A/N Hello all. This is a Robert/Lyanna story. I am not going to skip over Lyanna's flaws, but I do feel that a proper redemptive arc can be achieved while still remaining satisfying. If that is not something you want to read - very well. It is not for everyone. But do not pretend that you were given no warning, and please do not complain about the pairing itself. I welcome criticism as to my actual handling of the pairing, however. With that warning out of the way, please enjoy the story.
The gentle purr of the engine gave way to screams and roaring water. It was only a brief moment, but it was enough. My car slipped into the other lane, and I only had a brief moment to think - Oh, shit - before we slammed together. Then things went black.
"The cut doesn't look good, but my concerns lie with his lungs - if he swallowed too much water, he may die regardless." The voice was old, grandfatherly, with a hint of leather. My eyes opened for a brief moment, but even the gentle light was too much, and I only caught a glimpse of an old man, wrinkled and gray haired, his back slightly stooped from the chain around his neck. Something in the back of my brain was tickled by that, but the flood of exhaustion poured over me before I could give the thought any mind.
I found my eyes opening again. The glaring fluorescents made me immediately regret it. I had a strange sensation of disconnection as I watched the light move behind my eyelids before I realized I was being wheeled somewhere. "Jesus," came a muttered curse. My limbs felt numb, woozy. I felt myself being pulled along, a tug just behind the navel, and I followed it happily. Faintly, I heard the same voice speak. urgency plain in its tone. "Doctor, he's coding." Had I been in my right mind, I would have worried. Of course, had I been in my right mind, I wouldn't have crashed in the first place.
I can't tell you how long I floated. It felt like centuries, and it felt like a minute. Neither is true. Time meant nothing. It was a simple swell and trough, an easy wave I glided along that dissipated when my hazy thoughts turned to it. Then there was a strange feeling, like being sucked up by a vacuum that was a little too small - a strange and uncomfortable feeling, but not painful. It took me a long moment to realize the blackness before me was that of my eyelids and not - well, whatever place I had just been in.
My eyes opened, and I knew immediately something was wrong. My body felt like entirely the wrong size. It was like the moment after you wake up from a dream where you had had a strange body - like a spell was broken. It was hard to describe. My eyes traced the edges of the room I found myself in. The faint smell of earth and smoke made me recognize that I had it wrong - it was more of a tent than a room. A slow, gentle movement of my hand, careful of the dull throb that I now recognized on my chest, and I managed to touch the edge of the tent a foot away. It was canvas, after all. My eyes glanced over to the other side of the tent and recognized the man from the strange vision. Catching on the chain, it took only a moment for recognition to spark. Maester, called two voices in my head. The strange overlap caused me to consider my own mind. What I found was… confusing. It was like having two sets at once, sometimes overlapping. When I thought about when I turned ten, I had the memory of the scavenger hunt my parents set up with the bike at the end… and I also had a memory of my father taking me hunting for the first time, teaching me how to dress a buck - I could still feel the revulsion at the sight, the deep pull of breath I had taken to steady myself before plunging the knife in.
That was wrong. On many levels, really. I didn't have much time to consider it, though, as the Maester must have heard me rustling. "Ah," He said, looking me over. "You're awake. Good. Tell me, Lord Robert, how do you feel?" He asked, taking the moment I considered the question to check over the gauze wrapped over my wound. A faint memory tugged at my mind - a brief flash of pain right before I felt the satisfying clash of metal against metal and rubies flew through the air, glittering in the sun.
Seeing as no one else was going to answer the question, I did. "I feel achey," I admitted. "Like I overworked my body, and now I'm suffering for it. And there's a throb where my wound is, of course. But not much else." I sat up slowly, mindful of the wound. The Maester clucked his tongue but did not stop me.
"That is good, my lord. Sit forward a bit, I need to listen to your lungs." I opened my mouth to ask why before shrugging and dipping forward. The Maester pressed his ear to my back and, going with it, I took a deep breath. After a few seconds, The Maester pulled back and nodded his head. "Your breathing sounds normal. I had worried… but no, it seems Jerys was as skilled as he claimed." At my questioning look, he continued. "You had sucked in quite a lungful of water when you fell from your horse, my lord. You are lucky Ser Brynden was a strong enough swimmer to pull the two of you out of the current."
The thought had been coalescing in my mind for a bit - still a bit woozy from whatever that out of body experience had been - but that snapped things into focus. The Maester, the strange name (Jerys? Who names their kid Jerys?) and the mention of Ser Brynden had pulled things together. I was in Game of Thrones. A brief moment later, I searched my memories. I was in Robert Goddamn Baratheon's body. And, from the lack of fat on me and the memory of those rubies glittering in the wind, it must have been shortly after the Trident. Which meant…
Look, I'm not going to say I went into some planning overdrive, putting together master plans and ideas in seconds. At that point, I was still woozy, my mind dulled a bit by the throb in my chest, and I had frankly just had my mind blown. After taking a deep breath to let the cascade of thoughts end, I realised what I had to do. I needed to make sure I could change things. If I wanted to change things, I needed to work quickly. Because if this was shortly after the Trident, the Sack was yet to happen.
"Call Lord Eddard here, please," I requested. The Maester looked at me and pursed his lips a moment. After a thought, I added, "And Lord Jon." The Maester sighed and nodded, moving out of the tent flap for a bit before returning.
"I supposed I should just be thankful with your reputation that you are not trying to stand and fight already," The Maester grumbled. It was getting kind of annoying calling him 'The Maester' in my head.
"Of course not. I would not ruin your fine work, Maester…" I trailed off, raising my eyebrows in what I hoped was an expectant look.
"Lucos, my lord." He puffed up like a peacock. If I knew anything about how this world worked, he likely presumed I was asking his name to reward him later. I added 'give him a nice, pretty horse' to my checklist somewhere between figuring out what technologies I knew of with any accuracy were even feasible here and trying to set up a backup location somewhere in the Summer Islands just in case I fuck up against the Others.
"I shall see you are duly rewarded for saving my life, Maester Lucos." He nodded, a smile crossing his old features, and a moment later a young boy - a page, my mind corrected - opened the tent flap, allowing Lord Eddard and Lord Arryn in. I had not seen myself in a mirror and I had no idea who Maester Lucos was, so this was my first time seeing major characters. They didn't look like the show, that was for certain. Ned's hair was a darker brown than Sean Bean, and even discounting his youth here, he didn't look like the famed actor - those piercing gray eyes alone shook that notion from me. Jon Arryn was only in one scene, so I couldn't even remember his actor. Here he was just a tall, mostly blonde haired man - going gray at the temples - with a well lined face and a jawline so jutting and sharp I could have cut bread with the damn thing.
"Ned, Jon. Good to see you lived as well," I said with a smile that was honestly natural - Robert's feelings towards the two influencing me, most likely. They both nodded their heads politely, Ned allowing a small grin on his face and Jon a quirk of his lips that read pleasantly surprised.
"I should be the one saying that, considering you were the one that fell into the damned Trident," Ned said, offering me a grimace. His voice was like ice - smooth and easy, with that hint of danger underlying it.
"We're both glad you lived, Robert." Jon's voice was a deep, rich timbre, and he had an easy diplomatic air to him, calm and collected and dripping with dignified pride.
"I can assume from the fact that my head is not resting on a spike that we won. How did the rest of the battle go before I passed out?" I said, grimacing for effect before I said the last bit.
"The men were a bit demoralized at seeing you fall, but after Ser Brynden pulled you out and Prince Rhaegar did not rise they did their duties and saw it through. The Royalists shattered once Rhaegar died and then Lewyn fell in short succession," Jon explained. "My knights were too exhausted to chase down those who routed, but it seems unlikely that the royal army shall reform - most like with Rhaegar dead, Jonothor Darry killed and Selmy captured and no one else of high enough stature to pull them together their lords shall slink off to await the end of the war. We did capture a few dozen lords and several hundred knights, though passing judgement may need to wait until we take King's Landing," He said, the last statement toned as a suggestion rather than a command. I assumed it was because Robert didn't respond well to being ordered around now that his wardship was done - my memories confirmed it a moment later.
I nodded my head, considering his words. I wasn't really sure how the battle went in canon - perhaps more lords had been killed or captured without the brief demoralization of my fall. Unfortunately I would not be able to check, seeing as I had no books now. "How many dead and wounded?" I asked, turning to look at Jon.
"Four and a half thousand dead, two thousand wounded on our side, leaving us with eight and twenty thousand men left. It is harder to tell with the Royalists, but current counts reckon nine thousand dead, an unknown amount wounded - perhaps four if we are lucky. All told, this leaves our forces even in pure numbers, but today my knights shall ride out in search of the larger bands and hunt them down, which should whittle away their strength. I doubt they shall coalesce again, but better to put things in our favor than not." Jon looked thoughtful. "We shall likely need a sennight - perhaps two - to let the wounded rest and heal enough to march again."
I nodded my head thoughtfully. So that was how it worked out. I did some math in my head. Three days for a raven to fly to Casterly Rock - or the Golden Tooth, I had no idea where Tywin began his march. That gave him 11 days of marching. Assuming after a few days of hunting down routing enemies the cavalry returned to a central point, then marched south, the two armies might converge on the same day. Honestly, I had no idea. Most of the timeline was blurry and confused in this area, and I wasn't even sure what year it was. I thought things over. If I allowed the sack to happen, thousands of innocents would die. But, the betrayal would ensure that Aerys was caught on his back foot, meaning his wild fire plot would fizzle out. Thousands more might be saved.
I went with my gut. I would follow timeline as close as possible while attempting to ensure Ned prioritized the Red Keep and the royal family. I prayed to whatever gods existed here that it would work.
The next few days were torture. I won't bore you with them. (I assume due to the fact that I am in a by-the-books SI scenario there must be a you. It helps me order my thoughts better, anyway..) After soul crushing boredom waiting for the Maester to clear me for physical activity, I attended a war council where little of note happened - mostly hammering out who would stay with the main army and who would chase the routing soldiers. I chose Ned for the command of that, naturally, and told him I would need to speak to him later. I publicly thanked Ser Brynden for saving me and offered him any reward he desired, even - I hinted - a place in the Kingsguard. He took it, surprising me a bit - I had assumed he would take his place as Knight of the Gate. Still, he looked quite dapper in his new white cloak. Speaking of white cloaks, Ser Barristan Selmy was brought before me, wounded. Roose Bolton told me I should kill him, cementing his position as a creepy bastard - those pale, watery eyes freaked me out - and I instead took him into my Kingsguard.
That was one thing I planned to change - keeping a good core of guards around me would be crucial, especially if I planned to tamper with the power structure of the Seven Kingdoms, which I was, of course. I would not allow the Kingsguard to become a cesspit of mediocrity. Frankly, I was still trying to figure out how to avoid having to marry Cersei. There weren't a lot of great prospects, admittedly, and I wasn't sure if Lyanna would survive even if I sent a Maester along with Ned. Part of me wondered if she was destined to die because Jon was Lightbringer. It was farfetched, but who knows? I certainly didn't.
After the meeting, Ned met with me. He seemed tense, as if his thoughts were distracted. Frankly, I had no idea why. There were about a billion things that might be nagging at him. Grief, worry for his sister, concern that I might ask him to kill the royal children to secure my claim, the like. Instead I just examined him for a long moment. He didn't seem like much. Had I passed him in the street and he had been wearing modern clothes, my eyes would have glanced right over him. Yet because of who he was born to, he ruled over thousands. It was a strange thought. He was a good man, certainly. As close to a good noble as there is. But that didn't mean much, did it? The very system that allowed him to rule caused great suffering. After a long moment, he cleared his throat, trying to get me to speak.
"Ned, I have a mission of grave importance to you. I…" Shit, how was I supposed to tell him that he would arrive at King's Landing to find it being sacked, and that I needed him to move quickly to secure the royal family's safety? It sounded like feverish delusions. I decided to open with a question. "You recall we have not heard anything from Lord Tywin this entire time?" I asked.
Ned considered me for a moment, then nodded. "Aye. Nor did he fight for the Royalists. And with the Reach tied up sieging Storm's End, it's why we won yesterday." His eyes were more sharply focused on me. I had been acting out of character the past few days, and by now he probably couldn't pass it off as feverishness.
"I believe that when he hears news of this battle, he will march to King's Landing. Not to aide Aerys, but to betray him in order to cement himself on our side. Tywin is canny, and he picks the winning side wherever possible." I cleared my throat. "If my suspicions are correct and you find yourself close to King's Landing, you must move quickly. I do not doubt he will do something drastic to show he has rejected the Targaryens entirely." I let him process what that meant, and his face darkened. "You must stop that if at all possible. Do what you must to secure the city, but move quicker to secure the Royal family. Dorne would never return to the fold if Lady Elia was killed." A lie, but not much of one - sure, Jon prevented all out war, but the Dornish had become hostile and cold towards the royal court afterwards, willing to betray them at the first opportunity.
Ned nodded again, looking thoughtful now. "Aye. But why not move quickly and simply siege the capital, to prevent it entirely?" He asked. A good question. A terrible one, because I had to lie and seem more ruthless.
"Because if Tywin arrives and you have the capital surrounded, he cannot go through with his ruse. Aerys is mad, Ned. Perhaps he shall turn the Gold Cloaks upon the city, or something equally horrible." It was a weak effort, but I couldn't really show my foreknowledge of the wildfire here.
Ned considered me for a long moment. "Something is different about you Robert. I can't put a finger on it, but it's there." He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "But I trust you. If you say it is a possibility, I will keep it in mind." I offered him a smile and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good man." I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I would need to hone my skills in persuasion, but thankfully Ned's trust had won out.
The next few days passed in a blur. Ned rode out, chasing the routing enemies with the majority of the cavalry. The men were allowed to recover a bit more before we too packed up the camp, beginning to march south. Robert's memories allowed me to ride a horse, if a bit ungracefully, and the throb in my chest was much reduced. It would take days of marching without any way for ravens to find us before we would know the result of the battle. As such, I went meandering through the camp in search of a looking glass. It smelled of smoke, and earth that had been trod on many times, and I smelled the faint hints of cooking meats that reminded me of barbeques back home. Ser Brynden was a shadow at my back, watching carefully as I tried to enter the Robert persona - relying on the instincts left over from Robert.
I cheered, cajoled, and caroused my way through the men there. Their genuine smiles at seeing me up and about, hale and healthy, made me feel pleased. I was not yet cleared for training - and thankful for it, since I knew little of combat and the delay in accessing Robert's instincts would likely leave me bruised and battered on the ground. Eventually I found a looking glass - the Riverlord who had it offered me a confused frown. He was probably wondering why I didn't send a page in search of one.
I took the gleaming, gold banded glass back to my tent before I looked at myself. I had been purposefully avoiding it, ignoring the water when I bathed, avoiding puddles… Sure, I felt taller, and a bit different, but part of me wanted to pretend I was still the same old me. Looking in that glass dispelled that notion quickly. I was a lot more handsome, sure, but.. It wasn't me. Frankly, it was strange, almost dreamlike. I spent at least half an hour just prodding at my face before turning in for the night, troubled by my thoughts.
In all, it took us fifteen days of marching to arrive at the capital. Fifteen days of worrying, wondering if I had been dropped in the timeline only to be unable to change things, forced to watch as things spiralled. I was wearing armor, just in case there was still any danger there. The strangest thing about being here was the presence of servants - they were all over the place. Squires, pages, common servants, maids, washerwomen… even in an army, nobles couldn't let go of their luxuries.
The city still showed the signs of fighting and ransacking. Burnt homes and hollow faces stared at us as we approached the gates. The smell of shit had clearly been overpowered by smoke, even now. I wondered how much damage had been done that I could still smell it a week on. The crowned stag flying above the gates heartened me, but only a little. As we marched through the streets, we found some of the less ransacked homes, the villas and manses that had passed through mostly unscathed. As we made our way up the hill, I spied the Red Keep. We had passed the Great Sept - a massive, beautiful structure, like how I imagined the Notre Dame or Hagia Sophia felt. It was… awesome, in the biblical sense of the term. The Red Keep was different. The architecture was pretty, the red stone appealing enough to the eyes. But this was a fortress at heart, dominating the landscape and demanding attention. It seemed to scream I have the power here. We arrived before the doors of the Great Hall. I dismounted carefully, my eyes glancing over the various guards. Stark and Arryn men on the gates, but there were Lannisters around too, their red cloaks as dark as blood in the waning daylight.
I found my anticipation building as my kingsguard dismounted and followed me, gathering around me. I paused before the doors, taking in a deep breath. I needed to cut an imposing figure from the start - a king's power comes from the swords he can inspire to follow him, and he inspires people to follow him by seeming regal. Robert was fortunate in that he was naturally charismatic, handsome, tall, and proficient with a weapon - all great characteristics in a King and in this martially dominated society. What he lacked was… I wouldn't say the intelligence but the willingness to take action and be a proactive King. He just wanted to live in a world of tourneys and feasts - likely unable to come to terms with his grief over losing Lyanna, whom he had turned into some kind of idealized figure. I wouldn't allow myself to do that. I would make things better, damn it. If only I could figure out what better meant in this scenario.
I was getting ahead of myself. I always got nervous before something big, and this was no exception. I sighed, drawing on the bravado that poured from Robert's instincts in droves. Pulling back my shoulders and standing tall, I beckoned for my Kingsguard to push the doors open. They moved quickly, pushing the doors open. The lords there were waiting for me, Westermen and Northmen, Valemen and even some Riverlords - those that had gone ahead or moved with Tywin Lannister, all gathered here. I marched forward, the crowd parting at once for me. That was a good sign. My eyes caught on the Iron Throne. It wasn't the piddly thing from the show - this was a big, asymmetrical monstrosity, a massive middle finger from Aegon Targaryen to anyone who dared to sit in it. And there, sitting before the throne was a soldier, looking ahead with a blank face, holding a bundle with a red cloak wrapped around it.
Fuck. I could feel the tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I had failed. I kept walking only out of sheer instinct. That was a good thing, because as I advanced to the front of the crowd, I saw Ned standing next to Tywin, looking gloomy. His hand was on the shoulder of a child - dark haired, dressed in soft oranges and with the red eyes and cheeks characteristic of someone who had been crying. I felt hope kindle again. Perhaps I was not doomed after all.
"Your Grace. The city is yours," Said Lord Tywin, his voice in an even, calm baritone, his eyes shrewdly caught upon me. He drew his sword, and my heart skipped a beat. But it only lasted a moment, as all the other lords drew their own a beat later and they all kneeled.
"Long live the King!" came the cry, from a thousand voices and one.
A/N: Alright, just as a general note to anyone reading beyond this point: the SI is interested in planting the seeds of democracy. This is part of his character and part of his ideology as someone who lived in a democratic country. If this displeases you, please stop reading now. Better that than more reviews complaining about it - I really prefer we all refrain from wasting our time.