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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.
—
Asgard
Valhalla
Robert walked into the Administrative Hall. His battle had tired him to the point he was asleep for five days. Out of his depths, Davos had resorted to requesting help from the only person he could.
Rhaelle Baratheon.
"Finally deigned to wake up, my boy?" she asked, rising to get up from his seat. He waved her down, snatching a chair.
"Slaying gods is hard work."
"You would know better."
"I apologize. I didn't expect to sleep so long or for Tyrion to have a breakdown."
"Breakdown?" She tilted her head, the quill in her hand coming to a stop. "Yes, that is an apt description. Even I still can't believe it, and your dragons called me "great grandmother."
"Aren't you going to say anything else?"
"We decided it is better to stop questioning your deeds and accept them without much thought. Our lives have been more peaceful ever since."
"Fair."
—
The signing ceremony was quickly reassembled. The feast was lackluster compared to the first day, but at least the skies were clear. The servants worked like a beehive; however, time was not on their side.
Robert took his seat on the courtyard once again. He appeared even more imposing than before. He closed his eyes for a moment. The Laurel of Victory flared to life around his head. The envoys watched with bated breaths, waiting.
"My apologies for the delay. The God of Sea and the Goddess of Winds, my ancestors from the Age of Heroes, decided to rain on my parade. They are dead now, their corpses fed to my dragons. There will be no other interruptions."
"Now, we can proceed with signing the agreement," he said, his voice even, but the force behind it could be felt. The Braavosi envoy approached first. Even Robert's announcement could not wipe the smile off his face.
In total, there were fifteen copies of the document to be signed. He wrote his name and pressed a seal on the final page of each replica, one carrying the Sea Lord's sigil. Once he was finished, he bowed with a flourish and took his seat.
The envoy from Volon Therys followed, signing the document in the name of the former holdings of Volantis. A three-starred sigil, followed by his name, repeated fifteen times, and three of the largest slave-holding cities had just forbidden the act. One by one, each envoy signed, earning a round of applause.
Only Robert was left.
His signature was at the top as the enforcer of the agreement. His signature, stylish initials of his name and last name followed by Asgard's five stars, and it was over. The reaction to him binding the agreement was deafening. He raised both hands, one taken from a god, the other, mortal flesh, waving with a lopsided grin.
He still had to sign individual investment agreements with the cities.
For now, he would enjoy the moment.
—
"Father."
"Boys."
"Wow, this is awkward," he said, tilting his head.
"Why so?" Ra asked.
"I thought you three would just get a boost in power, not intelligence. This is way better though."
"We do feel stronger than before," Obelisk said, standing proud.
"Summon a storm, shoot lightning, or create winds that can cut like a blade—kind of strong?"
"I do not believe so," Slifer said.
"Ah well."
Ra leaned his head closer to Robert. "Are you disappointed?"
"Of course not," he said, scratching the dragon's scales. "This is even better than I imagined. You guys being able to talk makes things so much easier."
"Do you have orders for us, then?" Obelisk asked.
"Not really. Just continue as you were. Not like anyone's going to cross us."
"As you command."
"Relax, will you? No need to be so formal."
—
He moved to the Administrative Hall, relieving his grandmother of the work. The deals on which areas he would invest were already finalized. It was just a matter of signing the documents and starting the work.
His grandmother had decided to go and talk more to the dragons. It was a novel experience, and she wanted to enjoy it.
Volon Therys and the Three Party Alliance would receive investments in farming and steel production. Myrish glass and other crafts would be carried to the next level. Lys would focus on clothing and fishing. Tyrosh would continue with its mercantile nature, producing everyday goods.
Pentos had already outlawed slavery on paper. However, their free bond servants were slaves with a fancier name. It would be abolished all together, and the city would expand its beverage production along with starting to mass produce cotton clothes.
Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor had other economic attractions besides slavery. Spices, fruits, olives, and farming—they all would receive ample investment.
Qohor, the City of Sorcerers, was already using new waterwheels to replace the slave workforce. In return for covering the transition costs and sending in experts, Robert had taken more than half the shares of the entire city's forges.
Just as he had done in almost every industry.
Norvos would increase the size of their tapestry business while setting the slaves free. Lorath did not practice slavery, but he invested to keep the city relevant on the table.
The port of Qarth would be increased in size to accommodate more ships. As one of the richest cities, the investment package into the city was large but worth every coin.
Should any party go against the agreement, he had the right to enforce the agreement through force, backed up by the rest of the Free Cities. Once he was in, he would fix the issues plaguing the city, such as a house for every family, restructuring taxes, and more.
He would not have to campaign to the populations to join him. They would be clamoring to be part of Asgard.
Otherwise, he would expand his grip in each city through the economy. If he ever felt like it, Robert's empire would be one step away.
Sometimes his genius frightened him.
—
Word of Robert's latest incredible deed was quick to travel. He had slain the God of Sea and his wife, the Goddess of Wind, Elenei's parents and Durran Godsgrief's enemies. What his ancestor had started eight thousand years ago by defying the gods, he had finished by feeding their corpses to his dragons. His new left hand, taken from the sea god after Elenei's mother, Elenora, took his, was the proof both continents needed.
The dragons, after feasting on the corpses of two gods, had gained the ability to speak in Common Tongue. What they did with it was far more important.
Walking around Asgard, the dragons had taken to exploring the city. The three brothers started with food stalls, tasting almost everything there was to eat. Since they did not carry coin, their father had spent time covering the expenses, paying each vendor.
It led to the creation of Valhalla's Procurement Department.
The beasts, once feared and seen untouchable across Asgard's sky, were quick to become beloved figures. They did not cause any commotion, treated the citizens with respect, and their eating habits brought a lot of coin to the market.
The new rule of the world, which was to do as Robert said or face the consequences, became known to all.
Except for two people who thought themselves smarter than they were.
—
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.
It was a trick he learned after hitting his head one too many times. He appeared in his taller form when it was necessary, but his less tall form would be necessary now. His bones cracked without any pain, flesh contracted, and he was six and a half feet tall again.
Getting up, he strode up to the twins, smiling.
Davos rolled his eyes, turning to the papers in his hand.
"Ladies, welcome to Asgard," he said, holding his hand out. They raised their delicate, far smaller hands, and he landed a gentle kiss on each.
"Thank you, my lord. It is our pleasure to be here," the smiling twin said. The other had a more serious visage, though she too smiled.
"I am Linea, and this is my sister, Lenia," she introduced. The two were indistinguishable to each other, both in body shape and looks. "Such beautiful names for such gorgeous ladies like you two."
Heart-shaped faces, supple assets, dressed in white silk that accentuated their blood-red hair and purple eyes, they were a sight to behold.
"You flatter us," Lenia said, bowing gracefully.
"Just the truth," he winked. "What brings you to Asgard?" he asked to continue the conversation.
"Trade. We also wished to see the legendary Robert Baratheon in person."
He spread his arms, flashing a grin. "And you have."
"The tales don't do justice to your majesty, my lord," Lenia said, still colder than her twin.
"Perhaps," Linea gave him a once-over, gazing below his belt longer than necessary. "We can speak of your deeds in a more private place."
"The sun's about to set, and my room is large."
"We shall be there."
The twins turned around, walking with a certain beat to their hips. He watched until they were out of sight. He still had work to do, though; the night looked to be promising with fun.
—
He escorted the twins to his room, hands on their waists, laughing at a terrible joke Linea made. A feeling still gnawed at the back of his mind, but he ignored it. If these two were a danger, then they were hot ones. The only thing better than a femme fatale in his room was two of them.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said. The room, besides the bed, had a small bar, seats, and sofas for any guests he might bring. The twins giggled as he groped their asses.
Lenia slowly began to undress, gazing at him with a blank expression. It was not lost on him how Linea moved out of his sight, but he kept his eyes on Lenia's tits.
They struck like vipers.
Linea thrust a sharp, small knife to the back of his neck while Lenia pulled another one out of her chest wrappings, going for his heart, believing he was mesmerized by her tits.
He was, but not that much.
He raised his hands, catching the knives, and pulled the twins closer, slamming their faces together. He let them go, groaning. "When I had a fun time in my mind, this wasn't it."
The assassins struck again. Rolling his eyes, he just slapped both of them to the ground, out cold. He was about to call for guards to remove them out of his room, but something that stuck out of Linea's jaw stopped him.
He knelt, touching the piece of loose skin. It was not bleeding but seemed to be real. He pulled on it, and the face came off.
—
He slapped his fist on the Valyrian steel armrest, his cackles echoing in the Administrative Hall.
"Oh my fucking goodness," he breathed out for a moment before resuming his mad howling.
"Why is this so funny?" his grandmother asked, lips pursed in distaste at the two whores who had just tried to kill her grandson.
"How could it not be? These two, of all people, becoming Faceless assassins is the funniest thing I have ever seen."
"Someone go and bring Tyrion here. He will want to see this."
"Are you going to execute them?" she asked. Certainly, they deserved nothing less.
He flashed her a thumbs-up amid his snickers.
"Davos," he took a deep breath, "go and see what happened to the true owners of that ship."
"At once."
"Stop playing; you are not fooling me," he said. Giving Sandor a nod, his guard nudged the blonde woman, who did not stir from her feigned state. When he kicked her in the ribs, she understood it was no use.
"Nothing to say?" he asked, grinning at the female, who glared at him with green eyes burning like wildfire.
"I will admit, I am actually impressed. Of all the people in the world, I would never in a million years expect you two to become Faceless Men, women, or whatever," he murmured towards the end.
The other female, an actual redhead, was silent, looking down.
"Though, the failure part definitely suits you two," he commented, considering how to dispose of these two. The blade would just leave blood everywhere. Hanging them would be seen as unorthodox, as females are not usually executed.
"How long would it take to make a catapult?" he asked one of Davos' underlings. The idea of an execution catapult was in his mind for a long time, but he never actually had one built.
"Too long, my lord," the man answered with a curt tone.
"Ah well. We'll just hang them." He flicked his wrist, dismissing the idea. The guards rushed in with Tyrion, who looked half asleep, dressed in silken clothing fit for bed.
"Tyrion, look who tried to assassinate me today." He gestured to the blonde female, bounding in chains.
The dwarf's mismatched eyes snapped open in alarm, glaring at the woman in question. "Cersei."
"You accursed imp," Cersei sneered. She struggled to break free, trying to murder her little brother with her gaze.
"Aw, she speaks," Robert cooed.
Sandor pulled her head back by the hair, laying his sword on her neck. She stilled, though her eyes were still blazing.
"I thought you might want to see her as she hanged."
The offer brought blood and vitality to Tyrion's sunken, pale face. "I would actually."
"Great. Prepare the gallows and a hole to burn the bodies. I don't want them poisoning my soil."
—
"Hear ye, hear ye. Cersei of House Lannister and Lysa of House Tully are guilty of an assasination attempt on Lord Robert Baratheon. Their punishment is death, for no other path will be fitting."
Robert rolled his hand, indicating to the crier to speed up. That damn part needed to be shortened down drastically. They would be here all day otherwise.
"In the name of his awesomeness, take the chairs away," the crier finished.
Robert howled. That part was just as funny to him. He could have added anything to the title, even called himself the God Emperor of Mankind, and they would have believed it was the greatest title on the face of this world.
He loved being himself.
The executioners took the chairs away, letting the fallen, disgraced assassins dangle. They struggled in their white robes in futility. The screams of the crowd, full of curses and profanities, drowned out their dying gurgles.
It was another great day in Asgard.
—
In the next chapter:
"Yes!" Rhaegar screamed, moving out of the cover of the trees.
"He is gone. He and his damn men and damn dragons are all gone!" he screamed to the heavens, dancing and laughing like a madman.
From behind the trees, more men came out. Jon Connington, Richard Lonmouth, and the members of the Kingsguard stood around their king, still unable to believe what they had seen. Robert Baratheon and his dragons were gone, sent away by the magic the king had discovered at Dragonstone.
They were so stunned none of them reacted when their captives ran off to the forest.
"Your Grace, the Children!" Richard called out, pulling his sword to run after the small creatures.
"Leave them be. Without Robert and his dragons, the only danger we have left to face is Rhaelle and her dragon," Rhaegar shouted, cackling at the end.
"Not quite," a voice growled.
Slifer, the red, foul-tempered son of Robert Baratheon, dropped out of the sky, snarling.
"Oh," Rhaegar said, his shoulders slumping forward.
They were so fucking dead.
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