ROBERT I

THE KING Strode ahead on long legs covered in fine leather greaves. Either side of the trenches snaking about Meander held soldiers loyal to the crown-

His crown.

Robert frowned darkly, lowering his head and looking to the ground underneath him.

A light rain had started a few moments ago, common for the region during this particular phase of the moon.

His generals had told him as much- told him that Jofferét's advance was foolish due to the low visibility.

Was I to abandon my own son? The boy has seven thousand men to his command.

Robert shook his head angrily, long black hair striking against fat and red cheeks.

He drank the night before- he shouldn't have. He knew that.

But how could he not?

Robert- he wanted to kick something, hurt something-

What am I doing here?

I fought and bled my war already, for fuck's sake.

As always, Rhaegar's dying face creased across Robert's headaches.

The King remembered how kind Rhaegar had been to him, all those years ago when they were children. They met sparsely, but enough to grow familiar.

Rhaegar never wronged Robert, not once.

The King paused, stepping into a puddle intermixed with water and mud.

Robert felt the distant kiss of cold upon his feet, despite the boots he wore. The sensation brought him back- as it always did, to that day, that day by the river.

The King turned his aggressions towards none but the trench laid bare before him.

The trench gifted a procession of skeletal soldiers loyal to name and coin. They addressed Robert correctly, granting him m'lord and 'My King' as he passed. Some didn't, however. He noticed these individual ones more than anything. He saw how wide and still their eyes were, how their breath barely formed into mist that was carried by cooling fall winds.

Robert rolled aching shoulders, while caressing the biceps hidden by his armored dressings. He was tired, but the feeling of strength, the amoral sensation of superiority... the thrill of war. It goaded him further. It was... the only thing Robert had left.

It was butcher's work, yes.

It was the one aspect of Kingship that Robert excelled in.

Robert continued through the trenches. It was midday, though a certain darkness settled amongst them. There had been a four day lull in the fighting, and Robert could hear the cautious chirps of singsong birds as they tentatively returned to half-burned trees. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, corpsemen ferrying bodies from the frontline trenches to the reserve lines, collecting bodies to be burned. This too, was a necessity.

Disease had claimed the forces under House Buckler some weeks ago, resulting in the loss of nearly a thousand men. Robert decreed that bodies within the trenches were to be burned, and those sick quarantined outside of the reserve camps.

Seven FUCKING hells.

Robert's thoughts swarmed within his head, pain pounding about throbbing temples. His forces won an engagement at Acorn Hill against the scion of House Qoherys, Abhruien. The Smallfolk had begun calling Abhruien the Fox, due to his ability to slip between Robert's frontlines, and wreak havoc on tersely defended supply camps. Abhruien and the damned Blackfish had dictated the tempo of the war for the past six months, with the Blackfish capturing Duskendale and thus, securing the East from Robert.

Despite defeating Abhruien's vanguard forces, the rebel Lord and the majority of his nobles escaped.

Jofferét... the fool... chased Abhruien far into rebel territory, realizing too late that it was a trap. The trap... was here, the fort of Meander.

Robert trudged onwards, his boots sinking into mud. He followed the trenches until he reached the main command tents, the only sector of the sprawling siege camp that had retained a sense of organization and cleanliness. The tent was on a raised hill, numerous other temporary structures fanning outwards from it. Armored and uniformed men traveled about the command sector, while supply ships lingered in the air far in the distance.

It was quiet here, too. Many of the Lords and their officers knew that the situation was grim, and a certain unspoken knowing had penetrated these secure areas as well. No dead lingered the paths here, but the sensation that their relative safety could be forfeit in a moment's notice was nearly palpable.

Robert sighed heavily, grunting as he walked up the small but steep hill containing the main command. He turned slightly, and saw Fort Meander looming above it all. Due to the fog it was dark, and the typical flashes of rifle fire were absent- though a corroding dread seemed to roll from the gigantic fortification, accomplishing more in terms of hurting the morale of Robert's men than any assault.

Two armed men nodded towards Robert. One of them moved slightly, his armor clinking as he moved the tent's flapping mouth open for the King.

A large table stretched from the mouth of the tent all the way to its rear. On either side chairs waited, some filled, some empty. Numerous Lords spoke with each other, but quickly fell silent upon realizing they were in the presence of their King.

Robert coughed, taking a seat at the head of the table.

A map hugged the table's wood, tiny figurines denoting the positions of their enemies and allied forces loyal to the crown. Robert's eyes were drawn to Jofferét's tiny effigy, anger brewing within the King's wide chest. From there, Robert saw her.

Alauinel Snow was seated on the right side of the table, directly in front of the tiny figures that marked where Jofferét and his army were, alongside with the rebel lords that had begun to amass their forces around Robert's wayward son.

If he hadn't advanced we could have negotiated terms. A ceasefire- not for too long, but long enough to secure proper reinforcements and supplies.

Alauinel's bright blue eyes met Robert's then. The Lady Bastard smiled. She bowed her head in respect, to which Robert averted his gaze.

If she wasn't so strange, she would almost be comely. She had a prominent and aquiline nose, paired with a small mouth and thick lips. Her skin was fair, with dark hair falling onto a black tunic. She led both the Bolton forces, and the feeble levies sent here by Lord Stark. Robert... he wished Ned were here instead.

However, he dared not call upon his friend. After Robert's war, Winterfell was severely depleted in terms of manpower. What forces Eddard had left were needed to ensure control of the north, especially when faced with the Hollene Boltons. Alauinel had been instrumental, however. Her aptitude for war seemingly increased since the Greyjoy rebellion-

Further, her forces... her lords, officers, and even levies composed of smallfolk...

Were by far the most experienced men called upon by Robert's heed. They faced Riverland rebels who were honed to the core- over a century of infighting resulted in them becoming a bulwark against the Crown's advances, despite their relative disadvantage in terms of technology and resources. Robert did look at Alauinel again, seeing now that the girl was playing with the figurine marking the position of the Blackfish's forces, emerging from a belt of beautifully drawn trees, diagonal from Jofferet's position.

The war room was silent.

They discussed something before my arrival Robert realized.

Finally, one of the senior Lords broke the quietness of the crypt they all found themselves within.

"Your Grace," Caohen Lannister started. He was seated at the left of the table and stood, bowing before Robert. Caohen then sat, folding the cape he wore at his shoulders into a blanket that covered armored thighs.

Robert would have preferred Tywín, but Caohen was brilliant in his own right. Caohen lacked the ruthlessness of his brother, however he was of sound military mind, and Robert hated to admit that without Caohen and Alauinel, the siege would have been decided long ago.

Robert nodded, waving his hand absentmindedly.

"What news of the frontlines? The western trenches have been secured- I have seen to that personally." Robert said gruffly.

Caohen glanced towards Alauinel.

The girl paused, drawing her hand back from the Blackfish's figurine on the map.

Silence took the tent once more.

"Have you word, Ramsay?" Robert asked delicately, sure not to agitate the young woman.

Alauinel leaned forward, her hair now pooling onto the map itself. Her bright blue eyes seemed to glow, and she curled her mouth into a small smile.

"Two nights ago... I sent a detachment of sixty men to scout the northern trenches. Twenty eight of them returned. A night ago, I sent a smaller force... of... about thirty.. I believe.. To the same location." Ramsay started.

She rose from the table, quickly and awkwardly. The other Lords were silent, giving her a respect rarely ceded to bastards.

Robert felt a further tinge of annoyance. He lost many experienced Lords during his rebellion. The forces directly under his control were made up of successors, green nobles alien to the art of war. The best of the Crown's troops were kept to Rosby- with Duskendale in the Blackfish's hands, the Riverlanders were precariously close to the heart of the Stormlands. They would more than likely never overextend themselves, but at the same time it meant that Rosby could not be left to its own devices.

If Jofferét had not advanced to Meander... Robert and the rest of his loyalists would be free to navigate around the Blackfish and free Duskendale.. Now however..

Ramsay Snow walked about the table, looming over seated Lords. She reached between two of them, pointing towards the map men bled and died upon.

"The smaller force... returned with about seventeen men this morning. Abhruien... and the local kings here, King Hartefay... King Wode, and King Blackwood..." Ramsay pointed to each of the King's figures as she spoke.

"They...are actively preparing for an assault on our northern positions. Their vigor... it seems to be spurred by the Blackfish. I believe.. He has left Duskendale."

Lord Bryce Caron laughed, shaking his head.

"We have discussed this at length, far before you arrived, Your Grace," Bryce said, facing Robert.

"Brynden would not leave Duskendale now-"

Alauinel paused. She stared at Lord Caron, face unmoving.

Lord Caron chuckled, glancing at the Lords nearest to him-

No words were uttered- a gust of wind roused against the tent, air whipping loudly against cloth.

Lord Caron squirmed uncomfortably, then opened his mouth to speak-

Just as Ramsay Snow seemed to wake from her trancelike gaze.

"Duskendale was a major victory. Brynden...is no fool- he...he... is not going to advance. This... Blackfish... secured what he needed- namely, a position crucial for our resupply, forcing us to use other routes to circumvent his forces. The key... has been moved here, to Meander." Ramsay Snow whispered carefully.

Lord Caron was unfazed by Lady Snow's answer.

"And what assurance have you of this? You spend your days skinning birds, drinking milk. You demand curiosities at the cost of our supplies-"

Ramsay smiled.

"A force of seven hundred northern men... they are embedded within Jofferét's forces. The last word I received from them.. Stated that the Riverlanders were able to fire upon their positions with rifles, a...queer development, one unnoticed by most. However, we here.. Realize that riverland arms typically do not have the range necessary for such attacks. Their weapons are old, and outdated. And yet.."

Caohen Lannister placed both of his hands upon the table.

"Brynden took Duskendale. We were distracted by Abhruien's attacks upon our supply lines, and ignorant of the fact that the rebels are using small streams and tributaries to reinforce their positions, and further, distribute supplies amongst their men." The Lannister's blue eyes regarded Ramsay for a moment, before meeting King Robert's gaze.

"It seems he has resupplied much of the Meander front with the weapons he stole." Caohen said.

Robert furrowed his brows, a sensation eerily close to despair building up within his heart.

It would make sense. If they are using Crown arms, their ammunitions are dependent on what was scavenged from Duskendale, and due to the range of said rifles... the Blackfish no doubt sent detachments of fresh, newly armed men to secure the trenches closest to Meander.

"As Lady Snow stated, Brynden wouldn't advance from Duskendale. That would be a deathtrap- the visibility he is taking advantage of here is not present further west. He is mounting forces around Meander, though careful not to break our siege." Caohen's eyes fell upon the map as he spoke.

"And why would he not?" Lord Caron questioned.

Alauinel- or rather, Ramsay, laughed softly. She continued her march around the wartable.

"Breaking the siege here would result in a defeat- or a victory at the cost of valuable men. He is biding his time. With his capture of Duskendale, the Blackfish seems to have been able to court the very same Kings we attempted to encourage to our side. They are using this time to prepare. An assault on the fortress means we use forces defending our northern supply trains... an action that can go unpunished by our enemy for no longer than a week, maybe less." Ramsay stated.

She raised her head, glancing over to Robert with those strange blue eyes.

"You...You are no stranger to war, Your Grace." Ramsay began simply.

Robert could do nothing but nod in agreement.

Alauinel Snow snaked around the war table's long bend, inching closer to Robert.

"We have two choices. We... abandon Jofferét to his fate, and pull back to Acorn Hill. This is the decision that will result in us retaining the...the...relative momentum you gave us... though.. I know you are loathe to... abandon your Prince." Ramsay stopped just short of Robert, before turning her back to him.

"They most likely would not kill the Prince. They...They... would use him to negotiate. However, his capture would have a rather... succinct effect upon the morale of the men."

Robert flared his nostrils, thinking.

Seven. Fucking. Hells.

"What is our second choice?" Robert asked steely.

Ramsay Snow spoke as she returned to her seat at the wartable.

"We attack Meander. Though the goal is not to take it- committing... to a proper siege would leave our supply trains exposed to the Blackfish waiting in the forests. We launch a two pronged assault, across the northern trenches and the east... relieve the Prince, and then draw back through our trenches, moving the frontline to the west, which you have secured."

Lord Caron guffawed, his laugh venomous.

"An action that would result in the deaths of thousands of men. Men who have proven loyal to us."

Ramsay grinned.

"And what is loyalty.. When faced with the life...the...safety…of a Prince?" She asked.

Ramsay's eyes then darted for Robert's- The King felt as if her look was more akin to a sword descending upon his neck as opposed to a harmless glance.

"I am not waiting for the Blackfish to amass his armies. With the help of the Kings, an assault on our positions will result in decimation. My Father has decreed that House Bolton, along with our lords and retainers, are to withdraw to Harrowaytown. Our forces have been here longer than any House. They are in need of supplies and rest." Alauinel Snow declared.

Surprise struck upon Robert's face, he could feel his cheeks reddening even further. He stood, anger barely contained.

"What?" Robert hissed.

The Boltons- they comprised most of Robert's available men. Losing them meant losing nearly a fourth of the amassed army supposedly loyal to the crown.

Robert breathed heavily, looking at the faces of the Lords at the table. Many of them seemed to be hiding surprise as well-

Save for Caohen Lannister.

Caohen noticed Robert's eyes narrowing upon him. The Lannister bowed his head slightly.

"My armies need to be resupplied as well. We are running low on munitions, and reinforcements are slow coming from Golden Tooth. I have instructed Gawen Westerling to replace my position here, while I lead the bulk of my forces back to the Tooth." Caohen Lannister stated almost matter-of-factly.

Robert laughed, incredulous.

"You both are sworn to My Crown, mine." He rasped, fear curdling.

"You would leave our supply lines exposed. You would bring me Lord Westerling, a man I dismissed a year ago, to the most crucial point of our lines." Robert sibilated, his low voice quaking with anger.

Robert understood clearly enough what was happening. The Boltons and the Lannisters did not want to give any more of their manpower to this crisis, and were now forcing him, their King, into unfavorable action.

"Jofferét- he is my son." Robert whispered, glaring darkly at Alauinel.

The girl returned his glare, unfazed.

"I will not allow House Bolton to suffer the same fate as your... Starks." Ramsay said simply.

She gathered arms together across her chest.

"I...have arranged to keep a contingent of four thousand men here, along with half of our artillery. Lord...Caohen...has stated strong winds are rolling from the west, meaning we will be able to strike the rebel's river lines, and our bombardments of Meander will yield tactical effect."

Alauinel closed her eyes.

"The window of opportunity to salvage the Prince's decision is approaching, and after it passes, we will be at the mercy of a Rebel Lord who has been fighting...within these marches far longer than any...seated at this table." Lady Snow finished.

Robert wanted to scream. He wanted to reach over the map and strangle Alauinel- Ramsay, or whatever the fuck the Bastard decided to go by. Lord Lannister too- he knew he couldn't trust him. No doubt, Caohen's choice was influenced by his brother and the Bastard Lady.

Deep down however... Robert knew that they were right.

He could refuse them. But that would mean that the integrity and loyalty of his men would be in question. At best, they would die together. At worst, they would speak with the Blackfish, securing safe passage to lands belonging to House Tully, and leave Robert and the core Stormland armies at Brynden's mercy.

Robert wanted to drink.

He never wanted any of this. He never wanted to be the one to make these decisions. It-

It wasn't fair.

I won my fucking war.

Robert looked again towards Lord Lannister. Caohen met Robert's eyes.

"How long will we have aerial visibility?" Robert asked quietly.

Caohen replied instantly.

"Our Maesters and Seekers believe it will last for four days. Upon the fourth day, a large storm-swell will approach."

Caohen's eyes grew dark.

"We anticipate that the Blackfish is waiting until then to make his move."

Robert laughed aloud.

His laugh seemed to echo about the tent. Robert rose from the table, slamming his fist upon it.

"I was supposed to be in Winterfell by now, in a warm bed, with a belly full of food. Instead, I am here, fighting a fool's war." Robert started.

Alauinel nodded, smiling in silent amusement.

"We follow Lady Snow's strategy. I will lead the initial push from the North. I want to kill as many of those bastards as I can." Robert- he was angry.

I am King! How am I to be told what to do by houses sworn to me by right? And a bastard, no less!

However, in a way, Robert was glad. The stalemate.. Complex, dirty, and cruel... had suddenly become far more simple.

"This will end in folly, I assure you. Following the advice of a bastard-" Lord Caron rose from the table, his face contorted in bitterness.

Alauinel Snow remained seated, though her eyes looked upon Lord Caron with a distant humor.

"Our King has spoken, Lord Caron."

She then regarded Robert. Robert's anger flared once more as he looked at those too-bright pupils of hers.

"I will marshal the men." Ramsay Snow said, smiling.

Lord Caron left the war tent in a hurry, not wasting another word. Robert ignored the man.

He looked at those who remained, then remembered the faces of the young soldiers lining the walls of the western trenches.

"We move on Meander in two days. Use this night and the day next to prepare. We have not fought our way here only to die like fools, shackled together."

Robert left the wartable then, abruptly. As he exited, he was met by the sensation of wind running across his skin, through his dark hair. He wondered, for a moment, if this was finally the last time. If it was here he would meet his end.

No.

Robert saw Rhaegar's face in the clouds above, lightning flashing between rolling blackness.

I am King.

NEXT TIME: EDDARD II

A/N: Name pronunciations:

Alauinel: Ah-la-Ouin-el

Caohen: Sa-ho-en

Abhruien: Aab-Rue-ey-an

Jofferet: JoF-Fer-Ray

Tywin: TYvie-en