-Black King-
Prologue
Harry wasn't actually sure what to expect when that bright green light that was the Killing Curse struck him in the chest, but it sure was hell wasn't a whited out King's Cross, or this.
"Do I...bow?" he asked, voice full of uncertainty and hesitation, both of which contributed very much to the sheer and utter terror that this...nice looking old man radiated. Yeah, an old man. He was dead, in King's Cross, with an absolutely terrifying nice old man in a black suit holding a cane.
What an amazing day, no scratch that, what an absolutely marvelous day.
"No Mister Potter, you do not. That, I'm afraid will not be proper." he, it or whatever the hell answered. Confusion took over Harry's other feelings as he scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to come up with an answer for that.
"Uh.." was all that actually came out.
"Listen Sir, you seem like a very nice man, but I'm supposed to be dead and-" he started but was cut off.
"Tut tut, whoever said you were dead? Your current situation is much more complicated I'm afraid...much... more." the old man smiled and Harry thought it made his terrifying presence shoot up to absolutely unbearable.
"If I'm not dead then... I'm alive?" his answer seemed to both amuse and annoy the other person, if it was a person.
"And here I thought Wizards were supposed to be much more open minded than the so called 'muggles' you deem as inferior..." he sighed, he snapped his fingers and suddenly there was a chair.
"I don't understand, if I'm not dead or alive then..what the hell am I?" he asked as the old man got comfortable in his leather chair.
...No answer
"Uh.."
"Well that's enough talking for the day. I hereby begin your first reincarnation, have fun now." the man said. He snapped his fingers and a trapdoor of some sort appeared below Harry.
"To Westeros you go Prince Baratheon!"
"Wha- wait! What the fu-"
"What the fuck!?" he yelled in horror as he shot up in his bed, breathing heavily as rivers of sweat poured downwards across his chiseled body. Robin slapped his hands into his face, groaning as he did.
That was the third time this week he had that dream. Or nightmare depending on one's perspective, it would usually end in two ways. Either 'Death' conjured a trap door for him to scream and fall into or he would actually land a front-kick to his face, sending him flying into the abyss.
Looks like this time it was the former.
It all started two moons ago, when his Uncle Jaime accidentally slammed a trainee's Morning Star into the back of his head. It wasn't exactly painful, but he did almost piss his pants on the way down. His mother was absolutely furious and had almost banned his Uncle (who didn't look as guilty as he should be) and him from the courtyard forever.
He supposed it was some sort of initiation, the first time he was officially knocked out. He heard that most of the squires had smiles on their faces when the Grandmaester deemed him unfit for training for well over a week.
Varys was so much help, he'd gotten every single one of their names and launched a special week of drills, doing all sorts of 'fun' exercises with them. Their screams filled his black soul with so much joy.
Apparently he was out for a whole day, Myrcella refused to leave his bedside and even Joff looked deeply disturbed at seeing his oldest brother lay still for more than five minutes. Tommen... well Tommen thought he was taking a long nap. Gods he loved that boy but if he ended up being another Robert Arryn than Pycelle was going to lose his head, some teacher he was.
That was the first time he had 'The Dream'. It always started with a bright flash of green light, followed by a laugh so malicious even Lord Tywin would twitch in horror. Then came the old man in that same weird clothing he always wore. Robin remembered his cane, his smug face; especially when he landed that kick on his face.
The old man, whom he at first thought to be some Lord practicing dark magic from Asshai actually turned out to be something infinitely scarier.
He lifted his hand in front of him, closing all fingers into his palm but the index. He took deep breaths, concentrating as he did, trying to pull out that feeling he had when he first woke up from his injury. A familiar pull in his gut assaulted his senses and slowly, but surely some form of miniature lightning appeared on his fingertips. It danced about on his index, it's blue tinge lighting up his awed face in blue.
That was a new development, he could only assume that this mysterious Deity was probably the one who saw fit to bless him with magic.
He dispersed the tiny currents on his fingers and quickly prepared for the day. The lovely servant girl (who was obviously eye-fucking him) drew him a bath and prepared breakfast as he stretched himself. He was too lazy to think about all the supernatural elements of his life for the time being.
Quickly washing himself and swallowing his breakfast, the Crown Prince dressed himself, preferring to wear cloths similar to the workers of in the Red Keep, except his was all in silk. He had no problems enduring his mother's stink eye in return for the comfort of his clothes.
"Prince Robert!" a man yelled out as he came running towards him in the hallway, Robin let him catch his breath for a bit, the poor bastard looked like he'd ran for miles.
"It's...your siblings again..there's a commotion in the training fields." and just like that Robin's day was soured. He didn't know what it was this time but the two shitheads he called brothers were going to suffer for this.
"Right, I have some left over food, go on then, enjoy the breakfast of Royalty." he said patting the man on the back as he walked - because the Crown Prince never runs, what would the servants say? He waved off the man's thanks and took long strides down the stairs, making his way towards the training yards as he did.
'Oh what fresh hell is this?' he thought as the whole of the Red Keep watched as two boys rolled around in the mud at dawn while screaming obscenities. He spotted his Uncle shaking his head as he watched the two hump each other. The others were cheering on, some of them betting who would come up on top. The men it appeared, were quite enjoying seeing a Royal made a fool of himself.
Oh there was Clegane, trying his best to hide his girly giggles. Yeah the Hound giggles like a girl, Robin was extremely surprised and elated when he heard that during one of their drinking sessions. Because the Hound was supposed to be scary as shit, and that now he had blackmail material over the bastard.
Looking up to the skies, Robin inwardly begged whatever gods that could hear him to magic his two idiots to grow up. Slowly, he moved, taking slow deliberate steps toward the ruckus. Everyone slowly turned to him when they realized the his presence among them, wide eyes and raised eyebrows accompanied the dramatic gasps as he moved closer.
The gasping was probably because he looked like he was going to reenact the Ruby Ford.
The wrestling pair slowly calmed themselves as the previously lively crowd was now dead silent. The heavy thumps his large frame made in the mud was what finally cause them to stop completely, both of them staring at his boots in muted horror. Their eyes slowly trailed upwards to see a very unhappy Prince.
"There they are, my heir to the Throne of Westeros, the Prince and heir to Casterly Rock, and the royal bastard." he said, voice flat and eyes cold.
"B-brother..." Joffrey almost cried, because that particular face only made an appearance when:
A) Someone probably was about to die
B) No alcohol was to be found
C) Someone was definitely about to die
Both of them were half-sure that they haven't pissed their brother of to the point where he would commit murder... yet, and wine practically flowed like water in the Red Keep which meant...
Two large hands grabbed Joffrey and Gendry by the napes of their training jerkin, the two did nothing as they were raised into the air like a bunch of naughty animals.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing in public?" he questioned, voice as calm as ever. But everybody knew it was a sham, and that a storm was coming, they just prayed that none of them would be caught in it.
"He started-" both of them tried to get out but were shot down immediately.
"Oh no no...I'm afraid I don't care. What I do care is my brothers acting like animals, a Prince who behaves like a dog and a Bastard stupid enough to get into a brawl with a royalty." he continued, his voice neutral and just soft enough for the closer men to hear. Because the Crown Prince didn't shout, he did not need to.
"I think you two have been enjoying free will for far too long..from now on-" he he jerked his head at the Hound, signaling him to come forth. The ever obedient sworn sword stepped forwards.
"You will be under the personal training of Clegane." he finished with handsome smile, reveling in the horror-stricken faces of the little shits.
"You can do anything that doesn't leave them crippled or dead. Try to leave their teeths intact. And if I hear so much as even a whisper of defiance, I'll take you two to hell myself...understood?"
"Yes Sir!" the two almost yelled enthusiastically, even if their wide eyes betrayed their true feelings. He dropped the two down on their arses and cleaned dusted his palms.
"Get out of my sight!" he ordered, patience wearing thin. The two scrambled, obeying as fast as they could. He had no doubt that Gendry would go off running to Mya and Joffrey to their mother.
"Get started tomorrow Clegane, and don't hold back." he continued patting the Hound on the back as the made eye contact.
"Duly noted." the Knight replied, nodding.
"As for the rest of you!" he exclaimed raising his voice just enough that every man could hear him.
"Why don't we go out for training drills this afternoon!" he suggested. It was a suggestion that no one had the balls to refuse, the men groaned and complained but ultimately knew it was useless.
"And Jaime can follow us." he ended, rather enjoying the face he made when his dear uncle made.
"Oh fuck me.." the man said, rubbing his face.
"Yes fuck you Jaime, that Morning Star incident still gives me nightmares."
That afternoon was relatively quiet, he had sent the crying pathetic excuses for Knights and Gold Cloaks away to rest and heal after they returned. Usually his military drills would last three days to a week outside of King's Landing. He had to increase intensity threefold to make up for the ridiculously short amount of time they spend today.
Until it wasn't quiet, his father had called for him as soon as arrived. The current Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had passed away during his absence, some sort of freak sickness in the form of a fever hit him out of the sudden, killing him.
Robin sighed, taking the first seat he saw. Old man Arryn was the only grandfather he had. While it was a miracle he'd survive this long in this primitive world, it hurt so much to see the closed eyes and cold body. The only comfort he had was the fact that this had been a long time coming. Jon wasn't always the healthiest stag around, and the stresses that came from practically running the Kingdom must have gotten to him.
Wait... primitive?
Why did he think that? They weren't savages, this was King's Landing, the Capital itself of Westeros.
How weird..
"Boy.." he heard a voice call out to him. A deep rumble escaped his throat as the King struggled to hold his tears. He looked like he was trying to say something, but the pain of losing his second father must have really shaken him.
Robin stood up and easily gathered his father into his arms, sharing a long hug for the man they both missed.
"Alright alright.. we're not girls!" he exclaimed, rubbing his fat cheeks with his wine stained sleeves. Robin chuckled rubbing his short black hair as he did. His father and him shared a simple but complicated relationship. They loved each other very much, just as a son and father should. But Robert's immaturity, combined with Robin's early growth spurt and rapid maturity into adulthood left them acting closer to friends than parent and child
"We're going to Winterfell." his father announced after a short silence. At first Robin was bewildered, because the North was fucking far. It took a few moments before what he said really sank in.
"Lord Stark is it?" he asked, his questioned confirmed. The famous Lord Stark, the quiet wolf of Winterfell. Robin always thought it was a shame they had never met, he would have loved to make conversation with such a man.
"I guess I'll hold the fort so to speak, when will you be leaving?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the look he got.
"We're going to Winterfell, that means you too boy. Ned should be getting to know the future King, after all you're the one he's swearin allegiance to when I die." the man trailed off in a mumble.
"I'll just put Renly in charge for the mean time." Robert said, knowing what his son was going to say.
"Renly? Renly? You know sometimes I pity the poor bastards of Westeros, having you as a King." Robin said honestly, shaking his head.
"Shut it!"
The Red Keep busied itself during the next week as preparations were being made for the journey North. The news of Jon Arryn's death had already become common news to to the smallfolk and noble alike. Many guests flocked in to witness the funeral in the Sept, creating a bit of a hassle as the Red Keep had to handle preparations for both.
It was during the week where Stannis, the King's brother had practically disappeared into the wind, heading back to Dragonstone without so much as a word. Lysa Arryn had also followed suit, bringing her son with her back to the Vale, causing a scandal. It was a well-known fact that Robert Arryn was to be fostered to Lord Tywin in Casterly Rock, it appeared that Lysa announced her refusal quite spectacularly with that disappearing act.
The Prince's Faction, which dominated the King's court were nervous about how this would affect the Prince and them as a whole. While every single one of the nobles and lowborn within the group's loyalty was assured, the ones outside were completely unknown. As a result, the lesser Lannister and the remaining Noble's faction were slowly being choked to death in an ensuing cold war.
Robin had no doubts about his place in the grand scheme of everything. He had his own agenda true, his own diabolical plans and intrigues he puppeteered behind the scenes but he ultimately wanted only the best for his people, both noble and smallfolk. The Faith could go to hell for all he cared, not like the other two groups weren't desperate and greedy but those Septons took it to a whole other level.
He quickly and rudely stamped down on his father's expensive activities, quite violently at that. The arguments and screams that came from the small council room were still talked about in hushed whispers in the hallways.
Tournaments that cost hundreds of thousands of dragons? Robin was actually quite proud he didn't kick his old man's teeth in.
He struggled to juggle the happiness and satisfaction of the lowborn, nobles and the faith at first. It took long agonizing months of sleepless nights of modifying certain laws and taxes before he could even get started on refilling the treasuries. Varys, the head of his faction in court was indispensable. He knew not how or why, but the Master of Whisperers had taken an immense liking to him and was happy to aid him in his efforts to straighten the Kingdom.
He was all too happy to help him steal back the money that was slowly being siphoned into Littlefinger's accounts.
And there it was, the biggest obstacle in his path, not even the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea bothered him as much as that cocksucker did. Even with Varys's help, it took them three whole months to discover exactly what Petyr Baelish, the Kingdom's very own Master of Coin was doing. Boy he wasn't happy when the truth came to light. Two Kingsguard and the Hound had to hold him back and even then they struggled to keep the blood raving Prince down.
He couldn't just kill Baelish and be done with it, Baelish's littlefingers (pun intended) was buried deep in the heart of King's Landing. Robin first targeted the Goldcloaks, ripping out the corrupt with impunity. Executions, floggings, whatever it took, Robin had it done. His hard work in cultivating a mix of fear, respect and loyalty earned him an elite thousand men that were mostly loyal to him.
After all he rebuilt them from the ground up, selecting every member by himself and hauling their arses for training and drills. The Goldcloaks weren't even called that any longer, with most of the residents now referring to them as the Black Guards, Prince Robert's personal army.
With the new inventions that he had cooked up; which he would never admit to anyone, came from mysterious dreams he had as a child (such as the printing press), money finally flowed in more than it left for the first time in over a decade.
He immediately started plans for drainage systems, public bath-houses, orphanages and even a long-term project for mass schooling. He had plans to demolish the old Dragonpit because honestly, Robin couldn't give two shits about the dragons and their white haired pricks for riders.
Most of them were in their planning stages but certain Lords, whom he deemed as genuine had pledged themselves to his cause and aided him in his ventures. Then came the rest of the vultures who didn't want to be left behind. The remaining Nobles who refused and denounced him, not as their future King of course, only his plans were stubbornly clinging to their beliefs that lowborn should not be receiving all these...privileges formed their own faction, aptly named the Nobles.
All that in four short years. He wasn't one to brag, mostly because he had so much luck on his side it wasn't even funny; but it was no small wonder as to why most Lords were already kissing his arse trying to get on his good side.
He was in the middle of clearing the other facets of corruption eating away at the city when the old man died, and now they were heading to Winterfell, halting most of his plans. No doubt Varys would handle things perfectly, but Robin had a habit of micromanaging, and when he couldn't do that it tended to put him on edge.
"Mother, I'm six and ten. I have six heirs, and god knows how many spares out there. I will marry when I want to, whom I want to, and that is final." he said, slapping his book shut, causing his sister and brother to jump.
Cersei scowled at her son, having to crane her neck to look at him. Robin sometimes pitied his other siblings who did not inherit his father's genes as much as he did. The Baratheon seed had made him absurdly large for his age, he was at the same height as his father now, except where the old man was a fatass he had actual muscles.
Sure, their mother's Lannister side had given his other siblings ridiculously pretty faces, and those cheekbones, he was the only one who didn't get that, and it secretly bugged him. He knew he was roguishly handsome, but the little ones would definitely be supermodels when they aged.
'What the fuck's a supermodel?' he thought in confusion. Sometimes he confused himself, this was all Jaime's fault.
His mother was about to open her mouth when the carriage broke down...again.
He heard his father's loud voice yell out in annoyance and sighed, knowing it was going to be a long while before they got moving again. The Queen even had the cheek to look unapologetic in the slightest.
"Robbie are we there yet?" Myrcella asked from beside him. Her thick black hair was done up all fancily in southern style braids, her green eyes sparkling in amusement, staring into his own blue ones as she purposefully asked the one question he would knock anyone out for asking, except for her of course.
'They better have good wine up there.' he thought.
A/N: Thoughts?I am beta-less by the way, so forgive the mistakes. I've proof read as best as I can.
HP elements will appear down the road bit by bit. Any similarities between Characters from my other Fic is purely coincidental, both are their own characters.