The End of Robert's Rebellion

Early 284 Summer

I pulled into the small port of Dragonstone like a baller as my ship cut through the wreckage of the Royal Fleet, dashed against the bluffs of the volcanic island, smashed by waves, or blown so far away by the previous night's storm that my difficult mission became super easy, barely an inconvenience. The hardest part of taking Dragonstone came from the walk up the long and winding causeway to the keep. I came with my crew armored in plate, boiled leather, chain, and gambeson. That's a lot of weight to carry on such a long uphill march, but we made it in good time to the dragon maw gate of the grotesque fused stone castle, still psychically reeking of the hundreds sacrificed to fuel the magic of its creation by the Freehold centuries ago. 

Dacey spoke as we neared, "So how are we storming this one? Some forgotten secret passage? A section of wall unmaintained for too long? Twenty good men and some climbing spikes?" 

"They will let us through the front door." I answered. 

The storm last night was so fearsome that many of the stone gargoyles that make up the parapets of this uniquely shaped castle tore off in the gale. The men manning the gatehouse had little heart left in them to resist, and an easy nudge from my mind as I palmed the head of my fell axe made them throw open the gates and throw down their weapons. I didn't even need to burn out their minds like I did the maester the night before, just the softest touch made them give into their fears. 

"You didn't even need to say anything!" Dacey yelled in shock as we continued our march uninterrupted by defenses of this fortress. 

The surrender of the gatehouse had a cascading effect on the defenders, they too threw down their arms rather than fight the hundreds of 'knights' already among them. We didn't encounter any resistance until we arrived at the royal chambers. 

"Do not make me cut down this door, Ser Darry." I shouted to be heard through the sturdy oak and iron separating me from the last Targaryens. 

"My duty is clear." the old man shouted back, heart set on resisting until his final breath. 

A man of great principle, holding out in the face of futility. I moved aside my cloak to draw the fell axe, and began hacking down the door, each swing biting deeply into both wood and metal, pulling back chucks. 

"Here's Jorah!" I yelled, failing to resist the call of the moment as the former Queen wailed in the background as she clutched her two screaming children to her chest. 

Ser Darry began thrusting his sword through the gaps I tore open, though without a Valyrian steel blade he failed to accomplish much besides turning a pair of my swings before his blade snapped. When I finally burst through the wreckage, the old knight swung a hot fire poker at me. I gave the man the respect he deserved and hacked open his breastplate, sinking the fell axe into his heart. He struggled briefly still, trying to take at least one person down with him, but quickly collapsed and shed bitter tears over this final failing. 

Somehow, the knight's death filled the small boy with determination and Viserys III Targaryen leapt at me with a knife while screaming, "I AM KING!"

I snatched the little blade away from him and pulled his screaming form over to Dacey.

"Deal with this thing." I commanded and the big woman pulled a leather cord off one of her belt pouches and bound the boy's hands behind his back before tucking the 'king' under her arm like a football. 

"Her too." I commanded with a nod to Rhaella as I tore the screaming babe from her.

My experience with Jon 'Snow' made the process of silencing Daenerys quite easy and quick. Behind me the former queen thrashed and shrieked as my men bound her hands behind her back and frog marched her out of the room. The rest of my men set about taking our due from the remaining valuables of the royal family. Outside the keep, more of my men flooded in to 'keep the peace'. 

A final simple and profitable trip for the resolution of my grand journey through the rebellion. 

Rhaella finally stopped her wailing as we crossed the causeway back down to my ships, and only silently sobbed as we raised her aboard the Great Sea Bear. After the six minute process of divesting my armor, I sat in front of the woman atop a oarsman's chest and stared at her as she stared at the beautiful white oak deck planks of my ship. Who can blame her for getting mesmerized, those planks would have cost an arm and a leg in my last life. 

"I've taken you and your daughter as my thralls." I announced the woman's new lot in life, "From now on you live to bear my children and keep my home, and when your daughter comes of age, so too will she." 

I took the woman by her bound hands and lashed her to my ship to prevent her from throwing herself into the sea. I'd need to keep her away from knives, ropes, and high drops for a while before she comes to terms with sparing her daughter the entire responsibility for renewing the race of Dragon Lords. I find myself far more tolerant of the Valryians renewing their magic when their future wears my face. 

I took the fleet to Duskendale for the evening, not wanting to stay in the castle we just looted amidst the ruined lives of the inhabitants, and the Rykkers accommodated us reluctantly. The House that replaced the Darklyns after their failed rebellion saw their ascending star fall after I stormed their keep, and while Lord Rykker never fell into my hands directly, he still owed me quite a ransom for his family's safe return. A moderate portion of that debt was paid by harboring the three ships I took to Dragonstone, feeding my sailors, and keeping my notables as guests within his keep. As a Targaryan loyalist house, he had no invite to King's Landing for the coming royal wedding, and instead paid witness to the final humiliation of the dynasty he fought for. I paraded my new thralls during my stay, and presented Viserys as the former King of Westeros while carrying the family crowns on my belt. 

The raw pity of the household fueled our sails as we took off the next morning for the long day of sailing to King's Landing. The trip to back to the capital was smooth and easy, and my son set up another evening parade for us as we returned victorious exactly when we meant to. Thousands of lanterns lit the streets as I led the remaining Royals into the city and up Aegon's Hill. As was their way, the people of King's Landing gladly turned on the down and out family, shouting insults though we did not tolerate the flinging of shit or refuse. Galmar split a few skulls to keep the throwers in check. 

Returning a displaced family to their home is the action of a hero. Taking a family to the home of a warlord who hates them is the action of a villain. This is why morality is such a grey area. I used thoughts like these to amuse myself as we went through the pageantry of this handoff. Kicking and screaming I tossed the deposed King of Westeros before the throne of the current King of Westeros. 

"The Wall." Bobby B pronounced his judgment over his pint sized rival after a showy court session, and proved himself the bigger man. 

Jon Arryn came forth with a petition to take Rhaella and her daughter to the Silent Sisters, and spoke with the authority of the many lords backing the proposal. He made an impassioned speech on the the nature of civility, the path of the righteous heart, and the call to redemption that I mostly tuned out while watching cats chasing rats around the castle across time with my greensight. 

"No." I stated when it was my turn to speak, to defend my enthrallment of the deposed queen and princess, "Ser Willem Darry died to give me these thralls. To turn them over to you not only spits on his honor, but makes slavers of us all." my argument brought a great shock throughout the hall, as these ignorant socialites knew nothing of our ancient traditions, "I have taken these people as thralls, and must never transfer my authority over them through words or treasure, only blood. To do so is to make slaves of them, and all involved slave traders." 

I saw the gears behind Jon Arryn's pale blue eyes breaking down from the logic trap of the tradition. Both First Men and Andal practiced the taking of thralls, giving him no historical leg to stand on, and the continuation of the practice to this day by the Ironborn meant that the society never advanced beyond such. With only the option to outlaw the practice or apply the law unjustly to continue his current angle against me, Jon Arryn withdrew his petition rather than sow chaos. This obviously occurred because of my incredible and enviable oratory skills, and not at all due to the implicit understanding that if push came to shove I'd vigorously defend my basic human rights via trial by combat. Cowed thoroughly, the old man simply looked to the floor, unable to turn his gaze to the woman and babe he failed to liberate from the cold hard clutches of the savage sorcerer. 

The unease my presence spread there after left me with only my favorite company during my stay in the capital for the lead up to the wedding: my own. They seated me in the back during the ceremony and many nights of feasting, but the one place I could not be happily ignored was on the tourney grounds. Though they didn't yet know it, Robert Baratheon began his habit of lavish tourney spending on this celebratory event, and I eagerly came to suckle on the teat of his generosity and grandeur. Not yet the kind of spending that we saw at Harrenhal, but we'll get there. 

In a who's who of the rebel cause, all the men that of note that put Robert on the Throne participated in the week long tourney, including the army of the North who stayed south during this time serving as Jon Arryn's attack dogs, putting down the last dregs of the Loyalist cause. With this many participants, the melee event took multiple days and pleased Robert greatly, despite his desire to be down in the middle of it all not being approved by his handler. Fought in the standard ruleset, the participants entered the wooden arena thirty two at a time and paired off randomly to fight duels until only one man remained undefeated. This proceeded until we had eight winners left for the final go, and my family represented well with four of the slots going to myself, Ulfric 'Stormcloak', Galmar 'Stonefist', and Kodlack of the Kingsguard. Skjor failed to make the cut, but the sixteen year old didn't have that killer edge yet, despite an abundance of anger management issues built up from co-ruling my island for years as Maege's understudy. 

When the four of us defeated our final opponents my boys turned on me again, but this time I was ready. They might each be nearly as skilled and strong as Robert Baratheon, but I'm about as strong as Maelys the Monstrous, and have lived the lives of all the Blades of the Morning. My tourney greatsword rapped out a drummers beat on their unfilial asses and left them begging for mercy. As a calm and reasonable man, I forgave them their rank betrayal and took home my chests of gold. 

We rode the lists during this multi day melee, and the Day of Thunder returned, this time to King's Landing. I'd finally hit my true stride - my full physical might and skill - and reached a level beyond any other. With the most powerful horse I could find bonded deeply too me, I road down every man who bore the misfortune of pairing with me on the bracket for seven days until I took the tourney championship and the gold. Obviously, I also coasted through the archery contest. There has never been and will never be a greater archer than me. 

By this point, I'd become so famous in the capital that my return to my ships to go home turned into an unplanned parade, and as I boarded The Great Seabear I turned back and shouted, "Goodbye King's Landing! I'll see you all again at the next big tourney!" 

The cheering and the swinging of black bear flags filled my sails for a fine start to this journey and a fine end to Robert's Rebellion.

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Here is a new chapter wishing you all a Happy New Year. In other news I found an interactive map of Westeros with a scaled measurement tool. I charted a basic course from Bear Island to King's Landing and rounded it up to 7800 miles. With Jorah's sailing speed of 400 knots a day it only takes him 17 days of sailing to make the trip one way. Add in roughly a week of stops in various ports each way and Jorah makes a full profit round trip to the capital in just 48 days. 

I will consider going back and fixing travel times if there is a great demand for it. 

Once more, a big thanks to 4REEESEARCH for his support of me and my family. You too can support us at

ko-fi.com/jmanm