TWELVE : ROBERT (I)

The woman he had falsely known for so long glared up at him, golden hair ruffled and green eyes blazing.

He might have loved her, in another life; one where his sweet Lyanna had never even existed. One where he had never seen her face; cold as frozen steel but bright beneath that, like the sun. But such a thought filled him with sadness, with longing, and hate. And so he paced around his lion wife, waiting for some form of an explanation.

"The children," Ned said from the corner of the cell. "Are they all Jaime's?"

They waited, but not for long. A smug smile spread over Cersei's face. "Yes, thank the gods for it," she said quietly. "Were it not for my brother I would have taken my life long ago—"

"A shame you didn't," Robert growled.

Ned shot him a warning look, but Robert did not care to listen; he was the king, gods curse him, and this whore was his wife. Ned was but a frozen fool who had lived with snow in his ears for too long. "You bitch," he told Cersei. "I could have had so much more than you..."

I could have had her; my northern beauty. My sweet Lyanna. I cannot even remember her true face. I cannot remember the feel of her skin against my own, but I know that it was cold as ice. "Would you take her now, even as a corpse?"

Robert winced. It was too harsh a word for his sweet, soft Lyanna; always smiling, always gentle around her family, and warm at least to him. Be could not remember the instances in which she extended a hand of kindness to him; there was only a memory of a bright young thing, pretty as all else, beaming up at he and Ned as they approached the gates of Winterfell.

Ned, from his corner, took a step forward. He looked much as he had before, then; lean and strong and fierce, the exact opposite of Lyanna, who's skin had been pale like milk and eyes grey and bright. Oh, how he missed her.

"Even in death, you protect her," Cersei observed, tilting her head. Her ratty hair hung around her in strings from the days she had been housed in this cell, which was dark and dank and ripe with the smell of piss. Her brother was in one a floor below, and the Imp in the one across from her. "How foolish you are, Lord Stark."

"Why am I a fool?" Ned demanded. His voice shook. "For loving my sister? For wishing to honour her memory?"

"The bitch is dead, you—"

Robert reached out and struck her, clear across the cheek. He did not care if it was not kingly. He did not care if it was dishonourable. He only cared for Lyanna. "You little wench," he growled down at Cersei. "You shit!"

"She was a corpse and I was a living girl and you loved her more than me!" Cersei wailed. A welt was growing on the side of her face. Robert stepped back, satisfied.

"Oh, honestly, sweet sister," Tyrion leaned forward through the bars of his cell, "you needn't be so dramatic." The little man grinned up at Robert and Ned. "My sister has a tendency to hold grudges. Forgive her. I do, though she has never forgiven me for the death of our mother."

"You're a funny man, aren't you?" Cersei hissed. "A very funny man, oh yes... But none of your jokes will ever match the first, will they? When you tore our mother apart on your way out of her? How I wish you could have seen her body. How I wish you could have lived with the torment of wondering; what does Mama look like now? Has she begun to bloat? Has her skin peeled back from her teeth?"

Tyrion only snorted carelessly. "How imaginative," he muttered, turning around to lean against the rusted iron bars. "I had never known you to be so, sister."

Cersei huffed. Robert felt no sympathy for her, nor anything akin to love. He never had. Cersei had always been righteous, prideful and vain. Not like Lyanna. Never like Lyanna. He hated her because of it.

"Remind me, Lord Stark, Your Grace," Tyrion faced them again, "why am I in this cell? What crime have I committed?"

Ned and Robert eyed him. "You shielded me from the truth, Imp," Robert said. "You told a great many lies."

"Alas, if only that were true," Tyrion grinned. "I had my suspicions, yes, but does one bring suspicions to a King? Especially when they concern his wife and children? No, I'd rather keep my head, I thank you for it."

"You will face the judgement of your father, once he arrives," Ned said.

"I am sure he will be merciful."

With that, Tyrion Lannister slipped out of sight, into the darkness of his iron cell. Robert turned back to Ned and Cersei. "You bore bastards and lied to me about it, you lay with your own brother outside the marriage bed. You connived, schemed, and told falsehoods. For that, I will have no mercy."

His fury was great as he swept out of the jailhouse, footsteps booming against the damp ground and then becoming muffled when they reached the snow. The shadows on the walls were thick and inky; they seemed to stretch, as though groping for light to swallow. Ned followed, ordering one of his guards to lock it up after them. "What of the children?" Ned called.

They ascended the slippery, cold stone steps up to the courtyard. Robert glanced at his old friend. Ned had instructed Robert to be gentle with the Lannister bastards until Cersei confirmed the truth. Finally they had their answer, after a week of beating and questioning on Robert's orders. Ned had been against it all. If you will commit such folly, let it not be under my roof, he had said, where my children sleep - where my people dwell.

Robert had done it anyway, for what could Ned do? Robert was king, and Ned was but a lord under his command. Ah, but perhaps that was arrogant of him. Winterfell belonged to Ned, after all; the man had earned it, and lost much on the way. He at least deserved to know of Robert's plans for the bastards.

"I suppose I could spare their lives," Robert conceded, for once thinking on Ned's words. "But I will never look upon them again. Send the oldest to the Wall."

Ned looked uneasy, but he nodded. "And the remaining Lannisters of your court? Surely they were plentiful; I know that Tywin would have done what he could to properly stake his position within King's Landing."

"Bloody pests," Robert grunted in affirmation. "Her cousin, Lancel, is my squire. Gods, they were all around me, Ned, and I did not even know it." He turned to his old friend, pleading for some reasoning.

Ned ducked his head. "I do not believe they all meant you harm. They were not all conspirators in this, of that I am certain. Perhaps Lancel might be spared? From what I know, the lad is young-"

"Young, and incompetent. Not likely to improve, either. I would remove him from his position."

Ned raised a brow. "And replace him with whom?"

At that, Robert was struck with a sudden, brilliant thought. "Someone loyal to me. Come, Ned. I'll have the whore's head on a spike by nightfall," Robert said flatly.

Ned's eyes widened. Robert almost hit him for that, but the frozen fool spoke before he could. "Your Grace," he said, "Tywin Lannister has already departed from Casterly Rock—"

"I care not," Robert spat. "I will take her head myself, for I am king and my word is law." With that he walked away from his old friend.

The wench was beginning to annoy him, Robert realised. And so he finished quickly, pushing her off of him, exhausted. "Leave," he ordered, shortly. She gathered her skirts and torn corset and scampered out, letting Robert be alone with his thoughts.

He would rid himself of the Lannister cunt before nightfall, he had promised himself of that. And, if the mood struck him, Jaime Lannister as well. The Imp... That was another matter. Robert was not sure of his guilt.

Nonetheless he would keep the little beast imprisoned, as a ward of sorts against Tywin Lannister. That ought to keep the man in line.

Robert rolled out of bed and dressed, on his own. He had no mind for bloody Lancel Lannister dressing him - the lad would be dismissed and out of sight by nightfall. Slowly he slipped into his leathers and strapped a fur coat around his breast, fingers fumbling with the bronze clips.

The halls of Winterfell were vacant, which suited his mood; if Robert were happy, he would have preferred to have seen children laughing and girls giggling, to have Ned by his side. Now he wanted only to be alone on his solitary march.

In the courtyard, Ned was straddled and awaiting him. His sons Jon and Robb were at his side, both looking grim at the business that would be done.

"Your Grace," Ned spoke, "I would advise you one final time not to be rash—"

"Damn your rationality, Ned," Robert growled, furious. It was the Targaryen babes all over again. He sighed heavily and mounted his destrier, a big black thing with hooves as big as two hands side by side.

The gates opened at an agonisingly slow pace. Robert took the time to examine their party; there was he, Ned, his heir, ward, and bastard, a horse-drawn cage which held Cersei and Jamie, and a total of twenty guards. Robert ordered for the number to be doubled.

Ned looked in agony. "Your Grace, surely there is no need—"

"There is every need!" Robert spat. "I'm the bloody king, Ned! I need proper protection! And do you not thing it would suit us to have more hands should the bitch and her shit escape?"

Ned chewed his lip, as he had done many a time when they were young, and then bowed his head. "Your Grace," he finally spoke, "if this is what you must do, then I will have no part in it. Nor will my men." He turned to a thin, dark man beside him. "Jory, round up the soldiers and disperse."

Robert gaped. "Ned! You will come if I order it! I will not do this alone!" He could not.

The warden of the north shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot." He slipped from his horse and handed it off to a squire. Robert felt the beginnings of anger taking root in his gut; coiling and twisting. "You would defy my orders?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Ned stared up at Robert like a wolf considering his prey. Robert did not like the feeling; those cold eyes, so like Lyanna's, nearly paralysed him so deeply he could scarcely breathe, much less speak. "For this, I would," his friend said at last, at least having the decency to sound regretful. "I hope that you change your mind. Robb, Theon, come with me."

Robert, outraged and insulted, yanked his reigns tightly to spin his horse around. "And you do you expect us to find the place, then?!"

"Take Jory," Ned called back, not bothering to look, which was perhaps the greatest insult of them all.

The remaining party rode out, cart bouncing, horses clopping against the cobblestone road of Winter Town. Robert did not smile or wave at these solemn faces that they passed. He did not know them, and it was not his practise to socialise with his subjects.

Robert rode ahead of them all, letting the brisk wind wash over his already ruddy face, feeling it cool him. It was peaceful, here. For a moment the anger in his heart abated. He thought only of Lyanna, of her graceful smile and wondrous grey eyes. How he missed her...

The throne room was silent.

All were quiet as Robert entered, falling to their knees or standing out of disrespect. Robert cared not. He sought only Ned, who stood over two bloodied corpses wrapped in white sheet. His face was grim. Robert wondered what was the matter.

"Ned!" He bellowed, spreading his arms wide. Gods, it was good to see his face. It was good to see any face that was not Rhaegar Targaryen's. Robert could still hear his ribs cracking, could still see his chest caving in; rubies and blood spilling out in all directions. If he closed his eyes he was there.

His friend did not smile back, nor did he return any sort of greeting. Indeed, he only looked up. "Your Grace," he said. "Kings Landing is yours."

Robert winced at the formality in the tone. He waved Ned off. "It always would have been," he told him. "Now, who has died, eh?"

"The Targaryen babes, Your Grace," Ned replied solemnly. He looked sick — a right thing, too; the bodies were mutilated. "Slain by the Mountain That Rides, on the orders of Tywin Lannister."

Robert did not care to notice the disgust in Ned's voice, and instead turned to the man himself; Lord Tywin Lannsiter, in all of his glory; red and gold armour, a lion emblazoned on the chest, and a sword at his side. Beside him were Lords Clegane and Westerling, if Robert assumed correctly. "Congratulations are in order, then, I suppose."

Ned looked horrified. "They were only children, Robert," he whispered, forgetting himself. "Surely you will not reward the man that ordered their demise?!"

Robert only rolled his eyes. He stepped away from the growing pool of blood on the floor and grinned at Tywin. "Always knew you would come through in the end!"

"Yes," Tywin said shortly. "Though, my services were not for nothing, Your Grace; I did, after all, win this city for you and remove any contestants to your throne."

Not all of the contestants, Robert thought grimly; still remains the Targaryen whore and her welp, Viserys. "Well, if you have any suggestions?"

"My daughter, Your Grace," Tywin's blank expression changed to one of absolute confidence. "The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. I would have you marry her."

Robert scowled. A Lannister woman was no match for Lyanna. No one was a match for his winter beauty. No one would ever compare... "As you will it," Robert conceded grimly. "I'll marry the girl. I hope I don't have to wait long?"

"No," Tywin inclined his chin. "She is flowered and ready for a bedding, I assure you."

Robert nodded. "Then we will marry as soon as she arrives," he told the man. "Do not keep me expecting, Tywin."

"No, Your Grace."

Robert turned back to Ned. "This was a necessary business, Ned," he told his friend, who remained appalled. "These bastards—"

"Children," Ned retorted. "Innocent children who did you no wrong. They only existed and so you allow the man who killed them to be rewarded. Not only that, but Elia Martell — who was slighted by her own husband. You rewarded the man that ordered her to have her children killed in front of her — to have her watch, and then be raped. And you call yourself a King?"

Ned was shaking with rage, face white, and so was Robert. "How dare you?" Robert hissed, stepping forward. "You who call yourself my friend, my brother?"

"Innocents," he whispered. "They were innocent."

Robert shook his head. "You deal with the bodies, Lord Stark," he said. "Burn them, bury them, I care not."

He turned his gaze instead to the Iron Throne; a massive thing that must have been thirty feet tall with steel jutting out in every direction. It was imposing, yes, and ugly. It was a shame he would have to climb the thing every day just to sit down.

And yet it was his duty.

The hills were covered in a thin layer of summer snow, as Ned had called it.

Robert dismounted, carefully, and landed on his feet with a firm thump. The grass below bent and ice crunched. Ned's man led Robert to a thick, flat stone. There were runes carved into it — the runes of winter kings, Ned had said once, back when they had been young boys in the Vale. He'd compared them to the runes of Royce when Yohn came to visit.

The Lannister twins were let out of the cage, hands and feet bound tightly with rope. Robert saw, with immense satisfaction, that their wrists were chaffed red and raw. He almost smiled. He would have, if he had not felt so dour.

Jamie was thrown against the rock first, his neck hanging over, while a guard held Cersei tightly in his arms. The woman was crying, screaming at him. "Robert!" She yelled, "Robert, please! He is my brother!"

"Your brother," asked Robert, "or your lover?"

Cersei flushed red. She struggled against the arms of her guard. "I am the Queen!" She screamed. "I demand that you release me!"

A queen she did not look, as she once had. Robert recalled the first time he had seen her; golden head covered in a net of rubies, green eyes glistening. She had admired him, then. Perhaps she had even loved him. It mattered not, for now those eyes were filled with a righteous hate. Her lips were pressed into a thin white line, wet with her tears.

Robert felt no pity for her. He felt no pain or sympathy. No regret. He felt only happiness, at the idea that her joy had finally turned to ashes in her mouth. She was not a queen, anymore. Not by his rule.

"I'll do anything," she whispered.

"You'll die."

Cersei struggled. "What of my sons?" She demanded. "My daughter?!"

"She may be spared," Robert said, "as for the boys, one will join the Watch and the other will become a ward."

Cersei seemed to relax a little. Robert wished then that he had said something different; that he had lied, just to cause her a last torment. She was not Lyanna, and she was no beauty. She was only a broken wench from the Westerlands.

Robert turned his attention to Jaime. "You are a member of the Kingsguard," he said. "Your vows are for life. They will be ending today."

Jaime Lannister made no word of protest. Robert went on. "I, King Robert of the House Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die."

He drew his sword from it's sheath. The metal made a sharp hissing sound that brought a wail from Cersei's lips.

"No! You can't!" She sobbed. "STOP IT! I WILL DESTROY YOU, I SWEAR! I WILL TEAR YOU APART!"

She managed to push herself out of the arms of the guard holding her, who stumbled back, startled. Robert held the sword, and, just before the woman could reach her lover — her brother — he swung downward.

Blood sprayed over the snow.

Robert observed it, feeling little joy suddenly.

Cersei curled into a ball and cried, looking weaker than Robert had ever seen her. Her breath came out in white puffs of air and her torn dress soaked up water and blood. He watched her, and he felt the soreness of his arms.

"Let her mourn," he said. "We will kill her later."

Ned's man, Jory, looked to Robert, then. He saw that the guard was angry; angry and disappointed. Robert gave him a short nod, for he could not bring himself to care, he felt so ill. There was a stickiness to the air, now, which made it hard to breathe. An unnatural warmth.

Robert mounted his horse and rode away.

A.N.: Leave a review, please, on your thoughts regarding this chapter. I thought it was rather fun to write, given I don't often delve into the depths of Robert's mind, so it was an eye-opening experience for me. Also, I wouldn't expect new chapters to be posted less than seven days apart, perhaps more.

And another note: Ashara Dayne is dead. A few of you reviewed saying that you had hopes she would survive, or reunite with Jon, etc., but unfortunately this won't be the case. She's gone, and I do apologise if that wasn't made clear - however, I think most of you gathered it. And I apologise for killing her off, as well! It is necessary for the development of the story, which will all be made clear in due time :)

AN 2: Ned "didn't support" Robert here because he is a man of mercy, and though justice needed to be served, he didn't support Robert and he still won't because doing so would majorly put both himself and his people at risk. Please do remember that this is an AU story, so I reserve the right to change or modify the way a certain character would react or preform in any given situation, and that Ned is a man who, above all else, regards honour and family at the highest. Nothing is more important to him, and putting his family at risk against the wrath of renowned warlord Tywin Lannister is not something he is willing to do. Ned isn't perfect, he doesn't always make the wisest decisions, but I remain sure here that this is what Ned would have done. He wouldn't have taken his children out to watch a woman get murdered. And though he is advising against this, he isn't NOT supporting it. So please, don't freak out, or be disappointed in me. This is my story, and if you don't like where it's headed, you are of no obligation to continue reading.

AN 3: Updated, because of Lancel Lannister, whom I mistakenly threw in, having forgotten his significance.

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