36

Chapter Text

Chapter 36 Paradigm shift

Renly Baratheon

He stomped to Cressen's rooms, a part of him felt like a little boy again, being unceremoniously summoned by Cressen, as if he was an errant boy in Storm's End again. But he was a grown man now and Cressen was old and grey now. He was Master of Laws now, and Cressen, Grand Maester. The entire world had changed, most recently in an eyeblink.

No, he wasn't being summoned to be reprimanded. If Cressen was summoning him, then he had news. The question was news about what? There were a great deal of things that they needed to know now. So what had the Grand Maester uncovered?

The world had changed around them and they were still trying to get to grips with with everything. Truths had been revealed and enemies were known to all now. And then more enemies had been revealed, some they hadn't even known existed before.

Whoever this Jon Targaryen was, wherever he'd been hiding. He'd find it all out and tell Robert. And then they'd deal with him permanently, just as Robert had done with Rhaegar. Then they'd put down the Lannisters and finally bring peace back to the the Seven Kingdoms.

It was a good plan...too bad things hadn't been going well, if Renly was truthful with himself. He'd found out nothing about this Targaryen or why the Tullys were suddenly turning traitor for him. The Lannisters had retreated to the Westerlands and the only words coming out of there where those that spoke of preparations for war and winter; all things. Winter was still years off, so why were they so enthusiastic in their preparations? It was one perplexing question on top another, in a heap of perplexing questions. In King's Landing and the Stormlands, things were stabilizing a bit, but there were still far too many questions unanswered even after two moons.

He sighed heavily, too much uncertainty. That was the watchword of these turbulent times. He let his mind wander as he walked, and as usual his mind always came back to Stannis.

Stannis, of the unbreakable will. Dour and righteous. Diligent and harsh. Honorable but with too little sense when it came to charming people. The man who broke the Ironborn on the water, at their strongest. The man who defied the Tyrells and the full might of the Reach at the siege of Storm's End.

Except now...Stannis...Stannis was a broken man. The unbreakable was broken. Prim and rigid Stannis, had been drunker than Robert at a feast. He'd been insolent, cursing- though just as direct and blunt as he always was.

It had defied every possible possibility that Renly had ever had of their reunion, and yet it had happened. He'd seen it with his own two eyes. Cressen's remarks about Davos hadn't helped the situation. Robert had been amused by it all, but he hadn't known how to react.

What amusement Robert had had, died with Stannis's admission. It was madness. Madness. In the end, madness had consumed Stannis just as it had Aerys. Burning Shireen? It was rank madness of the worst kind.

He'd had so many questions...he'd wanted to demand of Stannis, why? Why had he resorted to blood magic? Why had he decided to kill his own brother?! But Stannis's admission had revealed the depth of his madness.

Their grandmother had been a Targaryen. Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, daughter of Aegon the Fifth. Had they inherited the Targaryen madness from her? Was the Baratheon line not as free from the Targaryen madness as was believed? That would explain much of how Stannis had been in life, the unbending rigidity...and the horrific things he had done in the end. Merely another facet of the Targaryen madness.

Stannis wasn't a problem now, well Dragonstone was more of a problem now...well half a problem, but they'd sent Lord Selwyn Tarth to take command and stock of the island and the Royal Fleet. Not that his first report from there was reassuring. It hadn't been just the garrison that had deserted Stannis. A number of ships of the Royal Fleet were gone..though he assured them that he had enough to maintain and guard their interests in the Narrow Sea, at least for now, but not much else. At least it was one more thing that they had control of now.

The biggest problem they had- other than the impending war, was the issue of a heir for Robert. Or it was one for Cressen. Renly smiled to himself, not that it was a real problem for him. With Stannis in the dungeons and Shireen missing, he was the heir.

Shireen...his wretched little niece had disappeared somewhere with Davos...

Though why the man hadn't come to King's Landing or gone to Storm's End was a mystery. Where else could she be properly protected? Did he know something they didn't? Considering everything else, it was a dark possibility.

He shook himself, dwelling too much among these dark thoughts was unproductive. He quicken his pace. Whatever Cressen had or required of him, this wasn't helping.

He finally reached Cressen's rooms and knocked briskly.

"Come!" was Cressen's almost immediate answer.

Renly entered with his head held high and with an unconcerned smile on his face, "Maester Cressen, you wanted to see me?" he asked amicably.

Cressen was sitting at a table with papers spread across the surface, he was sitting back and nursing a goblet of wine as Renly entered. He had a disturbed look that caused Renly to drop his carefree facade.

"Renly," Cressen began gravely, "sit down please."

Cautiously, Renly took the seat opposite Cressen. He'd rarely seen Cressen so disturbed. The last time he'd seen him like this was when he had to tell him about the beginning of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Considering that they were already technically at war, this did not bode well.

"You're not putting me at ease," he said lightly as he sat, giving Cressen a concerned look.

Cressen's face darkened, "You should not be at ease. And you will not be at ease once I have finished."

Renly's shoulders tensed, he nodded and gestured for him to continue.

"Yesterday..." Cressen began haltingly, "...yesterday, Lord Rosby had a meeting with the Iron Bank. They were quite forthcoming on all they knew of the Targaryen."

Renly's face froze for a moment before turning grim, "Then we know who is? Where he's been hiding?" he frowned, "And you've been sitting on this since yesterday?! You and Rosby?!"

Cressen gave him a withering look that Renly knew well, that caused him to squirm in his chair. Cressen continued on unabated, "I had to be sure before I could spread this any further...it is a disaster."

"How disastrous?" Renly asked with dread in his gut. Cressen was not a man prone to excitement or exaggeration.

"What is it?" Renly pressed him.

Cressen told a great gulp of his wine, "Lord Eddard Stark is a traitor."

Renly started and stared, "What are you talking about?!" he demanded fearfully.

Cressen's face was like a grave as he explained, "Jon Targaryen is Jon Snow. Winterfell. All these years and he has been hidden in Winterfell."

Renly gaped flabbergasted, "Why in the name of the Seven would Ned be protecting a Targaryen?!"

Cressen shook his head mournfully, "Simple. The boy is the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen...and Lyanna Stark."

Renly jumped up from his seat in fright. Cressen had to be lying...or mistaken. "That is impossible. That..." he froze, "Wait! What do you mean trueborn?!" he thundered, "How in the Seven Hells could he be a trueborn son?! She was kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar!"

Renly didn't think that Cressen's face could get any darker, but it did, "They were married "

He collapsed bonelessly back into his chair, this was...this was... "We have to tell Robert."

Cressen snorted, "Of course we do," he said in disgust. He glared at Renly angrily, "But do you want to be the one to tell Robert, that Eddard Stark is rising up against him?"

Renly shrunk back, no he did want to do that! If words could kill Robert, than these probably would!

His mind reeled with endless possibilities- none of them good.

The Stormlands, the Reach and the Crownlands against the North and the Riverlands, while also fending off the Westerlands. With Lysa Arryn's actions, the Vale was a mess and could split between them and the Targaryen. The loyalty of the Narrow Sea houses would be suspect as would a number of the Crownlands and Reach Houses. The Tyrells themselves had been Targaryen loyalists and they had an eligible daughter. Mace might throw Margaery at Jon Targaryen...no that was not in question, he would do it.

Cressen was right...this was a disaster, an unmitigated disaster!

He sat there in a stupor, unable to escape from the nightmarish scenarios that continued to run through mind. Cressen sat opposite him in much the same state...even with a day's head start, Cressen looked like he was still trying to come to terms to this...this...disaster.

They sat there in silence, the only movement Cressen as he drank from his goblet, as lost as Renly.

There was one thing that he was certain of, in this new uncertain and mad world. Robert was not going to like this...at all...

xoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Robert Baratheon

Robert dropped the log to the ground as he finished his final lap around the training yard of the Red Keep. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his arms and shoulders ached...but it was a good ache. The fat of his gut was shrinking, his muscles were getting harder. He wasn't the man he had been back at the Trident...not even the man who had crushed the Greyjoys at Pyke, but he wasn't the fat, wheezing, old fool he had allowed himself to become. There was a war coming, Lions and Dragons to be crushed...and maybe a couple of Trouts.

And he would be the one to do it!

A squire handed him a towel and he dried off. He threw it back and the boy dropped it.

He scowled at the boy, "You need better reflexes, boy!"

The boy hastily picked up the towel nodded nervously, "Yes, your Grace."

So many weaklings. What where they teaching squires these days? In his day Jon had boxed his and Ned's ears when they weren't quick enough...but now? He shook his head angrily, so many damn weaklings.

He stomped off without another word. As he walked off, Ser Meryn fell in step behind him. The stupid fuck was even stupider these days. Nervous and wild eyed since their return. The man had developed a paranoid streak that would have made the Mad King proud, and it was down right annoying at times.

As for where the paranoid streak had come from, Meryn kept saying it had to do with him being ambushed and killed by a group of Bravos in Braavos that had been sent to assassinate Mace Tyrell as he dealt with the Iron Bank. Trant kept insisting that he killed them all before he died, but Robert doubted it.

He snorted and quickened his pace. He needed to change out of his sweaty clothes and prepare for the Small Council meeting. With only Renly with him, it fell to him to make most of the decisions. Jon would have laughed at the him if he could see him now.

He glanced up, Are you looking down at me now, old man? Are you laughing at me? Or are you proud that I'm finally ruling as you always nagged me to?

He paused for moment in his thoughts.

You're laughing at me. At the irony...

He missed him so much these days. His hands clenched at his sides as he walked. You didn't deserve your fate. Betrayed and Murdered by a faithless wife and an oath breaking bannerman. And I can't even avenge you properly! The damned Kingslayer stole that from me!

He seethed now. The golden prick, in his smugness and oath breaking had already killed Baelish. And according to to Royce's ravens, Lysa was madder than the Mad King now. Totally and completely incoherent, dosed daily with dreamwine and milk of the poppy. What revenge could he take on a madwoman?

At least there were Lannisters to kill instead. They would pay for their lies. Cersei would pay for her perversions. Heh, she already was, he chuckled in amusement. Joffrey had already paid as well in a much more permanent manner for killing Ned. The time would come for the rest of them soon enough...

He paused in thought for a moment.

Well, maybe not Tyrion...good and proper drinking buddies were hard to find when you were king.

Yes, that would be fitting, giving the Westerlands to the Imp would be his final act of revenge on Tywin and his traitorous children. He laughed out loud. Tywin's precious legacy in the Imp's hands. Oh how the the Old Lion would rage at that!

And Cersei! He'd seen the depth of her hatred for her brother before...and Ser Mandon's words proved that she hated him so much more than he ever imagined.

As for the Dragons, there would be no mercy for them!

Whoever this Jon Targaryen was, wherever he come from, he would be crushed! Just like he had crushed Rhaegar at the Trident. He remembered the satisfying sound his hammer made as it crunched the Prince's breastplate. Such a satisfying sound. The rubies flying off into the water and the way he had folded into himself and fallen into the waters of the Trident.

I avenged you Lyanna!

Lord Rickard...Brandon...I did right by you both!

The Dragons can't do to anyone else what they did to you...I saw to that.

Except now one was trying to take back the Iron Throne. Where in the Seven Hells had this one been hiding?! Had he actually been hiding in the Seven Hells?!

It didn't matter! He would crush this one and make sure to deal with them all this time! After killing this Jon, he'd cross the Narrow bloody Sea and kill Viserys and Daenerys as well!

No more Dragons!

They would all die this time! There would be no more Dragonspawn when he was finished!

His anger dominated his mind as he reached his rooms and bellowed for a bath and clean clothes. He went through the motions of getting clean, even as he imagined just what he would do to the Dragonspawn.

The servants were hurrying about him, preparing everything. He spared little attention to anything else, as he prepared for the Small Council meeting. He finished dressing and stared at himself in the mirror. The clothes hung on him, his belly was flatter, his face leaner with trimmed and shortened beard. The ghost of the Demon of the Trident stared back at him.

He snorted in derision, "Too damn fat." Lyanna would never have let him get so fat. Damn you Cersei! Lyanna would have smacked sense into him over the years, she'd have kept him on his toes. He ground his teeth, "Fucking Dragons."

He left his rooms without looking back, striding confidently forward toward the Small Council room. Men and servants scurried out of his way, bowing as he passed by. Ser Meryn remained his silent and paranoid shadow.

And Gods! Ned! When he finally got over his sulk- Ned always became sulky and quiet when he was upset with him, they'd have a grand old time of it, crushing Dragons just like in the rebellion! And this time, he wouldn't let Ned go hide in the North once the Dragons were crushed. He'd name him his Hand again! Have to find some way to bind them together properly this time...maybe with one of my bastards and one of Ned's girls? No...Cat would strangle him with his own entrails if he tried that. He needed a proper heir.

Maybe Renly and Ned's girl?

OH!

Maybe his namesake and Shireen?

He paused and frowned, the boy wouldn't like having a scarred girl as a bride...but then again that was what whores were for. Though if he named Shireen his heir, the boy would become king eventually, that would make up for a lot of shortcomings.

As Robert thought about the idea, he began to like it more and more. Yes, I'll have Cressen pen the letter to Ned proposing this immediately, he thought happily. And Robb Stark had been a king. The Young Wolf, bad end aside, had been an impressive warrior king. The boy would be doubly careful now of treachery, he would be smart enough to avoid his old mistakes...yes this was an excellent idea!

Now all they had to do was find Davos and Shireen.

Buoyanted by this idea, he quickened his pace, he had a plan he needed to put into action and hopefully, Cressen or Renly would have more good news for him to go along with his good idea.

Finally, he reached the Small Council rooms and entered with little fanfare. He found his Small Council awaiting him patiently. They rose and genuflected as a chorus of subdued 'your Grace' greeted him.

He paused and then eyed them warily. They seemed unusually tense and wary. He gave each one of them a close look.

Renly was just as prim and overdressed as he always was, though he seemed a little pale and his eyes were a little wary. ..maybe even a bit fearful? Or was that grimness? Both were emotions he'd seldom seen in his brother's eyes before.

Cressen was more composed but the expression on his face was far grimmer than the usual. The grimness was a constant these days, but it was even more pronounced now.

And Rosby...the flighty, nervous bastard looked panicked. His eyes shone with unabashed terror as he looked at Robert.

Ser Jacelyn sat as unchanged and stiff as always. A good solid Stormlander that one.

Warily, he took his seat without a word. He gave them all hard looks, "What's happened?" he demanded gruffly.

"News, Robert...and not of the good kind," retorted Renly gravely.

Renly shared a mysterious look with Cressen. Robert looked between them both, waiting for one of them to start speaking. Both took their time before speaking.

"We have some new information about Jon Targaryen," Cressen began soberly.

The good humor his idea had given him evaporated as he scowled darkly, "Finally! Tell me you know where he is. Let's crush this last Dragonspawn and be done with it!" Robert commented savagely.

Cressen paled at his words, and their expressions turned even grimmer. Rosby, on the other hand, started to squirm uncomfortably, as Ser Jacelyn looked between them in confusion.

It was Cressen who spoke again, "It is not that simple, Robert-"

"Why not?" he cut in angrily, "Either you know where he is or you don't," he retorted fuming at their evasiveness and delaying.

Cressen sighed unhappily, "I have spoken with the representative of the Iron Bank. He told, first Lord Rosby, then myself and Renly what he knew."

"And?" Robert prompted angrily, gesturing for Cressen to get on with it.

Cressen and Renly shared a dire glance, as Rosby coughed and seemed to cower into his chair.

Cressen continued, "What he said, I-we could not bring it to you without confirming it. It was far too outlandish to be true...at least at first." The old maester admitted with a mournful shake of his head.

"More outlandish than us coming back from the dead?" snorted Robert impatiently.

Cressen hemmed and hawed for a few moments before retorting, "To us- and especially to you...yes."

Robert sat back greatly disturbed. What could be more outlandish than a magical resurrection? Concern grew in his belly as he studied the old man's expression and poise. Cressen had always been cautious when delivering bad news, but this seemed like an extreme reaction...what news could be so bad? He kept his silence but gestured for Cressen to continue.

Cressen nodded, he spoke clearly and sedately, "I spoke with members of the Faith, with Traders, merchants, ship captains, and many of the Smallfolk. Most were ignorant, while others, after much enticement, spoke of what they knew. Much of it was beyond outlandish and outright impossible...but enough admitted the truth of this Targaryen, confirming what the Iron Bank was telling us." Cressen paused and took a gulp from the goblet that was in front of him. He shared a look with Renly, as they both seemed to be bracing themselves.

Was the news truly that bad?!

"Jon Targaryen is the son of...Rhaegar," Cressen stated with aplomb.

Robert started for a moment before glaring at Cressen, "That's impossible!" The Silver prick has no more heirs! "All of his Dragonspawn are dead!" he exclaimed heatedly.

Cressen gave him a pitying look, "Jon Targaryen is...Lyanna Stark's son."

Robert blinked, he heard Cressen's words but...they didn't make sense. His precious Lyanna had no son. "She doesn't have a son. Rhaegar doesn't have any more sons!"

"It's true, Robert!" Renly added his voice to Cressen's, "It's treason since the end of the Rebellion!"

Robert turned to glare at Renly, "This is madness! Madness! You're both speaking madness!" Robert exclaimed, they were saying words but they had no meaning! No meaning!

"Robert! Ned has been hiding him in Winterfell!" Renly shouted back in exasperation.

More words that had no meaning! What did Ned and Winterfell have to do with the Dragonspawn?!

"Robert, Lord Stark's bastard is not his son. He's Jon Targaryen...a trueborn son of Rhaegar and the Lady Lyanna," Cressen explained slowly, "Jon Snow is Jon Targaryen," he stated in simple words.

They still weren't making sense, what did Ned's bastard have to do with this?!

He shook his head, trying to understand what Cressen and his brother were trying to say. He just sat there in a stupor, the words repeating themselves in his mind, over and over again. Nothing was making any sense...Lyanna...Ned...Winterfell...Jon Snow...

He kept repeating the words of Maester Cressen and Renly. He knew what each word meant alone...but when he put them together...nothing.

He didn't understand...what were they trying to tell him?

He didn't know how long he sat there, trying to understand...

Suddenly, Renly slammed his hand down on the table, Robert looked up at him in surprise.

"Robert, Ned Stark! It's Ned! He's rising up in rebellion against you! Hoster Tully is supporting his grandson's cousin against you! He's standing with his goodson's nephew! Against you!"

Cressen glared at Renly before speaking, "Lord Stark...has named his nephew, King."

"Oh..." Oh...

Suddenly, it was like a dam breaking.

Rhaegar and Lyanna.

His precious Lyanna and the damned Silver prick.

Jon Snow is Jon Targaryen.

And Ned was...Ned had...Ned is...

All at once, Cressen's misgivings over Winterfell's ominous silence came back to haunt him.

Ned; his brother, the one he loved more than his actual brothers, was conspiring against him. Him! The boy was...is Rhaegar's boy.

And suddenly he was rising from his chair. He felt like a passenger in his own body, indifferent as he saw himself unending the council table, sending goblets and papers flying. His Small Council jumping up in fright and reeling away from him and the overturned table. There was a loud wordless roaring in his ears. He realised that it was him. He was the one roaring in wordless rage. An incoherent bellow of all consuming fury.

He saw himself then kicking the overturned table, breaking off a leg. He then grabbed his chair and raised it above his head, before throwing it across the room with all of his might. Ser Meryn had just entered the room and didn't react fast enough. The chair smashed into his face, knocking him down, onto his back. Robert almost snorted in amusement at the ineptitude of Ser Meryn. Rosby's reaction was just as amusing as he fled from the room. He watched as old and frail Rosby run from the room at a pace more suited for a much younger man.

Cressen and Renly were standing to the side with horrified expressions on their faces while Ser Jacelyn had moved to stand by the fallen Kingsguard. As he watched, Old Ironhand, knelt down and then started dragging Ser Meryn from the room.

He was still roaring and he were Cressen and Renly crying out to him, telling him to calm down...but his body ignored them.

He grabbed another chair and threw it as he had the first. He grabbed a third chair and smashed it against the nearest wall. Then another. And another. His path of destruction continued onwards, nothing was safe from him.

And still Cressen And Renly were calling to him, but to no avail. He continued on and eventually they fled from the room leaving him alone with his rage...

Notes:

So if anybody actually thought that Bobby B was going to take this any other way...then I think you all need to go back and rewatch season 1 again and pay attention to just what kind of man he is.

So now he knows...any guesses as to what he's going to do? ;p

As Always, don't forget to review! :D