Hey all, sorry for the delay. Had to move between houses these last days, and this chapter was exceptionally hard to write. Yet, here I am, with a chapter slightly longer than usual!

Enjoy!

The Chaos of King's Landing shattered the fragile equilibrium that kept Westeros united. With Lord Eddard Stark's death, the North declared independence. The newly crowned King Robb Stark led his banners south to engage the Crown's punitive expedition against the Riverlands. Edmure Tully has successfully rallied the Lords of the Riverlands and set up an insurmountable defence in the west. Using the countless rivers to his advantage, the young Tully warred a guerrilla against the Lannisters. With the aid of Ser Brynden, the Riverlanders managed to inflict heavy casualties against the Westermen. Tywin Lannister, understanding his challenging position, started recruiting countless mercenaries to replenish the Rock's manpower. The war would cost many lives, more than any side could've afforded.

After his brothers' disappearance, Stannis Baratheon rallied the Lords of the Narrow Sea and the Stormlands, assembling a great host to press his claim to kingship. However, his advance was stopped by the southern Crownlander houses, which refused to yield their castles. The Baratheon King had to split his forces and siege them, as he would not have a considerable threat from behind once he marched on King's Landing.

Balon Greyjoy saw the chaos as an opportunity and declared himself King once again. Ignoring that his heir was a hostage to the Starks, he attacked the North, pillaging all the western coast. Despite this, Robb Stark refused to behead Theon Greyjoy. The youth, angered by his father's actions, crowned himself King too. King Robb supported his friend's claim and declared King Balon an usurper.

Westeros had one King once. With the disappearance of Robert Baratheon, a new era of turmoil began.

A Winter King, two Iron Kings and a pair of stags pretending the Iron Throne.

The War of the Five Kings had begun.

Arya

The grouphuddled around the small fire, trying to warm themselves.

Arya thanked the Gods that Syrio was with them. After the slaughter of the Night's Watch party and the death of Yoren, he protected them from the Lannister guards. The swordmaster managed to cut down ten soldiers before escaping. Arya wished she was skilled as him. He was a great water dancer, capable of slaying every foe that challenged him... screw knights, this was much better!

They were seven in total, with Gendry, Hot Pie, Lommy and Weasel tagging along. Sansa was still shaken by the attack and couldn't sleep during the night. She often awoke screaming and shaking like a leaf, which didn't help them remain hidden. Although, her nightmares decreased when Arya slept with her, so it became a habit for the two to lay together.

Moreover, they decided to reveal their true identities to the others. After Syrio's showcase of skills and their close relationship, it was too suspicious to maintain the façade. It was funny seeing Hot Pie and Lommy kneeling, desperately asking for apologies for their bullying. But she was upset with Gendry, who started calling her 'my Lady'. Gods, she hated that!

"Arya," it was Hot Pie, "How's life in the North? The Septons say that your people worship trees. Is that true?"

Arya took a bite of her roasted rabbit, "Well, it isn't very simple. We worship the Old Gods, who are the nameless deities of nature, Father says. They watch us through the Heart Trees, Weirwoods with a face carved on them."

Hot Pie hummed, "So you don't hang the entrails of traitors after they're executed?"

Arya's brows furrowed, "No, we do not. But Old Nan once told us that the wildlings still do it."

The boy visibly shook, "Do... do you think I may come to Winterfell?" He asked, "I don't know where to go now. I have no home, and-"

"Of course, stupid!" Arya answered, "And if Mother has something against it, she could bite my arse!"

"Language!"

Arya's cheeks reddened. She turned towards Syrio, a crooked grin on his face, "Your mother would have a heart attack seeing you curse like an Ibbenese sailor. I won't take responsibility for that."

That got a laugh out of everyone, including Sansa. Arya was fuming and decided to brood like her half-brother. That usually got people off her nerves.

They were camping in a clearing, near a small river. The group should've nearly reached the Riverlands, where they would finally be safe. The rumours spoke of the King of the North, who rode a giant wolf to battle and slaughtered every Lannister soldier that stood in his way. That had to be Robb, yet she didn't understand why they called him a king. Mayhaps Father escaped the capital and crowned himself? No, he believed that King Robert still lived. That would make no sense.

Shortly after the ambush, they took refuge in an abandoned village three days west of Rosby. Syrio said it was best for them to wait for the dust to settle before stretching north.

Besides, travelling all this time on small roads had its issues. No one truly knew what was happening in Westeros. They had to take odd paths to evade the Crown's patrols, and Syrio would not hear otherwise. The peasants around there are pretty stupid, some don't even know how to hold a spear. Some believed her father killed the royal family and ate their remains before a bloody Weirwood tree. Others said that the spirit of Rhaegar Targaryen punished the Fat King, sending a giant boar that gored him.

Yes, peasants are silly sometimes.

Or stubborn, just like Gendry. He appeared scary at first, but after knowing him better, Arya had to admit he was sweet. He worked as an apprentice to Tobho Mott, one of the greatest smiths of King's Landing. He always cared for the sick during the Smith's day and helped the other apprentices when needed. For some reason, he was kicked out by his master and was entrusted to Yoren. Arya concluded Mott was just stupid, she couldn't see a reason for his actions.

Arya finished eating his dinner and was getting prepared to sleep.

Then, she heard a twig break.

She snapped towards the origin of the sound, but saw no one. Very odd.

"You heard it too?" Asked Syrio, high on alert.

Arya nodded and felt a hand grasp her shoulder. It was Sansa, eyes wide in fear. Gods, she's a pissant. She clasped her sister's hand, she couldn't break down right now.

"Who goes there?" Syrio called out.

Slowly, many men came out from the thick forest. They weren't Lannisters, nor Starks. The warriors' tabards carried many sigils, many of which Arya did not recognise. She now deeply regretted not following Maester Luwin's history lessons.

But one man was different from the others. He wore a once white plate, now covered in mud and blood. His face was weathered by age, and the cloak...

"Ser Barristan...?" Arya croaked.

The old Kingsguard smiled, "Your hair might be shorter, but I recognise you two. Lady Arya, Lady Sansa, it's good to see you hale and healthy."

"Ser Barristan Selmy?!" Lommy's jaw dropped, "The Bold!?"

"In the flesh," Syrio mused, "This may be our greatest stroke of luck yet."

"Happy to be the one then." Ser Barristan said. The knight then looked at Gendry... the others probably didn't see it, but some colour drained from his face. Why? Why so many people are interested in him?

Arya had countless questions for the legendary knight. So, when he settled with his company near the fire, they started asking him.

What are you doing here?

"I was tasked by your father to search for the King, or what remains of him. I still haven't finished my task, and only my death will impede its completion."

What happened after the Chaos?

"We lost all contact with the Loyalists and didn't know what to do. We limited ourselves within the boundaries of our mission and helped the peasantry affected by the fighting. Only recently we discovered some new developments."

Where's my father?

"About that..." the knight seemed troubled, "Come here, lad."

A man approached the fire, a greatsword strapped on his back. He removed his helmet...

"Jory?!" Sansa gasped.

He bore a sad smile, "Aye, little lady. It's me..."

The Cassel was worn out. His eyes were paired with two big, black eyebags and were very lucid. His tabard was worn. She could faintly make out a sigil of ten direwolf heads.

"You were with Father, what happened to him!?" Arya demanded.

There was a short silence, and then Jory sighed, "It's a long story, my Lady. It all started when-"

He started explaining the last events of King's Landing. About the attempted coup, the chaos, and...

"Your father was leading a fighting force in Fishmonger's Square. It was a vital location to take hold of. The proximity to Maegor's Holdfast made it a solid reshoot hub for an eventual attack. It was all going well, until the Kingslayer arrived."

Jaime Lannister?! Arya's heart started racing. Father always insisted that he was a coward with no honour, but she knew of his prowess in arms.

"They fought against each other. Lord Stark fought valiantly, but... he was grievously wounded."

Sansa let up a sob while Arya tightened her grip, fighting back the tears. No... it can't be...

"Before being dragged away, he left the Kingslayer a parting gift. He ravaged his knees with a dagger and cut off his nose."

Good.

"We managed to reach him and return to the Dragonpit. Lord Stark fought many days against the wounds, but... he passed away. I am truly sorry, my ladies."

There. He said what Arya was dreading.

Father... dead...

"I... I... I..."

She tried to hold her stupid tears, but to no avail. She cried with Sansa for what appeared to be a lengthy period of time. She heard condolences and assurances, but Arya did not care. Words will not bring Father back.

Arya heard the shuffling of mail and plate. It was Ser Barristan, taking a knee before them. "Lord Stark was an honourable man. He sacrificed himself for his best friend and king, who he did not know if he was alive or not. He may be gone now, but you two are his progeny. My oaths as a knight bid me to protect the innocent, and I will do so. Please, join us. These lands are not safe anymore. The risk of being caught is too high..."

Arya couldn't believe it. A knight of the calibre of Ser Barristan the Bold, asking for permission to them?

She didn't know how to answer, but of all people, Sansa did. "Rise, Ser knight, we graciously accept your offer."

And so Barristan rose. Despite his ruined armour, he looked more like a knight than the Kingslayer. His eyes were livid, and Arya was shocked to see him on the verge of crying.

"I will do anything in my power to keep you safe, no matter the cost. Lord Eddard sacrificed himself to keep you safe, and by the Gods, I will take on his burden."

The Lost King

Water, salt, and blood. Once again, on the northern bank of the Trident, the King scoured the waters of the Ruby Ford, searching for his prey. Soldier after soldier threw himself against him, all fell under the weight of his hammer. Slowly, the once-blue water of the river became red.

The Stag could not be held back. His only purpose was to smash, shatter and destroy. A Dornish spearman tried to skewer his horse, but got his head crushed by the animal's hooves.

Then, a pissant from the Crownlands. Driven by ambition, he thrust his sword, aiming for the joints. Just another corpse to the pile, he never had the opportunity to glance at the Titan's armour. His' instead was in complete shambles.

Then, he saw him. The Dragon, riding his black destrier, clad in plate dark as the night. Although, the King spotted no rubies on his armour, which made him scowl.

"RAPIST!" The Baratheon yelled.

'Cousin' he expected to hear, but no reply came. His nemesis just stared at him, eyes hidden by the dragon-shaped helmet. The King's grip on his war hammer tightened. Why won't the cur answer back?!

"COME HERE, COME TO DIE!"

Still no response, but the Dragon prepared his mount, just as he remembered. His elegance, the delicate mannerisms... it made the King's blood boil. He would break every bone of his body, from head to feet.

"HAR!" he urged his horse to gallop, the Rapist doing the same. Splashes of water and blood threatened to blind him, but the King did not care. He trampled every soldier who stood in his way, no weakling could stop his charge.

Sword and hammer met their shields, and both riders were nearly knocked out of their horses. The Roaring Thunder quickly sunk his right stirrup, ordering his mount to flank the Dragon's stallion from his weak side.

Blows rained against the Dark Prince, who could not retaliate due to his bad standing. Just before the dragon-emblazoned shield crumbled, he turned his horse around, regaining his dominant position.

The serpentine sword of the Abomination cut deep into the Hero's tight, slowly tinging part of his once yellow tabard crimson. But that wasn't enough to make him yield. His fury drowned all the pain.

The cur attempted to stab his horse's eye, yet the Stormlord brought the creature out of the way. The coward's underhanded tricks wouldn't work against him.

The fight continued. The horses entwined bout after bout, their riders searching for an opening to finish it once and for all.

However, the Stormrider's anger could not be contained anymore. He could feel the immense heat radiating from his armour, creating steam as if he were ham. He reached for the Lizard's ruined shield, ripping it off his grasp, and landed a mighty blow against his breastplate.

THUNG!

It hit square in the heart. Only one blow was needed to throw him off his high horse. The lifeless corpse of the Inbred Spawn fell into the river, face down. It was done.

The Champion dismounted and approached the felled beast. He dragged it to the nearest bank like a hunting trophy. He wanted to see his pitiful, lifeless purple eyes... the Targaryen's pale hair, stained in coagulated blood... and the agonised face of a dying man. He always feasted on it every night, ever since that fateful day.

He ripped off the helmet...

...And found a pair of grey eyes staring back. Dark hair and a long, sullen face... with a sad smile on his lips.

Robert Baratheon woke up.

20th of the First Moon, 299 years after the Conquest

Lancel

"Do you need anything else, Sherra?" Lancel asked.

The elder waved in dismissal, "Do not worry, I'll handle the rest."

Gods, she's always so harsh. Cheer up, woman!

Lancel left the warehouse. He helped Caster unload some barrels of recently caught fish. It wasn't for his station to do such work, but he had to return the favour somehow. The villagers have been extraordinarily kind and available. It wouldn't be fair to laze around doing anything. The Seven-Pointed Star teaches its followers to honour their neighbours, no matter their social or religious standing.

It was a humbling experience, Lancel had to admit. It changes a person's perspective and truly makes one understand the hardships of the peasantry. Loading and unloading goods was tiring, but its simple nature and the final satisfaction made the Lannister oddly happy. If Father had seen him now, he would have had a heart attack.

Lancel made his way to Sherra's house. Three moons had passed since their retrieval, and King Robert still hadn't woken up. His once fat body was thin and had rolls of loose skin everywhere. Sherra was deeply impressed with how his physique didn't suffer further, but predicted that he would have severe problems if his sleep continued. Contracting fingers, atrophied muscles... even the loss of mental capacities. It was truly daunting.

He entered the kitchen, took a wooden bowl and filled it with some leftover soup. Lancel took personal care of the King's diet, feeding him lunch and dinner. He would slowly pour the liquid inside his mouth, ensuring his Grace didn't choke on it. It was painfully slow, but he had to redeem himself... his sin was too great.

Lancel gently opened the door, making sure the hinges didn't break. Caster had summoned Sherra's wrath last time, and it was enough to terrify him.

The wooden bowl slipped off his hands.

The King was awake, sitting upright. His eyes were wide, looking in front of him at something that didn't exist.

"Y-Y-Y-YOUR G-GRACE!" Lancel mumbled in complete panic.

The Baratheon's gaze snapped towards him, "...Lumpy?"

Tears started to well in Lancel's eyes... Gods, he was a pitiful creature.

He fell on his knees, thanking the Stranger for sparing his King's soul. "Y-Your Grace...! It's good seeing you awake!"

The King looked around the room, "Where in the Seven Hells am I..." and then his gut, "Others take me... how did I lose this weight?"

Lancel didn't have the occasion to answer as Shella entered the room, "BOY! IS THE MEANING OF 'DO NOT SHOUT' FOREIGN TO YOU-"

The shock on her face was priceless. She gasped and nearly tripped on her stick when approaching the bed. "Your Grace! Thank the-"

"MA, WHAT'S GOING ON? ARE YOU ALR-"

The oafish Caster ran through, slamming the door open. The hinges completely shattered, and the frame fell on the nearby shelves, causing even more damage. Despite this, his mother was too stunned to give two wits.

"Your Grace, may I inquire about your conditions?" She asked with a shaky voice.

Robert glanced back and forth, "Aye. But after this, I want some bloody explanation."

The healer started checking every angle of the King's body. She finally seemed satisfied, "Thankfully, I see no further complications other than the atrophied muscles. It will take time to recover, make sure you train slowly and diligently. For the cut on your shoulder, although... it may influence some more stressful activities. The articulation was deeply damaged. I did what I could do, your Grace."

Lancel flushed a bit. It was his fault if the King was wounded like that. He should've taken the hit, not the other way around...

"Do not worry, woman," he waved his hand, "I would've died without your treatments. Hells, if you were a man, I would have a replacement for that old fool of Grandmaester Pycelle."

Shella bowed her head, "You honour me, your Grace. Now, what do you wish to know?"

King Robert rubbed his long beard, "For starters, where are we, and how did you find us?"

"We found ya' by the river, your Grace," Caster answered, "The lad had just awoken and explained to us what happened. Our village is near Antlers, but we have no lord. Hells, it would be a fucking miracle if Lord Buckwell knew of our existence. Ma' takes care of the village, from injuries to the general organisation."

The wounded man nodded in understanding, "Well, I shall have you rewarded then. We need to return to the capital, I was absent for too long."

Lancel paled, "N-No, your Grace!"

Gods, how do I explain what happened to him?

It was a mess. Lancel discovered some new tales of what occurred during the King's slumber. He noticed that the gates of the city were not being guarded by Gold Cloaks anymore, but by guards of House Lannister or Stark. The latter had been remarkably eager to tell him what was happening, and Lancel was sure the King wouldn't take it well...

The King shot his squire a dark glare, "And why I can't return to King's Landing, Lumpy? Am I not the bloody King anymore!?" He japed.

"Ehm... well..." Lancel stammered.

Robert grew serious, "What happened, boy?"

Where to start...

Lancel gulped, "I-I'll start from the beginning. From what I managed to discover, there has been conflict inside the Red Keep. Lord Stark accused the Queen of conspiring against you so that he may crown her son."

The King's eyebrows furrowed, "And what does she gain from it? He's my bloody son, he would've ascended the throne nonetheless!"

"Ehm... your Grace..." Lancel stammered.

"Out with it, boy! We ain't got the whole day!" Robert was losing his patience.

"Alright, alright!" Lancel blurted, "Lord Eddard and Renly declared to the court that they had uncovered a great crime. The Queen... she has cuckolded you. She copulated with her brother, the Kingslayer. Lord Stark declared that your children are not legitimate and bear the seed of Jaime Lannister. I... am truly sorry, your Grace."

A terrible silence reigned in the room. The King stared at him with wide eyes. His trembling jaw managed to utter only one word.

"What?"

His liege's face reddened, and his grip on the bedsheets tightened.

"THAT BROTHERFUCKING WHORE!"

With newfound strength, he darted out of bed, "I WILL KILL HER AND THAT KINGSLAYING CUNT! I WILL HAVE THEIR HEADS ON A SPIKE, FOR ALL TO SEE!"

His fury was terrible. Lancel froze in place. He was unable to move or talk. The cuckold walked up and down the cramped room, trying to find something to vent his anger on. He grabbed one plate and threw it on the ground, shattering it.

"Your Grace, calm down!" Sherra pleaded.

The King was panting, his muscles were still overly weakened. He fell on the bed again, the once furious man replaced by a broken one.

"Every single one?" He asked, "Even Tommen and Myrcella?"

A sad nod was all that was needed. The King wept.

"Why... just why? Why would she do that...?" He asked no one.

The two peasants had left the room, leaving the squire and the King alone. Minutes passed, and then... Lancel knew what he had to say.

"Your Grace..." Lancel collected himself, "I swear in the name of the Seven my eternal loyalty. I will obey any order you give me, even against my treasonous family."

Robert gave him an odd look, but Lancel did not quiver.

He did not regret his oath. Robert saved his life once, and Lannisters always paid their debts. Lancel shall fight, bleed and die for the King.

The Baratheon stared deeply into his soul, searching for any sign of falsity.

He felt elated as King Robert smiled, "Thank you. You're a good lad- no... a good man."

"When I was at my weakest, you protected me, even going against your family's wishes. Not many are willing to do that, I assure you." He chuckled, "Even less when talking of damned Lannisters. Heh, you're a bloody rarity, Lumpy."

He shakily stood, but with a solemnity Lancel didn't ever see in the man, "They have usurped my throne, and I will take it back, Gods be damned if someone dares to stand against me. My pride has been trampled long enough."

"Have you heard anything else from the outside?" Asked the King.

"Only that the Starks are fighting in the Riverlands, your Grace." Lancel answered.

The King seemed to digest the news, "Others take me, I knew a war was coming. I smelt it moons ago..."

He sighed and vigorously marched out of the room...

"Come on, Lumpy! We have work to do!"

...And Lancel trailed behind.

Bobby is awake!

There has been a time skip as you've noticed. The Chaos caused many ripples effects, and many others that weren't included in the resume. If any of you has any doubts on what happened, let me know in the comments, I'll explain the best I can.

Have a good day!