As Robert continued to spend time with the Blackstone Legion, he began to realize just how little he understood about their true scope. Initially, he had thought them to be no more than thirteen wandering knights, men of honor traveling across Westeros to bring justice. But as days turned into weeks, the truth gradually came to light—the Blackstone Legion was much more than a simple band of knights.
One evening, during a conversation with Ser Samuel Storm, Robert expressed his surprise. "I thought it was just the thirteen of you when I joined," Robert remarked. "But every day, I see more of your people coming and going. There must be more than a dozen of you. Perhaps fifty or more?"
Ser Samuel smirked. "You're right about that. The thirteen knights you saw are just the core—those who lead and organize the Legion's operations. But in truth, the Legion has well over fifty men, each recruited from the fires of real combat. They're not your regular knights, sworn to lords and dressed in shining armor to fight for noble causes or for glory. Our warriors come from real fights—battles where lives are on the line, where there's no room for pomp and titles, only survival."
Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So you don't recruit from the tourneys or the halls of noble houses?"
"Not at all," Samuel answered. "In the Blackstone Legion, we look for men who've proven themselves in the crucible of war—men who've fought in the dirt, bled for causes greater than themselves, and who understand that justice is more than just a word. Most of our recruits come from soldiers who've seen the horrors of war firsthand. Others come from mercenaries who've grown tired of fighting for coin and want to fight for something real. And some—well, some are former bandits themselves, men who've turned their lives around after seeing the error of their ways."
This revelation struck Robert as both impressive and humbling. The Blackstone Legion wasn't made up of the chivalrous knights he had fought alongside in the Rebellion. They were men hardened by the realities of battle, trained to fight for justice, not for a lord's favor. They were real warriors, and their strength came from the fact that they fought for something beyond themselves.
"I've noticed something else," Robert said, narrowing his eyes. "Your men travel in groups of three. Always two close-combat fighters and one ranged. Why is that?"
"Efficiency," Samuel replied with a grin. "Three is the ideal number. Two men to handle close combat and one to provide support from afar. Whether it's a band of raiders or a corrupt lord's guards, that setup gives us the flexibility to deal with almost any threat. We don't waste time with large armies or showy battles. We strike hard, fast, and with precision."
Robert nodded, absorbing this new knowledge. The more he learned about the Blackstone Legion, the more he admired their way of life. They weren't bogged down by the grand politics of the realm, the alliances, and betrayals that came with ruling kingdoms. Their mission was clear: protect the innocent, punish the wicked, and do so with the utmost efficiency.
But there was something else that nagged at Robert's mind—something he couldn't quite reconcile.
Robert thought back to his own time. He had seen the best and the worst of both lords and smallfolk. And yet, in his timeline, without the Mad King Aerys ever coming to power, the history of Westeros would have been very different. Robert found himself wondering if things might have been better had there been a Blackstone Legion in his time—a group that would have punished the wicked, regardless of their title.
Robert Stronghammer threw himself into training with a newfound intensity, determined to match the skills of the Blackstone Legion knights. His early defeats had been humbling, but now they fueled his resolve. Each day, he trained alongside the Legion's finest warriors, learning techniques and strategies that were completely foreign to him, yet vital to mastering the art of combat at this higher level.
To his astonishment, his progress was rapid. Robert was no stranger to the battlefield, but the Blackstone Legion taught him combat in ways that surpassed anything he had experienced in his previous life. Their approach was more refined, a blend of efficiency and creativity in combat. They focused on movements that exploited an opponent's weaknesses, precision strikes that disarmed rather than simply overpowering.
He learned various techniques to defeat an opponent, from subtle feints and counters to joint locks and grapples that could bring a larger opponent to their knees. The Legion's focus on adaptability was key. Their warriors were trained not only in brute force but in using their environment, their opponent's own momentum, and their own physical limits to their advantage. It was a kind of fluid, unrelenting combat that required both mental and physical sharpness.
Robert's body, hardened from years of battle, adapted quickly. His strength was already immense, but now he combined it with speed, agility, and a newfound finesse. In sparring sessions, he learned to anticipate the moves of his fellow knights, countering their strikes with ease. He discovered weaknesses he hadn't known existed in his own form and corrected them.
Weeks passed, and as his skill grew, so did his reputation among the Legion. At first, he had been seen as an outsider—strong, yes, but unrefined. But now, as Robert faced the Blackstone warriors in combat, he was no longer merely holding his own; he was excelling. He defeated opponents he had once struggled against, and his strength combined with the Legion's training made him a formidable force on the battlefield.
The others began to take notice. "Stronghammer is not the same man he was when he first arrived," one of the knights remarked after a particularly brutal training session. "He's become one of our best."
Ser Samuel Storm, who had watched Robert's progress closely, nodded in agreement. "He has the strength of a wild beast, but now he has control. That's what makes him dangerous."
By the time several months had passed, Robert had risen to become one of the most respected and formidable warriors within the Blackstone Legion. His blend of raw power and newfound precision made him a major force to be reckoned with, and his fellow knights began to look to him not just as an equal but as a leader in battle.
Though Robert had once prided himself as one of the strongest warriors in Westeros, his time with the Blackstone Legion had taught him humility and opened his eyes to a level of skill he hadn't known existed. He had found not just strength, but a sense of purpose in his training—a dedication to justice that went beyond personal glory or political ambition. He was now a warrior of the Legion, fighting for the cause of the people, and his transformation into one of the Legion's most powerful knights was complete.
Robert Stronghammer found himself undertaking missions that tested his values to their core. Unlike the honorable combat he had once envisioned, the missions of the Legion were far more ruthless and pragmatic. They operated in the shadows, striking without warning, often using methods Robert would never have considered as a knight or warrior in his past life.
The Blackstone Legion always preached that the destination mattered more than the path. Their goal was justice for the smallfolk, to rid the land of corrupt lords, bandits, and tyrants who preyed on the innocent. But the way they achieved this justice was often brutal, far removed from the chivalrous ideals Robert had held dear.
They used poisons to kill powerful enemies, assassinated opponents in their sleep, and ambushed their targets in the dead of night. These tactics were effective, but they made Robert uncomfortable. He had always been a man of open battle, where strength and skill determined the outcome. Poison and subterfuge seemed dishonorable to him, especially when used on enemies who weren't given a fair chance to defend themselves.
The first time he was involved in such a mission, Robert hesitated. He watched as one of his fellow knights slipped a deadly toxin into the goblet of a corrupt lord who had been oppressing his people for years. The lord died without a fight, his crimes brought to an end, but Robert couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. It felt more like the work of an assassin than that of a knight.
On another mission, they infiltrated the manor of a particularly brutal nobleman. Under cover of darkness, they killed his guards silently, leaving no trace as they crept through the halls. When they reached the nobleman's chambers, Robert watched as his fellow Blackstone knights slit the man's throat while he slept. The nobleman had been cruel, deserving of justice, but the manner in which it was delivered unsettled Robert.
He had been raised to believe in honorable combat, where a man met his enemy face-to-face and fought fairly. But the Blackstone Legion was different. To them, justice wasn't about how the fight was fought—it was about making sure the right people were punished, no matter the cost or method. The Legion's philosophy was clear: the end justified the means, and if the cause was just, the path taken to achieve it didn't matter.
Robert struggled with this idea. While he understood the necessity of some of their actions—after all, these lords and bandits were responsible for unimaginable suffering—it was hard for him to reconcile their methods with his own sense of honor. He had always prided himself on being a warrior who fought with strength and valor, not cunning and deception.
But as time went on, Robert couldn't deny the results. The Blackstone Legion brought peace and safety to the smallfolk wherever they went. Corrupt lords who had been untouchable were brought down, and villages that had once been terrorized by bandits were now free. The people praised the Legion as heroes, even if they never knew the faces of the knights who had saved them.
Still, the weight of their actions hung over Robert. He knew that, in some ways, he had become more of an assassin than a knight. He had compromised his own values, doing things that went against everything he had once believed. And yet, every time he saw the faces of the people they had saved, he wondered if maybe the Legion was right—perhaps justice required sacrifice, even the sacrifice of one's honor.
As he wrestled with these thoughts, Robert remained committed to the Blackstone Legion. But deep inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself with every mission, every strike in the dead of night. The question lingered: how far was he willing to go for the greater good, and at what point would the path he walked no longer be worth the destination?
As the Blackstone Legion sat around a modest dinner table in their hidden base in King's Landing, Robert Stronghammer found himself lost in thought. The meals at the hideout were always humble, a stark contrast to the feasts he had enjoyed growing up as the son of Lord Baratheon. Still, it was among these men that Robert had begun to feel a different kind of belonging, one rooted in shared purpose rather than nobility. But tonight, the air felt heavier, laden with more than just the weight of their food.
Holden Cross, the enigmatic leader of the Blackstone Legion, leaned forward, his piercing eyes locking onto Robert. "Robert," he began, his tone steady but with an edge of curiosity, "have you ever wondered why we recruited you?"
Robert glanced up from his meal, momentarily caught off guard. He had never truly considered it. The Legion was a group of unknowns, men who operated in the shadows. Unlike them, Robert was famous, a knight known throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the son of one of the most powerful lords in Westeros. He had never fit their mold, and yet they had accepted him without question. But why?
Robert furrowed his brow, meeting Holden's gaze. "No, I haven't thought much about it," he admitted. "I assumed it was because of my strength, my skill with a warhammer."
Holden Cross allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. "That helps," he said. "But it's not the main reason."
The room grew quieter, as the rest of the knights seemed to sense that something important was about to be revealed. Robert leaned forward, intrigued.
"You see, Robert," Holden continued, his voice lowering slightly, "we are all people without fame or influence. We move in the shadows, easily able to hide our identities because we're nobodies in the eyes of the world. We have no titles to our name, no lands to govern, no legacies to protect. But you—you're different."
Robert's confusion deepened. "Different how?"
"You are the son of Lord Baratheon," Holden explained. "A renowned knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Your name carries weight, and your reputation precedes you wherever you go. That is why we recruited you."
Robert blinked, trying to understand. He had joined the Legion because of his strength, his desire to help the smallfolk. What did his noble lineage have to do with any of this?
Holden leaned back in his chair, studying Robert's expression. "Your influence," he said plainly. "That is your greatest asset. You can get into places we cannot, because of who you are. And that is why I have a task for you, one that requires your particular... advantages."
Robert's heart began to pound in his chest. He had been on dangerous missions before, but this felt different. Holden wasn't asking him to defeat bandits or rid a village of corrupt lords. This was something else entirely.
"The King's wedding is in two weeks," Holden said, his voice as calm and calculated as ever. "King Viserys is marrying Alicent Hightower, and there will be a grand tournament in King's Landing. You are a Baratheon bastard, one of the most powerful houses in the realm. If you enter that tournament and win, you will be invited into the Red Keep for the celebration. From there, you can get close to people we cannot."
Robert's pulse quickened. "Who... who do you want me to kill?"
Holden Cross gave a small shake of his head. "Not yet. I won't reveal the target until the time is right. But understand this, Robert: this mission is of the utmost importance. The person we need eliminated holds great power. And their death will shift the balance in Westeros."
Robert clenched his jaw. He had done many things with the Blackstone Legion that went against his former values. He had killed in the dead of night, used poisons, and fought for justice in ways that made him uncomfortable. But this—an assassination at a royal wedding—felt like a step even further into the shadows.
Yet, without hesitation, Robert nodded. "I'll do it."
Holden's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good. We'll prepare you for the tournament, but remember—this is about more than the fight. It's about getting inside the Red Keep. Once you're there, you will do what must be done for the greater good."
The room fell silent once again, and Robert felt the weight of his decision settle heavily on his shoulders. He had agreed to kill someone, someone powerful, someone important. And yet, he had no idea who the target was. But he trusted Holden Cross, and he trusted the Blackstone Legion. If they believed this assassination was necessary, then he would carry it out, no matter the cost to his soul.
As Robert sat back, his mind raced with the possibilities. He knew that whatever lay ahead, it would not be easy. But he had come this far, and there was no turning back now. He would enter the tournament, win his way into the Red Keep, and complete the mission—because in the Blackstone Legion, the destination always mattered more than the path.
Author's Note:
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