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Chapter 35 - Surprise
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 21:27:50 +0000 UTCValyria
Tyrion’s search was in vain. Either the fleet had sunk entirely, or there was nothing left of them at all.
Even with the help of Slifer, he couldn’t find any remnants and gave up to go and continue his work in pillaging the wealth of Valyria, which lifted his mood.
Here he was, a Westerosi, taking all the wealth and secrets of Valyria in the name of his lord.
The Dragonlords of old must be screaming in the afterlife.
“My lord, we found this.” One of the workers approached, handing him an old and battered piece of cloth.
The sigil on it was worn and faded, but it was unmistakably a lion of Casterly Rock.
“Take me where you found it.” Perhaps his search wasn’t over yet.
—
The workers took him to what he guessed to be the entrance of a dungeon beneath a mansion, though the steel gate was rusted and blocked by rocks, with the banner of House Lannister stuck between them.
He tried to pull the rest of the banner out, but it wouldn’t budge. “Start removing the rocks.” Tyrion ordered, and the men got to work as he watched.
Perhaps Tommen II Lannister and what remained of his fleet had no choice but to take refuge there and were trapped inside when the entrance collapsed.
Hauling the rocks away and clearing the entrance took time, but the workers were used to this kind of labor, and slowly, the gates were exposed.
Prying it open was another challenge, but it was one easier than the Valyrian steel gate barring the treasure vault.
The air inside was stale, and it was impossible to see anything. “Somebody bring me a torch.” Tyrion called out, ready to go and find Brightroar if it was inside.
The sound of something like bone crunching echoed in the dungeon, and Tyrion hesitantly held out the torch to illuminate the darkness of the dungeon. He dropped the torch as two blood-red eyes appeared ahead, watching him like prey.
“Run.” Tyrion shouted, dropping the torch and turning back to climb the steps, cursing his short legs.
The monster roared, shaking the dungeon, before running at them far faster than any of them could run, and it looked as if it was going to catch up.
The only thing to save them was the monster’s size, as it was too big and struggled to get through the entrance, giving them time to escape.
“Run to the camp; Lord Robert should be able to take care of it.” Tyrion began to hobble towards the only place that could save them, but to his fortune, he tripped and fell, just in time for the monster to come bursting through what was left of the mansion’s door, lock its eyes on him, and charge.
Paralyzed with fear, Tyrion didn’t know what to do as the monster got closer, with each step sending small tremors, and was soon upon him.
Only to take a hammer to the face.
The blow was a blur and sent the monster reeling to the side with teeth flying out of its jaw. It let out a pitiful moan of pain, boiling blood pouring from its gums, and Robert pulled Tyrion up, handing him over to one of the men.
“Get out of here; we got this.” Robert advanced on the monster, a Valyrian steel hammer in his hand, followed by Sandor.
The monster swiped its thick arm, sharp claws targeting Robert’s head, but the man in question ducked and swung his hammer up, nailing the monster on the jaw again.
Sandor circled the demonspawn, getting in its blind spot, but leaped back when the monster targeted him this time. Which was a mistake, as Robert slammed his hammer into its face again, cracking bone and sending the monster down, but it leaped back with the fury of a creature left with nowhere to run.
It became a deadly dance between the three of them. The demonspawn would attack either Robert or Sandor, and the other would take the chance to attack, slowly wearing it down with each cut and broken bone.
Sandor, eager to finish it, overextended himself, and the demonspawn caught him with the next attack, knocking him out and sending him flying away.
It leaped at Robert, who was caught off guard, and brought its claws down, but he blocked the attack by holding his hammer sideways. Robert gritted his teeth as muscles bulged with effort and threw the demon off. He brought the hammer down in a wide arc and smashed the demon's knee to a pulp.
The demonspawn reeled in pain, a shrill scream deafening the spectators, and its chest began to glow with that annoying magic that gave them a power boost, but Robert wasn’t in the mood to let that happen.
He began to rain a flurry of blows, first on the head, then on the healing leg, arms, and everywhere he could, each hit caving the flesh and bone in, refusing to let the demon stand up and fight.
Its death came when Robert brought the hammer down with all his might, smashing the abomination’s head to a red stain on the ground and carving through its neck down to the groin.
Good thing he was wearing a helmet; there was a lot of blood sprayed on him.
—
Tyrion was watching, hidden behind a wall, and slowly came out when Robert killed a monster that had at least three feet on him.
“My lord, are you alright?”
“Yeah, have someone move Sandor to rest, and have the corpse tied to rocks and thrown to sea.”
“Yes, and thank you. It is twice I owe you now.”
“Don’t mention it, Tyrion; it’s not like I am counting.”
—
Men were naturally on edge after the attack, and Robert personally joined the work to intervene if something like this happened again.
In other news, Tyrion did find Brightroar, along with the remains of Tommen II Lannister; at least, they assumed it was his, since all that was left was the skeleton of the hand that held the sword and other bits and pieces.
Barely enough to fill a box.
“What I wouldn’t give to see my father’s face now.” Tyrion muttered, cleaning the sword with a piece of cloth and some water. It was going to need a new grip, but the word "Brightroar" etched on the Valyrian steel was unmistakable.
“Don’t worry, you can gloat after we are done here. How much gold have we found so far?”
“More than twenty million, and it doesn’t seem to have an end to it. Guess millennia of being the uncontested rulers of the Free Cities and Valyria would do that to you.” In honesty, he had stopped counting after the twenty million mark, as even in his dreams, the dwarf of Asgard was counting gold.
“I should focus on bringing more artisans to Asgard. With all this gold, I can give enough incentives to draw them in droves.” Hell, with all this gold, Robert could build anything he wanted, within reason.
“Wise choice, my lord. With the demon’s corpse as an attraction, all the Valyrian steel, and the books you took, I have no doubt Asgard will see more visitors than ever. We should prepare ourselves for it.”
“Yeah, we are going to have to increase security and expand the docks.” He sighed, suddenly tired imagining all the work that was heading his way. “We are going to be busier than ever.”
Tyrion chuckled, though he too felt weary. “Price of greatness, my lord.” He quipped, and Robert just nodded.
—
Davos was sailing back to Asgard as the thirty ships they had sent returned, filled with loot again, and prepared to set sail.
Thomas, the captain who was put in charge of the small fleet, reported being shadowed by vessels belonging to almost every known power with ships, from the Redwynes, Manderlys, Velaryons, Celtigars, and Targaryens to Braavos, Myr, Lys, Tyrosh, and Volantis—at least what they could afford to spare after Lord Robert’s dragons sank most of their fleet.
It was no different now, but the dragon above, Slifer this time, as Lord Robert didn’t want to tire one dragon too much, offered protection by deterring anyone from attacking.
People that would not give him a second glance were watching him and his fleet like vultures, seeking weakness to exploit.
He would not give them the satisfaction.
One lord was watching them closer than the rest, and the griffin banner was unmistakable. Jon Connington was here, and Davos couldn’t help but smirk at the Master of Ships, obviously here to watch and report to King Rhaegar.
His lord didn’t like the red-haired noble at all, calling him several names, which also included the manhood of Rhaegar Targaryen, and from the way Robert talked, Davos was starting to have doubts about Connington’s reasons for being so willing to do anything for the king.
Davos ignored the thunderous look on the noble's face.
He was scared of the monster that attacked Lord Tyrion, and it ended up a corpse before Robert Baratheon.
Compared to that, Jon Cuntington—as Lord Robert was ever so fond of calling him in private—didn’t inspire fear.
—
Oldtown
Hightower
Elia whistled, “Well, I’ll be. Robert sure isn’t staying idle.” She muttered to her husband, who was going over some documents as part of his lordly duties, ever since her good-father became more interested in higher mysteries.
Reports of Asgard’s construction of several vaults to store the vast wealth plundered from Valyria were making mouths water with greed.
“Indeed. Perhaps we shall be able to get a Valyrian sword from him.” Baelor was already seeking the means to increase cooperation with Asgard in many fields.
If only he could have convinced Robert to marry one of his sisters, that would have been perfect.
“Robert is generous, and I don’t think a single sword would be an issue.” At least this one was generous, as the original was more careless with his wealth than generous.
“Hmm. You never told me how you two get along so well, even though you only met once or twice.” Baelor trusted his wife to not do anything untoward, but he was definitely going to challenge someone to a duel for slander at this rate.
Elia hummed, picking up the medical book she was writing. “I keep it a secret, but the dragon dreams we had shaped Westeros, and dare I say, it went as far as to change fate itself. That’s why we are good friends.” Baelor nodded, aware of his wife’s dislike of mentioning the dreams.
“Some people are making noise about that.”
She scoffed, swishing her quill again in habit, something she did when agitated. “Those people have nothing better to do but run their mouths. They’ll be trying to get into Robert’s pants at the first opportunity while talking behind our backs. Let them bark all they want.”
“True enough.”
—
The Citadel
Another discussion, this one much more heated, was happening in Oldtown, right inside the Citadel.
The resurrection of the dragons was unexpected; the one responsible being Robert Baratheon was more so.
But the news of his conquest of Valyria?
Downright impossible.
At least it was until the man himself began to send the pillaged wealth back to his keep.
It was not gold nor Valyrian steel that interested the archmaesters, but knowledge, and Robert Baratheon possessed the unmatched wealth that Valyria had in that field.
Ever since the news of his victory was verified, the Conclave had gathered at regular intervals to discuss what steps they should take moving forward but were unable to reach an agreement.
Asking for copies of the books and everything else was the most spoken choice, but there was nothing they could offer in return that the libraries of Valyrian houses didn’t have, bar the books that were written after the Doom.
Marwyn the Mage was championing for a chance to study the demon’s corpse and unravel its secrets, but the Conclave was vehemently against it.
No precedent existed for an attempt like that, making it too risky.
There was no telling what effects the magic used to summon the demon, or its corpse, would have.
The meeting today did not produce any results, the same as the previous gatherings.
Comments
KingD
man I would kill Marwyn so fast, anyone who wants to study a demon is someone who will cause death and destruction.
