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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
Robert was doing an exercise he had never done before.
Meditating.
He wanted to master the new magical sword as soon as possible. The more he harmonized with it, the more apparent the effects became. His left eye was now a crimson, burning orb within a black void.
The sword itself could take any shape he could imagine and impose on it. Great sword, hammer, whip, spear, even a bow that fired exploding flame arrows.
Soon, he would do more.
The sword, lying over his crossed legs, moved. It was a twitch at first, as if it were trying to turn over. The handle side shot up forward, hovering over his right leg, spinning lazily.
He ordered it to rise. It did so by embedding halfway into the ceiling of the private sparring room. He sighed, willing it to come back down. It struggled for a while, carving a wider hole, and dropped to the ground.
Another command suspended the sword in the air. He gently moved it around himself in a circle, simply focused on keeping the speed and the accuracy consistent.
He brought it to a stop, tilting the sword so the handle faced him. It launched forward, tearing through the head of the training post. The jagged hole behind was scorched black. The sword turned around, the crystalline edge sharpening. It spun like a circular saw, each pass cutting knuckle-thick pieces.
The next training post did not fare any better.
—
He had to cut his training short. Ellyn, the young apprentice of Caerindra, was ready to put all that she had learned to work. She would create the headquarters of the First Legion, at least parts of it.
Outside the city, where the expanded part of the wall would cover the new, enormous complex that would house the ten thousand men currently under training, he waited at the head of a crowd.
"Go on, don't make us wait," he said, giving her a gentle push. Obelisk had already melted a pool of stone into lava for her use. There was no reason to drag this out anymore.
She nodded, taking a step forward with clenched hands.
Taking a deep breath to calm her raging nerves, she spread her hands. The surface of the pool rippled. Once she began to raise her hands, the lava responded. Flowing like a very viscous liquid, it rose to the air. She guided the stream to the foundations.
Slowly, the headquarters of the First Legion took shape.
Obelisk blasted the furnace above, causing a fresh wave of lava to flow into the pool. The amount necessary for the headquarters was already gathered. Ellyn had her work cut out for her with the thousands of tonnes of stones.
He would pay her accordingly, of course.
The slow but steady stream of lava filled the foundation, solidifying into a white, matte stone. Layer by layer, her work continued before the baffled crowd. When she could no longer continue and her arms fell, work that would take weeks was done.
Robert started clapping very enthusiastically. It broke the gathered mass out of their stupor. Chants of Elly had the young woman blush like a tomato.
—
"You are leaving already?" he asked Caerindra. The display had barely ended, yet her bags were already packed.
"I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. There is no reason for me to stay any longer."
He could see the faraway look in her eyes. She must have missed her people dearly.
"Can't disagree. If you are ready, I'll take you back," he said.
"No need. Just have your dragon land me near the entrance."
"The path back wasn't exactly secure." Hunting more spiders down would give him an excuse to test his new powers.
"We have a little trick for going back down. I shall be safe; you don't have to worry."
"Alright. Just don't forget to tell your people the truth about Asgard."
She snorted. "That their lord is a madman who slew a god and carries his power?"
"That too, but about how Asgard is safe, accepting, and progressive for all races."
He chose Ra for the task. Caerindra waved from atop the dragon as she left. Her departure was without fanfare, as she had requested, but her presence and company would be missed.
—
He had decided to inspect the city for the rest of the day. Nothing like the surprise arrival of the city's lord to ensure no one had any funny ideas.
The bustling market had three issues.
"Boy, where is the butcher?" he asked, glancing around the shop. There was something wrong.
The boy, not even ten years old by his estimate, jumped to his feet, eyes wide. "Master is inside, milord. I shall call him immediately."
The noise coming from the back changed his mind.
"Wait, I'll go see him," he said, pulling the boy back. He barged inside, lips slightly parted at the sight.
"What the hell?" he growled, seeing the knife near the donkey's throat.
The butcher froze, dropping the knife. "I-I can explain, milord."
Flames poured out of his left eye, reaching his brow. "You can?"
"Aye, we were, uh, I was, that is, I was just shaving the donkey."
"Shaving the donkey? Oh go on then, let me see your technique."
The fat man's throat bobbed. He pushed the other apprentice to bring soap and water. The boy returned soon with them. Foaming the soap, the man slathered it on the donkey's muzzle while the apprentice sharpened the knife.
He, along with Sandor and Tyrion, watched the man actually shave the donkey.
"Not bad, not bad. You definitely should have been a barber," he said. The butcher smiled, but Robert's next words caused him to pass out.
"Get the donkey out of here, ban this place, revoke his license, and send him to the cells to await trial."
"Yes, my lord."
The second issue was with a grain seller.
"Milord, welcome to my humble store. Fairest prices in all of Asgard."
"They certainly are."
He inspected almost every product. Corn, wheat, barley—everything was in good condition, and there was no foul play. He was impressed with the state of the store. With such affordable prices, it would certainly be the favorite of many citizens.
His instincts told him something was amiss.
Approaching the scale, he pushed the end with the weight down. It went back faster than he expected.
The shop owner's eyes widened when he reached for the bag one of the men was carrying and pulled out a one-pound weight. He put it on the other pan.
When two equal weights were put on the scale, it should stay evenly leveled. Surprisingly, his weight went down.
"Tyrion, I think our weight is broken. Certainly, such an honorable man would not do something like this, right?"
The dwarf coughed into his fist. "Indeed, my lord. If I did not know any better, I would say we were trying to screw this man over."
"I believe the punishment is the seizure of all the illegal profits and suspension of the shop and the license for a month. You have until the end of the day to move all the perishables out for storage. Otherwise, they will be bought at half the rate."
The shop owner fainted, leaving the officers to go through his ledgers.
The last one was the most personal to him.
"Explain to me. How exactly is there no cacao or chocolate anywhere?" he asked, teeth involuntarily grinding. This was the seventh bakery he had visited. He only wanted a slice of chocolate cake to finish his day.
It shouldn't have been this difficult.
The aging baker lowered her head. "Milord, the wholesalers say the last batch has gone bad. The chocolate makers can't afford the new price. We haven't been able to buy any for three days."
"Where are those wholesalers?"
The bakery directed them to the docks. He stomped the entire way, threatening to leave cracks on the pavement with each step. Only the fact that he would have to pay for it kept his fury at bay.
He found one of the wholesalers before a crowd, trying to explain his situation.
Wun Weg pushed the crowd aside gently. Robert reached the short, round man, hands gathered at the back, eyes squinting, lips twitching every now and then.
"M-milord."
"I would like to see how many pods you have left now."
"Of course, this way," he said, waddling to open the gate's lock.
He blinked. In the middle of the room, eight crates were stacked together. The rest of the warehouse was barren, not a single more cocoa pod in sight.
"As you can see, this is all that is left in my hands. If I don't increase the price, I will have no way to recoup my losses."
He clicked his tongue. A chocolate shortage was unacceptable to him.
His giant guard walked inside. The boards beneath his feet creaked. He sniffed at the small cluster of crates. Before he could take any, the ground gave away. He fell with a dull thud, breaking something.
The wholesaler was sweating now.
Robert rolled his eyes, approaching the hole.
"Wun Weg, are you alright?" he asked. The giant grunted, holding his hand up. He took it by the wrist, pulling Wun Weg with ease no other could boast.
When he came up, it was with another crate of pods, one that was most certainly not among the pile.
"Pods, lots of pods."
He turned his neck so sharply, the crack felt like a whip. The round man was whimpering now.
There would be no mercy for him.
—
He paced in front of the three swindlers who had been tied to a post in their undergarments. Not only had all three reached a deal to hide their cocoa pods to inflate the prices, they had done it in his city.
"Citizens of Asgard," he shouted, arms open. "These rats have been caught trying to swindle us. Let this be a lesson to all who seek to profit by believing I and the public servants of the city are blind."
"We are not. You will be found and punished for Asgard."
"For Asgard!"
—
"Today was truly productive," Tyrion said, handing over the last of the papers for the archives.
"I know. I should go out more," Robert muttered, sitting crosslegged in the middle of his private study.
"Is there a reason you are doing this meditation exercise again, my lord?"
"Quiet, I almost got it."
Blood red flames sparked into life, spreading from the front of his forehead over his ears and becoming one at the back. The thin lines flared, turning flat and sharp, like leafs.
"What the?"
"Hah!" He leaped to his feet, running to the mirror. He checked the laurels, making minor adjustments.
"My lord?"
"I call this my Laurel of Victory." His hand glided over the flames, careful to not disturb its form. "It is fitting, don't you think?"
Tyrion rolled his shoulders. "You are the one with the magical powers; far be it from me to disagree."
He chuckled, splitting his focus to protect the laurel's shape. As his proficiency with the sword's magic increased, he was looking to make use of the crystal as well. Starting with Sandor, who had been keeping a distance due to the fire.
Apparently, he could handle the dragons belching fire, but not him. Only humans seemed to trigger his trauma, and he knew a possible way to help. The crystal was better put to use than left to gather dust.
All he needed was to have its magic respond to him.
—
King's Landing
The most populated city in the Seven Kingdoms was experiencing an unnatural surge in numbers. A tourney would be held to celebrate the first named year of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, first in line to the throne after his father, King Rhaegar I Targaryen.
Attendance was expected to be in great numbers. The rewards for the joust, melee, and archery were some of the greatest in recent memory. Every knight worth his salt would take place, either for the gold or for the prestige.
But one matter cast a great shadow on the tourney.
The Godslayer, the latest title of the Lord of Asgard, was a matter that the people were not going to stop talking about any time soon.
Word of Robert's latest deeds, bringing light to the Shadow Lands by killing a foul mage and slaying R'hllor in man-to-god combat, were deeds fit for the legends of the Age of Heroes. Even the total destruction of Volantis paled in the shadow of his greatness.
Even Yi-Ti had sent princesses and ladies to win him over to no avail.
—
The Red Keep
"The preparations are proceeding well, Your Grace," Wyman said, wiping the sweat on his forehead.
"Some good tidings, at last," Rhaegar thought, waving the Master of Coin away.
"Yes. Such a pity Robert did not die."
"Don't," Rhaegar growled at Varys, holding his head between his hands, squeezing to crush the developing ache, "utter his name."
He was quick to bow. "I apologize, Your Grace."
He had decided to not take any action against Robert and his family. After the Shadow Lands, Volantis, and R'hllor, he was terrified of what the man would do next.
Tywin stole a look at the Spider. "Lord Stark has sent a letter. He should arrive soon."
The eunuch would forget the ban on mentioning that name every other week. It was getting tiresome.
"What else?" He asked, mind drifting elsewhere. He was sure Lyanna would be delighted to see her father.
"He has a detailed report on the Wall's state. He says that the influx of men and resources, as well as the return of the Gift, has done much to improve the Watch." Men and resources that the Westerlands had to contribute as well.
In lieu of Robert's deeds, the Stormlands was the sole region to be excluded.
"And the Ironborn?"
"They have been obedient ever since Lord Stark visited the Wall."
The rest of his report was concerning the tourney. The city had to be distracted from Robert's heroics and charisma. He was already becoming more beloved than the king, in the seat of the Targaryens no less.
He had no idea what to do. Even the tourney was unlikely to be more than a momentary diversion. His experience in ruling and war did not present him any path forward. Killing Robert was out of the question. At best, he would advocate to keep away from the man.
A sleeping monster was best left where it was.
He had even retracted the secret bounty on Tyrion's head. His pride was shattered, but the Lord of Asgard had made it clear that the dwarf and his commoner wife were under his protection.
His only condolence was the fact that Rhaegar did not follow in Daeron's footsteps. Obsessed with prophecy might be, but the king was sharp enough to keep away from the godslayer.
Just as they all would do.
—
In the next chapter:
"Lord Tyrion, what is the meaning of this? Where is Lord Robert?" the Pentosi envoy asked, face red like a tomato.
Tyrion looked around, thinking, quickly deciding to tell the truth. "He has left to resolve the matter of the storm."
"How so?"
"You don't want to know," he assured the envoy. Even he didn't want to know, and he was the second-highest-ranked person in the city.
"We have spent months planning for this moment. I do want to know," the envoy demanded.
Tyrion looked at the man with half-lidded eyes and shrugged. "Well, do you know the story of Durran Godsgrief?"
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