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Chapter 7 - I Am The Champion of the World (R)
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 20:09:32 +0000 UTCStorm’s End
The astonishment over the revelation had slowly given way to silent contemplation.
Members of House Targaryen had a range of reactions. King Aerys was in a state of constant fury and denial, unable to wrap his head around the fact that a non-Targaryen was able to hatch dragons.
Crown Prince Rhaegar was stuck over the scrolls and books he had brought, agonizing over how the prophecy could have been shattered so easily.
Queen Rhaella and Prince Aegon were the only ones attempting to find a solution to this critical problem. However, there seemed to be only one viable option: arranging a marriage between Shaena and Robert.
And from the way he spoke, it wasn’t possible either.
—
Lord Tywin sat in his quarters, silent as a grave, considering the events of the last couple of days.
While House Lannister did not have any issues with House Baratheon—in fact, their relations were good, owing to the friendship between the heads of both houses—Robert Baratheon’s dislike of House Targaryen was known.
Tywin served as the Hand of the King, and with Cersei on the verge of marrying Prince Daeron, Robert had become a wildcard—a dangerous element, especially given his dragons.
Meaning a quarrel would drag the Seven Kingdoms into a total war, and the might of the dragons was well known, even if Robert did not have any beast as big as Balerion the Black Dread.
If he had another daughter, the Lord of Casterly Rock would offer her hand to the dragonlord, but alas.
—
Cersei did not know what to make of this situation. A war between Robert Baratheon and the Crown would jeopardize her wedding to Prince Daeron, along with her chances of becoming the queen, once Rhaegar and his northern savage of a betrothed were dealt with.
Jaime, on the other hand, remained fixated on how Robert of all people managed to bring dragons back to life.
—
Rickard’s glare silenced his eldest, who was complaining about Robert Baratheon and how he had revealed the secret behind Ashara’s daughter.
As if he did not have enough to do as the Warden of the North, he had to deal with the humiliation of having his second son marry the woman his first son impregnated.
He couldn’t afford a retaliation, since Robert Baratheon had to be the Father of Dragons. Now, he was stuck with having to endure the judgemental gazes of the nobles in Storm’s End.
He turned his attention to his good-daughter, Catelyn, who was busy with her embroidery, ignoring her husband. He had thought Brandon would change once wed, and while their union was a happy one at the start, it did not take long before Brandon’s vices caused it to sour.
At least his second son, Ned, was a more responsible child. If only he were the eldest.
Finally, his daughter Lyanna, Robert’s former betrothed.
Now it looked foolish to have cancelled that betrothal, but without being exiled to Essos, Robert couldn’t have dragons, so at the time, it was the right decision.
Of course, it did not change the fact Robert Baratheon was the more attractive choice between him and Prince Rhaegar, but he couldn’t change the past.
—
Lyanna Stark was aware of the danger Robert posed, as only a fool would not be. If he were to start a war with the Targaryens, there would be a lot of deaths.
Her father would fight against Robert and his dragons, but fighting against the beasts that brought House Targaryen to power would not end well for anyone.
How that oaf Robert managed to do what the Targaryens couldn’t over a century baffled her.
—
“Mother, you seem vexed.” Mace noticed how his mother, Olenna, was not her usual talkative self.
“It is nothing.”
“What are we to do now?” Their alliance with the Targaryens meant Robert was their enemy now, and dragons were not creatures easily slain.
His wife, Alerie, offered her own solution. “I have unwed sisters; perhaps Lord Robert could be convinced to take one on as a wife?” She had three unwed sisters, and while Alysanne and Lynesse were too young to wed yet, Denys and Leyla were of age.
Olenna’s measuring gaze told Alerie she was considering the idea. “Father of Dragons does not wish to wed for now, but all the same, feel free to write a letter to your father.” If not directly wed, since House Tyrell had no daughters left, then perhaps wed to a Hightower, tying Robert Baratheon to the Reach.
That is, if he would accept.
“Is that what bothered you, Mother?” Mace had heard of how her mother sought Robert, but not the details of it.
The Queen of Thorns' smile was belittling. “And what will you do about it, Mace? Complain to a Dragonlord in his home? Another brilliant idea from you.”
The guilty look on Mace’s face, reminiscent of a child who had been caught sneaking a pie from the kitchens, told her he had indeed thought of doing something foolish. “Apologies, Mother.”
“We shall need scorpions.” With Elia Martell wed to Baelor Hightower, and Baelor’s sister wed to Mace, perhaps Doran Martell would be inclined to share the knowledge of how to build scorpions.
—
Of all the guests in Storm’s End, only the Stormlanders were joyful at the sight of one of their own riding dragons.
Robert was well liked by the lords due to his charisma, generosity, and the way he connected with everyone. More than one lord had grumbled when his younger, more serious brother, Stannis, was made the heir.
To see that he was the Father of Dragons? It made the Stormlords feel vindicated.
—
“What, may I ask, is so amusing, Mother?” Steffon was trying to work in the solar, but the way his mother kept grinning distracted him.
“Everything.” Her answer only made the situation more irritating.
“Could you please not?” The Lord of Storm’s End pleaded, trying not to think about the chaos his eldest son had caused, at least for a while.
His mother’s look told him to shut it. “Steffon, let me have my fun. It is rare for something so profoundly entertaining to happen.”
“Husband, what will you do now?” Cassana was against removing Robert from the line of succession, preferring to fight the king’s threats rather than bow to them.
“I don’t know.” Making Robert the heir again would hurt Stannis, no matter what his dutiful son would say, but if his eldest decided to fight for the seat of Storm’s End in the future, it would be devastating.
His youngest son had less worrisome matters in his mind. “Mother, I wish to ride on a dragon.”
“Not now, Renly; just be patient.”
“Fine.” Renly pouted. He wanted to ride a dragon so bad.
“I remember once when Robert was six winters old or so. He promised to hatch a dragon egg and take me flying. Turns out he wasn’t just being a boisterous child.” Rhaelle recalled the memory fondly.
Stannis was in deep thoughts and ignored the banter.
Being the heir to Storm’s End felt incredible, and he didn’t wish to give it up.
But if Robert were to push it, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop him, not that he wanted to fight his older brother.
Stormlords would flock to him, as they were singing his praises now, and a lord without the support of his subjects wasn’t much of a lord.
The correct thing to do, at least for Stormlands, would be to give up his position, as Robert’s dragons were too valuable to lose to another kingdom with the wedding offers that would no doubt find their way to him.
All the education his father had given him in how to rule did not give him a way out of this predicament.
—
Robert had taken his dragons out to hunt. They preferred it over being fed, a side effect of living in a cave for a year and a half.
They were circling overhead, searching for prey, while Robert was resting beneath some trees, thinking about the future.
He didn’t really feel like fighting Stannis for the position as heir. He had seen how much his younger brother liked it, and with a dash of what he knew, retaking his place as heir wasn’t that appealing.
One option was the Summer Isles, as he had considered before, but while spending time fooling around sounded nice, it wasn’t as nice as the thought of a fantastical adventure.
That and he ought to do something about the shitty world he was living in currently.
Women’s rights did not exist in most of Westeros, nor did the rights of the majority, the smallfolk.
People did as they pleased to those beneath their station, and the less said about the slavery in Essos, the better.
Robert could choose to sit on his ass doing nothing or solve those problems.
—
Morale as the Riverlands host marched home was gloomy, like the storms that plague the lands they were walking on.
How did Robert Baratheon know Lysa’s shame escaped him?
“You forced Lysa to drink moon tea?” Brynden had ridden ahead to speak to his brother in private.
Hoster nodded.
“You fool.” Blackfish coldly glared at his brother.
Hoster’s gaze was equally icy. These clashes between the Tully brothers were common but did not make it any easier to bear. “I did it so her honor could be preserved and she could be wed well.”
“You should have forced her to marry Baelish if you wished to protect her honor.” He might not have chosen to wed, but he wasn’t oblivious to how Lysa fawned over Littlefinger.
Brynden just did not expect it to have gone so far.
“Don’t get me started on him.” Hoster had agreed to foster the boy since he and Petyr’s father were friends.
What a mistake it had been.
“Was that why she was sick? Because of the miscarriage?” Blackfish remembered how the maester had said Lysa was too sick to receive visitors and required constant rest. Had he known the truth, Brynden would have interfered.
“Aye.” Hoster wasn’t proud of what he had done, but there was no other way to cover the mess Lysa had created.
Fury swelled up in Brynden, and for a second he considered striking Hoster. “You almost killed your daughter for your ambitions, rather than just wedding her? Your wife would have been ashamed to have a husband like you.”
Poor Minisa would have been disgusted by what her husband had done.
“Don’t speak to me of my wife.” Hoster barely stopped himself from shouting and drawing attention.
“Hoster Tully, always in the right, can never accept his mistakes.” He and Hoster always saw the world differently, and it caused no amount of quarrel between the siblings, but this was a new low.
“Do you wish to start a fight, Brynden?” They had never come to blows before, but it was proving to be challenging work to keep it that way.
Brynden kept his hands where they were. Fighting with Hoster wouldn’t help their house. “I don’t wish to speak to you any longer than I have to. What will you do with Lysa now?”
“What is there left to do but send her to the Silent Sisters?”
Brynden considered denying it, but she might just be better off away from Hoster. “Just wait until I get my hands on Petyr.” Instead, he would turn his displeasure on people he could hurt.
“Provided Jon Arryn does not kill him first, if what Robert said was true.” Damn both Robert and Petyr.
“Has Lord Steffon said anything about retaliating or compensation?” This kind of an insult was not something a Lord Paramount like Steffon Baratheon would forget or forgive.
Hoster shook his head. “No, he was too busy with calming the king down.” No matter, he would be ready for whatever Steffon Baratheon would do.
“He won’t let things go so easily.” Especially with a son who has three grown dragons.
“I know.”
—
Robert made up his mind, and once the dragons were done, flew back to Storm’s End, muttering “We Are The Champions” to himself, ignoring the gazes of the guests in the courtyard.
