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Chapter 42 - Cope-a-Cabana
🕑 Added 2025-07-30 16:30:13 +0000 UTCAsgard
“Lord Arryn, I didn’t know your house was prosperous enough to offer that much gold for a Valyrian steel sword.” Titus Peake was sore from the amount he had bid in the auction, for he would not confront him otherwise.
Jon smiled sagely, enjoying the chaos Robert’s antics caused for once. “I fostered Robert; he is like a son to me, and I, another father to him. I simply thought he might let me pay in installments; alas, you outbid me, though I am curious.” Jon rubbed his chin, thinking, even though he knew the answer to the question. ”How does your house intend to pay three million gold dragons when you aren’t even the Lord Paramount of the Reach?”
“I have my ways.” Titus replied, turning back to leave with a scowl.
“I am sure you do. Come, Elbert, let’s see how Robert is doing.”
—
With all those VIPs in Asgard, Robert naturally met many of them in private settings to discuss business.
Fees and tariffs were waived mutually, and Robert convinced the rulers of the Free Cities to let him establish trade posts to increase the amount and speed of trade passing between the cities, with the first one to be built in Braavos.
Seeing as Robert was richer than most cities, they agreed eagerly.
—
King’s Landing
Red Keep
Tyrell Quarters
A Week After the Auction
“You what?!” Perhaps for the first time in her adult life, Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, lost her composure upon hearing her buffoon of a son, the Lord Paramount of the Reach, had just paid three million gold dragons for a Valyrian steel sword, and to Robert Baratheon, no less.
Without even letting her catch a whiff of his plan, which she actually would be impressed by under any other circumstances.
“Mother, all that gold was sitting in our coffers and doing nothing. This way, we increase our prestige, and as the harvest season is approaching, our coffers will be filled again. Also, he is already the richest man in the known world; what difference can three million gold make?” Mace had already prepared excuses for when his mother eventually would learn what he had done, and they were actually reasonable points, though even he found three million gold a bit much but had no choice lest he and House Tyrell be seen as weak by backing out of an agreement, even if it was through an intermediary.
His mother’s cold gaze no doubt hid the many thoughts in her mind, though Mace could never tell what his mother was thinking. “Even if I concede that our house owning a Valyrian steel sword is good for our prestige, what do you think the crown will do? King Rhaegar may bury his head in scrolls, and Queen Lyanna is too inept to do anything, but Prince Aegon and the Dowager Queen won’t stay idle.”
If Prince Aegon was anything like Rhaegar or Daemon, Olenna wouldn’t even entertain the thought of marrying his daughter to him, a royal match be damned.
The Queen of Thorns wouldn’t let any of her children marry a Targaryen showing signs of madness, not to mention she couldn’t get her blood on the throne if her daughter ended up dying due to the folly of the Targaryens.
Mace grimaced, knowing his mother wouldn’t like his next words at all. “About that, it is kept a secret, but Robert Baratheon sent the tax collectors away, saying he wouldn't pay taxes to anyone.”
Olenna rolled her eyes. With all the power and wealth he had, of course the Lord of Asgard wouldn’t pay taxes. “Of course not. Are they planning to do anything about it?”
“They offered to foster Renly Baratheon, but Lord Steffon refused on the grounds they had already sent him to foster in Tarth on Robert’s suggestion.” Which meant any attempts by the Crown to change the agreement would meet Robert’s disapproval.
“So, once again, our alliance is left with no solution.” Olenna reached for the wine cup, but her son’s fidgeting stopped her. Mace only did that when he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind or not.
“Out with it, boy.” She ordered, and the Lord Paramount of Reach obeyed.
“Prince Daemon, there are rumors that his female companion is a sorcerer from Essos, and he might be dabbling in it himself.”
Olenna felt like strangling someone. “Wonderful, another Targaryen who is out of his mind.”
—
Tower of the Hand
“Two million gold dragons, Lord Marbrand?”
“Yes, my lord, the number of participants and the limited number of swords made the prices increase much more than expected.” While there wasn’t a set price for Valyrian steel weapons, it would fetch at least half a million gold dragons if a lord in a dire situation decided to sell it.
Tywin could pay two million gold dragons. “So be it. Have you seen him?” Both knew who the Hand of the King meant, as Addam had been instructed to keep an eye on the Dwarf of Casterly Rock.
“I did; he works as Robert Baratheon’s right-hand man and gave me this letter, saying it had something to do with Valyria.”
Tywin took the letter, half considering just throwing it into the hearth, but decided to leave it in his drawer for now. “Anything else?”
“One last thing, Titus Peake, he bought a sword too, for three million gold dragons.”
“The Queen of Thorns must be displeased with her son right now. You are dismissed, Lord Marbrand.”
“Yes, Lord Tywin.” After Addam left, Tywin took the letter out, considering whether to open it or not.
The dwarf not only insulted House Lannister by marrying a commoner, but he also started a fire in his lands to cover his escape and now works for the Crown’s nemesis.
First, his daughter almost ruined the chances of getting his grandchildren on the throne, only saved by the existence of Robert Baratheon’s dragons, as the crown needed allies now more than ever.
Ironic.
And now, the dwarf with his inexcusable actions. Had he been anywhere else but Asgard, Tywin would have sent assassins to finish him and his gold-seeker of a wife.
Alas, none would take that kind of contract, except maybe the Faceless Men, who would no doubt charge an exorbitant fee to go against a dragonlord who had slain the demon responsible for Valyria’s destruction.
Tywin Lannister cut open the wax and read the letter, each line making his blood boil, before actually throwing the paper into the hearth.
The dwarf had found Brightroar, the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Lannister, and offered to negotiate for its return.
And he just paid two million gold dragons for another sword.
—
Asgard
Three Weeks Later
“My lord, there is a problem.” Davos had just returned from King's Landing, meaning Targaryens or their allies had done something.
“Is it the kind that can be solved with violence, gold, or both?” Because he was a master of both.
“I… am not sure. A new song is making its way across the realm.”
“I am not going to like this, am I?” So they decided to strike him through more cultural means.
“No, it is a song where they basically call Asgard ‘Ass-guard’, as well as just mocking you in general.”
Robert considered what kind of violent response to employ before a much more ingenious idea struck him, and a wicked grin adorned his face. “Tyrion, find me bards; we are going to respond with a song of our own.”
—
King’s Landing
Two Weeks Later
People of King’s Landing were having another ordinary day, as the common folk toiled, merchants sold their wares, septons and septas led prayers, and the nobles saw to their business.
The mundanity was broken when two dragons, one crimson like blood, the other bluer than the sky, soared over King's Landing, their forms casting shadows over homes and people alike. That alone was a cause for worry, as soldiers manned the scorpions built all over the city to shoot the dragons should they show any signs of attacking.
What was more interesting than the dragons was the banner that was unfurled from the back of the blue one, a massive white cloth that was embroidered with Robert Baratheon planting his foot on the head of the demon of Valyria and pointing with his finger towards the people, along with the words “You are coping” for those who knew how to read, while the crimson dragon trailed behind, carrying a large basket with people in it.
Soon the dragons descended, flying over high enough to not get their load snagged by anything, but low enough for the people to hear the song coming from the basket.
You are coping.
(coping)
Coping and seething
(coping and seething)
You just can't accept what you're seeing.
Yes, you're coping.
(coping)
Coping and seething
(coping and seething)
The truth is scalding.
And now you are malding.
And coping
Coping so hard
(coping, coping, and seething)
—
“What in the seven hells?!” Daeron screamed as he ran out to the battlements to see what was going on, followed by members of his family and other nobles currently residing in the keep.
Only to hear an annoying song coming from up in the sky, as two of Robert’s dragons hovered over the Red Keep, and Daeron twitched at seeing the banner.
“Shoot him down, you fools!” He screamed to the men who seemed hesitant before Rhaegar, who had finally left his scrolls behind, ordered him to stop.
“But.” Daeron started to object, but his king stopped him. “Daeron, you know what happened to Volantis’ fleet, and how scorpions proved to be useless. As he is not attacking, we won’t do anything for now.”
Daeron huffed in outrage and left, as did the rest of the people, to avoid hearing Robert’s annoying song anymore.
—
For hours, the dragons made passes over the city, with the bards singing till their throats were hoarse and could sing no longer. The sun was setting when the skies of King’s Landing were clear again, with “Robert of Ass-guard” leaving its place to “You Are Coping” among taverns and brothels.
The following day, both songs were forbidden, the first one to avoid provoking Robert anymore, the second so the Targaryens didn’t have to hear it.
—
Asgard
Evening
Robert guided Slifer to lower the basket, and the bards inside quickly left before the dragon landed on it, crushing the basket and tearing the straps of his body.
Moody beast.
Obelisk was gentler, and Robert ordered the banner hung from the top of Valhalla as a fun memoir.
“How did it go, my lord?”
“It was absolutely glorious; you should have seen the faces the Targaryens made.” Robert grinned, shaking his telescope, one of the sole master glassblowers of Asgard was busy making these days.
“I am sure you will find what Maester Olivar discovered even more glorious.”
—
“So?” Robert had gathered his A-team on his solar, with Maester Olivar ready to explain what he had found on how Dragonstone was made.
“My lord, interestingly enough, it is neither blood nor dark magic that has been used to reshape stone after melting it, but something referred to as earth or dirt magic.” Olivar handed over the relevant pages he had spent countless hours translating.
Earth magic? What was this, DnD?
“Continue.” Robert would read the translations later; he wanted to hear what else the man had found.
“References are far and few, but what it is called “the earth magic of the old ones” with no explanation as to who or what they are.” Olivar pointed at the page with the apt title.
“Maybe I should go and see if the Children of the Forest know anything.” Robert couldn’t think of anyone older to ask, except maybe the old gods, but he didn’t think they would be in the mood to teach him any magic.
The group, except Robert, exchanged glances, not sure what to say at their lord mentioning beings most thought of as fairy tales.
Tyrion voiced their thoughts. “And where would they be, my lord?”
Robert turned back, pointing at the most complete map of the Seven Kingdoms they had, which also included the far North. “Beyond the wall, somewhere in the Haunted Forest. They are busy tending to a really annoying bastard there.”
“Who?” Davos wanted to know the name of the man who managed to annoy Robert Baratheon from the other end of Westeros.
“Brynden Rivers, or Bloodraven as he goes by now.” He should have gone and killed him by now, but work never gave him any pause.
“He is alive? How?” By now he would be well over one hundred and twenty years old, approaching one hundred and thirty, and as far as Maester Olivar knew, there was no precedent of any man, not even a Targaryen, living that long.
“You see that crow?” Robert pointed out the window, and even in the dark, the crimson glare of the avian was easily seen.
Tyrion had noticed the unusual presence of crows around Robert, but since the Lord of Asgard didn’t seem to care, he had said nothing so far. “Yes?”
“Bloodraven uses them as spies. He has been watching me ever since I hatched dragons. As for how he is alive, he is bound to Weirwood trees, and they, along with the Children of the Forest, sustain him.” Seeing as the children knew some weird magic, maybe Robert could convince them to relocate in return for their services, if they knew anything about the earth magic, that is.
“Will you go there?” Sandor would follow him this time, and not like the lands beyond the Wall could be more dangerous than a demon.
“Eh, maybe as a last resort, we’ll see what Maester Olivar finds.” If nothing else, he still wanted to find Dark Sister, though. Now that he had an armory filled with Valyrian steel and more, though in lesser amounts each time, arriving every day, Robert would definitely use the ancestral blade of House Targaryen for a good public cause.
—
The song is Cope-a-Cabana by Chris Voiceman, brought to my attention by Jerikoz on Spacebattles.
