gift?" He challenged the god to deny him.
He knew not everyone believed the dragon dreams, such as his parents and grandmother. -
"No, no! This cannot be." R'hllor's hair stood up like a bonfire, and he felt the heat rise.
"It is. You are nothing but a figment of imagination meant to amuse masses for coin," he screamed to drive the point in.
R'hllor let out an animalistic scream, his facade of beauty gone. He took Robert by the neck, raising him up to eye level.
"Want to know another truth?" He smirked with blood dripping from the side of his lips.
"You let your guard down," he rasped, pushing the sword right into where the heart of a human would be.
R'hllor gasped. The blade cut through him. It should have been impossible for any mortal weapon to harm him.
He dropped the mortar and fell on his knees.
The sword drained his warmth, leaving behind a cold void.
"What is this?!" The desperate roar shook the cavern. He tried to pull the sword out to no avail. Just touching the hilt caused a numbing pain.
Robert limped to the god writhing on the ground like a maggot. He took hold of the sword and drove it deeper. He twisted it for good measure.
R'hllor's screams intensified with each act.
He wanted to say something, anything, to get back at the bastard for all the pain. He thought it was wiser to run when the heat radiating from R'hllor increased. It was hot enough to blister his skin.
Turning back without a word, he ran. His left leg wasn't in good condition, but staying here would doom him. The adrenaline in his veins was keeping the pain down.
He might just make it out of here.
—
Sandor brought the sword down, splitting another soldier's skull in half.
"Sandor, we need to get out of here," Robert coughed out, climbing the last steps. His leg finally gave up, and he fell.
"What the fuck happened to you?!" he screamed, kicking another soldier away. He rushed to pull Robert up. Whatever had happened down there, Robert did not seem to be the victor.
"We need to run. It's dying, and I don't know what will happen," he murmured.
"Shit," he cursed. Throwing Robert's arm over his shoulder, he dragged the limping man out.
The dragons were waiting outside, and he had killed the remaining soldiers. The dragons were waiting outside, unconcerned with anything. Both barreled towards Robert upon seeing his state.
"Your wounds," Sandor started, but Robert stopped him.
"Doesn't matter. I don't want to be here when R'hllor dies," he screamed back, coughing more blood.
Obelisk bent down on his side, allowing Sandor to hold onto the saddle. He righted himself, pulling both up.
"Vola!" Robert ordered.
"Take us to the trading post in Lys. I need a healer," he said. It was a straight shot at Lys from Volantis.
"We don't have the time. You need a healer now."
"Where do you suppose we can find one?!"
"Damn it."
"If it looks like I stopped breathing, press on my wounds. The instant pain will wake me up."
His body could handle a lot of punishment. He just had to hold on.
The dragons had made it outside the walls when the world shook. Robert turned his head back sharply, feeling his muscles groan in protest.
Seeing a pillar of fire consume Volantis was the last thing he saw.
—
Lys
The dragons had flown so fast, Sandor had to hold on for dear life the entire flight.
Asgard Trading Company's trade post was built near the port. "There," he said to the dragons, pointing at Asgard's flag.
Obelisk only slowed down as he landed to not jostle his father. Robert's breathing was already labored, but he was still alive.
"Healer, I need a healer," he screamed to the workers. Obelisk unfurled his wings, and he slid down while carrying Robert.
The workers scrambled into action. One helped him carry Robert, while the rest rushed to call a healer.
He was taken to the infirmary, something Robert had ordered to be built on every trading post.
"What happened to him?" the healer asked, checking his heartbeat.
"Doesn't matter, just save him," he growled. Otherwise, they were all fucked.
—
The healer kicked him out of the room. He sat outside to guard the room. By now, word of Robert's condition would be traveling around. If anyone wanted to kill him, they wouldn't get a better chance.
And of course, he killed R'hllor, because Volantis had just gone up in flames. When the city was out of sight, the pillar was still there, reaching to the heavens.
The whole world was about to lose its mind.
—
R'hllor had priests all over Essos. They each carried a sliver of his power, some more than others. Each one felt something was wrong, and in front of witnesses, they decayed to dust within seconds.
Traders making their way to or out of Volantis had seen the pillar of crimson fire consume the city, right after two dragons were seen flying away.
It could mean only one person.
—
Asgard
Valhalla
"Our next trading post will be in Volantis. After that, we will see about extending to Qarkash and Qarth," Tyrion summarized the next steps in Asgard's Expansion Plan.
Since Robert was absent, he had to hold this meeting with the captains of the trading fleets.
"What about Port Yhos, my lord?" One of the captains, Gerold, asked.
"As there is nothing of value there except the slave trade, we will not have anything to do with it," he explained. It was Robert's decision to avoid Port Yhos entirely.
Another captain, Harrold, chuckled. "An astute decision."
"May I assume the cities of Slaver's Bay are out as well?" Mirena, the sole female captain in Asgard's fleets, queried. As a Braavosi, she hated slavers more than her fellow captains did.
"Aye."
"What of Valyria?" Marqello, the oldest of the captains, joined. "It has been cleansed of the demon, and all of its wealth stripped away. What shall we do with it?"
Valyria was mostly ruins, but they were sturdy ruins. It would not be impossible to rebuild it using the same wealth.
"For now, it will stay as a port for our fleets. Lord Robert will decide what to do with it at a later date," Tyrion explained. They were not in a state to rebuild Valyria, nor did his lord want to.
"Speaking of Lord Robert, where is he?"
"He is," Tyrion hesitated, "searching for a way to shield himself from shadow magic."
Which he was, in a roundabout way.
"Is he still insistent on not wedding?" Ronnel of Tarth, a fellow Stormlander, wondered.
"It's not that he is insistent. A man like him deserves to have an equally great wife. We just haven't found one yet."
"I don't believe a woman like that exists at all," Gerold muttered.
"You may ask your questions to Lord Robert once he has returned," he said with a stern voice.
There was still too much work to do, and it did not include Robert's choice of wife.
—
King's Landing
Red Keep
The Small Council was waiting for Prince Daeron to be brought in. After fighting for his life for days, he had recovered enough to answer for his actions.
He was a sorry sight.
His legs were not working anymore, and he had to use a wheelchair. He was gaunt, looking old beyond his years.
"Daeron of House Targaryen, my brother," began King Rhaegar. The purple bags under his eyes took much from his regal appearance.
"Robert has accused you of trying to kill him with foul shadow binding. Your companion, Melisandre, is nowhere to be found, and you were wounded in an unexplainable manner. Can you shed light on this, brother?" he demanded.
Daeron gazed at his mother. He could see her swollen eyes beneath the powders. "You were doing nothing, so I took it on myself to kill him."
There were no gasps or exclamations by the Small Council. Daeron's actions were all too clear for that.
"Not only have you failed—miserably so—you have crippled yourself," Rhaegar snapped. Had he succeeded, the Stormlands would have risen in rebellion, heeded by at least one dragon.
Rhaelle would personally burn down the Red Keep.
"I…"
"What shall we do, Your Grace?" Tywin asked. Sending Daeron to the wall or imprisoning him in cells was the same as killing him.
"Daeron will be stripped of his seat. Summerhall will be given to Aegon instead," he declared.
Mace Tyrell's eyes widened slightly. His daughter had just become the Princess of Summerhall. Seems there was a silver lining in everything.
Aegon nodded in acceptance, not looking particularly delighted by his fortunes.
"You will be confined there, never to leave without my permission. Should you do so, you will be imprisoned in the dungeons of the Red Keep, regardless of your status as a prince," he said.
Daeron was not a danger to anyone except himself in this state. Maesters had said he would never heal again and would be fortunate to live another decade.
"Your foolishness has cost you dearly, brother. Spend what time you have left in peace," he said as the servants pushed him out of the room.
"Assuming Robert doesn't decide to kill us all one day," Daeron said. He wanted to speak more, but a coughing fit took hold of him.
"That is for me to worry about, not you."
That day, House Targaryen had truly come close to death or dishonor. Surrendering Daeron to Robert would be seen as cowardice, yet defending him would be answered with dragonfire.
Fortunately, Robert had found Daeron's state amusing enough to leave him be.
Rheagar couldn't disagree. Living in the manner he would have was no living at all.
"Where is he now, Lord Varys?" Tywin asked, avoiding the name on purpose.
"Off to Essos, Your Grace. It appears the priestess of R'hllor, Melisandre, is still trying to kill him with shadow demons. He seeks a way to protect himself," Varys explained. Though he didn't exactly know what Robert was doing, since he had spared Volantis, there was nothing else he could be doing.
"Let's hope she succeeds," Jon muttered.
That bastard wouldn't die otherwise.
—
In the next chapter:
"Is it true?" Lyanna asked after barging into her husband's room.
"It is," Rhaegar said. He did not even bother to rise, gazing at the ceiling with blank eyes.
"Can't Varys be wrong?" She sat down on the bed, right next to her husband. "He has not been as reliable as before."
Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.