A/N : Hello again beloved readers and followers. Sorry for the very long wait for this chapter. It has been a constant battle between school and procrastination. This chapter was done actually a few months ago, but I forgot to edit and polish it. Hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 4

Robert Baratheon

The early morns were never meant to be a good time for Robert Baratheon to be up. He loathed at the first lights whilst witnessing the subsiding darkness beyond the horizon. More often than not, Robert himself wasted his dawn sleeping off his ale the night before.

Today, however, was unlike the previous days. Robert found himself wide awake inside his tent. Oddly enough, he wasn't sleeping at all last night. Baratheon neither refused to sleep nor found a pleasant position to sleep; his eyes refused to close and his muscles remained unrest.. Streams of adrenaline and hope rushed through his veins to his mind; Baratheon's soul was rather an entity filled with a glimmering hope and glory.

As he had planned that day for a fortnight with Jon Arryn and his bannermen, there was a lot of tension in that meeting. Most of the time, they never ceased to argue what the best approach for battle was. Robert, as he usually was, preferred to charge the problem head-on; it was his ambition to strike the enemy of that sheer size in one sweep. Only Lord Eon Hunter, seemingly out of his mind, agreed with Robert's plan.

As opposed to Robert, the other lords voted for war of attrition. They wanted to employ a tactic in which they sit around and starve the enemy to submission. A tactic, which might be effective if it weren't for the importance of Gulltown. But then Robert insisted that they had no naval support, thus explaining why it was crucial to take Gulltown as fast as possible.

Eventually, a strategy was devised at the thirteenth day. It was Lord Royce and Redfort behind the scheme. They proposed a solid plan to surround the city from two sides; one from the harbour and the other from the front. According to their calculations, the enemy wouldn't be able to escape, thus leaving the only option to surrender. It was then settled that Lord Arryn commanded the force towards the wall, while Lord Royce led the army through the harbour.

That thirteenth night was the quietest, at least for Robert. Nobody within the camp uttered a word as well as a whisper. He didn't hear any tales nor flute sounds; the tale-weaver and the flute player remained silent. Yet some of the lords left the camp without light. All he heard was only the gentle howl of the summer wind, accompanying the whistling reeds of the plain. The silent whisper of anxiety permeated over the camp.

That was why Robert couldn't sleep at all. He was excited. He was eager and enthusiastic. His heart raced as if it was the first time he rode a woman, eager to know what would happen next. Robert Baratheon assured himself that he would own this day, just as Rhaegar Targaryen who had owned the day in Tourney at Harrenhal. He was already dreaming himself riding with pride through the streets of Gulltown, with people calling and shouting his name.

"Lord Robert," a voice called outside his tent, distracting Robert's mind from his thoughts. His once fantasies and dreams suddenly vanished in a flash of light. A tall silhouette fell on the flap of Robert's tent, and stopped before moving any further. "Begging your pardon sir, but you have a visitor"

Robert stood up groggily, as he put on his clothes hastily with an adorned golden stag. Who in the Seven Hells would want to meet him this early? Even the sun hadn't manifested itself over its firmament.

Robert donned his clothes and cloak and went outside. The morning greeted him graciously. It wasn't cold nor hot, but perfectly balanced. A fleeting thought passed his mind that he could get use to waking up early. Then that thought passed and the thought otherwise. If he were to wake up early, he would have to sleep early too. But surely, a Baratheon sleeping early? That must be the day The Others learn how to fly and pass the Wall.

"He's over by the fire, my lord." The guard directed him toward a spot of fire in the middle of the camp. It shone alone amongst the dawning day. A hooded figure tended the flames unaccompanied. Robert walked closer to the fire, like a moth attracted to it.

"Who are you?" Robert asked. "It better bloody well be important to wake me up this early."

"Begging your pardon, milord." The figure pulled back his hood and it revealed the face of Michel. "I have come to tell you that Lord Eddard is now sailing across the Bite. He should arrive at Winterfell by the week's end."

Robert couldn't help but smiled a little. "That's good then. Let's just hope he will not be late for all the fun down here."

"He promised that he will rally his bannerman quickly and march to help you."

Robert sighed, "the Gods know we need them to fight those Targaryens. You'd better rest too. Today we're going to storm the castle."

Michel snickered, his eyes never wandered from the fire. "I was wondering when the fun going to begin here. I surely didn't come here just to sit around waiting for them Graftons to give up."

"You see that wall there?" Robert asked, pointing toward a raised wall just over the horizon. It barred the entrance to the castle they wished to take. "If you wanted action, then you got it. I'm aiming to be the first over that wall. I need someone to watch my back though. Someone who I can trust and can fight well. I need you Michel."

"Can I say no?" Michel said jokingly.

"No," Robert said as he sat up. "Please excuse me, Michel. I think Lord Arryn would want to hear this news." Michel replied with a nod.

Robert walked to the large tent in the middle of the camp, which was by account, coming to life. It was the tent where the lengthy discussion of strategy took place. A dozen of banner were pinned on its entrance, but they stood limp this morning.

Robert knew that is the place where Jon Arryn would be. Many nights ago, when he was just a little boy, the lord had told them a story of how he had a ritual just before an eve of battle. He would spend the night before in the meeting tent. 'To calm the nerves' he would say.

A dim light pierces the tent's entrance, signalling that someone was inside. Robert took a peek from the flaps to confirm who it was. However, he could only see a faint outline of a figure sitting in the dark corner of the tent. He finally went into the tent.

"Good to see you awake, Robert," the figure said hoarsely. "Anxious for today?"

"Good morning to you to Lord Arryn," Robert greeted. "And truth be told, I am quivering with fear and excitement inside."

Jon Arryn gave a grin. "Well my boy, it's good if you're fighting with a touch of fear. You'll be less likely to die stupid today."

"But if there's too much fear, where will you put the courage to fight in the first place?" Robert countered.

"Well, it seems that I have taught you well, Robert," Jon laughed. "It's a shame that your father isn't here to see you grown up. He would be proud of you."

Robert sighed. "Proud? I don't think that's what on his mind if he hears I'm rebelling against the Iron Throne. He was always loyal to the Targaryens. He died because of that. If anything he'd probably disown and banish me." There was a moment of silence. "By the Seven, what have we done."

Jon gripped Robert's shoulder assuringly. "You are not rebelling against the Targaryen, Robert. You are rebelling against a tyrant. What you're doing here, would have made your father proud. I'm sure of it. He is not loyal to the Targaryens. He is loyal to the realm and its people. And that's exactly what you're doing now." Robert nodded solemnly.

"Now," Jon continued. "Don't you doubt yourself, Robert. After all you'll be the one leading the vanguard. It's not wise for the soldiers to see their commander hesitate, especially in the eve of battle."

Robert looked at him with confusion. "I thought it was you who's going to lead the vanguard? You can't possibly give that honor to me."

"I can son. And I have done it," Jon said stoically, "I have spread the word earlier this morning. You'll be the one leading them to battle."

"But-"

"Do you remember what you promised when that raven arrived in Eyrie? The raven which carries the news of Lyanna, the Starks, and then demanded your heads?" Robert lowered his head. He did remember that day.

It was like any other morning in the Eyrie, which was monotonous to say the least. Robert had woken up late that day. He spent the night before with a lady on the towers. The late night fatigue hadn't left him when Maester Colemon came in and summoned him to Lord Arryn in his solar. Of course, Ned was already there. Robert remembered how Ned's eyes were more stormy than usual and a sense of dread permeated the room. Then Jon broke the news to him. The first reaction from Robert was he punched the table hard that it cracked. He was outraged by the letter. "Yes I do."

"What did you say?"

"I said I would kill every Targaryen and everyone that support them."

"Why?"

"Because they're cruel, unjust, and mad. They deserve to die." Hate begins to boil again in Robert's blood. He had forgotten it is still there.

"I need you to remember that today, Robert." Jon said." I need the man who would stand up against the world and the sky for what's right. I need the man who the soldiers can look up to. I need Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End. If you can't do that, then our cause is already lost."

Robert felt a wave of hesitation hit him. Questions of doubt and fear filled his mind. Am I ready for this? Can I do it? Am I strong enough to carry the burden of command? What would my father do? He wouldn't run away from a fight would he?

His thoughts then wander to the tales of his father in the War of Ninepenny Kings. How he shone in that war. A little part of Robert envied his father's endeavours. A little part of him wanted to be his father. Finally, Robert spoke up. "I will do what you asked of me, my lord."

"Good," Jon said, grabbing Robert's shoulders. A sense of pride beamed from the man. "You're the reason of this after all, might as well try and be the head of it. Who knows? Maybe you'll sit your arse on that Iron Throne when this is over."

"Permission to speak bluntly, my lord."

Jon Arryn raised his eyebrows in sarcasm. "Does that ever stop you before, Robert?"

A smile rises from Robert's lips, then turned into a full blown laughter. "Me? King? Seven hells, it would be much better for Eddard or you to sit there. You both are twice the man I am and I'll ever be. I just want Lyanna back. Besides, I don't think I want to spend the rest of my days sitting in an uncomfortable chair."

Robert laughed harder. Then he remembered why he came to find Jon in the first place. "I came here to tell you that Ned is now crossing the Bite. He should be able to join us in fortnight's time."

Jon Arryn's face grew grim. "That's too long. By that time the Targaryens would have marched their own army from King's Landing." He stopped to think again. "We need more men and fast. I'll arrange for your return to Storm's End after this battle. You can then call your bannerman. We can also hope for the Tullys. They still have a betrothal to fulfill."

" Well then, it seems that you have figured it all out, my lord. If you would excuse me milord," Robert said. "I have to go and prepare myself." Jon Arryn nodded and silence came over that tent again as before as Robert walked out.

Outside, the then dead camp was now bustling with activity. The sun has shown its face high in the sky. Towers of smoke rises from the campfires as knights, squires, and lords break their fast. The stench of stale bread and dried beef filled the air. Shouts of command and clangs of steel could be heard.

Robert's thought then drifted to something that he had long forgotten, his Gods. Robert's faith was of the Seven, but only by birth. He never went to a sept unless dragged by Lord Arryn. Even then it was only a place of no meaning for him. It is not that he didn't believe in the Gods, but he believed that they had abandoned him long ago, when they took his parents away from him.

It was that moment that he realized that he is in an awkward position. He, who never turned to the Gods for guidance, now is seeking it. Robert can only imagine what laugh the Gods are having wherever they are.

Nevertheless, he did say a prayer. It wasn't formal nor long, for he didn't remember any of the prayers. He started his prayer with an apology, for all the time he'd turned away from the Gods. He asked for their protection, so that he would not die stupidly in the battle. The last thing he prayed for was a safe journey for his friend, Ned.

As soon as Robert finished his prayer, he opened his war chest and took out his armor. It was the old armor that his father left for him before he went to Essos. Before he died. He said that the armor was passed down through generations. His father made him promise to wear it when he became a true man.

A stag running through golden field. The sigil was displayed proudly in the breastplate. The helmet was adorned with stag's antlers. The feeling of dread and awe radiate from the hollow eyes of the helmet. Each line of the eldest Baratheon had gaze the world from it.

Robert felt he deserved no less than that. He was going to wear proudly today. After all, he had the blood of Orys Baratheon, the founder of the dynasty. A great general and a fierce warrior. A true Baratheon man.

Beside the armor was his weapon of choice. A great iron warhammer from the forges of Storm's End. The hand that made it was Donald Noye's, Steffon Baratheon's favorite smith. It was a rare choice, because a warhammer is usually clumsy and hard to handle. It was heavy and awkward to handle and not as agile as a sword. It was a weapon of brute power, which Robert felt reflect himself.

"Excuse me, milord," Michel's voice called out to Robert from the outside. "You are needed in the strategy tent. The lords have gathered for a final briefing before they sound the horns."

Robert answered back, "I'll join them shortly. Help me first with my armor, Mich."

Michel made way inside Robert's tent. He was already in his full armor, minus the helmet. "What can I do to help?"

"Just help me get inside this armor." Robert grunted as he struggled to put the hauberk on. "That's the easy part, I think. I swear it still fits when last I use it in the Eyrie."

Michel laughed, "I'm sure it still fits, milord."

Robert raised his eyebrow in a sarcastic manner. "If I don't need you beside me today, I would have your head for laughing." Michel only laughed louder after that. "Just shut up and help me," Robert grumbled. It was not long before Robert finally slipped inside his armor. He left his helmet and warhammer with Michel and went to the strategy tent.

Every lord under the Arryn banner had already shown up at the tent. They were all dressed in their armor and ready for battle. Lord Arryn was seated at the center of the table, beside him were Lord Hunter and Lord Royce. Robert Baratheon was the last to arrive.

"Nice for Lord Baratheon to join us this morning," Lord Waynwood greeted him sardonically.

Before the other lords got the chance to react, Jon Arryn intervene, "Well, my lords, let's begin. Today will be the day we storm the castle. You all have known your role and duty in the battle."

He then turned to Robert. "Robert, as I said earlier this morning, you shall lead the van and take the walls. We did not have time to build a siege tower, but the maesters and builders have built a two dozens of ladders and hooks for you to climb the wall. You will have about a dozen score of man at arms and another dozen scores of new recruits with you. Take good care of them. They should be enough to take the wall."

Then he turned to Lord Hunter. "Lord Eon, that's where you come in. You will be directing the archers and give covering fire to the van. Give them enough pressure just to make them fear of lifting their heads and shoot back."

Finally he turned to Lord Royce. "Lord Royce, is your army ready?"

"Yes, milord."

"Good. You shall take the harbor by small canoes, courtesy of our spies in the cities. You will lay down and wait for their signal. Once you have been signalled, take over their ships, and cut off their escape route."

Lord Arryn then proceed to address the entire Lords. "The rest of you shall be with me in taking the city after Robert capture the wall and open the gates." He then paused for a moment.

"I want the city of Gulltown surrendering by mid noon. I believe that each and every one of you can contribute greatly in this first campaign. And a final word. I want this battle to be clean and disciplined. No pillaging, raping, or any other kind of disorderly conduct. Tell each of your men to hold the celebration till after the battle. The entirety of the support we get depends on how we fight today. An honorable battle can sway much to our cause. May the Gods save us all."

And then the entire assembly dispersed. There was a long bellowing of trumpet. Robert knew it signals the start of the assault. He made way outside, finding Michel is ready with his helmet and warhammer. He put them on and made way to the front lines.

It was a cloudless sky that late morning. The army had assembled in a hill just out of archer's range from the walls of the city. Robert never seen this many men assembling in one place. He had an almost two dozen scores of men under his command. Two dozen scores which he need to lead or else he will be sending their bones home. Doubt of his ability was nagging him on the back of his head. Was he ready? Was he brave enough to face the odds? He thought all of this from behind the antlered helmet.

"Are you ready, my boy?" Jon Arryn rode his horse beside Robert's. It was a beautiful grey steed. Robert had met it before in the Eyrie stables.

"I'm ready as I'll ever be, Jon," he answered plainly.

"Your pose betrays you, Robert," Jon pointed out. "You look like a man about to jump off a tower, yet still leaves one foot behind the window."

Robert pull off his helmet and dipped his head. "Maybe you're right, Jon. Maybe I am not-"

Jon Arryn did the unexpected. He slapped Robert senseless. "Don't you say that you are not ready for this. I have given you the privilege to be the van leader. You are a Baratheon man are you not?"

Robert nodded somberly. "Then start acting like one, or I swear to the Seven, I'll send your head to the Dragons in a jewel box. I did not raise you to be a wench, Robert. I raised you to be a leader. Someone whom the people could look up to. Don't make me add you to my list of failures."

For once, Robert heard what Jon said and settle it inside. "I will not fail you on this day," he said with a resolve. "You will see the stag banner on that wall, or you will know that I will be sent home in a coffin."

Jon gripped Robert's shoulder and hugged him. "Good. Then go to your men. They need a speech." As Robert turned away, Jon said once more, "And Robert, I'll always be proud of you. No matter what happens today."

Robert wore his helmet back and went to the anxiously waiting men. "I was never any good with a speech," he said under his breath. He took a deep breath before addressing them.

"My fellow men. My fellow brothers in arms. A score of nights ago, I received a raven. It was written by blood stained hands. The hand which killed the brother and father of my best friend, Eddard Stark. It was also the hand which robbed me of my betrothed and justified it in front of the Gods. It was a greedy hand, and its menace doesn't end there. The hand also wanted another thing. My head liberated from my body. All because to prevent me opposing the rule. Well, the irony is that what they had sought to prevent, now came true. The hand that did all that were of King Aerys'. The Mad Tyrant which now holds the Iron Throne."

Robert noticed his hands begin to shake subtly. Adrenaline courses through his veins.

"Tell me. Do you want to be ruled by that man?"

The crowd roared to answer.

"I'm asking you again. Do you want to be rule by that man?"

Again the crowd roared.

"Then follow me today," Robert readied his warhammer and started to walk toward the wall. Each step felt lighter than before. "Follow me and I assure you that he will not lift his hand upon you!". Behind him was the loudest noise that he had ever heard. A cacophony of warcry and shouts followed down the hill, descending toward the city of Gulltown.

"Raise your shields men!" Robert commanded as arrows begin to rain down upon them from the wall. Robert saw few soldiers fell down with arrows sticking out of their body. That didn't stop him, but made him more determined to reach the wall. The others followed in his fashion as the answering hail of arrows came down on the wall. The defenders were forced to take cover on the parapets. Thank the Seven for Lord Hunter and his bowmen.

Most of the formation made it to the edge of the wall. They threw their ladders to the wall and begin to climb it. Robert was one of the first one to set foot on the hastily built ladder. He prayed inside that it will hold the weight of an army. "Follow me men!" He shouted defiantly as he made it top of the wall.

Just as he landed his last feet, a sword came to greet him straight in the head. Robert didn't have enough time to arm his heavy warhammer or to dodge the attack. Miraculously, the sword bounced back as it hits Robert's helmet, leaving the defender with a dumbfounded face. Robert quickly exploit that moment of weakness and deliver a fatal blow to the defender.

Three more soldiers tried to cornered Robert with their pikes. One of the soldiers thrusted the pike toward Robert, but he dodged it. Just as the soldier pulled the pike back, Robert pulled it towards him. Sending the soldier down the wall. The other two hesitated their step. Robert gave off a shout before sending them both flying with his war hammer.

More defenders flooded the walls, but Robert stood defiant against all that. With every blow he scored a kill, and with every step he dodged an attack. His head was in an automated mode. Dodge, hit, kill, and repeat. He heard no sound but only his cry and his enemy falling.

"Robert! Look out!" A voice come from behind him. It was Michel. Instinctively Robert turned his head behind. A soldier had taken him by surprise and kicked Robert in the chest. Robert staggered, but did not fall. The soldier was now running toward him heads on. In the midst of all that, Robert suddenly froze. Just as the soldier was on top of him, Michel came to the rescue. He used his sword to cut the attacker in half. Hot red blood came out of his mouth and eyes.

"Thank goodness. I saved you didn't I?" Michel said with a grin. His breath was laboured and his sword was thick in blood. "I almost didn't see you there. We have the wall now, Robert."

"Aye. That we do." Robert replied. In the corner of his eye, he saw a knight in white armor with a burning tower emblazoned in its chest. The knight was rallying the defender for one last push. "It seems that someone is ruining our plan. A Grafton on the wall! He is a fool to come here. He should have stayed behind a barred door. When dusk comes, he shall be with his men." Both of them shouted as the ran to the heart of the defense for the final push.

Their cries split apart the defence, making the Grafton an easy target. The knight dodge Michel's thrust, only to find himself in the way of Robert's blow. The helmet crumpled in a wailing shriek of bludgeoned head. Blood came out of the slits of the helmet. All around the defender stood shocked. Robert could see that they are somehow hoping their commander would wake. Nevertheless, the slumped body of Lord Marq Grafton stand no more. The defenders dropped their weapons in an echoing clang and kneel solemnly to their new ruler.

When it was over, the wall was painted in deep red. The unforgiving summer sun baked the silent town while crows and other carrion began to circle hungrily. The red blood caked every surface of the wall. Smell of death hung low on the wall. The dead Grafton soldiers looked blankly to their city. Their face froze in time when they died. Some screamed silently and some were the look of despair. Blank void seemed to crept in where their soul left empty. They all watched the city. It was their last watch.

Robert stood there among the wreckage he had wrought. His breathing was heavy as adrenaline began to dissipate. He looked around. Each of the dead soldiers seemed to cast an accusing and hateful gaze to him. Robert felt sick. His shoulder was heavy. It was like each of those dead soldier weight was on his shoulder. In the back of his mind, he could hear faint whispers of the dead. Why had you done this? Have you no mercy? It was your fault. Look at us. We are dead because of you.

Robert looked back to the city. The once grey roads and white towers were crimson. Fire and smoke rages below. Somehow his warhammer slipped from his hand, landing in a dull thud.

Postscript : Thank you again for reading and following this journey with me. You are awesome! As always, critiques and suggestions are welcome!