Geek's Guide to Thriving in a Low End Fantasy World ( Robert Baratheon OC SI AU)

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.




Asgard

"Where is Sandor?"

"Training the men, my lord," Tyrion reported.

"Someone fetch him immediately," he said to the guards.

"Have you achieved something with the crystal?" the dwarf asked, still focused on his work.

"Yes. I want to see if I can heal his scar."

His hand jerked, leaving a trail of ink on the paper. "Any chance it could fix my diminutive state?"

"I don't know, we'll see," he said.

Sandor, ever close by, entered the room."My lord."

"Sandor, come closer," he said. Sandor approached hesitantly, prompting Robert to roll his eyes.

"Closer."

"For the love of it," he grumbled. Since Sandor was so hesitant to approach him because of the flames, Robert walked up to him instead. His palm rested on the man's forehead, his fingers spread and locked tightly.

Sandor froze.

"This might hurt a bit," he warned. The gem began to emit a glow, barely a shine at first, before it intensified.

Tyrion hopped off his chair and hid beneath the desk. Whatever Robert was doing, he did not want to be in its line of sight.

Sandor screamed.

He felt as if hundreds of hot needles were stabbing his scar and fell to his knees before blissfully passing away.

"Hey, it worked," he said, inspecting the now smooth skin.

"Truly?" Tyrion popped out, walking to check the man's face.

"Incredible," he muttered, seeing the ugly burn scar gone. The new, smooth and undamaged skin took the scary visage away, leaving him more human.

"I can try this on you, but if the pain of that scar was enough to knock him out, I don't think you'll survive." Remaking the dwarf into an ordinary human would be too traumatic for the body.

"Well," he sat on his chair again. "I enjoy living, so I shall pass this time."

"Get him to his room until he wakes up."

"Yes, my lord."


He was done with his magical shenanigans and started to catch up with his work. The city expanded every day. It was organized, structured, and well funded. There would be no slums, no narrow streets, but a spacious settlement in harmony with nature.

The Children of the Forest took work on that front, planting trees, shrubbery—mostly fruit-bearing ones at his insistence—and even helping the farmers raise healthy crops.

Everyone in Asgard had a part to play.

His current part was the Declaration of Sophont Rights. It was similar to the one back on Earth, modified to fit the cultures and geopolitical state of this planet.

Sixteen pages in total with explanations for some of the concepts, he had the clerks create copies to be sent to everywhere. King's Landing, nobles, and the Free Cities would each receive one to read and send feedback, and once they agreed to sign it, investment would flow.

With how dependent they were on slavery, he would kill two birds with one stone. Not only would he have great influence over the cities, he would start the end of slavery.

The irony was delicious. The wealth of Valyria, acquired through slavery and conquests, would be used to end slavery.

He hoped the dragonlords of old were turning in their graves.


"Sandor, there you are. How do you feel?"

The hound touched the left side of his face, feeling the smooth skin. Knowing the mark left on his face by his brother was gone still didn't feel real to him.

"You don't have to say anything; you are welcome."

"I… as you wish."

From that day onwards, Sandor was less apprehensive to fire. He still felt uncomfortable, something Robert could see, but far less than before.


Months of back and forth, and the Free Cities, from Braavos to Qarth, had agreed to sign and implement the declaration.

Slavery and torture would be prohibited first. Courts, inspired by what Robert had set up in Asgard, would be adapted to each city and more.

In return, he would invest millions of gold dragons in chosen areas of production, services, and more in the cities that were dependent on slavery. The smooth transition would stop the chaos that would follow, and the free people would be the winners.

And him too, but that was neither here nor there.


290 AC

Robert stood before the assembly that had gathered in the city square. The Sea Lord, the oligarchs of the Free Cities, traders, and citizens of Asgard were waiting for him to start the speech.

"Guests and citizens, welcome. Today is a great day for the history of this world. "Today is the day." He raised his index finger to punctuate the point, but his speech was interrupted. Not by the dignitaries, not by any traders or dissatisfied parties, but by thunder.

The sky darkened in an instant. The sunlight disappeared behind the clouds as if someone had just flicked a switch to turn it off. Rain poured down on the city, drops sizzling on his laurel.

The celebratory mood was washed away in seconds. The gathered assembly left in panic, seeking shelter while he stood there, blinking. He slowly lowered his finger, taking a deep breath to calm down.


He ordered the assembly to head inside Valhalla.

"This storm is the work of the gods," Leaf said.

Robert's face scrunched as if he had aten a lemon. "No shit. It appeared in a second."

"How do I get to the god responsible for this?" he asked.

"He is the one deeply tied to the history of your house."

His right eye twitched. "Again, how do I get to that bastard?"

"Come."

"Tyrion, tell the guests I am off to deal with the source of this storm."


"Touch the tree; let it guide you to the god of the sea."

"That bitch better have an explanation for this," he scowled. The bark of the weirwood tree felt like a liquid beneath his fingers. When he took a step closer, it gave away, and he fell inside.


Only to appear high in the sky. The dark skies glittered with violet stars, but there wasn't a single cloud in sight.

His brows furrowed, wondering why the god of the sea wouldn't be seated in the sea.

Lightning flashed overhead, and he saw the mistake. He wasn't in the sky but beneath the waters, in the reflection of the water.

There was a figure in the distance, a throne. He held the sword tightly, walking towards it. He hadn't even taken his armor, though, against a god, it wouldn't offer much. As he approached the throne, he could see the figure and the one next to him were asleep.

The female, the sea god's wife and Elenei's mother, looked normal enough. Black hair, diamond-shaped face, and dressed in a white toga.

It was her father that looked weird.

The sides of his eyes had white, pulsating veins. A deep, dark blue color spread from the middle of his forearm to his nails. More of the white veins, less apparent, glowed faintly. His nails were sharp, almost claw-like.

He was slouching on the throne, dark locks covering a part of his face. He only wore white trousers, upper half lying naked. He wasn't muscled, not like Robert was, but his build was thick.

"Hey dumbass, wake up," he roared, shaking the air.

The sea god and his wife were not startled but merely woke up as if it were the time. Now that he was standing straight, his ancestor from eight thousand years ago made it apparent where the Durrandon, and then the Baratheon, looks came from.

His eyes were the same shade of blue as his, and the face shared the same strong outline.

"That stench. You are of Durran's ilk."

"Durran died like eight thousand years ago," he said.

"Yet his house prospers."

"Not really. They were conquered like three centuries ago. It's Baratheon now."

"The names do not matter; the blood does," the god of sea bellowed.

"Whatever. Listen, I was in the middle of achieving something great, and your little temper tantrum screwed it up. Get rid of this storm now," he said, pointing up.

"You presume to order me, mortal?" he asked, teeth bared.

"I'll do more than that if you don't back off, you decrepit fool," Robert sneered.

"You came into my domain, insulted me, and commanded me, and you expect to live? You certainly don't have Durran's smarts," the sea god said.

He struck, his left arm a blue blur.

Robert raised his hand, catching the fist. His laurel flared into existence, as did the flames in his eye. He pulled the sea god forward and headbutted him on the nose.

He flew back, lying at the feet of his wife, eyes glazed.

"Argal!" she shouted, rushing to his side.

"You... how is this possible?"

"None of your business. Get rid of the storm now."

"Elenora, stand back," Argal growled. He pointed his left hand at Robert, firing a bolt of lightning.

Robert held his sword by the blade's side and struck the bolt, sending it beyond where the two gods were standing.

"You asked for it," he sneered. Flames engulfed him, and he leaped forward. Argal met his charge, blocking the sharp tip of the sword with his left hand, sending Robert back this time.

He did not stop there, rushing to meet Robert halfway.

His sword morphed around his fists, becoming thick gauntlets with sharp ridges covering the knuckles. He dodged to the left, striking back. Argal raised both arms, wincing as the knuckles dug into his flesh.

He continued to defend as Robert rained a flurry of blows. He pulled his right arm back, gauntlets flowing like liquid metal to reform the sword, this time with a sharp blade.

He thrust the sword beneath the sea god's defense, aiming for a lethal blow. His opponent wasn't done so easily.

A geyser of sea water struck him from below, launching him upwards. Robert backflipped in the air, dodging another jet of water.

Argal lowered his arms, watching the mortal warily. This one wasn't like the rest. That sword, and the shallow divine essence he carried, made him dangerous.

Dangerous enough that he would have to die now.

While he was ruminating, Robert struck again. The sword turned into a hammer with a hook, ready to break through the sea god's defenses. His wife, Elenora, stood next to him, waving her arms in an intricate pattern.

A gust of wind came out of nowhere, strong enough to almost send him flying. He tried to push forward but couldn't take the step.

He grinned, an idea striking him like a spark.

Flames rose high, fanned by the wind she was using against him. The heat increased, forcing Elenora to take a step back, disrupting her concentration. It also had the added benefit of turning the geysers into steam instantly.

A small weakness in the gale was all he needed to push the flames through. Argal stepped in the way, blocking the attack, but it was enough to stop the winds.

He swung the hammer, turning it to a whip midway. His ancestors did not expect the trick, barely leaping back to avoid it, though they did not stop. Strike after strike gave them no chance but to scramble away from the scorching flames.

Argal slammed his feet on the ground, and Robert had to stop. A wave, enormous enough to sweep his dragons away, rose from the transparent ground. It washed over the gods before him harmlessly, seconds away from his position.

His whip turned to a sword once more, crimson flames gathering at the blade. He brought it down with a bellow. The flames extended out of the blade, carving the wave into two. An intense wave of scolding steam covered the area, blinding them all.

Though, they all saw with more than just eyes.

Argal stepped in front of his wife, meeting the blade with his hand, ready to strike back at the owner. Only, the mortal was nowhere to be seen as the sword acted on its own.

His eyes widened, realizing what had happened, but he was a moment too late.

Robert appeared out of the mist, having circled Argal, and struck Elenora. The kick knocked her out instantly, sending her crashing into the throne.

"No!" Argal screamed. His hand crackled with lightning, blasting the sword away, and turned to Robert, meeting his punch with a punch.

Three punches, each one causing a blast of air at the point of contact, and neither warrior found victory. On the fourth punch, Robert opened his hand, arm flowing around Argal's, catching him by the bicep. He flipped him over his shoulder.

Before Argal could leap to his feet, he caught the sea god by the leg, slamming him side to side with both hands.

The ground shook with each smash, drowning Argal's grunts of pain. He threw the god up next, catching him by the throat as he fell.

"You should have just ended that storm, you old bastard," he scowled, fingers digging into the sea god's neck.

"Durran took my daughter; I won't stop until I take everything from his people," Argal screamed, slamming his hand on Robert's arm.

"Good luck doing that when you are dead," he retorted, ignoring the pain and continuing to squeeze.

Argal panicked and tried to pry the fingers off with lightning. Robert commanded his sword to wrap around the arm, containing the magic in it.

He grinned, continuing to squeeze, but his bloodlust blinded him to Elenora. She appeared out of a mirage, bringing her hand down. He saw the flicker of a distortion, and pain bloomed in his arm.

He cursed, gritting his teeth as he stepped back. The pain was dulled by the adrenaline and the heat of his flames, but it shocked him to see his left arm drop to the ground.

Blood gushed out of the wound, staining the ground. Rather than try to finish him off, Elenora ran to her husband, kicking Robert's severed hand aside. She helped her husband up while Robert tried to concentrate to find a solution.

He did not have the time to use the crystal, but seeing Argal's struggle to free his arm gave him an idea.

The crimson crystal wrapped around Argal's magical arm melted down like ice, flying to slam into Robert's stump. Through the pain, he reconstituted it into a crude arm, quick enough to release a stream of fire to meet the geyser.


"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?"

If he wanted to know, the dwarf was happy to oblige.

"Everyone does." Robert's deeds had made him famous across both continents. It was inevitable for the story of Durran Godsgrief and Elenei to spread beyond the Seven Kingdoms.

"You see, the Children of the Forest have assured us that the sea god, the one in the legends, is the one responsible for this storm. Lord Robert has gone to kill him, because no one rains on his parade."

"Oh," the envoy muttered, his face suddenly blank.

Tyrion smiled behind his hand, enjoying the sight. "Oh indeed."

The skies were lit white and red in that moment, signaling the start of the battle.

He took a glass of wine, sitting down to enjoy the colors.

Notes: Sorry for the delay, my mind turned blank on what to write. I wanted to keep this for later, but here we are.



In the next chapter:

"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.



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

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.

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.



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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