A Good, Sharp Knife... and a Bold Man to Yield It
A Game of Thrones fanfic
Hello everyone. After YEARS of creative drought here I am with some scribbles, now in the Game of Thrones universe. Life got in the way (so did a Masters and now PhD), so I haven't been around since forever. This is my first attempt at non-Tudors related fanfiction, so bear with me. (Disclaimer: I haven't read all the books, so I am relying mostly on the show. You have been warned.)
This scene will take place after that dialogue between Ned and Robert (Season 1) where Robert expresses his concern for the Targaryen/Dothraki union forged in Pentos and his desire to kill Daenerys before she can give birth to an heir. When Ned asks (ironically) if they should send Daenerys a wedding gift, Robert blurts out the words in the title. And whose knives are sharper than those of House Bolton, the most evil bastards in the North? What if Robert pays no attention to Ned's advice of "leave them be" and decides to act upon the circumstances?
Rated M for graphic violence. I cannot promise you regular updates – PhD is getting in the way as usual – but I'll leave this here. Any suggestions/comments to make this story more plausible and interesting are most welcome and will be taken into account. Enjoy!
Chapter I
Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, paced impatiently around the halls of Dreadfort, the sounds of his steps echoing heavily on the damned walls. "Seven hells, and I thought Winterfell was enough to freeze my balls off" muttered the massive king under his breath. "No wonder why the Northerners are so stiff and grim all the time".
The ranting and pacing kept him from the sense of uneasiness that had entered him as soon as he crossed the gate. While waiting for his host to arrive, Robert went mentally over the plan he had devised earlier, after his conversation with Ned. He would have never sent word to Dreadfort in disguise if the matter wasn't so pressing. It was one of those moments when Robert Baratheon hated to be king and to make such decisions. However, and even though he had sat on the Iron Throne for years, he still had to keep alert and watch over his shoulder. Perhaps not as much as the Aerys Targaryen, whose madness had escalated into full, violent paranoia, but still. A king was never too safe or too comfortable on his chair: that was one of the few lessons he had actually kept from Jon Arryn.
All seemed to go peacefully during those years. True, he had lost Lyanna, the true love of his life, and Cersei was hardly a substitute, despite her boasting of her family's honor and riches; nevertheless, the Seven Kingdoms were finally rid of the Targaryen vermin, that crazy, fire-loving bunch. Or so Robert thought, until he received that letter.
Of course Robert was no fool: he knew Viserys and Daenerys were alive after Aerys' downfall. He knew they were very far from King's Landing, dependent on the generosity of some greedy rich idiot across the Narrow Sea who had hopes of rise higher, should the Targaryens ever set their flaming bums on the Throne. However, the king had never thought of them as a threat. As far as he knew, Viserys was just a babe when her mother escaped King's Landing during Robert's Rebellion. And Daenerys wasn't even born yet, so he had accustomed himself to think of them as two disgraced children who posed no real threat, lost somewhere in some awful, barbaric land across the Sea. Until that day, when he heard of Daenerys' wedding to Khal Drogo, the great leader of the Dothraki. Although some (like Ned) had dismissed the news of a disgraced girl marrying a horse-fucking savage, Robert knew better than to dismiss the rumours. Khal Drogo might be a savage, but a very powerful one nevertheless. Given the proper resources, he would not blink before he crossed the Narrow Sea with his horses and his savage whores to take King's Landing; and as much as Robert complained about his large, sore bum sitting on the Iron Throne all day, he was certainly not willing to give it up for a Targaryen whore. Daenerys and her breed should be stopped at all costs, no matter what Ned's morals told him: to him, she was not a child, but a threat. However, he was no monster. He knew he couldn't simply float his fat self across the Narrow Sea and kill her just like that. He needed someone to do the dirty work for him.
"I am sorry I made you wait, Your Grace" a low, whispering voice said behind him. Robert turned slowly, only to face the icy blue eyes of Roose Bolton, Lord Bolton of Dreadfort.
"Lord Bolton!" he said, in the most cheerful tone he could find, swallowing down the uncertainty that Roose always caused him. "Do not be sorry at all: it is not your fault that I requested a meeting at such ungodly hours." Roose bowed ever so slightly and offered him a place by the fire, who was being lit by one of his servants, while pouring two cups of wine himself. Robert made himself comfortable at once, but did not speak after the fire was crackling in front of him.
"May I ask what brings you this far north, Your Grace?" Roose took a small sip of wine as he asked, and Robert knew he had been observing him all the time. Lord Bolton wasn't one for unnecessary pleasantries, and Robert had to go back to Winterfell before dawn anyway.
"I wish to speak to you privately" he emphasized the last word as the servant waited in a corner. Roose gave a long look to the boy, a lanky young lad whose eyes were covered by mossy hair, and a second after they could hear the door creak and close as if a breeze had passed through. Now completely alone with his host, Robert let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.
"I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, Roose". "Well, it must be damn important to take me off my bed at this hour" Roose mused inwardly, still thinking about the magnificent whore he had to turn down in order to wait for the king. "How can I be of service, Your Grace?" he finally spoke, his voice calm and collected as ever.
Robert shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
"Have you ever heard of a girl named Daenerys Targaryen, my lord?"
Roose raised an ironic eyebrow. "I have heard of the surname, at least. But I can't say the girl sounds familiar".
"King Aerys' daughter" said Robert with disdain. "A baby in her mother's womb when Rhaella and her son escaped King's Landing after Ser Jaime's deed". Roose noticed, quite amusedly, how the king softened his brother-in-law's murderous tendencies.
"She must be a child now" he observed. "If she is still alive, that is".
Robert looked at him in the eye for the first time since the beginning of their exchange, meeting his steely blue gaze with a determination that made Roose suspect that was the real reason behind his visit. "That, Lord Bolton, is precisely the problem."
"Oh" Roose smirked inwardly. "Now we are talking".
"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I am afraid I am not following your line of thought" Nevertheless, he assumed it was safer to play dumb.
Robert let out a concerned breath before taking a long sip of wine. "The girl is alive and well in Pentos, as far as I am told. Sheltered by some rich merchant across the narrow sea, along with her treacherous brother who still thinks he has a chance to win the throne back. A young lad with a foolish head."
Roose snickered. "Pentos is still a long way from King's Landing, my lord. The little dragon lord is perhaps a bit too optimistic. With no men and no money, what harm can he mean to you?"
"With a Dothraki army by his side, he has every reason to be optimistic" King Robert huffed. "He married off his sister to one of their lords. Soon enough the dragon bitch will start breeding and when that happens I won't sit back and watch when they take my throne mounted on those savage horses."
If Roose Bolton were a man of emotions, he would have laughed. Despite all his bravado, Robert Baratheon was just like all the other kings. Perpetually worried about his position. And perpetually looking for someone willing to soil their hands for them.
"Your Grace seems to have plenty of devoted eyes across the Narrow Sea" he stated coolly.
Robert put down his cup on the table with a resolute fist. "Aye, I have many eyes in Pentos" he nodded. "But right now, my dear Roose... all I need is a good and sharp blade".
Roose Bolton clasped his hands in front of him. "A blade" he repeated slowly.
"Aye. Your blade, to be specific. I want your blade on that bitch and her brother's throat as soon as possible."
"You ask for a very difficult task, my lord".
Robert laughed heartily. "From all people in the Seven Kingdoms, you were the one I least expected to say that, Roose Bolton. Have you gone soft during all these years in the North? Has your house motto changed over the years?" House Bolton's fondness of flaying its enemies alive and use their skins as trophies were legendary in all the Seven Kingdoms. Even Robert knew they were not ones to mess with, but in his current situation he did not have much choice.
Lord Bolton sighed inwardly. "Absolutely not, my lord. Our knives are and will always be sharp. But killing two Targaryens in cold blood could raise suspects."
"I trust your ability to be discreet, Roose. And do not think of sending a servant, I trust your hands only to perform the deed. My eyes in Pentos will be most welcome to you and provide all the cover you need. No one – and I repeat, no one – is to know of your true intentions." Robert paused. "And, of course, your service will be vastly rewarded." Robert paused for a second while getting up. "Can I count on this House to serve the Crown once again?"
Roose sat back on his chair, contemplating the king above him. As much as he despised leaving Dreadfort, the bait was too good to pass on. Furthermore, those pale Targaryen skin would look lovely on his walls. He got up at once.
"Certainly, Your Grace. House Bolton is your most faithful subject."
Robert's face lit up in relief. "Aye, that's what I wanted to hear!" he laughed a lot more easily this time while patting Roose's shoulder. "Now, I must go back. Ned waits me in the morning for a hunt, and no one knows I am gone."
"Allow me to send a man to escort you, Your Grace. You risked greatly by wandering alone in the North."
"Very well, but he must act as if he doesn't know me." Robert shook Roose's hand one last time before turning around. "As for your journey, you will receive more details in the coming days. Be kind to any foreigner messenger who drops by" and with that, Robert Baratheon made his way to the stables, humming a tune under his breath.
After the king was gone, Roose Bolton sat back on his chair for a long time, lost in his thoughts, until he finally spoke. "A most unusual request, if I must say so" he stated, for no one in particular. "I think the madness of the Targaryen is rubbing off on him".
"Most definitely, Father" said a voice emerging from the shadows. The servant boy who had lit the fire came out of his hideout. "But a very interesting one, to say the least."
"I am sure you would be delighted to swing that blade, Bastard" Roose smirked at his son with disdain. Ramsay Snow's cold blue eyes gleamed in the fire as he spoke.
"I wouldn't strip you of the honour, Father" he said, nevertheless. "Although I must ask permission to accompany you."
"Why would you?" his father inquired. "Are you not happy here, with your whores and your hounds?" The boy's murderous tendencies were well known in the region, although he chose to look the other way when it came to them.
"I am sick of flaying animals, Father" said Ramsay with an exaggerated sigh. "I know exactly how they react, how they howl, how they die. I want to watch something else".
"And what exactly do you want to watch, bastard?"
"A dragon" said Ramsay defiantly with that crooked smile that mirrored his so perfectly. "I want to watch you flay a dragon."