Disillusionment Isn't Just A Magic Trick
Robert I
Myrcella was a sweet child, Robert thought, probably the calmest of his three.
It was likely only because she was small; being two namedays to her brother and sister's eight and seven, but still. In contrast, Joffrey and Rohanne ran riot through the keep.
It was near impossible to lose them due to their constant laughing and screaming and there was only silence during sleep or when mischief was being planned. The part of him that was king knew that he should discipline them – Joffrey was the crown prince and heir to the throne while Rohanne was a princess, one supposed to be ladylike and poised.
But the part of him that had grown up in the Eyrie and ran wild with Ned wanted to let them be children for a while longer. The Seven knew this bloody vipers' nest of a city would suck the life out of them soon enough. Better to let them have their fun now.
Besides it never failed to surprise him how Cersei was such a ruthless harpy but let their children do as they pleased. Every time Rohanne ran past in a dirty gown he kept expecting her to grab the girl and drag her back to her septa – which happened more and more as the girl got older and Cersei got worse, but not nearly as often as it probably should. Admittedly, his girl was good. She kept up with her lessons and remember all her airs and graces when she needed to, which was probably enough to keep his wife happy.
It kept him happy too, although he was the first to admit he made a horrid father.
Robert was many things but he knew that he wasn't fatherly material. Perhaps he could have been at one point – back when he was just the Storm Lord, back with a different woman, the right woman…
He held back a sigh as he thought about her again.
Lyanna was a bittersweet thought that had haunted him every day since her death and likely would until he died and joined her in the grave. She had been lovely. All dark hair and pale skin with the finest blue eyes he had ever seen; the colour of winter roses. And like those winter roses, she had numerous thorns that threatened to prick you bloody – gods she had been a delight.
A preciously unique woman-child who he had been promised to, one who he was eager to see grow and become the woman who would one day become his wife. The woman who he had never gotten to see her become before she had been ripped away from him and carried away by the silver-haired madman. She had been just sixteen when she died, already two years of her that he had never gotten to know – years that the dragon had given her filled with suffering and cruelty.
Ned had never told him exactly how she had died, had simply said it was fever – but Robert wasn't a fool, no matter what anyone may think. Ned had been trying to protect his sister's honour, even in death, something Robert appreciated more than his old friend knew. But he knew what had happened to her; the indignities and abuse that his betrothed had to endure. It wouldn't surprise him if she had been raped to death.
Suddenly he was accosted by that overwhelmingly familiar feeling of bloodlust. It had been almost a decade since he had caved in Rhaegar Targaryen's breastplate and sent him crashing into the Trident with his chest crushed to splinters, but it would never be enough. Robert could replay that glorious moment a thousand times in his head and it would never satisfy his need to avenge her.
"Papa."
Myrcella babbled into his shoulder and he was broken from his violent thoughts by the feeling of her tugging gently on his beard. He gave himself a moment to recover before chuckling uncomfortably and patting her on the head.
"Aye, you're a good lass Myrcella."
It was a damned miracle that the only thing this sweet child got from her mother so far was the blonde curls. Joffrey was already too much his mother's son in every way – Robert didn't like to think about how his son and heir frustrated him, but he supposed there was still time for the child to grow. Rohanne was slightly better – she had his own dark hair and her happy demeanour seemed to light up the room. Yet much like Joffrey, she adored her mother and her king-slaying uncle more than he would like. Sometimes he saw his mother Cassana in her when she smiled and his heart lightened, at least until he caught glimpse of those sly Lannister green eyes and he was brutally reminded of exactly who her mother was. He wasn't meant to be a father to daughters; not a man like him.
No, he couldn't say he loved his children, but he was fond of them and he would care for them as best he could. Perhaps the new one that Cersei was nearly done cooking would be less of a disappointment.
"Excuse me, your grace. The Lord Hand and Lord Varys are requesting your presence in the council chambers." A maid said from the nursery doorway, curtseying politely.
He nodded once and waved his hand at her vaguely.
"Aye, girl. Tell them I'm coming."
She curtsied again and disappeared. Robert sighed and pressed a brief, bristly kiss to Myrcella's forehead. He stood up quickly and passed her over to the waiting nursemaid who nodded in respect as she settled Myrcella on her hip.
"Bye, lass."
"Bah-bah-ee, papa." Myrcella mumbled, her sweet smile constant.
Robert left the nursery promptly, Ser Arys and Ser Meryn falling into step behind him from where the Kingsguard had been standing on duty by the door. The near constant presence of the white cloaks was suffocating. He barely got a moment's peace; he wasn't left alone even to shit. It was enough to drive him to distraction – even over a decade of practice hadn't endeared him to them.
But that decade had given him some semblance of patience – for he didn't say a word as he strode along the corridors of the Red Keep. Servants and nobles alike bowed or curtsied in respect but he barely acknowledged them, preferring to get to the council chambers as quickly as possible. He didn't know why Jon insisted on his presence at some of these – wasn't it the Hand's bloody job to run the kingdom?
Nothing bored him faster than listening to Varys or his damned brother Stannis drone on about some unimportant matter or another.
He walked swiftly into the vast, empty throne room; glancing that the giant painful monstrosity in the centre. Gods but sometimes he regretted putting his arse on it. If he had known what was to come he'd have hightailed it back to Storm's End in a blink and left the damned thing to Ned. But even now it was a form of revenge. Rhaegar took Lyanna but Robert took the throne that was meant to be his.
He couldn't bring himself to regret that part. Anything that might have caused that bastard pain brought him joy, true enough.
The two Kingsguard positioned themselves to either side of the door. Jon Arryn and the Spider were sitting close to the head of the table, deep in discussion when he entered the council chambers. There were two cups of wine between them – where Jon's was half empty, Varys' was full. There were a great many things about the Spider that he mistrusted and the fact that the man avoided wine entirely was one of them. The eunuch was a strange one indeed.
Both men noticed his arrival and stood to greet him, bowing as he sat at the head of the table and seating themselves once more.
"Your grace, I trust you are well?" Varys said, sliding his hands into his sleeves. Gods but his voice was as slimy as the rest of him.
Robert sneered but nodded curtly.
"Aye, fine. Shall we get to the point of why you called me here?"
Jon and Varys shared a look. Varys leaned back into his chair after inclining his head to Jon, who took a deep breath.
"There's been some news from across the Narrow Sea, your grace. It seems that Viserys Targaryen and his sister have been spotted in Volantis."
Robert spat to the side and grunted.
"The question is, your grace, what would they be doing there? My little birds have confirmed that they have long since worn out their welcome with most of the noble families in the free cities, the Tigers and the Elephants in Volantis included. Their Valyrian blood maybe have won them support for a small time after your grace ascended to the throne, but it does not win them charity. No one has any desire to host the last Targaryens any longer." Varys said, ending with a absent flick of his hands before they once again settled back into his wide sleeves.
"It is believed, your grace, that they have been reduced to… living on the mercy of others." Jon said delicately.
Jon flinched slightly when Robert burst into booming laughter, yet Varys remained unperturbed.
"They're beggars, you mean! Ha! A fitting end for the last two dragonspawn. With any luck the streets will swallow them up." Robert said, pouring himself a glass of wine and gulping half of it with relish.
"Does your grace intend to do something about this?" Varys asked.
Robert glowered at him. "Such as? They're just brats."
"They are a threat to your grace's rule…"
Robert spat again and coughed in disbelief.
"A boy not yet a man and a little girl are no threat to me, dragonspawn or no. And now they're on the streets, it won't be long before the boy ends up dead in a gutter. Viserys' madness will consume him and the girl will end up in a brothel long before she ever returns to Westeros. No."
Robert swigged his wine again, savouring the bitter Dornish red and finishing the glass.
"The time of the dragons is over - let them starve to death."
Varys and Jon looked at one another again but said nothing more.
"Very well, your grace. There is another matter however, regarding the Citadel. The archmaester-"
The door opened and one of Cersei's ladies – the only one that wasn't a fucking Lannister – curtsied.
"Forgive me the disturbance, your grace, my lords. The grand maester sent me. Her grace the Queen has begun her labour."
Jon and Varys turned to Robert immediately to offer their congratulations, but Robert's mind turned to something else completely.
"Fetch my squire, girl. We're going on a hunt."
His stallion's hooves pounded the paving stones as he rode triumphantly back towards the Red Keep. His catch, a muscled monster of a stag, was draped over the back of the one of the other horses with no rider. Stannis rode alongside him, the look on his face likely to curdle milk while young Renly rode behind them both, laughing loudly at something Robert's squire had said to him.
What a pair of brothers I have, Robert thought derisively. A sour faced git and an idiot. Neither of them were the brothers he was supposed to have, nothing like Ned had been with Brandon and Benjen Stark. Nothing like Ned had been either – of them, Ned was more a brother than his own blood.
He glanced once more at Stannis, taking in the man's dead eyes and pursed mouth. It was difficult to recall that the man had a young daughter and a wife at home. He'd be more suited to the life of a stern maester than a damned lord.
They rode into the stables where Robert vaulted off his horse. He yanked off his gauntlets and his cloak before tossing them at his squire who scrambled to catch them.
"Take these, lad!"
He marched into the keep as he removed pieces of his armour, handing them one by one to his panting squire, chuckling deeply when the boy almost dropped them all.
"Don't drop them, idiot boy!" He shouted, grinning when the boy jumped and nodded frantically.
"Yes, your grace! Of course." He stuttered, trying to organise his load into a stacked bundle. Robert was not making it easy for it.
"Stop torturing the boy, your grace." Jon said as Robert turned a corner, a smile growing.
Robert laughed and smacked Jon hard on the shoulder.
"He'd be an even shitter squire if I didn't!" He said as it turned to the young lad. "Off with you now boy. Go and get that stag to the butcher."
The squire bowed twice, his arms full.
"Aye, your grace. Of course, your grace."
He darted off towards the stables again.
"After you put my armour away!" Robert bellowed after him.
The squire spun on the spot, almost tripping into a passing laundrymaid, and sprinted up the stairs like demons were after him. Robert howled in laughter before hitting Jon's shoulder again.
"Idiots, the lot of them. I don't remember being so damned stupid at that age, I can tell you."
Jon inclined his head as they began to walk.
"Which family is this squire from?" Jon asked.
"Not a fucking clue. Not the Lannisters at least, so he'll do." Robert laughed again and shook his head. "I'm surrounded by them Jon. Everywhere I look I see their shit blond heads and devious eyes."
Jon didn't reply to that.
"Well, your grace, you have one more Baratheon in the Red Keep. A healthy prince."
Robert stopped for a moment but his shock quickly turned into a proud smile and they continued.
"A boy, eh? Good, good. We menfolk were outnumbered for too long."
"Her grace the Queen has named him Tommen, your grace?" Jon said.
Robert scratched his beard. "Aye, that's one of the names we chose. That or Lyonel."
"Good, strong names, your grace."
"Tommen will do. I'll head on up to see the lad now." Robert said, as a frown grew on his face. "Where's the Kingslayer?"
"I believe Ser Jaime is currently guarding the children in the nursery, your grace, although Ser Barristan would be able to tell you with surety." Jon said, slowly down as they climbed the stairs.
Even for a fit young man, the stairs of the Red Keep were a daunting task. Robert himself could feel his lungs starting to burn – although he knew he wasn't as fit as he used to be. The gods knew he couldn't be sitting on a damned chair all the time.
Robert turned to Ser Mandon who was trailing silently behind him alongside Ser Boros.
"One of you lot fetch the Kingslayer to the throne room. Tell him to wait there."
He turned around again and proceeded up the stairs, not caring which one went.
At the door to Cersei's chambers, Ser Barristan was standing watch.
"Your grace, my congratulations on the new prince." Ser Barristan said with a small smile on his face and bowing when Robert got closer.
Robert nodded in acknowledgement before gesturing towards the room. Ser Barristan knocked on the door and called through.
"Your grace, his grace the King has arrived."
"Of course, Ser Barristan." Cersei said faintly through the door.
Robert opened and closed the door behind him without further delay. She lay on the bed, hair precisely fixed and not a mark on her face. Every so often Robert needed to ruffle those perfect feathers because when he didn't, it felt like he was married to a statue.
The baby lay wrapped in blankets in her arms and he could hear him huffing from across the room.
Robert stood to the side of her and Cersei revealed his face. When he saw the fair hair on Tommen's head his eyes narrowed. She'd given him yet another blond lion. The wave of displeasure was strong and his regard for the child soon melted away.
"I thought to name him Tommen." She said, her voice just as conceited as it always was.
Gods but he detested this woman, the mother of his children. What did that say about him? More importantly, what did that say about the shrew sitting next to him?
"Aye, it'll do."
She looked up to him calmly, her face open and seemingly guileless.
"Does he please you, husband?" She said, her tone hopeful.
Cersei's face was open and seemingly guileless but Robert could taste the ripe flavour of insincerity on his tongue. It was all he could do to keep his face blank.
He reached out and stroked Tommen's head for a moment, ignoring when she made motions to give him the baby.
"He does."
Robert stepped away from the bed and watched as Cersei's face turned to stone. Her eyes were icy and her lips were turning white from how hard she was pressing them together.
He gave the sleeping baby one last glance. Any curiosity he had felt for Tommen vanished into cool disinterest and he left the room.
The Kingslayer was waiting by the steps to the Iron Throne. His white cloak was pristine and his armour gleamed in the candlelight. Blond hair curled perfectly along the nape of his neck and his slanted green eyes shifted across everything. He seemed unbothered by the summons, blinking lazily like the bloody lion on his family's banners.
Gods, Robert hated the pretentious prick.
The two Kingsguard following him took up post on either side of the throne as Robert paused for a moment beside the Kingslayer and gestured mockingly to the large iron chair.
"Don't let me stop you, Kingslayer."
"Apologies, your grace, but I have to decline. I tried it once, but in truth I couldn't see the appeal." He said smoothly, bowing his head in some parody of respect.
Robert almost growled as he climbed up the stairs and sat down on the throne.
"Careful, Kingslayer."
He bowed his head again. "Forgive me, your grace."
Robert's eyes narrowed but he decided to let it go. The Kingslayer loved to play word games, desperate to prove himself the cleverest in the room. He didn't say anything for a long time, glaring at the honourless knight in search of a reaction. The Lannister didn't seem at all disturbed, waiting for his king to speak.
"Well, Lannister? Aren't you going to congratulate me on the birth of my son?"
"Congratulations on the birth of your son, your grace." He said immediately, his tone blatantly hollow.
Robert grinded his teeth, his fist clenching.
"Gods, but you are a smug shit, aren't you, Kingslayer?"
The tension in the hall was palpable. Finally, he got a reaction, but before either of them could speak again they were interrupted.
"No, Joff, don't!" Rohanne shouted from the open door, her voice wavering.
She seemed to be sobbing as Joffrey ran into the room, carrying something wrapped in a cloth in his arms. Her braided hair had been pulled loose and there was a dark smear along the front of her yellow dress, but in the faint light, Robert couldn't see what it was.
"Shut up, Ro! You're such a baby, I want to show father!" Joffrey replied, slowing to a fast walk but continuing straight towards the throne.
"No, Joff, you can't. He won't like it and it's bad!" She screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks.
The Kingslayer glanced at Robert before walking towards Rohanne. He crouched down to her level and said something to her. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand, saying something back as she leaned into her uncle's shoulder.
Joffrey had stopped in the middle of the room, unsure, but Robert impatiently gestured him forwards.
"Come here and show me, boy."
The Kingslayer stood up as Joffrey did as he was told. His lips were pursed and his eyebrows rose as Rohanne finished saying something through her weeping.
"Your grace, perhaps-"
"Shut up, Kingslayer, and make that girl be quiet."
Joffrey stopped at the foot of the throne and Robert stepped down to meet him. He crouched next to the boy and patted him on the shoulder.
"Come on now lad, let's see what you have."
It was only when Joffrey began to unwrap whatever was in his arms that Robert noticed the crimson stains on the boy's hands. Rohanne had yet to stop crying even as the Kingslayer tried to comfort her. Abruptly he dreaded what was under the cloth, but nothing could have prepared him for it.
Something small and pink rolled onto the floor, covered in blood. It was hairless and barely formed but Robert could clearly see it was supposed to be a kitten. He roughly pulled the rest of the cloth from the boy and shook it. His stomach turned when two more small bodies fell to the polished marble with a wet splat, followed by a bloody and battered mouser. The cat's innards slopped out as well, landing half over the dead kittens and some of the fluid splashed onto Robert's breeches.
He turned a vicious glare onto Joffrey who seemed to wither under his father's eye.
"What in the Seven hells is this, boy!?" He snapped, throwing the bloody cloth across the room.
Joffrey quivered. "I-it's the kitchen cat, father. The cook said that it was having kittens like mother was having Tommen, and I wanted to see inside."
Rohanne's crying got louder as her brother finished, and she started stammering out apologies.
"I'm so-orry, father, I… I tried to sto-op him but I couldn't and then the cat was dead and her kittens and there was blood all over the floor and-!" She said, unable to finish and it dawned on Robert what the dark smear on her dress was.
Rage surged through him and he backhanded Joffrey hard across the face. Rohanne fell immediately silent and in the silence a small ping was heard as two of Joffrey's top front teeth flew across the throne room.
Joffrey fell to the floor, holding his face with trembling hands and staring up at his giant father with wide eyes. Blood began to trickle between his fingers but Robert did not have it in him to feel any kind of remorse. He had been far too lax with Joffrey. He could see that now.
"What kind of beast are you, boy?" He roared.
Robert was unable to even think how any son of his could do things like this. How had he fathered such a little monster? Revulsion welled in his stomach.
Joffrey whimpered when Robert moved towards him, shrinking back.
"Get out of my sight!"
Joffrey stumbled to his feet and bolted outside. Robert looked after him for a moment before he looked over to his other child.
Rohanne's entire body was shaking. She had one hand clamped over her mouth and the other fisted in the Kingslayer's cloak, leaning into the man's side. The Kingslayer's face was stormy, but he ignored the man in favour of his terrified daughter.
Robert sighed and rubbed his eyes. He held out a reassuring arm towards her.
"Come here, lass."
She was completely still for a moment. Then she twitched violently and ran, avoiding the Kingslayer's hand. For the first time in her life, she disobeyed him.
Rohanne rushed out of the heavy wooden doors without looking back. He didn't shout after her.
A.N. Only one more prologue chapter to go, and then we are onto the main chapters - next Friday's installment will be from Cersei's point of view once more. We'll be much closer to the main storyline as well, Joffrey and Rohanne will be teenagers the next time we meet them. I hope you enjoyed this and I appreciate any feedback, as always.