12

Chapter 12: Part XII

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while.

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A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That may not always be true of swords but I've yet to encounter a Valyrian Mind"

The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister - 325 AL

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The Kingswood – Crownlands – 298 AL

"Wipe that miserable expression off your face Joffrey" Robert Baratheon ordered. "This is supposed to be enjoyable" he told the boy.

"Is it?" Octavian muttered quietly to himself. "According to who?" he wondered as he trudged through the mud, following the others through the forest.

The day had started well enough. After a good breakfast Octavian had looked forward to ploughing through the stack of books he had borrowed from Grand Maester Pycelle at Tyrion's recommendation but unfortunately just as he was settling down to read in one of the better lit rooms in the Royal Apartments King Robert had walked in looking for something and from then on the day was on a downward trajectory.

"Bloody hell boy, don't you have something better to do than read?" Robert had asked rhetorically before frowning. "Every time I see you these days you're either sitting on your arse reading or sitting on your arse in boring bloody meetings" he said. "Aerys the First like to read all the time, liked it more than ruling the kingdom, or even shagging his wife, which is why he left the Seven Kingdoms in a worse state than he found it, and without fathering an heir" Robert remembered from his lessons as a boy.

"I'll leave Westeros in a better condition than I found it" Octavian had replied confidently. "No offence meant father" he quickly added, remembering who it was he would be inheriting it from.

Robert laughed. "I might not be Jaehaerys the Wise but the Seven Kingdoms are still better off under me than they were under the Mad King, the history books will have to credit me with that at least" he said confidently. They might complain he drank and whored too much but at least Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, didn't burn people alive as a hobby.

The King looked at his son again, he knew he hadn't been a good father but he still had a few years in him to do better. "Right then, bollocks to this, you're coming with me hunting" he decided.

Octavian's aghast look had not helped him very much. "Do I have to?" he had replied. "Is this punishment for something?"

"It's not punishment, it's fun" Robert had told him, rolling his eyes. "A little fresh air and exercise won't do you any harm" he insisted. "And you get to kill something" he had continued. "It's good for the soul".

"If not the deer" Octavian had been unable to resist retorting, realising his mistake immediately when Robert's face darkened.

"I'll take none of that cheek from you" Robert had growled. "I'm not just your father, I'm your king" he reminded the boy sternly. "You've spent too much time with your mother and not enough with me, that's the problem" he decided, that woman had spoiled the boy, let him go soft and get away with too much. "Now go find some clothes you don't mind getting dirty, not that expensive shit you usually wear, we're going to the Kingswood" he had said firmly, clearly not about to take no for an answer.

There was clearly no point in arguing so Octavian had closed the book he had open and went to do as he was told. His own father Gaius Octavius had died when he was four, resulting in his mother taking sole charge of his upbringing, and he wondered how different a person he might have been with more of a paternal influence in his life.

At least King Robert hadn't insisted he carry a boar spear or a hunting bow, and as they tromped between the trees in the area of the wood specifically kept as a private hunting preserve for royalty, Octavian wondered if he might actually get some actual use from his crossbow rather than firing it at targets the servants set up for him in the palace grounds.

Inheriting several of the things of different types and different draw-weights from Joffrey himself Octavian couldn't help but admit that he found them really quite fascinating too. While the Roman Legions utilised large torsion weapons as field artillery, the ballista and the smaller scorpio for example, they didn't have a readily man-portable weapon like this with which even a barely trained soldier could bring down the most heavily armoured opponent. True, it didn't have the rate-of-fire of a normal bow in the hands of a skilled user but it took years of practice to produce a first-rate bowman, whereas anybody could point a loaded crossbow in the right direction and pull the trigger.

The Greek city-states had used something vaguely similar, their Gastaphetes or belly-bow, but it was far more unwieldy and difficult to aim than this Westerosi weapon which is why the Legions hadn't adopted it themselves, despite a long history of absorbing the military technology of their foes.

Although Robert would have like to have his old friend Eddard along for the hunting trip somebody needed to stay in the capital to run the Seven Kingdoms and with Stannis absent from court, and Renly already on the hunting party, Ned Stark was the only man Robert trusted with the job. You needed balls, both figuratively and literally in Roberts opinion, to wield power so delegating to Varys for even a few days was out of the question and Petyr Baelish was too bloody clever by half, you only had to look at the ways he moved money about to realise the man's mind was always scheming away.

Robert didn't enjoy wearing the crown, at least not the actual administration required and the constant decision making on trivial issues, which was why he had always offloaded that part of the job on Jon Arryn and was now doing the same to poor Ned Stark. The king daydreamed of being able to give up the Iron Throne and sailing off to Essos to spend the rest of his life as a sell-sword, although he knew he would have been better at it at least ten years and five stone in weight ago, but he couldn't even dream about doing that with his heir still not grown and susceptible to his mother's whispering in his ear.

At least the boy was showing encouraging signs of growing up in recent months though, Robert thought with satisfaction as he turned back to see Joffrey aiming down the sights of an unloaded crossbow at a tree. "Just don't accidentally shoot me in the arse with that thing later or I won't be the only one that can't sit down for a week" he told him. "Just because nobody else can lay hands on you doesn't mean I can't tan your hide" he declared, laughing before re-directing his attention to his brother. "You might be too young to remember getting a hiding from our father but by the Gods that man could make your backside sting" he recalled, wincing at the decades old memory.

"I never knew him" Renly replied evenly. He had been barely a year old when Steffon Baratheon and their mother Cassana died.

Following in Joffrey's tracks, as bodyguard he rarely left the boy's side, Sandor Clegane was glad he was so practiced at keeping his mouth shut because the urge to comment that Renly was well used to having a sore arse was hard to resist.

"More wine Your Grace?" Lancel Lannister, the king's squire asked, holding out Robert's wine-skin which the king took from him and took a large swig before practically throwing it back at the youth.

"Now, what was I saying before?" he tried to remember.

"You were saying it was a simpler time" Renly reminded him.

Robert nodded. "It was. It was. You're too young to remember. Wasn't it simpler, Selmy?" he asked Ser Barristan who was accompanying the group as bodyguard to the king.

"It was, Your Grace" Selmy had to agree, that didn't make it better though he thought to himself.

"The enemy was right in the open, vicious as you like, all but sending you a bloody invitation" Robert recalled. "Nothing like today" he added regretfully. All this politics and backstabbing, that was no life for a soldier he knew.

Renly rolled his eyes. "It sounds exhilarating" he responded in a sardonic tone.

"Exhilarating, yes. Not as exhilarating as those balls and masquerades you like to throw" Robert replied, laughing mockingly "You ever fuck a Riverlands girl?" he asked his brother.

"Is this really a proper topic of conversation with your young son here?" Renly responded, hoping to get off this subject.

"He's not a bloody infant, he's nearly a man" Robert replied with a snort. "So have you ever fucked a Riverlands girl?" he asked his son, grinning.

Octavian couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "No, not as far as I know" he replied awkwardly. The girl in the brothel in Rome had been taken from a distant land but he strongly doubted it was from that distant land.

Robert laughed again. "So have you fucked a Riverlands girl or not?" he asked his youngest brother again.

"Once. I think" Renly replied.

"You think? I think you'd remember" Robert retorted. "Back in our day, you weren't a real man until you'd fucked one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands" he said. "We used to call it making the eight."

"Those were some lucky girls" Renly wryly observed.

"You ever make the eight, Selmy?" Robert asked the Lords Commander of his King's Guard.

"I don't believe so, your Grace" Ser Barristan replied, an amused expression hinted at on his face.

Robert sighed. "Those were the days" he said nostalgically.

"Which days, exactly?" Renly asked, his tone becoming increasingly snide causing Robert to stop walking and face him directly. "The ones where half of Westeros fought the other half and millions died?" he asked sarcastically. "Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it?" he continued. "Or way before that, when dragons burned whole cities to the ground?" Renly exclaimed, everyone else in the hunting party now trying to make themselves look as unobtrusive as possible.

Robert fixed him with a glare. "Easy, boy. You might be my brother, but you're speaking to the King" he reminded him curtly.

"I suppose it was all rather heroic" Renly persisted. "If you were drunk enough and had some poor Riverlands whore to shove your prick inside and make the eight" he added, before stamping away.

"More wine, Your Grace?" Lancel asked nervously, holding out the wineskin again, Robert re-directing his fierce gaze in the squire's direction for a moment before snatching the wine from his hands.

"Should I fetch him back?" Octavian asked, waiting for an answer as Renly continued to walk away.

"Let him be" Robert replied eventually after downing a good quarter of the wine. "Never knew our father, he said, and it bloody shows trust me" he muttered, throwing the wine-skin back at Lancel. "Fuck this, I want to kill something" he growled.

Octavian pursed his lips. "He shouldn't have talked to you that way" he stated.

"No he bloody shouldn't" Robert agreed before spitting on the floor. "But at least I know he's one of the few men in the kingdom that will ever say something to me that I don't want to hear" he said, turning to look his son straight in the eye. "Here's a lesson for you for the day you sit on the Iron Throne, it's better to surround yourself with a few men that argue with you sometimes, and speak their minds, than a thousand arse-kissers who only say what they think you want to hear" Robert told him. "You might want to punch them in the face sometimes, or have them thrown in the dungeon, but they'll keep you from starting to believe you're more than a man and they won't stab you in the back like one of those mewling sycophants in the Red Keep would."

"Yes father" Octavian replied with a sage nod.

"Also while you're remembering that, remind me later to punch your Uncle Renly in the face" Robert instructed.

"Seriously?" Octavian checked, he wasn't always sure when the man was being serious. He was prone to mood swings which could be down to the drinking.

Robert sighed. "No better not, if I smashed in that pretty face of his he'd never forgive me" he replied. "Say what you like about Stannis, at least your other uncle isn't vain, not that he's got much to be vain about but still" Robert joked, finally cracking a smile again.

Octavian laughed and after a moment so did Lancel Lannister although he regretted it immediately when the king glowered at him once more. "Are you laughing at my family?" Robert asked the squire coldly.

"Um… no" Lancel replied nervously.

"Good, you might be related to my son by blood but you're nothing to me" Robert told him. "Let's catch up with Renly and get back to the hunt" he ordered, leading off in the direction his youngest brother had gone.

The more tedious the situation the slower time seems to flow, Octavian had found, and although it might have only been a couple of hours before they eventually found a boar it felt like days. Robert had told Joffrey to stay back with the others when he advanced alone on the creature, spear-in-hand. Boars were far more dangerous than many people gave them credit for, imagining them to be more like a domesticated farmyard pig than the wild beast they were, but judging by his slurred speech and unsteady walk Octavian thought it should be the king that should stay back.

Unless it was a Bacchanalian ritual most Romans of the equestrian classes tended to frown upon getting drunk, preferring watered-down wine to the undiluted stuff favoured by undisciplined plebs, and anyone with any sense from any class wouldn't drink themselves half way into a stupor when out hunting something that was any less docile than a skittish deer.

Gauls were notorious drunkards, first the Greeks and then later the Romans had made a fortune trading strong wine to them in return for slaves via the port of Massilia, but Octavian doubted that even those unwashed barbarians went out hunting boar when sloshed out of their minds.

When the boar launched itself at him Robert mistimed his thrust and the rest of the hunting party gaped in horror, too far back to help.

In conditions of extreme stress time slows down and Robert had long enough to draw his knife and imagine his entry in the history books as ending "killed by a pig" before a crossbow bolt slammed into the boar's skull and drove itself deep into its brain.

Weighing as much as a very large man and going a full tilt the boar kept going off sheer inertia and still knocked Robert sideways, both man and beast hitting the ground at the same time although only one of them was still breathing.

"Bloody hell!" Robert exclaimed.

"Are you alright Your Grace?" Barristan Selmy asked in alarm although it was Renly that reached the king first being a younger man.

"I think that bastard broke my ribs, or the bloody ground did" Robert complained, trying to right himself with the assistance of Renly.

Renly inspected him for other injuries, no blood so at least the boar's tusks hadn't gored him. "You'll need strapping up before we move on if you did" he said. "You're lucky to be alive."

"You're very lucky Prince Joffrey has a good aim" Selmy told the king, pointing to where the heir to the throne was still standing there aiming his empty crossbow at where the pig had been, eyes wide in shock and pale as northern snow.

"I'd ask for my wineskin but it looks like he needs it more than I do" Robert declared, starting to laugh but quickly regretting it when his broken ribs complained.

Octavian finally blinked. "Did I hit it?" he asked.

"Yes you did, right in the head" Sandor Clegane told him, bending down to inspect the animal. "Big fucker this one" he observed.

"That's not where I was aiming, I thought I had a better chance of hitting it in the body" Octavian responded, before swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Then I'll take it back Your Grace" Ser Barristan corrected himself, kneeling down beside the king. "You're lucky Prince Joffrey, doesn't have a good aim" he deadpanned.

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts too bloody much" Robert replied. "Get your arse over here boy" he ordered. "Not you Lancel you idiot" he told the squire who had started to dash over, holding out the wineskin.

Still clutching onto the crossbow for dear life Octavian went to the king's side. "I guess you don't want the Iron Throne for yourself just yet" Robert said to him. "Unless you missed with that crossbow by even more than you said and you were trying to put that bolt in me" he added, grinning.

"I don't think anyone could miss a target that size" Renly quipped, partially just out of relief Robert was alright.

Robert frowned. "Wasn't there something you were supposed to remind me to do Joffrey?" he asked his son.

"Punch Uncle Renly in the face?" Octavian responded, giving the man an apologetic look.

"That was it" Robert confirmed, holding up a mighty fist. "It can wait until my ribs are bound and that fucking boar is roasting on a spit though" he decided, unclenching his fist and grinning at his little brother before groaning in pain. "I'm going to feel like shit tomorrow morning between the ribs and the hangover" he realised.

"Just don't try and make the eight for a while" Renly advised.

Notes:

Note from the author:

Cersei tried to have Robert killed by ensuring he was dangerously drunk while on his hunting trip in the Kingswood. At her behest Lancel Lannister kept plying Robert with unusually strong wine until he was in no fit state to deal with something as dangerous as a wild boar.

The medieval style crossbows seen in Westeros weren't a weapon the Romans had but they did have ballista and scorpions while the Greek Gastraphetes is similiar enough to the Westerosi weapon for Octavian to put them in the same category.

Joffrey was a big fan of crossbows, in the books he liked to take pot-shots at people begging outside the Red Keep for bread with them. Octavian likes the things too but for less unpleasant reasons, they're a good weapon for a middling swordsman and he sees wider possibilities for them militarily.

Aerys I Targaryen was a great book enthusiast, but not a particularly good king. Jaehaerys I Targaryen however (Jaehaerys the Wise) is generally regarded as the best ruler of the Seven Kingdoms because he was both a keen reader and a capable soldier.