GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

"Tywin's men are crawling through the city like damned cockroaches. No matter how many you kill, there's always one that gets away. Keep order in the city until the arrival of my so… friend's son."

Barristan observed keenly and signaled his subordinates to proceed. "Cersei's absence will not remain unnoticed for long, Your Grace. Tywin may well take action if the Young Wolf does not move swiftly."

"Aye, I know." Robert's voice rumbled with the weight of command. "Gods be good, let's hope my raven made its mark. With my return, Tywin will have to pull his dogs back from the Riverlands, at least long enough to sniff the winds. My men will guard the Kingsroad from here to Harrenhal. It should be enough to save Robb from any Lannister ambush. Kingslayer must be brought to justice, Barristan."

Barristan silently stared at this new side of the King. He had spent the most time near Robert and knew his mannerisms greatly. Although he could see this was Robert, a few changes in the vocabulary and manner of speech didn't elude his ears. Consequences of almost dying?

"What of that runt? That Lancel boy?" Robert asked as he walked over to his table and grabbed a sword before strapping it around his waist. "Did he speak?"

"Almost immediately, Your Grace. Stannis is… very thorough in his methods," Ser Barristan reported. He followed the King towards the small council, his armor clinking softly behind. "You were right, Your Grace. Cersei was indeed sleeping with him, pulling the strings of the boy like a puppet. During the hunt, it was he who spiked your wine to dull your senses."

Robert's fist clenched. It was hard to control the innate rage. I tormented her last night for no good. I… I betrayed Cat.

Yet, somewhere deep inside, it was a pleasurable experience. He was never going to accept it, but the truth couldn't be denied forever. What had started as Cersei's interrogation had turned into nothing but fucking.

Shameful. He cursed himself and begged the Old Gods for forgiveness.

"Keep Cersei and Lancel separated. Have someone constantly watch over Joffrey and the other two bastards." Robert ordered just as they opened the small council's door. "Everyone's here?"

Stannis, Varys, Pycelle, and also Tyrion Lannister with the Lord Hand's emblem on his coat. Little Finger's seat was empty, same for Renly's as he has yet to return.

"Pycelle." Robert didn't approach his chair. "Why was I declared dead despite being alive?"

"Y-Your Grace… You look to be in great health, I must say. I-ugh I wa—"

Shhhh!

Robert pulled his sword out and stood beside Pycelle's chair. He knew he was really dead, but this was an opportunity to kill Pycelle for good. The predator who took advantage of women and girls in the name of examination. "I asked, why was I buried?"

"Y-Your Grace… Haha…"

"Then face the King's Justice! Ha!" Robert slammed the sword right through Pycelle's chest with only one hand on the hilt. The blade plunged in neatly and sliced through his heart, coming out of his back and even piercing the chair behind him.

Finally, with Pycelle's dead body slumped in that cursed chair, sword driven deep to the hilt, Robert claimed his seat. He felt a storm churning in his chest, revolting at the dishonor of it all. Yet, he had learned his lesson well. Honor among Southerners was as rare as lying was common.

"Varys?" Robert looked to his right and stared right into the plump eunuch's eyes. "Who do you serve?"

Varys gulped, feeling actual fear for a moment. He had seen the King kill four men in less than a day. "I-I serve for the peace of the realm, Your Grace."

Robert squinted his eyes and grunted in displeasure. "Joffrey was your peace?"

"Your Grace, I'm merely a humble Master of Whispers," Varys intoned with a measured calm. "I have witnessed countless souls fall when the high lords engage in the perilous Game of Thrones. It is not my desire to be the harbinger of such turmoil."

"Then serve the peace! I need eyes on Tywin Lannister, every bloody move he makes. Where he goes, who he meets, who he fucks! This may be your last chance to prove your worth for that 'peace' you hold so dear." He turned his fierce gaze to the rest of the council. "Ser Barristan, you'll act as Master of Law for now. Clean the city of scum. Stannis, find me a decent Maester. I want this council in order."

Stannis sternly nodded, not a man of much talking anyway. "What of Master of Coin?"

Robert frowned at that. He didn't have much experience, not as the Robert of the past nor as the Lord of Winterfell. "We'll have to look around."

"I suggest Ser Davos Seaworth. He's an honest man who knows his way around the coin. Until we find someone more suitable, he can manage the coffers," Stannis suggested in earnest. If Davos was good enough to serve him as his Hand, he was also good for this role.

Robert looked at his 'brother'. No more did he trust blindly, especially not someone with an ambition to be the king. "Where is he?"

"At Dragonstone," Stannis answered.

"Summon him forth. I'll speak with him first," Robert commanded, his gaze finally settling on Tyrion, who sat in silence as if hoping to fade into obscurity. "You can leave! Except for the imp."

The chairs moved and screeched on the floor, and soon enough the chamber fell silent.

Robert glared at Tyrion Lannister, a man he didn't have a good impression of. Although it was clear now that Tyrion didn't try to kill Bran, the imp was still a Lannister.

"Take that damned sigil off your chest. I've seen no miracle from you worth making you Hand." Robert scared the short Lannister with his simple yet booming voice. "Tell me; how long have Cersei and Jaime been fucking?"

Tyrion's head snapped up, a look of shock crossing his face fleetingly. Yet, he recovered quickly; deep down, he'd anticipated this moment would come sooner or later. "I-I'm not quite sure I follow, Your Grace."

Boom!

Robert slammed his fist on the table, glaring at him. "She admitted it herself, little Lannister. All the filth she's birthed from that damned cunt of hers—bastards! Now, if you want to keep that head on your shoulders, answer me true. Since when have they been fucking?"

Tyrion looked down and apologized to his brother in silence. "Since they were thirteen… or perhaps fourteen."

"Does Tywin know?" Robert asked further.

At that point, Tyrion sighed and looked back at him. "He's too clever by half to feign ignorance. Yet he's also cunning enough not to openly acknowledge it."

Makes sense. Robert leaned back in his chair, calm and collected inside. Admitting it would mean throwing away any claim to the throne.

Creak!

Robert stood up at last and stretched his neck. The big, fat body wasn't made to be sober for so long. "Do you love your family?"

Tyrion's head almost snapped at the speed he turned it. He never expected the brute King to ask that question. "Does ice love fire?"

Robert smirked a little and nodded. "Then tell me, little Lannister. Do you want to be the Lord of Casterly Rock?"

"What?!" Tyrion fell on his feet from the chair.

Robert didn't elaborate further. "Barristan!"

Clack!

The doors opened and the Lord Commander walked in.

"Find him a more comfortable hole in the Black Cells, with some decent food and drink," Robert grumbled, glaring at Tyrion as he gave his command. "Take your time with it, Imp. You've got a few days to mull it over."

Tyrion didn't protest the arrest and silently followed the Kingsguard.

Robert stayed behind in the room with Pycelle's dead body. He walked over to the closed window and opened it to look outside at the city. The filthy stench made him remember his execution for some reason.

But he soon looked towards the North out of that window. A sense of longing plagued him, a desire to return home and embrace his family. To teach Robb how to be a better Lord, to shower love on Catelyn, who he had taken for granted over the years. To care for Bran and create a bright future for him, and beyond all… Find Arya.

Be quick, my son. You must be faster than the lions.

Knock! Knock!

Robert frowned and looked back at the door in annoyance. "Who is it?"

"Haely, Your Grace." A feminine voice came from the other side. "Ser Barristant ordered me to serve your breakfast here."

Robert sighed and returned to one of the chairs. He did feel hungry after the previous day and night's activities. "Enter."

Quickly, the door was pushed open and a young woman walked in, brown-haired, big-bosomed, with wide hips, and a freckled yet pretty face. She yelped at the sight of dead Pycelle but didn't bother much and placed the covered tray on the table.

"Wh—" Robert wanted to ask what was on the plate but before he could, the woman turned around.

To Robert's shock, the maid shut the door close before looking back at him. Then, with a simple tug on both sides of her shoulders, she let her loose clothing fall off her body. She wore nothing underneath, nothing hid her large breasts or the damp slit with a bushy patch.

Robert frowned and jumped to his feet. He reached for Pycelle's chest to grab the sword in case this was an assassination attempt.

"Your Grace." Haely stepped towards Robert with slow and swan-like graceful steps, swaying her hips and touching herself all over her pristine alabaster skin. "How would you like your breakfast?"

"What do you mean?" Robert questioned, searching for a memory to make sense of it all.

"The usual then? May I feed you with my hands on your lap while you drive into my lowly cunt, Your Grace?"

"I what?!" Rober frowned and ordered her sternly. "That won't be necessary today, Haely. You can return to your duties."

Oh, Robert, my dear old friend. What sort of creature were you?

Haely's eyes turned watery all of a sudden, wondering if she had done something wrong. "T-Then… I-I can lie down on my back on the table, Your Grace. Like that time… You can have me while standing and use my belly to rest your plate on and eat!"

Robert rubbed his eyes tiredly. Keeping a soft expression on his face, he strode towards the woman and turned her around by her shoulder. He pushed her towards the door, picked up her gown, and then shoved her out of the small council chamber.

Thud!

Peace, at last. He muttered to himself, his voice heavy with resignation as he closed the door firmly behind him. You did your best to make it hard for people to like you, Robert.

As he reached for the plate, he even lost his appetite at the mere imagination of how Robert used to eat breakfast.

This new life is more a curse than a blessing.

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