Hello there,
If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.
Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.
—
He clenched and unclenched the fist. The adrenaline in his blood dulled the pain, and the sword stemmed the bleeding, but he knew it wouldn't last long.
He set himself on fire and rushed at Argal again, keeping Elenora in his peripheral vision. Argal weaved through the rain of blows, barely. Robert was unrelenting in his assault, not giving this relic of a bygone era any chance to attack.
His wife was a different matter. She kept trying to flank him, but Robert always kept Argal between them. He had to find a way to break the stalemate.
Quickly.
Argal couldn't dodge and blocked his right hook but not the left jab at his stomach. The sharpened ends of his fingers pierced through the skin before the sea god jumped back, grunting.
Realizing the geysers did nothing more than cause steam that blocked his vision, Argal stopped. The lightning strands covering his arms chirped with the noise of a thousand birds. Elenora was still unable to get a good opening, waiting.
He couldn't strike Argal because of the lightning coursing in his arms. He fired a scorching beam at the sea god, but he pushed through with arms covering his body.
He lowered his hand, targeting the legs instead. It connected for a second, but a wall of water rose to block the flames.
Argal attacked with lunges and wide swipes to catch him. Robert was ducked under the first swipe, feeling the lightning raise his hair up. He leaned back under the second one and kept dancing through.
He decided on a risky move, one that had a good chance to give him an edge.
He gritted his teeth and took the next left punch. He made a full turn with the punch, his left hand turning to a sharp blade. He brought the blade up with a deft move, severing the arm exactly where Elenora had taken his.
Argal bellowed.
The lightning covering his arms disappeared, and he stumbled back. Blood, so red and humanlike, gushed out of the stump. He capitalized on the moment, dashing forward to skewer the bastard.
The wind struck like a canon, launching him and Argal away. Elenora fired a continuous air blast at him while she ran to her husband. He slowly pushed forward, trying to reach them.
By the time he was through, she had helped Argal up and stopped the bleeding.
He fired another gout of flame at them. A water dome rose in response, covering both.
He did not stop, increasing the intensity as much as he could. His grunts were drowned out by the flames. The dome did not yield. Instead, a tornado began to grow inside. Carrying the seawater, it could not be used to his advantage.
It grew to enormous proportions in moments, enough to carve a Valhalla-sized trench in Asgard. His flames would prove to be no use here, and he did not think he could go through the tornado to reach them.
Escaping would be futile, and he used his head. He could not breach the walls, but the top was open. He just had to get there.
He ran, taking his belt off. He quickly tied it to his upper arm, pulling it tight. The sword melted out of his hand, turning into a flat, floating platform. He jumped on it, growing protrusions to keep his feet stuck.
Alone, he could not fly, but with the violent winds dragging him, it was possible. The platform almost touched the ground under his weight, yet the winds of the approaching tornado pulled him towards itself.
He leaned back so the platform would face the tornado. He willed the improvised glider back, letting the rising winds take him to the top of the tornado. It wasn't a smooth ride by any means. He had to fight the winds every step of the way while seawater at lethal speeds impacted his body, leaving bruises.
With one last turn, he was at the top, over the eye. No more winds meant he was free to fall at his targets. The sword returned to his hand, taking the shape of a trident. He was silent during the fall to not give his position away, no matter how much he wanted to scream.
Both deities were unaware of his location. The tornado blocked all outside vision, much to his advantage.
"Where is he?" Argal asked himself, grunting as he grasped his stump.
His head snapped up at the last second, but it was too late. The prongs pierced deep into his skull, nose, and jaw, reaching his throat. His pupils skittered, trying to understand what had happened.
Robert pulled the trident to the side, tearing out chunks of Argal's skull, dropping the corpse.
Elenora was frozen on the spot, eyes on her husband's dead body. It was a mistake that he took advantage of. The trident shifted into a hammer with a hook. The sharp end pierced through her head, slamming the goddess of the wind to the floor, dead.
"Fucking hell," Robert muttered as the tornado around him fell away. He searched for his missing arm, looking to attach it back, but it was nowhere in sight.
But he saw something better.
—
Asgard
Valhalla
The dark clouds disappeared as quickly as they appeared, leaving nothing behind but clear skies with the setting sun. The battle had continued for much of the afternoon while they could do nothing but wait.
When it ended, those in the know rushed back to the weirwood trees, waiting for Robert to come out. Only he did not.
—
Robert dropped the corpses on the beach.
He fell down, away from them, letting out a long groan. He couldn't have something nice without a god coming to shit on it. His ancestors, to boot.
At least no one would be crying about kinslaying.
"My lord?!" the guards patrolling the area screamed, rushing to his side.
"Good, you are here. Get a cart and load these corpses on."
"Are these?" one of them asked, having heard where Robert had disappeared.
"Elenei's parents."
One of the men swooned and fainted.
Robert groaned again.
—
Now what was he supposed to do with the corpses of two gods? Burn them? Maybe. Bury them? He didn't want to imagine what unforeseen consequences that could have. However, there was one idea that struck him.
He whistled.
His dragons, circling in the sky, dove. They were growling at the cart, as if the corpses had personally insulted them. He gestured to the men to tip the cart over, dumping the bodies on the ground.
"Eat up, and make sure to share."
Obelisk approached first, sniffing the bodies. His brothers weren't far behind, and Robert left before he had to watch the bloody scene.
—
He trudged into Valhalla, battered and bruised. His laurel was absent, as he did not have the energy for it.
His new hand throbbed.
It wasn't an exact fit. Argal was larger than him, and so was the limb. His flames acted like a bridge, allowing him to use the hand, but each movement was painful. Once he had the crystal, he would see about changing its size.
"My lord!" The guards at the gate saluted as the doors were opened for him.
"Guards," he greeted with a nod.
"My lord."
"Guards."
"My lord," more guards saluted him, and Robert's eye twitched. This was going to be a long walk.
"Guards."
Once he managed to not blow at someone who did not deserve it after the hundredth salute and reached the banquet hall, the gathered dignitaries turned to him, frozen like statues.
"The signature ceremony will be delayed until tomorrow," he announced, leaving without an explanation.
He headed for the administrative hall next, nursing a headache. He was in no state to listen to the mutterings about his new hand, needing a cool drink to relax.
He reached for the fridge, tapping on the bottom to irritate the White Walker for the heck of it. Snatching a pitcher of ale, he sat on the padded seat, taking a sip. The cold that flowed through him was a relief that he could not describe with words.
"My lord!" Tyrion shouted as Sandor slammed the door open with Davos and the dwarf following.
"Quiet, please," he grunted, feeling his headache flare. "My head is killing me."
"Your hand…" Davos said, first to notice the distinctively blue appendage.
"Yeah." He flexed his hand, feeling the fingers barely move halfway to a fist." I got it from Argal, the God of Sea, after I couldn't find mine."
Tyrion was the first one to break. "I would say 'by the gods,' but I am afraid you might take offense."
"Oh fuck them alright," he snarled. First R'hllor with his bullshit about wanting to kill him, then his ancestors from eight thousand years ago being a pair of little bitches because Durran had bagged their daughter.
At least he knew where his house got its spiteful nature from.
"What happened to Argal and his wife?" Sandor asked. The idea of corpses of two gods hanged as trophies gave him the chills.
"I fed their corpses to the dragons."
Davos coughed, trying to clear his airway after sucking in his spit. "Is that wise?"
"If they could eat the heart of something like Niduan and survive, this shouldn't be a problem." At least he hoped not. He had no idea what to do with the corpses otherwise.
"I am off to bed. I don't want to be disturbed unless the world is coming to an end."
—
He threw himself on the bed, feeling weariness of the battle ease ever so slightly. He rolled over, reaching the nightstand for the crystal.
He drew on its power. The throbbing subsided gradually, and he could finally fall asleep.
His dreams swarmed with storms, violent winds, and visions of the past. He saw himself walking on the sea, standing against a storm, and then he was flying. He also heard distant noises, as if someone were calling him, but they were too far for him to reach.
—
"When do you think he will wake up?" Davos asked Tyrion, who was, once again, busy with handling the business Lord Robert could not.
"I don't know," the dwarf muttered, leaning on one hand as he worked. Three days, and the man still showed no sign of waking up. Perhaps his fight with the gods had tired him more than he thought.
Doctor Korryn once again found his talents and learnings to be of no use. Leaf, at least, assured them Robert would wake up, but even she did not know when. His new hand, the one he took from the sea god, almost set his bed on fire with random sparks of lightning a couple of times. They had to post servants to put out any embers.
"The envoys are grumbling." Lord Robert had delayed the signing of the Declaration of Sophont Rights. Months of work had been poured into it, mostly because of the rulers in the Free Cities who dragged their feet.
Three days after he fell asleep, some of the envoys were making too much noise.
Tyrion raised his head slightly, throwing a glance at Davos, and turned back to his work. "Tell them Lord Robert is available in his room anytime."
"I think they would rather keep quiet."
There was a knock on the door. Davos opened it, allowing the knight inside.
"My lords. The dragons are awake," the knight, in charge of the security of the dragon nest, reported with a bow.
"Wonderful!" Tyrion clapped his hands. "How are they doing?" Much like their father, the dragons had fallen asleep. They were not dying as far as the handlers understood, but none knew what eating the corpse of gods would do to the beasts.
"Starved. They are eating right now," the knight reported. Tyrion's head fell, realizing why the knight's face was so blank.
"No one was hurt, right?" he asked, hoping that they did not have to deal with that kind of a mess.
"Not as such." The knight shook his head. "They were rather vocal about it. They also demanded to see their father."
Tyrion rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what the man had just said. "You can speak to the dragons now, ser?"
"Nay, my lord, the dragons were the ones to speak."
He did not even ask for an explanation, simply choosing to go and see the dragons.
—
"Ah, the short one." Ra peered down at them, speaking with human words. His voice was light, as if he cared not a whit about anything.
In contrast, Slifer's voice was deeper and harsh. "Where is our father? Why has he not visited?"
Tyrion inspected each dragon. He turned around, a giggle leaving his lips. He burst out into hysterical, high-pitched laughter, rolling on the ground.
No one had the heart to stop him.
Davos was quick to take charge. He ordered the guards to take Tyrion home, turning to face the dragons himself. His throat constricted, and he swallowed the saliva before approaching the beasts.
"My lords," he bowed, unsure how to even address the dragons. Calling them by their names, especially since they called Lord Robert "father," sounded too disrespectful.
"The one with the salty smell of the sea. Davos, was it?" Obelisk spoke. Different, just like his brothers, his deep voice was noble. He felt the weight of the dragon's tone, as if he was speaking to kings of old.
"Indeed, my lord. Your father is asleep, much as you were for the last three days. We don't know when he will wake up."
"Is he well?" Obelisk asked.
"He is. Simply asleep. We are just waiting." He did not know who to pray for a quick recovery on Lord Robert's part, but he did so nonetheless. This situation was becoming beyond his abilities to handle.
"I see. Inform us at once once he is awake."
"As you wish."
He twitched where he stood, unsure what to do. "May I ask how you came to speak so suddenly?" he asked the question that was eating him inside.
"The corpses were brimming with power, much like the demon's heart. When we woke up, speaking in human words came to us easily," the blue dragon explained, licking his snout.
"Wonderful to hear my lord. If you excuse me, there is much I have to do," he mumbled, quickly leaving the dragon nest, lest he lose his sanity as well.
—
With Tyrion on forced leave, Davos knew he wouldn't be able to handle the work as the young lord had. Much as he had learned in letters and sums, it wasn't enough to handle the pile of parchments and papers waiting for him.
He saw no choice but to call for help from Storm's End.
House Baratheon was not informed yet. Tyrion had chosen to wait and let Robert make the call once he was awake. Words might have been carried by traders, but the rumors tended to quickly warp away from the truth.
He motioned at Marwin to light the glass candle and cleared his throat.
—
Notes: The results of the poll are out. We will be having a Witcher 3 crossover with Ciri x Robert romance.
—
In the next chapter:
He leaned on his elbow on his chair, watching the redheaded twins make eyes at him. They were cute, but there was something in their gaze. Something more than a desire to get in his bed and good graces.
"Who are they?" he asked Davos. The knight was forced to take over Tyrion's duties, which included knowing who was who.
"Braavosi traders, my lord. They were leading a ship trading in spices."
"Well, it would be rude if I didn't at least say hello."
"As you wish."
He closed his eyes, squeezing his fists. His height, which had almost reached eight feet, wasn't the only part of him that grew in size. Taking them to bed would definitely leave them in pain.
He began to shrink.
Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.