Lord Renly Baratheon

The Stormlords had looked askance at him when he'd ordered them to march with him into the Reach, they'd not protested of course, but he could tell they wanted to address the Vulture King instead of the problems of the Tyrells. That had angered him, did they not understand that some peasant rebelling was not as big an issue as the Florents and their allies rebelling? He'd cajoled them into forming their hosts and riding out to fight. By the time they'd gotten into the Reach, they'd learned that Lord Tarly was fighting off a serious infection from wounds he'd taken fighting the Southern Riverlords, and that Lord Tyrell had barricaded himself in Highgarden whilst his sons fought the Florents and their allies.

They'd ridden as quickly as they could, beating a scouting party Florent had sent out, and now they were here, fighting the traitors. Loras was at his side, glorious in his armour. Renly wore his golden armour, and was preparing to show that he too could fight. Whilst his brother fought with a Warhammer, he fought with a sword, and he was doing some damage to the fools who had decided siding with the Florents was the smart thing to do. He estimated that there was some four thousand of the Florents men there, whilst another three thousand were further north, fighting near the streams. Renly knew that when this was done he would have to speak with his lords, he didn't want them thinking he'd abandoned the Stormlands, but with Loras so worried he'd done what he'd had to.

The enemy was spread out near the Cockle water, taunting them, their banners flying proudly across the whole ground, the battlefield. Ser Meryn Trant, a terrible commander but a decent fighter was at his side, also, the knight of the Kingsguard assigned for his protection. It seemed the man wanted to make a name for himself more than he wanted to actually protect Renly, what with how often he disappeared. The man would reappear now and then his sword stained red, his armour caked in mud, but then he'd disappear all over again and so it went. Renly tended to ignore that, he would fight, he knew how to defend himself. His sword had taken a fair few lives already. But this fighting business was tiring, he was beginning to think that perhaps they should've tried the diplomatic process instead of rushing headlong into the fighting.

Renly laughed at that, it was too late to think about such things now, the fighting had already started. They would have to keep going, fighting until Florent surrendered, or was killed. He did not think Florent's son would have the guts to keep fighting if his father died. From what Loras had told him and from what he himself had observed during his visits to the Reach, Alekyne Florent was very much in favour of peace over war. Renly hoped to exploit that, and also find out just who had provided the Florents with their wealth. They had been fighting for a few moons now, and with their lands being so heavily damaged during the fighting, he was surprised they'd been able to keep going like this. He suspected foul play, perhaps if he brought more than just Florent with him, Robert would forgive him this lapse in judgement.

Someone swung at him and he managed to duck the blow, he jabbed and parried and then jabbed again, the man whoever he was disappeared quickly enough. Renly looked through the fog of battle for Loras, and found his lover in all his glory hacking and cutting down men by the dozen. Renly spent some time admiring the man at work, Loras was a year older than Renly's nephew and he was a much better fighter in Renly's opinion he was aesthetically pleasing to look at, unlike Jon who was nothing more than a brute with a hammer. Renly thought over his lover's words the night before they'd left for war again, he knew that Robert had done his best for the realm, but Renly was not convinced that Jon would be able to manage the realm once Robert died. Even though the boy was going to be married to Margaery, Renly knew he would not listen to the girl or to him, and therefore perhaps it would be better to bring someone to the throne who would listen. Someone who knew common sense and not some sort of posturing. His nephew Tommen was a smart boy, if a bit shy, but that could be taught out of him over time.

He saw Meryn Trant fall, his body caked in blood and mud, Renly barked orders and the ranks closed around him. Loras came back to him, panting, but otherwise unhurt. They looked at one another and nodded, Renly raised his sword and as one his host swept through, removing the restraints they'd put on themselves, they cleaned the men of Florent's army before them, using their strength, the fact that they weren't as tired as the Florents so clearly were to destroy them. Florent's army struggled. Men were brushed down, or drowned or simply put down their weapons and accepted death as it came for them. Slowly but surely more of Florent's commanders put down their weapons and kneeled accepting death. Renly suspected that his brother would reprimand him for that, but they had worried Loras and therefore they had to die.

They found Lord Florent's body, stripped naked and cut in half, his son standing over it, a vacant expression on his face. Alekyne surprised them, he refused to surrender and so took the blow to that ended his life and made Tarly and his family the new rulers of Brightwater Keep. Renly sighed and ordered the rest of the Florent leadership put to death, watching without a care that they pleaded for their lives. He rode to Highgarden and met with the Tyrells and was celebrated as a hero. The sex that night with Loras was something else.

King Robert I Baratheon

They rode through the dirt and the mud, the men's spirits were upbeat, though the memories of the peasants that had been killed still haunted a great many of them. Robert had knighted his son and heir, and had kept a close eye on the boy, to make sure he did not suffer through some of the effects that Robert knew were common amongst those who had experienced their first battle. He remembered how he had felt at Summerhall, he'd been twenty then, far older than Jon and he'd vomited for days afterwards, trying to keep the stench of the decaying bodies out of his mouth and his nose. So far, Jon had held up well, keeping things in place and commanding respect from everyone, Robert was proud.

Robert knew that when all was said and done here, he would need to think about what had caused this whole thing to happen in the first place. He would summon Doran Martell to King's Landing and demand that he explain why he'd been so lax in ensuring that the Vulture King did not gather so many followers. He found that Martell was nowhere near as reliable as he had first been, there was clearly something going on there which needed to be addressed. He would also need to address the situation with the Florents, no doubt he would need to have them executed or sent to the wall. Giving Tarly or Stannis Brightwater Keep would disrupt things far too much. Axell Florent had no children, but was a man Robert trusted having fought alongside him during an earlier war. He would make a good Lord.

The scouts came back then, and reported on their findings. Robert looked at Jon and his son nodded. Robert watched as his son rode off to fight the initial party of the Vulture King's host. As he waited, Robert thought over the other Vulture Kings that there had been. One had risen during the reign of Aenys the Weak, the son of the Conqueror, he had been defeated by Robert's ancestor Orys One Hand. Then there had been the second Vulture King who had risen during the reign of Daeron the Good. He had been some noble, of a lesser sort, who had grown tired of bending to the dragons, perhaps he had sought influence with the Blackfyres. He had caused quite some damage before Dondarrion, Caron and Manwoody had put an end to him. Yet his uprising had highlighted something to Daeron the Good, there had been too great an influence of the Dornish at his court, but before the man could act on that he had died, and his second son had come to the throne. The bookish Aerys who had given a bastard power as Hand of the King.

Robert shook his head as he saw a rider galloping toward him. "What news?" he demanded.

The man took a moment to catch his breath then said. "He's here, Your Majesty." Robert nodded, and spurred his horse forward, Ser Barristan and Ser Borros followed, as did the rest of the army. They'd brought some eight thousand men with them, and now they were going to see how well they could fight. They came through the march and found the fighting fierce. Jon was there, his red plume and black armour making him stand out. He was fighting three men. Robert smiled, his son was a great fighter. He gave the command and they charged down into the field, fighting their way through the peasants, the entire army that this so called King had brought were peasants, that had to be a deliberate move. Robert killed his own subjects and sighed. This would not end well.

The enemy kept coming and Robert kept swinging his war hammer, very few of them got their weapons to hit him, those that did hit him hard, and he winced from pain. Yet he kept going, through the tide ensuring that things remained strong. Eventually he was face to face with the Vulture King. The man rode on horseback and worse some sort of mask, half bird, half demon. The man did not speak, but instead charged. They both wielded hammers. Their hammers clanged off one another, Robert managed to dance back. But he was followed by this man with a mask on his face. They struck one another and Robert could feel his body beginning to cave. He fought back.

The Vulture King was a tough opponent, Robert would give him that, but Robert had fought and defeated more men that this peasant had fought. Their hammers clashed and then the hammer of the vulture King was removed, and Robert broke the man again and again until he stopped moving. It was as if something stopped then, the fighting broke, the peasants broke and ran or threw down their weapons, and Robert? Well he was not sure what happened, but one moment he was there, off his horse, the next the world went black.

He awoke in his tent, his head ringing, people were gathered around him. "What happened?" He asked.

His son came forward then, dressed head to toe in black, like some sort of black prince. "You killed the Vulture King and then you fainted. I'm not sure."

Ebrose was there, the maester he'd chosen from the citadel. "Your Majesty is ill, you must not move." He could barely see, but he could still hear.

"Ah, come off it, we all know I am going to die." Robert said. Nobody said anything in response which was all the confirmation he needed. "Ser Barristan." He said, the knight came forward. "Grab quill and paper, and prepare to write." The knight did as he was bid. The pain was searing now, he could see his mother and father, beckoning to him. "I, Robert, of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of Westeros, do hereby name and confirm as my heir Jon, my firstborn son of the House Baratheon. He shall be succeeding in my land and my throne and title. I leave to him the kingdom, and its wealth. He shall rule without a regent, as recognised by those gathered here." The knight wrote and the lords gasped, he laughed. "To my wife, I leave my diamonds, and the treasury of Asshai. To my son Tommen I leave my sword and my lands in Crackclaw Point. To my daughter I leave seven hundred thousand dragons. To my children Joanna and Joffrey, I leave the oaken fist." He was getting tired now. He cleared his throat. And the paper was presented to him alongside his seal, he affixed it and then beckoned his son. Jon kneeled before him. "You will face a realm torn into war. You must heal it, my boy. Listen to your mother and to your councillors. And tell your mother, tell her I'm sorry." His son murmured something, but Robert couldn't hear him. "I love you son, and remember, you are the King now. Act like one."

"I promise." His son said.

Robert coughed, father was beckoning him. "The King is dead, Long Live the King." He said as he laughed, his body gave way then.