(3rd Person POV)
After the loyalists humiliating defeat under Jon Connington at the Stoney Sept and the death of Lord Connington at Robert Baratheon's hands, the truth became impossible to ignore. In the lies and madness-filled halls of the Red Keep, King Aerys II Targaryen at last, despite his chaotic state of mind, realised that the rebellion was not some minor lords' quarrel. It was a war, and it threatened House Targaryen like no threat had since Daemon Blackfyre's banners first marched towards them a century before.
The confusion and surprise were understandable, for in the span of only a few short months, the realm had been turned upside down. What had begun as a pathetic defiance, which resulted in the executions of Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, had already swelled into a full‑fledged rebellion. The pace was mind-boggling: lords who only weeks before had spoken of loyalties and neutrality, now raised their banners, ravens flew all over Westeros, and the young stag of Storm's End had already proven himself a commander capable of toppling any foe who stood in his way.
Robert had started his rebellion, in the Vale of Arryn, breaking open he doors of Gulltown, with his charisma, slain Lord Grafton, sailed to Storm's End while his brother Stannis called the banners, marched against three loyalist Lords of the Stormlands, defeated their armies in a single day, then marched west, into the Reach, split his forces, killed Lord Tarly, then made his way north while pillaging castles and gifting a lot to the smallfolk, therefore embarrassing the Lords tremendously, and finally laid a trap for Jon Connington and killed him as well. There seemed to be nothing capable of holding him back now.
However, politics came in the way of the campaign, and so, the four hosts moved from Stoney Sept to Riverrun, where the castle walls of the Tully stronghold rang the wedding bells.
.
.
(Soldier POV)
The evening air around Riverrun was heavy with the scent of wine and music. We common soldiers, men-at-arms, camped on the banks of the Tumblestone, watching the lights in the trout's halls and hearing the bells ring for the double wedding. I am but a Stormlander soldier, one of the first to answer Lord Stannis's call, and I still feel the salty sea and thunder of Shipbreaker Bay in my bones. I can't help but think of home tonight, and of why we march. The King burnt lords alive, the Prince stole a maiden, and the dragons no longer strike fear, while still reigning with terror. We fight because someone must stop them. We fight because Lord Robert Baratheon makes us believe we can.
Around our fire sat men from the other kingdoms. A few Northmen with the direwolf on their surcoats, some Vale archers who swore by Lord Arryn, and even a few Riverlanders who toasted the trout of Tully. We spoke in loud voices.
The Northman leaned forward, his eyes hard. "Me lord Stark's a man o' justice. Brandon an' Rickard were murdered like dogs, an' fer that alone, I'd march t' the ends o' the realm."
The Vale archer grinned, tapping the falcon stitched on his jerkin.
"We follow Lord Arryn, aye, but truth be told, it's Robert who carries our hearts. He's the hammer we've long awaited to smash the dragons flat. Got quite the name in the Vale, seein' as he were Lord Arryn's foster son."
"Aye, I've heard the tales o' his fosterin'. If the Vale folk love 'im near as much as we Northmen do already, then mayhap the dragons truly ought t' quake in their halls," the Northman grunted agreement.
"But I heard that Lord Rickard wasn't... fond of him."
"HAHAHAHA, aye, that's true," the Northener chuckled. "Lord Rickard thought Robert too wild, too loud and too forward with his thoughts about having Lady Lyanna take up the sword. But mayhap that wildness is what we need now, eh?"
The Stormlanders on my side gave a grim nod, and the Vale archers smirked in agreement. A Riverlander, older and worn, only shook his head.
"My folk have bled for Targaryens for almost three hundred years—enough of kings who call themselves dragons. We need no more fire, only peace. And I doubt that Robert Baratheon is very fond of peace."
I furrowed my brows at that and leaned in across the fire.
"You speak of peace as if it were still possible to talk this out. The Mad King burned good men alive, and the Prince stole Lady Lyanna like she were a trinket. There's no peace left to be had, not while they rule. Robert fights so that one day our children might know peace again. Don't mistake his laughter for carelessness—behind it's a will strong enough to break dragonfire itself. There is nothing he will not accomplish, nothing he cannot do. If you don't believe me, then you should come and visit Storm's End once. There is nothing like it in Westeros."
I spoke with pride of what I knew and of my roots.
"Is that so? So he's a good leader then?"
"You haven't seen him as we did at Summerhall, or at Ashford. Robert laughs in the face of adversity and danger, but he strikes harder still. We would follow him into the Seven Hells if he asked it."
The others of my brothers nodded at that. For though each of us fought for different reasons, some vengeance, loyalty, peace, it was Robert Baratheon who bound us together. His words could bend the wills of thousands.
.
Later, when the feasting nobles were still toasting inside, we saw him on the edge of camp, sitting on his own. No high table, no golden plate. Just Robert Baratheon with a horn of ale, staring into the dark like any weary man. We went to him hesitantly.
"My Lord, is everything alright?" I asked.
But he only grinned.
"What are you all standing there for? Sit down."
"Uhh... alright."
"I couldn't stand the pompous pricks any longer—their strong words but soft stomachs. The Tullys have a trout for their coat of arms for a reason. It's hard to imagine them ever becoming wardens of the Riverlands."
He mocked the lords for their soft bellies and pompous boasts. The Riverlanders didn't take well to that, though.
"Lord Hoster is a wise and good man. I don't take it kindly that you enjoy his hospitality and then talk like that about him behind his back."
"Hahahaha, I told him that to his face. It's also why I'm outside now. I don't think he'll ever like me. But let's be honest, he doesn't treat you, the common men and your families with great respect either. You are of no concern to the high lords, as long as you follow them to battle and die when they ask you to."
Robert went on and on, and I found myself forgetting that we were talking with a noble of the highest birth. It was like talking to your best friend and enjoying a bit of banter.
"Seven save us, Robert, you've more wit than the whole bloody hall in there."
A Northman snorted into his cup, adding, "Aye, an' more guts too."
Even the previously grim Riverlanders couldn't help but chuckle. Soon enough, we were all laughing together, as though the war were far away. Yet when the laughter ebbed, I saw the loneliness in Robert's eyes. I'm sure he missed his brother, he missed Storm's End, and perhaps he feared what was yet to come. But he did not show it long. He raised his cup, and we raised ours, and for a moment the rebellion felt less like a war and more like fortune.
.
.
(Robert POV)
Lord Hoster Tully gave away his daughters in marriage; Catelyn to Eddard Stark, as she was initially intended to marry his elder brother, Brandon. Since he was such an honourable buffoon, he agreed to it. And Lysa to Jon Arryn, the old bird. She wasn't much to look at, which was the only thing that Catelyn had going for her. So poor Jon had to marry the mad one of the two fish.
"You don't need to do this, Ned. You are not your brother's and father's problem solvers. They did what they did, and you can do something else," I told Ned.
He didn't take it well.
"I can't dishonour my family name by going back on this, Robb. This is the way it should be. My elder brother died before he could marry Catelyn, so I shall take up his position."
"That's not a rule, Ned. It's more of a guideline. She won't bring you happiness, my friend. She's a Tully, and will never fit into the harsh North."
"Lord Hoster told me that Catelyn was ready to live in the North ever since being engaged to Brandon. I trust his word," Ned told me.
"And why would you do that? You knew him for like a few hours at most. At the end of the day, all lords want the same thing: power. And by marrying his daughter to you, the Lord of your house, he will get some of it. He would tell you that his daughter's teats tasted of honey, to make you marry her. It's not because he's truthful."
"Still, I am not willing to--"
Ned continued about honour and the importance of keeping one's word. I fear for the North with Ned in the Lordly position. However, given the way things turned out, it ultimately made my decision for me. I received a raven from Stannis.
|If you are willing to do the sacrifice, then I shall stand behind you.|
That was all it said. It was about my decision to claim the throne. The sacrifice, Stannis is talking about, is to give up Storm's End as my inheritance and give it to Stannis. It's not that I don't love Stannis and don't begrudge him it. But I love Storm's End, it's what Stannis and I have built over the years, since we were small. And now I would give it up for a shit-smelling snake pit. But my mind was set. To do what I had to, I would go along with it.
I would be King.
How ironic. Robert Baratheon as King of the 7 Kingdoms... soon to be one kingdom. I always thought that made no sense. Why is the King called the King if there are 7 Kingdoms? Wouldn't that make him an Emperor?
Nevermind. I'll find a way to change things. In fact, I will rip out the old and stiff foundations and build new ones. Westeros better prepare, because I'll be a chaotic King. HAHAHAHAHA
.
.
(3rd Person POV)
With the vows of marriage, the rebel cause was knit tighter. The Riverlands joined the cause, and now the stag, the falcon, the wolf, and the trout marched as one. Robert declared openly for the Iron Throne, giving those who were doubtful about the end goal an answer. No longer would he merely be Lord of Storm's End: he would be King, the King.
Several events occurred simultaneously during the marriage in the Riverlands. Rhaegar Targaryen finally returned from his hiding place in the south. His hiding or whatever he had been doing was over, and now he was determined to take command of the loyalist host. He was determined to march against the rebels, to kill Robert Baratheon, who hadn't left his mind ever since he threatened him.
Aerys, despite his insanity, retained enough experience and common sense to remind House Martell of where Elia and her children lived—in King's Landing, within his grasp. He commanded her uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, to march at once with ten thousand Dornish spearmen and support Rhaegar's host. That host joined Rhaegar's banners on the kingsroad, swelling the Prince's strength further.
At the same time, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry were dispatched with royal decree to rally what remained of Connington's soldiers after the battle of Stoney Sept. But as they found out, there was nothing left to rally: the Griffin's host was no more, the men captured or slain. Robert had made sure of that. It was Jon and Ned who pushed for the few remaining soldiers to be captured instead of killed, against Robert's wishes. That may have appeared cruel, but those who chose to go against him would die, one way or the other.
Still, Rhaegar, ever the prince, pressed his father for more men, knowing the threat that Robert was. The crown prince's silver tongue managed to bend Aerys to what had once seemed unthinkable: a plea to Lord Tywin Lannister. They asked the Lion to support their cause against the rebels and 'return into the King's good graces'. Letters were sent westward, asking the Lion of Casterly Rock for aid. Whether Tywin would answer remained a question all of Westeros would guess. Robert, though, wasn't worried; he knew that the Lion was anything but stupid, and while he may not believe everything that Robert managed to accomplish, he would still not support Aerys.
Meanwhile, the Reach stood divided. Mace Tyrell, who was eager for glory, maintained the great siege of Storm's End, believing that it was any moment now that Stannis Baratheon would yield and surrender the city due to starvation. Paxter Redwyne's fleet cut the sea-roads, surrounding Storm's End. However, they couldn't ignore the call from their King, and so a portion of their strength rode to Rhaegar's side, meeting him as he entered the Riverlands.
So the stage was set. The rebels, bound in marriage, vengeance and a 'legitimate' cause, marched to the Trident, where Robert wanted to receive the loyalist army. The loyalists, blinded by the Prince's charm and lies, gathered around him and his promises.
The greatest battle was upon Westeros. The War of the Usurper would be decided by the outcome at the Trident.