Robert Baratheon's bedchamber looked more like a battlefield ravaged by a storm. Deep crimson Dornish wine had soaked into the expensive Myrish carpets, filling the air with a harsh, acrid stench. Shattered clay jugs, twisted gold goblets, and torn silk draperies were strewn across the floor.
Robert's massive frame slumped in a wide chair, his chest rising and falling heavily. His face was flushed red, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly ahead.
At his feet, Cersei Lannister lay curled on the ground. Her golden hair clung to her sweat-drenched, pallid cheeks. Her lip was split and bleeding, one eye swollen and bruised. Her ornate nightgown hung in tatters, exposing her shoulder, marred by a dark, ugly bruise.
Cersei stifled her sobs, trembling from pain and fear. But deep in her emerald eyes, beyond the suffering, burned a fierce and venomous hatred.
Jaime Lannister, clad in the white cloak of the Kingsguard, stood in the shadows near the doorway. His fingers gripped his sword hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his nails biting into his palms and drawing blood. Every stifled whimper from Cersei, every harsh breath from Robert, burned through his nerves like molten iron.
Beneath his golden hair, his handsome face was twisted by rage, his jaw clenched so hard it creaked. He wanted to rush forward, to cut down the drunken beast who had struck his sister—his lover. He wanted to curse the king who trampled his beloved with every foul word he knew.
But then, in the corner of his eye, he saw Ser Barristan Selmy standing silently across the chamber, also clad in white. The old knight's expression was calm, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Jaime knew that if he made a single move, Barristan's blade would find him before his own could leave its sheath.
He could only stand there—watching, listening—while humiliation and fury churned within him like fire, threatening to consume him from the inside out.
"Lyanna..."
Robert suddenly growled the name, breaking the oppressive silence like a wounded beast. He snatched up the last half-full jug of wine and drank greedily. The liquid ran down his beard, dripping onto Cersei's disheveled hair.
"Liars! All of you are liars! Rhaegar... Eddard... and you!"
He pointed at Cersei, eyes wild with fury. "All of you... have betrayed me!"
He drank again, the sound of his gulping echoing in the room.
...
The next morning, still reeling from drink and a pounding headache, Robert made a decision. He needed release—blood, the raw thrill of the hunt, something fierce enough to drown his thoughts.
"Men! Prepare the royal carriage! Your king is going hunting in the Kingswood!"
His roar echoed through the corridors. Servants and guards rushed to obey.
King Robert's procession was vast, taking nearly half the Red Keep's guards and attendants. Gold Cloaks cleared the way as the ornate royal carriage rolled forward, hounds baying and horns blaring. Ser Barristan, as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, rode beside him as escort. Jaime, however, had been ordered to remain in the castle.
The Kingswood was rich and green in the height of summer, perfect for hunting. Yet the moment the royal party entered the forest, a shout came from the front of the line. Knights and freeriders pulled on their reins, exchanging uneasy glances as a foul stench drifted through the trees.
The hounds grew restless, barking wildly toward a single direction—but none dared advance.
"What's going on?"
Robert, astride his great black warhorse, frowned, his temper flaring as the column halted. He urged his steed forward, following the barking as attendants hacked aside the thick undergrowth.
The sight that greeted them drew a collective gasp.
A massive doe lay collapsed in a forest clearing, long dead. Its belly was grotesquely swollen and tinged a dark, sickly blue, the source of the overwhelming stench. Yet there were no arrow wounds, no bite marks—no sign of a hunt.
Robert scowled. This was no good omen.
"Your Grace, look here!"
A sharp-eyed attendant pointed beneath the doe's swollen belly. Something was lodged inside.
Robert's expression darkened, and he gestured for the attendant to retrieve it.
Fighting back nausea, the attendant carefully slit open the deer's hide with a dagger and pulled out a parchment scroll—wrapped in oilcloth and sealed tightly with beeswax. The oilcloth was smeared with a dark red, viscous substance that reeked sickeningly.
Robert snatched the scroll, tore off the wax seal with brute force, and flung the oilcloth to the ground. He unrolled the parchment. The writing was in the Common Tongue.
As he read line by line, the color drained from his already flushed face, leaving it deathly pale before turning to an ashen blue. His hand trembled violently, knuckles whitening as if he might crush the thin parchment in his grip.
His breathing grew ragged and harsh, his chest heaving. In his eyes burned a fury far more savage and terrifying than the drunken rage of the previous night.
"Ahhh—!"
A raw, guttural roar tore from Robert's throat—a sound of betrayal and rage so deep it sent every bird in the forest screeching into the air.
He crushed the parchment into a ball and hurled it to the ground, then yanked his warhammer from his belt and smashed it into a nearby oak tree. Wood splinters flew like shrapnel.
Everyone froze in terror at the king's sudden, near-mad outburst. Even Ser Barristan's brow furrowed.
"Back to King's Landing! Now! Immediately!"
Robert spun on his heel, his bloodshot eyes sweeping across the onlookers. The murderous intent in his gaze made even the bravest knights shrink back.
He struck his horse hard with his whip, charging out of the Kingswood with Barristan and a small band of loyal Gold Cloaks at his side. The rest were left behind in stunned silence as he vanished into the dust.
...
By the time Robert stormed back into the Red Keep, his fury burned hot enough to set Maegor's Holdfast ablaze. Without hesitation, he summoned Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard.
"Meryn!"
Robert's voice was cold as steel. "Take your men. Bring me that whore Cersei and that dog Jaime Lannister—now! To the throne room!"
Meryn Trant's heart clenched. He dared not hesitate. Bowing low, he said, "At once, Your Grace."
As he turned to leave, a faint, fleeting glimmer crossed his eyes—something unreadable, gone as quickly as it came.
When Meryn breathlessly delivered the king's command—and the weight of his murderous fury—to Cersei, the queen and her brother froze where they were tangled in her chamber. Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
All color drained from Cersei's face. Even the pain from her split lip and bruised eye vanished from her mind.
Robert knows.
The realization struck her like ice water. A chilling suspicion took hold—so terrible she could barely breathe.
"Run. We must run!"
Cersei's voice trembled, sharp with panic.
Jaime was already pulling on his clothes when heavy footsteps and the clash of armor rang through the Red Keep.
Terror seized them both.
It was Robert.
He hadn't waited for Meryn's arrest. He was coming himself—to drag into the light the two who had defiled his house and deceived him for over ten years.
Cersei and Jaime exchanged a single glance before, under Meryn Trant's lead, they moved deeper into Maegor's Holdfast.
"Search! Search every corner of the Red Keep! Leave no rat hole untouched! Drag Cersei Lannister and that Kingslayer out of hiding!"
Robert's roar thundered through Maegor's Holdfast like a storm.
The Gold Cloaks scattered like wolves on the hunt, kicking down doors and overturning furniture in their frenzy.
Cersei and Jaime were like trapped beasts, panic written on their faces. They tried to escape through the spiral staircase, only to find the key passage already blocked by Gold Cloaks.
Despair closed in on them like a rising tide, cold and suffocating.
Just as capture seemed inevitable, a shadow stirred at the end of the corridor.
"This way, Your Grace. Ser. Quickly."
It was Varys.
The Spider's voice was soft and smooth as ever, but this time edged with urgency. His plump fingers pointed toward a narrow, dust-covered passage hidden behind the wall. "Follow me. Inside—hurry. You'll be safe for now."
Cersei and Jaime had no other choice. Clutching at the last thread of hope, they followed Varys into the damp, musty tunnel, its air heavy with the scent of age and stone. They disappeared into the maze of secret passages beneath the Red Keep.
Varys led them to an abandoned storeroom near the underground Blackwater Rush. Dust-covered relics lay piled in the corners; the air was cold and wet. From above came the distant thundering of boots and shouting soldiers, while below, faint echoes of running water filled the silence.
...
Robert Baratheon stalked the Great Hall like a maddened stag, his fury barely contained. Every report of "no sign of them" from the Gold Cloaks only drove him deeper into rage.
Then, a memory struck him—what he'd read on that cursed parchment in the Kingswood. The clue pointed to the book Jon Arryn had studied before his death.
"Books! Bring me all the books Jon Arryn used to read—especially those on noble lineages! Quickly!"
His bellow made Grand Maester Pycelle jump so hard his quill fell from his hand. Stammering and shaking, Pycelle scurried off with a handful of maester's assistants toward the library.
Moments later, several thick, gold-embossed tomes were hauled into the Great Hall.
Robert seized one after another, tearing through the pages until he found what he sought—the massive compendium detailing the marriages of Westeros's great houses over centuries.
He flipped to the page chronicling the union of House Baratheon and House Lannister. His finger, trembling with fury, traced the line of descent.
Ser Barristan stood silently beside him, watching.
When Robert jabbed his finger at a line of text, Barristan's pupils contracted.
There it was, written clear as day: every descendant born of Baratheon and Lannister blood carried black hair.
Yet Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen... all had golden hair.
"Ha! Hahahahaha!"
The laughter that erupted from Robert's throat was hollow, broken. Memories flooded through him—Lyanna, Eddard, Renly, Stannis, and the three children he had claimed as his own.
Love, friendship, and blood—all betrayed.
Robert's laughter turned wild, choked with pain and rage, the sound of a man stripped bare of everything he believed in.
"Cersei! Jaime! You filthy pair! And those three little bastards!"
He hurled the heavy tome to the floor, its echo booming through the hall. Pointing at Pycelle, his voice broke into a hoarse roar. "Write! Write now! Send word to every lord of the Seven Kingdoms! Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister have committed adultery, and their children—Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen—are not of my blood! They are bastards! Abominations that have defiled the Iron Throne!"
His eyes gleamed with feverish madness. "And one more thing! I, Robert Baratheon, hereby declare all my known and unknown bastards legitimate, with full rights of inheritance! Bring me the list... Varys!"
His gaze swept the hall until it landed on Varys lurking in the shadows. "Varys! You have it. Give it to Ser Barristan—now!"
Varys's face shifted into perfect submission, his voice quivering with just the right hint of fear. From his sleeve, he produced a folded parchment and offered it with both hands to Ser Barristan.
"Your Grace... it's all here. Most of them are within King's Landing."
Ser Barristan took the list, his heart heavy as stone. His eyes traced each name and address, and he understood the scale of the storm about to break over the city.
He bowed his head. "As you command, Your Grace."
"Go!" Robert's roar shook the hall. "Bring them to me! I'll show all of King's Landing where the true blood of Robert Baratheon flows!"
Ser Barristan turned and left the Red Keep, the parchment clutched tightly in his hand. A detachment of Gold Cloaks followed behind.
His first destination: Tobho Mott's forge on the Street of Steel.
The first name on the list—Gendry.
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on P@treon.
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
[email protected]/BlurryDream