GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

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Like a raging bull, Robert furiously stormed out of Myrcella's room and headed to his own. All the maids and Kingsguards made way for him, none daring enough to anger the King.

Thud!

He slammed the door shut and annoyedly took off his clothes to take a bath and clean up. Everything he did was an automatic response as his mind remained preoccupied. The scenes from Myrcella's room troubled him.

Was it a mistake to keep Sansa there? But hoped to keep her to at least have a part of his old life with him.

Why? Why would you two do such a thing?

He soon stepped out of the tub and dressed up for the evening meetings. He didn't really want to anymore as his mood was spoiled, but he had to.

I couldn't tell her about Winterfell either.

Alas, he finished everything and headed out. It was still the middle of the day, so he took his throne and held the King's Court. As a King, this was the only way he could stop thinking about Sansa and Myrcella's actions.

Besides, it was his duty.

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A few hours before supper that night, Robert arrived at the Small Council. Even before him, everyone had gathered there.

So, he took his seat and started right away. "The Ironborns have attacked the North, and by the gods, I'll ride to meet them. I don't want to hear any damn complaints from you lot. I don't care what happens to me—Ned's home stands in peril. I dragged him to King's Landing, and that mistake cost him his life. I won't sit idle while his lands burn."

"I have called the banners, Your Grace," Stannis reported. The man held honor and respect above all. Similarly, Ned was respected by most Lords with a working head. "Thirty thousand men will march at the sound of horns."

Robert nodded and changed the topic. "Any word on Daenerys Targaryen? Where is she?"

"She was last sighted in the Dothraki Sea, Your Grace. If the words are correct, she is moving towards the Red Waste," Varys softy answered.

Robert frowned. "The Red Waste? Why? It's a death wish."

"Certainly, Your Grace."

"Keep tracking her and report to me if she comes out alive," Robert said and stood up from his seat suddenly. He walked to stand behind Stannis so he could see the faces of everyone in that room. "Those damned Martells tried to drug me and marry me off to that whore, Arianne. They're in a silent rebellion, and support Daenerys Targaryen's return—Unacceptable!"

None? Robert tried to see if anyone would panic or react. There was a high possibility that he had traitors in the ranks.

"Will they attack?" Tyrion asked. "I… I'll have to prepare gold if that's the case."

"No, they won't strike now. There's no sense in it. Kill me, and they'll have Stannis to deal with. And after him? His daughter. No, they'll bide their time, sharpening their knives, waiting for the right moment."

"Brilliant, that leaves only my father, the Iron Islands, and the Vale," Tyrion sarcastically replied.

Robert frowned. "The Vale?"

"Ah, you haven't heard the latest tidings, Your Grace? Lysa Tully has branded you a murderer. Though whispers suggest her mind has slipped into madness, but who can truly say?"

What in God's name is that woman doing?

"Murderer? Of whom?" Robert asked.

"Petyr Baelish."

That traitor? Robert fell into deep thoughts. Why would Lysa go that far for a dead man? Were they close?

"Your Grace, Lord Baelish was fostered at Riverrun since childhood. Perhaps, Lady Tully and Lord Baelish were… close," Lord Varys suggested, though his tone lacked the expression of a suggestion. It was more of a statement. "My little birds whisper—there is indeed a hint of madness in Eyrie's halls."

Thud!

Robert sat down in his chair again and crossed his arms. "That mad whore might try to block my path when I march to Winterfell. Stannis, send ravens to the major Lords of the Vale and seek their definite answer. Will they rebel, or resist the madness?"

With that, Robert decided to end the gathering.

"Then go on, get to work. I have others waiting outside."

Quickly, the chairs scraped on the floor and the Small Council room emptied. As soon as the door was shut, it opened again, this time a tall, feminine figure entered. Dressed in gray robes, she had her head covered with a hood, and a crystal pendant hung around her neck. Her face looked mature, yet with devotion in her eyes.

"Greetings, Your Grace. I am Septa Unella from the Great Sept of Baelor. I was informed by the High Septon that my services are required here."

She's imposing enough to handle those girls. Robert sized her up. She had to be close to six feet from the looks of it.

"Take a seat, Septa," Robert ordered.

The woman nodded and sat facing him on the other side of the table. She spoke nothing, however, silently awaiting the King's demand.

She has patience. Robert examined.

"Sansa Stark and Myrcella—they're of age to wed, and I'll have them schooled in the ways of a proper maiden. Teach them discipline, for they'll carry the weight of noble houses. I want no softness." Robert requested, "I will need you to visit the Red Keep and teach them six days a week."

"T-That is a great honor, Your Grace."

Robert nodded. "But don't lay a hand on them—no blows, no scars. You can scold them, however."

"I wouldn't dare, Your Grace. I'll gently bring them closer to the Seven. You can rest assured."

"Very well, I look forward to it. You may start tomorrow."

Septa Unella stood up after that and bowed her head before bidding farewell. As she left, another figure entered the chamber, a man with dark, brown hair and gray eyes.

Robert stood up to greet this one. He went ahead and pulled the boy in for a quick hug and heavy pats on his back. "By the gods, you've made it just in time, lad. The realm may brand you a bastard, but you've got the true blood of Starks in your veins. Ned would have been proud of how you found Arya."

Jon Snow awkwardly nodded and maintained a respectful gaze. "I arrived many nights ago, Your Grace."

"Ah, of course. The delay was on my part. But I'm afraid there's no time to sit and chat. The Ironborn threaten the rule of Starks at Winterfell. I'll ride with an army early in the morning, to deal with it."

"Let me join you, Your Grace!" Jon requested.

"By the Seven, no! You'll stay here and guard Sansa. I worry for her, especially after I found her intimate with Myrcella this morning—such behavior is unbecoming for a Stark. You must watch over Sansa and ensure she steers clear of Myrcella," Robert denied plainly. "Handling the Ironborn is a simpler task than managing Ned's girl. You know her well, lad—go speak with her."

Shocked, Jon still wanted to insist on going. But, he reckoned he wouldn't be allowed since he just arrived from the North. "I understand, Your Grace. I'll speak with her."

"Good, now go and see to her. She must have been frightened after getting caught by me. Make sure she joins us for supper."

Jon Snow bowed his head and retreated, leaving the Small Council chamber.

Finally, with his work done, Robert kicked the floor and made his chair skid backward. But, he didn't stand up instantly, too busy in thoughts of the upcoming battle. He feared the Lannisters and the Vale joining hands. He feared the might and the schemes of Tywin Lannister.

What if I give him Tommen? Robert pondered. No, I mustn't. Pinning Tyrion against his father is better. He's quick in the head.

Clack!

"May I enter, Your Grace?"

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