Chapter 7. King's Seed Is Realm's Need

I feel stronger!

Robert clenched his fist and felt the surge. It felt vastly different from it just being Robert's body. Over the past few weeks, he had gotten used to Robert's body. No, this felt different—like magic.

"You said you're Allyria Dayne?" Robert looked at the young, beautiful, tall, fair woman. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, while her eyes held a faint violet color. It reminded him of someone precious to him—someone who used to be alive. Someone he let go in the name of his duty, a regret that forever ate him.

"Are you related to Ashra Dayne?" He asked more.

The gorgeous woman nodded softly. "I am, Your Grace. Ser Arthur Dayne and Ashra were my elder siblings."

Gods, are you mocking me? Eddard took a deep breath. How could he ever forget Ashra, the woman he had won over at the tourney at Harrenhal? After making love to her, he so shamelessly discarded her to marry Catelyn to fulfill the house Stark's oath.

"May their souls rest in peace," Robert solemnly said. "What are you doing here in King's Landing, my lady?"

"I came looking for my betrothed, Your Grace. Lord Beric Dondarrion was last seen here," Allyria answered.

"Are you two in love?" Robert questioned.

She shook her head. "Merely a pledge, Your Grace."

Robert slumped back onto the bed, a weary sigh escaping him. "It's a fool's errand now, Lady Allyria. Lord Dondarrion has become completely devoted to the faith of R'hllor. He has forgotten much of his duties, and now serves as a Kingsguard for me."

"Oh…"

Robert continued. "Meet with him, hear what he truly has to say. The Red Keep's doors are open to you, my lady, for as long as you wish to linger."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Allyria bowed her head.

With that, he looked towards Ser Barristan. With him was also a healer. "We're returning to the Red Keep."

"You're deeply injured, Your Grace!" Ser Barristan rushed over to him, worried.

"I feel as strong as a stag in its prime, Barristan. Fetch me my damn clothes!"

Robert wore a fresh set of clothes and headed out quickly. This time there were far more Kingsguards waiting there for him with their armored horses. After last night's attack on him, the entire city had been in turmoil.

"Find anything more about that bloody attack?" He asked.

Ser Barristan answered, "The men were indeed of the Tyrell and Baratheon houses. Those bearing the stag's banner entered the city, professing loyalty and renewed fealty. But they never reached the Red Keep to report to you or Lord Stannis."

Robert felt a headache from all that. Renly had given him more trouble than anyone else ever since his arrival at King's Landing. "Throw Renly into the Black Cell once he's here."

As he arrived at the Red Keep, he noticed a few carriages, horses, and armed men with Stark sigil working. Robb Stark was also there, commanding the men.

They're leaving? Robert sighed in defeat.

He approached Robb, and his Kingsguards surrounding him earned all the needed attention from the Starks. "Going back already?"

Robb bowed his head in respect. The seeds of anger had vanished and he respected Robert according to the fantastic stories he had heard from his father. "The winter is coming, Your Grace. I must be there to prepare the North for it."

"Send me word if the North lacks anything. From this year on, I'll see the granaries filled for the coming winter. And if it's dealing with the Tyrells you need, I can twist a few arms." Robert offered, his concern for the North was genuine. "I'll come North soon enough, pay my respects to Eddard."

"You are ever welcome, Your Grace. But I believe you have more pressing matters here. I heard you were attacked last night."

"I was, and they paid dearly for it. Such is the way of things when you wear the crown, Robb." Robert stepped closer, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Look after yourself and your kin. Take heed of your father's mistakes, and perhaps loosen up a bit—I'm certain you'll become a finer lord than even my old friend."

Robb's jaw clenched at the slight disrespect but he allowed it. Only Robert had the right to say such things. "I'll hold the honor of House Stark, Your Grace."

Robert internally sighed. Honor? What honor? Please learn from my mistakes, son.

With another pat on Robb's shoulder, Robert walked away and entered the Red Keep. He saw Catelyn coming his way, likely going out, but he chose to keep his thoughts to himself and ignore her. He felt his heartburn, but there was no way to force her into accepting him.

Be safe, Catelyn.

"Your Grace."

Robert frowned and turned around at Catelyn's voice. He thought she wouldn't want anything to do with him. "My Lady."

"I'm unable to find Sansa."

"What?!" Robert exclaimed and looked at Ser Barristan. "Alert the guards and sweep the Red Keep."

He looked back at her. "When did you see her last?"

"This morning when I had the maids gather her belongings."

Robert's brow furrowed as he glanced at a nearby Kingsguard. "Get to Myrcella's chambers and search it. Those two are inseparable these days."

Robert didn't leave Catelyn alone there and waited with her for any news. He did want to say a lot of things, but he kept his lips tightly shut as if he didn't know her. Catelyn was the same, staying mum.

Some time passed, and Ser Barristan finally appeared walking closer. Behind him was a maid holding Sansa by her arm and pulling her along. But Sansa didn't appear very keen on following them, already crying and protesting.

What happened to her?

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert angrily interrogated. "Why is she crying?"

"She was hiding inside Myrcella's chamber, Your Grace. She refused to come with us so we had no choice." Ser Barristan explained and let the maid push Sansa forward. "She wept and declared her wish to remain here in the Red Keep,"

Catelyn walked closer to Sansa at that and held her hands gently. "Sansa, is this not what you've longed for? You've endured so much pain here, my dear."

Sansa's eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Mother, please… I want to stay here with Myrcella and… the North is cold. I don't want to go back."

"Nonsense!" Robert blurted. "The North is your home and you'll be safe there."

"I won't go back," Sansa said with trembling resolve. "I want to stay here, Your Grace. I promise I'll be good and won't cause any trouble. I... I don't have any friends in Winterfell. The only person I have here is Myrcella."

"You have Jeyne," Catelyn said. "Isn't she your friend? She's coming with us to Winterfell."

"She is but…" Sansa looked down, struggling with words. "I really like this place. His Grace is so very kind, and Myrcella… She's like a dear friend to me. I… I don't wish to return to the cold North."

What's going on in her mind? Robert helplessly looked at Catelyn. But he only saw the woman staring back at him.

"Right, let's get on with it then," Robert grunted. "Ned's bastard is riding for King's Landing as we speak. If Sansa wants to go back to Winterfell later, I'll have the boy escort her home." He watched Catelyn's face twist into that familiar look of disdain. Gods, how she hated the sight of Jon Snow. He could almost feel the venom in her glare.

"That's right! I'll ask Jon if I want to return later." Sansa got on board with that plan.

Robert was happy in his heart. He couldn't be there for her as Ned, so this was the second-best option. He wanted to be a father to her that she never got to have.

"Fine." Catelyn relented at last. "After all the trouble we went through to get to you… Robb won't be happy. I may agree, but he's the Lord and you must get his permission first."

"I will!" Sansa chirped and rushed away to find Robb outside.

Robert shrugged and chose to leave. He didn't want to talk with Catelyn, lest the longing might return. It was time to silently accept his fate and walk it. "Take care of yourself in the North, my lady."

With that last greeting, he returned to his bedchambers to have a bath and break the fast. He at least felt a little peace of mind knowing Cersei wasn't there anymore. Slowly, but surely, he could see his body becoming fit and worthy of being called a King.

But the self-doubt remained. How to rule the realm? Does he have the right to hold onto the throne? If yes, then with whom should he further the bloodline?

Overtaken by those thoughts, he saw the servants adding hot water to the wooden bathtub. Without thinking twice, he disrobed and sat down in the water to soak himself. Having forbidden maids from aiding him in the bath, he sat there alone for almost an hour.

Once he got up again, he looked at the new mirror in his room. He looked down at his reduced belly fat and sighed. But then, he turned around and looked at his back, and then his shoulders. I was pierced by an arrow. Where is the mark?

Not just an arrow but many more wounds. He had seen his blood ooze from them during the battle. Yet, everything looked clean as if nothing had happened.

Impossible to find answers, he donned a fresh set of clothes and took a seat at the large table in his bedchamber.

He thought about who to have as the Hand of the King. He knew he could do it himself, but knowing that he also needed to train this body back to the peak, and there could be battles in the future, there had to be someone to manage things.

"At this rate, I'm only left with Stannis. But that Red Woman has his mind hostage." Robert relaxed back annoyedly. "Davos would make a good Master of Ships. Brynden Tully can do well as a Master of Law."

The only one they lacked now was a good Maester. But finding that was perhaps even harder than finding a good Lord Hand.

Knock! Knock!

"Your Grace, it's your breakfast."

The door opened and a maid entered with a large tray in her hands. She walked over to his side and placed the plates and bowls before him—ten eggs, meat, potatoes, boiled corn, and milk. His diet was worth a small family, and that large body needed it.

"Anything else, Your Grace?"

"N…" Robert looked back up and found the maid standing on the other side of the table. Her freckled face seemed a little recognizable, with brown hair, and a curvy frame. "You are… Haely?"

"Yes!" The woman chirped, smiling so bright it might just be sunshine. Her bubbly personality oozed off her every action.

Robert sighed and looked down at the plate to grab a bit of the boiled egg. "What else do I make you do?"

He took a mouthful of bite and looked up. His jaw stopped moving as he froze in shock. Haely, for some reason, had pulled her loose, servant gown off her shoulders, laying her large, shapely breasts bare for him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked with a frown.

Haely giggled, not even hiding her breasts. Instead, she cupped them both and played with them. "It's the fourth day of the sennight, Your Grace. You used to command me to lay my breasts bare."

Robert sighed. You were a freak, Robert.

"For what?" He asked, gazing at her taut, voluptuous mounds. Pale in skin with medium-sized areolas and pearl-like tight, sizable pink nipples.

"Hehe…" Haely giggled proudly and jutted her breasts out more. "Your Grace proclaimed these are the best tits in Westeros. You enjoy breaking fast while watching me fondle myself, Your Grace."

You were an absolute freak, my old friend…

"Ummmh…" Haely wasted no time and started circling her fingers over her tight nipples. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it. Her body was a desirable sculpture too.

For Robert, despite the hardness in his loins, he felt this was wrong. However, he couldn't bring himself to make her leave. I… I should be more like Robert now. Eddard is dead, I'm an outsider to the North…

Chewing on the meat, he looked up at Haely, her eyes shut, playing with her breasts by squeezing them as if the most delicate and soft piece of flesh. You're wrong about tits, Robert. Catelyn's are better.

Yet, he continued to watch her play. Hers aren't bad, however. Certainly among the best… Ugh… his lust is affecting me.

"Are you married, Haely?" Robert asked, almost done with his breakfast.

"Oh-f course, Your Grace," Haely moaned.

Robert felt disgusted by himself and looked away from her tits. "Yet you take part in such activities?"

"Hmph! He goes to cheap brothels every week to bed whores. Why must I suffer alone? And it's the King who cherishes my lowly body—I'm far better than him," Haely proclaimed proudly and walked to the edge of the table to rub her loins on it. "I-ugh… Your Grace never treated me badly."

A little less… disgusting now. Robert thought and downed the glass of milk to finish his breakfast. Then, he got up from his chair and walked over to Haely. He stood close to her body, her head reached as far as his upper chest, so he had to look down.

From that close, he could see why Robert proclaimed them the best in the world. While her face had freckles, not a speck of freckle or any spot was on her breasts. Moon-like pale, soft flesh with perfect, pearl-like nipples.

Robert would have done this. He told himself and gently raised one hand. Haely got the message and made way for him to take hold of one of her mounds. She moaned as soon as his rough, large hand gripped her, and as he squeezed, her arousal intensified.

Robert breathed out to calm himself. Her soft, warm flesh felt otherworldly. Suitable to be fondled, suckled, or perhaps fucked. Without realizing it, his hand took more freedom and became rougher, shaping her to his desire while rubbing her nipple between his strong fingers.

"What else do I make you do on other days?"

"Ooooh~" Haely fiddled herself on the table's edge. "Y-Your Grace would… on the first day of sennight have my mouth under the table. On the second, ummm… my lowly cunt on the table… then my arse on the table… Watch me on fourth like now and… Oh, Seven—On the fifth have me on your lap while I feed—yess~"

Robert felt hard as iron. His mind told him to push her onto the table and have her from behind. But he forced his mind to clear up and be content with her breasts in his hand. He played with her until he felt she was close to her climax.

"And the other two?" He asked.

Haely pressed her lips, eyes squeezed, her heated core convulsing with oozing climax. It took some time but she replied eventually. "O-Oh… I-ugh don't… The last two are only for dinner… with five women in the pleasure roooh-m!"

Five? Seven Hells, Robert! How savage was your life? What else don't I remember from your drunken memories?

Robert pulled his hand away as she had gained what she wanted. "You may leave now."

No matter how kind the King may be, Haely never forgot the difference in their stature. She quickly pulled up her gown and moved to gather the empty plates. However, just as she picked up the tray, she looked at Robert and asked. "Your Grace, will you be having the usual from tomorrow morning?"

"Food, I will," Robert answered and gave her shapely frame a short glance. He liked her personality more than her body. "The rest… I'll think about it."

"Understood, Your Grace."

Thud!

Robert sighed when he heard the door shut. He looked down at the risen hill in his breeches, even raising his surcoat that covered his loins. It felt straining and somewhat painfully uncomfortable. This body is… mysterious.

Done with his morning routine, he left his bedchamber and soon climbed down the towers to arrive at the training arena. Though, before starting, he watched the Stark entourage leaving the Red Keep in a long convoy. The caged carriage holding prisoners for the Night's Watch was also there—Jaime and Tommen included.

There was also a large carriage with a decorated, regal casket. The body of Eddard Stark was inside it.

His own body.

Robert didn't know how to feel about it so he focused on training. He took off his upper clothes and lifted a wooden, weighted warhammer. Ser Barristan and three more Kingsguards stepped forward to fight him with wooden swords.

"Go all out!" Robert ordered them. "Or else, don't complain if I hit you too hard."

Bam!

Robert rushed forward like a giant and slammed the warhammer across the chest of one Kingsguard. The man got thrown back into the air like a ragdoll, gasping for air and coughing.

Ser Barristan got the message and ordered his men to get serious.

Woosh!

Bam!

The Kingsguards tried to maintain distance and be quick on their feet, believing they could defeat Robert by being faster. Sadly, Rhaegar Targaryen once upon a time thought the same and paid the eternal price.

Thud!

Another Kingsguard got pushed to the ground while trying to block Robert's downward strike. Ser Barristan tried to get behind Robert at that time but had to step back as the giant King used his kicks as well.

"When did you learn that, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked. "You used to have trouble protecting your rear in battles."

"Just improving myself, Barristan," Robert replied, using the battle experience of two bodies and minds to the fullest. While Ned was masterful in his footwork, sword, and precision, Robert was a master at being a brute with finesse. "Change to the metal ones!"

That was the strategy. Robert made the sparring harder as time went on. Starting with wooden weapons, they soon changed into unsharpened weapons, and finally picked up their real weapons.

Clank!

The stakes went high all of a sudden and everyone in the arena became serious with every single move. Robert defended himself against the three Kingsguard, but it was Ser Barristan who gave him some flesh wounds.

Clearly, the famed knight was holding back from injuring the King too much. Every flesh wound was a reminder to Robert that he 'lost' already. But Robert never stopped, knowing that his large body could battle even after being stabbed a few times. Such was the prowess of Robert Baratheon.

Starting in the morning, Robert's training lasted ten hours non-stop. Thoroughly using every ounce of energy he gained from eating that day. By the end, he bled in a few places, having to get his wounds cleaned and bandaged.

A bath later, he resumed his duties as a King. Holding afternoon court or Small Council meetings.

Bland, lonely, confused, and tired—Robert, or rather Ned's soul, embraced his new life fully.

####

While Robert worked to keep the realm stable, Myrcella and Sansa giddily sat in the gardens of the Red Keep, drinking lemonade and savoring cheese. The girls, dressed in noble attires, held each other's hands while their chairs touched, both their faces turned towards the sea.

"I'm so glad you stayed behind, Sansa." Myrcella wrapped her arm around Sansa's, her smile bright and sincere. "You'll see—it's wonderful here!"

Sansa nodded in silence, already questioning her decision. She felt a little ashamed as her reasons for staying behind were less than sane. How was she to seduce the King when he didn't even look at her as a grown, fertile woman?

"Wondering how to tempt the King?" Myrcella asked all of a sudden as if she read her thoughts.

Sansa blushed and looked down. "H-He thinks I'm a child."

"But you're not. You flowered long ago, so you're a grown proper lady," Myrcella murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, as her slender hand found Sansa's lap, lingering between her thighs, just above the belly. "But… remember this, Sansa. The path is narrow… and you'll have only one chance to take it."

Sansa roughly breathed and felt a tickle in her belly, somewhere between her legs. "W-What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been pleasured, Sansa?" Myrcella asked, pushing more on Sansa's lap until she parted her legs under her gown. "I don't mean by a man… by yourself?"

Sansa shook her head strongly, burning red in shame. "T-That's a sin… Septa M—"

"Cersei did it, the maids do it, Septa Mordane does it too. There's no shame in it, Sansa, and besides, if you don't do it, how will you attract the King?" Myrcella asked and neared her lips much closer to Sansa's ears, all the while her hand pushed up against her loins. "I once saw him with Haely. He's big… How will you take him in, Sansa?"

"Hmm…" Sansa let out a heated breath. "Y-You mean…"

"You'll need to start preparing yourself, Sansa," Myrcella added in whispers, her mischievous smile ever-lasting. "I'll help, so don't worry."

"H-How?" Sansa almost moaned. She grabbed Myrcella's hand between her legs yet never pushed it away.

"Slowly…" Myrcella giggled at the faint moistness against her hand. "Until then you're prepared, you can wear clothes to attract him."

"W-What clothes?"

"Anything with a deep neck… revealing back… 'Accidentally' exposing something to him."

Sansa gasped and her head fell back. She asked no more questions and instinctively spread her legs wider. For the first time, she hated her long dress.

Myrcella watched her friend's face get more flushed. She giggled and continued to play with her for a while. This was what she had learned from secretly watching Cersei on so many occasions.

Sometime later, she retracted her hand and stood up.

Sansa opened her eyes in annoyance. But the shame stopped her from uttering a single word.

"It should be time for dinner soon. Let's go and pick a good dress for you," Myrcella suggested. "Let's have dinner with Father every night from now on."

Sansa gulped and followed her dear friend closely. The decision had already been made, after all. She just had to follow through now.

####

Seven hells! What in the gods' name is she wearing? Robert frowned as soon as he saw Sansa walking into the small dining hall. He felt furious at her extremely deep neck that lay bare all of her collarbone. On top of that, there was a long slit in the middle of the neck that was tied together by laces as if they were steps of a ladder. Her entire cleavage was visible.

"Your Grace." Sansa approached the table and bowed her head. But in doing so, the front of her gown became slightly loose and flashed, paving the way for a look inside till her perky pink tips.

Who gave her these clothes?! Not aroused in the slightest, but enraged. I need answers!

"Take a seat." He tried to stay warm with her.

Yet, annoying him, Sansa walked around and took the seat nearest to him, just around the corner.

Robert saw the blush on her face and clenched his fist. Planned? Catelyn, did you plan this?

It made sense that this was Catelyn's plan to have Sansa woo the newly widowed King. To have Sansa be the new Queen and safeguard the North's interests. Politically, he appreciated and felt proud of Catelyn's decision. But personally, this felt like insanity.

Even if it weren't me but the real Robert, this is madness!

Feeling uncomfortable, he quickly ate his fill and left the dining hall. Swiftly, he looked for the maids responsible for taking care of Sansa and interrogated them.

To his dismay, it turned out Sansa chose her own dress.

That almost certainly confirmed his doubts.

Why, Catelyn? Why sell your daughter like this? She's… She's too beautiful for a brute like Robert.

In most cases, he cherished his old friend, but even he had a line he never hoped to cross.

This is disgusting! He felt helpless at the same time. I'll have Jon return her to Winterfell.

That sounded like the best plan.

####

A few days passed, each day feeling worse than the last. Robert tried to avoid Sansa as she continued to wear questionable clothing at the dinner and oftentimes stepped closer than she should.

He poured himself into his training every single day. Yet, every morning he'd find his wounds mysteriously healed. At that point, the possibility of magic didn't elude him, so he tried to get more injured during the training. Truly pushing himself.

"Your Grace. The Tyrells have entered the Red Keep."

Robert placed his warhammer down and looked behind. It was Stannis, stoic as ever.

"Show them their bloody rooms and see to whatever they need," Robert barked. "I'll deal with them when I damn well please. But first," he grunted, panting after the intense sparring. "Take me to Renly."

As if Stannis expected that already, he led Robert to the Black Cells. "We put him here as soon as they entered the Red Keep."

"Who are among the guests?" Robert inquired.

"Lord Mace Tyrell is here with his lady, daughter, and the youngest son."

"Not Olenna?"

"No."

What is she plotting from Highgarden?

"What of the Baratheon men that Renly had under him?" Robert asked, just as they arrived at the cell.

"Most have returned to Storm's End."

The metal door creaked as Stannis opened it. He walked inside first and placed the torch on a wall. The metal chains clanked audibly, Renly's movements inside apparent.

"R-Robert! Robert, please save me! I was a hostage of the Tyrells! I—"

Pa!

Robert walked in and slapped Renly across the face.

Pa!

Another slap followed from the other hand, shoving Renly's weakened body left and right. He barely remained standing by the time Robert stopped slapping him.

"What's this now? Do you see 'oaf' scrawled across my face, Renly? I gave you everything you could have ever wanted, didn't I? Gold, fame, Storm's End—I even turned a blind eye to your follies. And this… this is how you repay me? With that look in your eye, like some scheming whelp? You think yourself a throne-stealer now, do you? A Kingslayer in waiting? Don't feed me that drivel about being some poor hostage—I know well enough you drank your fill and bedded that Tyrell boy all bloody nights! You're a small, bitter, and blind fool! That's what you are!"

Renly cried in pain, bleeding from his lips. "I-I… I thought you weren't the rea—"

Pa!

Robert slapped him again, a thunderous crack echoing through the cell.

"So, instead of finding the truth, you went and sparked a rebellion? Gods be damned, boy! Did you truly think you could stand a chance against me?! Every bit of glory we have now was forged with my warhammer, not your soft words and flowery schemes! I always thought if betrayal came, it'd be from Stannis, but the man stood by me through thick and thin while you... You dare to whisper treason!"

Almost lifeless, Renly fell to his knees and grabbed Robert's leg. "One last time. Forgive me, Robert—"

You're not even my brother, Renly. I will not have another Blackfyre madness born in my rule.

"You shall receive what traitors get—death!"

Bam!

Robert kicked Renly away and turned around to leave. Stannis came quickly behind him, taking away the torch and leaving Renly in utter darkness.

Just as they walked and reached the isolated stairs, Stannis tugged on Robert's coat. "Your Grace, may I have a word?"

Robert stopped and looked behind at his brother. One look at his face and he knew what was eating the stoic Baratheon's mind. "You're alarmed that I'll marry a Tyrell?"

"I am," Stannis replied with a curt nod. "They may be the surest path to steady the realm but do not mistake calm for peace, Your Grace. They're a storm in waiting, no better than the Lannisters."

At least he believes I'm Robert.

Robert clapped a heavy hand on Stannis' shoulder, his voice gruff but edged with a hint of jest. "Oh, I know, Stannis. Gods know I'd sooner bed a boar than find another like Cersei beside me. I've no mind to hand the Tyrells the key to my throne—No, I'll keep them where they belong, at the end of my hammer's reach. Tomorrow, I'll leave for Dorne to deliver the Mountain, but while I'm gone, you'll sit the Iron Throne as my Lord Hand. Do it well, and I'll make it permanent."

For a moment, Stannis' eyes flashed with something. An emotion perhaps? The man never showed it on his face.

"You can trust me, Your Grace."

"I am… trusting you, Stannis. You're all I have left."

With that, Robert turned around and climbed the stairs. As he reached the top, he turned towards his solar's direction. However, just before he left, he ordered Stannis.

"Send Lord Tyrell to my solar. Best to have a word with him before I ride out in the morning."

####

Robert waited in his solar till late. He saw the sun set outside and dinner time pass. He ate his fill in there to avoid Sansa and then resumed working. Studying some records about the city, or writing some ravens.

Knock! Knock!

"You can enter, Lord Tyrell." Robert sat down in his high chair behind the table.

The door was opened without a creak by a Kingsguard. However, instead of the fat oaf, a feminine figure entered the room.

"Lady Alerie Hightower?" Robert stood up. This was unexpected.

Much younger than her husband, Mace Tyrell, she was tall, dignified, slender, with long silver hair, and a face as stoic as Stannis, yet beauty that had retained her ripe youth. Her green, long dress was flowing like a flower, thin on her arms like a see-through curtain, and tight around her waist.

"Your Grace," Lady Alerie said with graceful poise, her fingers lightly lifting the hem of her gown and her head bowing in deference. "My Lord Husband extends his deepest apologies. The taxing journey has left him bedridden with fatigue."

That fat fool. Robert sneered and sat down again.

"Have a seat, my lady." He invited her in.

Lady Alerie remained unmoved. "I regret to say, Your Grace, that I'm not in a position to discuss the affairs of my House at this time. I trust you can find patience until my husban—"

"Tomorrow I ride for Dorne, so you've got tonight to spill whatever's on your mind. Make it count." Robert chose harsh words while keeping some modesty.

In Lady Alerie's mind, alarms started to ring. Dorne meant Princess Arianne Martell who was famed for her charm. Could the throne once again fall to the Martells?

"Your Grace…"

"Fine, I will stand up if you won't take a seat." Robert walked around his table and stood in front of her, towering like a giant.

Although she was taller than most women, she was still nowhere near the giant King. She had grown pampered all her life like most noble-born women of the Reach. She instinctively stepped back. "We, House Tyrell, beseech Your Grace for forgiveness. Misled by Renly's promises in the wake of your false demise, we were deceived into believing that the throne had been unjustly claimed."

Robert sneered at her emotionless, toneless way of speaking. It felt as if she was reading a script. "Unjustly occupied? By whom? Joffrey? He was gone the moment I came back. For months, your House stood behind Renly's banner. The realm calls me a brute, my lady, so I won't sugarcoat my words. Your house betrayed the trust of the crown by supporting a rebellion."

Alerie looked up at Robert, her pride as a Hightower and a Tyrell evident in her eyes. "Thus, we seek to amend this misstep and dispel any lingering doubts by uniting our houses. My daughter, Margaery—House Tyrell's very jewel—shall marry you and become your loving wife."

Robert scoffed and stepped back towards his table. It was all a failed negotiation to him. He had no interest in uniting their houses.

Bam!

He slammed on the table to scare the woman. Easily, he made her flinch. "Haha, such shamelessness. You want me to reward your house for rebelling? Do you think your prized daughter's cunt is so valuable? I'm not Renly, Lady Alerie."

Alerie felt ashamed at his crass words and looked down. She felt her patience tested as her breath grew rapid. But, she knew she couldn't lash out at this man. Robert was the most desired man right now. One wrong move and her house could lose this chance.

"House Tyrell has long stood behind the Baratheon claim to the throne, and though we might have lent our support to King Joffrey, we chose steadfastly to back Renly. Had we known of your survival, we would never have taken such a course." She said and went on to request. "Your Grace… Is there nothing we can do to have you reconsider this?"

Robert looked at her face. He knew all those words were born out of necessity, not heart. But he still needed her to leave him alone so he could depart in the morning without giving any definite answer.

Thankfully, he knew exactly how to scare away a noble, highborn woman like Alerie Hightower.

He strode closer to Alerie and stopped one foot away. He looked down into her light green eyes. I'm Robert Baratheon. I'm shameless, a brute, and a crass whoremonger.

"Then show me, with your actions, that you truly seek my forgiveness," he said.

Alerie gulped. "How, Your Grace?"

I am Robert Baratheon. I am shameless, a brute, and a crass whoremonger.

"Kneel!" He ordered.

For the first time showing a reaction, Alerie's eyes widened in confused shock. She froze for a short moment, but soon enough began to lower her noble, proud self to her knees on her soft robes.

You better run away through that door after this.

"Now pleasure me!"

Run away now, woma—No! No, stop!

Alerie raised her smooth hands and delicately spread Robert's surcoat wide from the front, and then untied his breeches. Her dainty, noble fingers slid under his waistband and seized his limp shaft in a grip.

What! Why is she…!

This time, Robert froze.