GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag 28 - The Warrior's Champion II: Hammering A New Song

It was a private gathering inside Hayford Castle. The Great Hall, while far smaller than most other castles, was set up with two long tables, and one long table perpendicularly reserved for Tywin, Olenna, and the likes of Mace. The only Tyrells missing were Loras, Margaery, and her newborn son.

The night had arrived, and King Robert had given them only until dawn to respond. And for that same reason, they had all gathered to dine and discuss. There was music, there was wine, and fine dining. 

"We mustn't continue this siege. We mustn't go against King Robert." Mace Tyrell announced shocking everyone as he refused to drink wine. His face was pale and his already almost bald head seemed to have lost more hair. "He's a monster!"

Tywin sipped some wine and coldly responded. "He killed my brother. There can be no truce anymore."

"You cannot fathom what I witnessed, Lord Tywin," Mace said, his voice trembling slightly as he looked to his mother for support. "I was at the Iron Bank, standing there as that man wreaked havoc. The Sealord himself had to bow before him. He told me of Robert's actions in Essos—how he destroyed the Golden Company and killed three dragons. And that Targaryen girl... He took her life as well. There were no survivors, only corpses in that hall, with him standing victorious. We can’t win against such power."

Tywin sneered at that over-exaggeration. "You expect me to believe that one man could stand against tens of thousands? Ridiculous."

Mace just shook his head. He rarely stood against Tywin so directly. "No, we must give Margaery and the babe to him, and pray he shows mercy."

With that, Tywin looked at the real decision-maker of House Tyrell, Lady Olenna. "Robert’s return means little. We have an army of over a hundred thousand men ready for war."

"It changes everything, Lord Tywin," Olenna replied. "We had justification before. To give my great-grandson his birthright as Robert's heir. And dethrone Stannis as the throne stealer. But with Robert's return, we have no reason—he's the rightful King, and Margaery is his Queen-to-be." 

Tywin's eyes grew colder with each passing moment. "Robert's fury is well known. He won't forgive you a second time."

The first time was during the previous rebellion when House Tyrell supported the Targaryens and laid a siege on Storm's End. 

Olenna sighed and looked at her son. "True, but I suppose we can reach a compromise. House Tyrell has a lot more to give to the throne than just Margaery. Gold, grains, gifts—there's plenty."

"Is that to be interpreted as House Tyrell's withdrawal from the siege?" Tywin asked.

"We've no cause, nor any advantage to be had, Lord Tywin. You'd be right to think as much." Olenna made up her mind. She didn't need Mace's warnings to decide that. Robert's return alone was enough. "Robert's return has made my mind clear enough. Do what you must, but gold will not substitute for the throne’s power, I'm afraid. If you wish to ensure House Lannister's future, it would be wise to follow suit."

Creak!

With a sudden motion, Tywin rose from his chair. "I'll be the judge of that. The Ironborn won't just quit silently." 

Sighing, Olenna nodded and drank the wine, letting Tywin leave. She'd already made up her mind. The Redwyne fleet was formidable, and it was blockading Blackwater Bay with the Ironborn. She only had to give a secret order to attack the Ironborn fleet.

"Mother, thank you for believing in me." Mace heaved a sigh of relief. 

Olenna just smiled. She didn't really believe him. But it was best he believed that. 

"Finish your meal. We'll be off to King's Landing shortly. No need to keep the King waiting. Margaery's given him his first trueborn son—he’ll be eager to lay eyes on the little one."

About that, Mace agreed. "After what Cersei did to him, I can imagine that."

Shhhh~

"FIRE!"

Right then, someone at the far end of the tables shouted. All eyes shifted towards the curtains hanging from the walls, mere decorations. But they were catching fire rapidly. 

"WATER! Bring water!" 

Men of House Tyrell, its vassals, and Lannister’s vassals ran around to quench the fire. But as if the fire itself was magic, the other curtains caught flames and rapidly burned. Once a few embers landed on the decorative floor carpets, they also caught fire. 

"It's locked!" Mace cried when he tried to lead his mother and the rest out of the hall. 

With a frown, Olenna looked back at the hall. It was small and made of stone. It was burning unreasonably fast. The curtains, the carpets, and now the tables. The fire spread so fast that men were already burning and writhing around. It couldn't be natural. 

"To think he'd still have some sanity left." Olenna depressingly muttered, staring at the spreading fire. "House Lannister will be history after this… Tywin has gone mad."

"Mother! All the doors are locked!" Mace cried in fear. "What do we do?"

"There's nothing to be done, Mace. Tywin had this all planned from the start. His only thought now is revenge—he's gone mad with it," Olenna said, the heat of the flames drawing nearer. "And in the end, it was fire that took us."

"MOTHER! Agh!" Mace fell first, trying to protect his mother. 

Disappointment flashed in Olenna's mind, but not despair. 

Robert's no longer a fool. He'll know what Tywin did. 

"Forgive me, Margaery, your grandmother must have gotten too old to not foresee this."

####

"Won't they point fingers at us?" Asked Ser Jaime, mounted upon his horse, watching the burning castle from a distance. 

Tywin, also on a horse, shook his head. "That is why a few Lords and Knights of Westerlands were left inside."

"That's…"

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make." Tywin completed, though aware of his words' absurdity. "Go and inform Loras of this, and blame Robert. Claim that he used Wildfire."

"What about Margaery?" 

Tywin scoffed and turned his horse around as the castle crumbled. "The longer we keep her, the more frenzied Robert will be. A frenzied bull is easily slain, far easier than a calm one."

####

That night was particularly calm in the Red Keep. And Robert, while not much bothered by the coming battle, eyed the slender, golden-haired girl before him. He matched her emerald eyes and frowned at her smiling full lips. 

What do I do with her now?

Of all places, he was in his bedchamber where Myrcella had decided to visit him with the excuse of discussing something gravely important. She claimed it was life-threatening. She was right, but not in the way Robert had imagined. 

"So you're here to threaten me? If I don't bed you, you'll end yourself?"

Honestly, even after combining the experiences of his two lives, and the current third one, Robert hadn't ever met someone like Myrcella. While she wasn't insane like Cersei, she came close when it came to absurd desires. 

"What's there left for me if not that?" Myrcella replied proudly, and rather provocatively. Her choice of clothing was skimpy in his eyes. It was a single piece of golden, sleeveless gown, thin, fine, silky, with a neckline so deep that the middle of her chest was visible. It revealed her long neck, her shoulder bones, and those little rare moles. Embroidered with golden threads, the gown curved softly around her long waist, spreading over her supple, toned hips and falling down. Too much of her skin on display. 

And with her declarations, and her choice of words, Robert found it hard to stop his loins from reacting. It was in his nature, sadly. And it didn't help that he truly didn't see her as he did Sansa. There was no shared blood, nor any relationship. 

But that also begged the question. Why did she want him?

Robert sighed and moved over to sit down on the edge of the bed. He wanted to rest, but there he was, discussing insanity. "Go on then, spill it. I’ll hear you out—Why? What madness has gripped you? I'm a man twice your age. A man you shouldn't even be thinking of in those ways."

Myrcella shook her head, her delicate, long fingers danced on her gown, gathering it in a tight fist. "I didn't, at first… Your Grace. But that night—you caught me with Sansa. The way you looked at me… I felt it. I liked it. The weight of your gaze on me… stirred something I’ve not been able to quiet since. I didn’t plan for any of this, truly, but I ache for your attention now. I think of you at night… Imagining you laying above me, gripping my legs up and spreading me as you give me what I seek—one heavy thrust at a time..."

"Don't… need to be that detailed." Robert shifted his legs a bit to hold back his hardness. "I looked at you that night because I couldn't look at Sansa. She's Ned's daughter, Seven Hells! She's like a daughter to me."

But his words had the opposite reaction on Myrcella. Her bright, beautiful face beamed up and she quickly got closer to Robert, finally standing a mere arm's length away from his seated figure. "Yes… that means I’m not like Sansa to you. Then… So… you wouldn’t mind having me, would you?"

In silence, Robert looked at her face. Even in a thousand lives, he couldn't say that she wasn't ethereally beautiful. It would be a lie. But her expressions reminded him of Melisandre and her fanatic conviction of her faith. In this case, that fanaticism was directed toward him. The way she clenched her fist, her long legs seemingly shivered beneath that golden gown. It was all a sign. 

"You're old enough to wed and bear children, Myrcella. Don’t waste yourself pining for some ghost of a man who may not even be a man anymore. You're sweet, kind, and clever, despite the other flaws. If it’s power you want, I’ll carve you a fief from Westerlands and name you its Lady." Robert offered; an offer that any wise woman would have pounced on. "As for me—I’ve Margaery. She’s given me a son already, and would soon give me more. I’ll not shame her by chasing skirts like a fool again."

"I don't want riches or titles, Your Grace... I only want you. To stay near you, to feel you inside me—your warmth, your breath, everything. I don't care for fiefs or fine husbands. I don't want a throne or even children—I only want you." Myrcella urgently responded, stepping even closer, the scent of her perfumes finally filling the gap between them. 

Robert sighed and rubbed his eyes with both his palms. No matter what he said, she always circled it back to how much she wanted him. And the way she wanted him, had nothing to do with his titles and power. She just wanted him, his body. What could even dissuade that type of obsession?

"I'll be marrying Margaery, Myrcella." He reminded her. 

"She doesn't mind…" Myrcella whispered, stepping closer, the hem of her gown brushing his knee. Her eyes found his, and with trembling fingers, she traced his bearded jaw. "I spoke to her… before she left for Highgarden. She knows of Lynesse Hightower. When I asked her about me… she embraced me. Said we could be the dearest of friends. Said you're a King, and a King has needs. Needs that shouldn’t be denied. And if she did… it would fester. She only asked that I never bear bastar—"

"Enough!" Robert crackled, his mighty large hand instantly gripped her tender wrist, pushing her hand away from his beard.

But Myrcella pressed on and with hitched breaths, she moved between his spread knees, only to turn sideways and sit down on his right thigh, putting all of her weight on his mighty leg, her hips squeezing and flesh spilling. 

“Please… Your Grace.” Her voice was soft, almost trembling. Myrcella’s green eyes shimmered with longing. “I want you more than I want myself. I can't imagine myself away from you—I'll be good. I'll obey everything you say. I'll never complain. Just… give me what I want."

She wrapped a slender arm around his neck, the other slipping beneath his tunic to rub his bare chest. Her warm palm caressed him slowly, hips grinding against his thigh in lazy, hungry rolls. Her breath hit his neck, hot and needy, while her soaked heat dragged over his leg like she was already halfway gone.

Robert stared at her face, unable to help his right arm that moved and caught her waist to keep her from falling. She was fragile, soft, and tall but nothing compared to him. Her scent was exotic, and her voice utterly feminine. His cock screamed to burst out of his loose trousers that now grew tight around his loins. 

"Gods, Myrcella, this wasn’t the life I meant for you. I wanted you in silks, married to some lord with fat lands and no troubles."

He'd had enough. He knew the wall was breaking. He was in full control of his body and mind. But ever since he'd declared himself neither Robert nor Ned, he just did what he wanted, and right now… Myrcella's offer didn't seem that absurd. Yet, he tried it one last time. Giving her a chance to retreat and reconsider. 

"This… is…" Myrcella suddenly slid off his thigh, downwards, between his legs. Before long, she was on her knees between his legs, both her hands eagerly unfastening his breeches. "...what I want!"

Just as she said that, Myrcella reached into his breeches and freed his flesh sword, like she had just unleashed the center of her obsession. 

Robert's cock sprang out, proud and throbbing, flushed with need, the thick veins twitching against the cold air. 

Myrcella’s breath caught. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened in reverence, then lazily narrowed with worshipful lust, lashes fluttering as if overwhelmed by the sight alone. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Her lips descended, rubbing against the underside of his cock, tracing along the shaft like a lover’s caress, while her nose buried in the base, inhaling deep, wet breaths like she had missed his scent with every cell in her lungs.

"Nothing else… just this!" She mewled, her voice soaked with yearning.

Then began her ritual, her act of devotion. She pushed her hair behind her ears, fingers trembling with anticipation, and curled both hands around his shaft like it were some ancient idol meant to be venerated. 

His cock stood like a monument in her grip, thick, weighty, more than her fingers could cover completely. She started with slow strokes, letting her spit run down as she leaned forward and lapped at his swollen cockhead. Her tongue circled the rim, kissed the slit, and then moved lower to the base, suckling like she was marking holy ground. 

Every time she pushed the foreskin back, she treated the reveal like a miracle, licking up the thickness like she wished she could bite into it and keep it inside her forever. It was a sight to behold for Robert. The beauty of just nineteen, venerating his cock like that.

She moaned deeply, wetly, like she was tasting a delicacy born from her dreams. "Mmmmm… This taste… I love this, Your Grace…. Please don't take this away from meeee-eh!"

It was filthy, hungry, devout. Her lips bathed him in drool, her spit leaking from her chin, her jaw aching as she pushed herself down further each time. Her cheeks hollowed from the hungry suction, her eyes fluttered shut with ecstasy, and her every breath came with heat. 

Robert watched, entranced by the sight of her tight mouth working him like he was the last man alive. His cock twitched harder with every suckle, every lashing of her tongue.

Unable to resist, his hand reached down and seized a thick fistful of her golden curls, guiding her gently but firmly, gathering them into a tight bunch behind her head so he could see all of her face. See the enchanting sight of her lips stretching, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling when he fed her more.

"If that's… what you want… Myrcella…" Robert grunted and gave her just what she wanted. 

Robert didn’t hold back. His hips rolled forward, stuffing her mouth with thick inches, fucking her throat with the full weight of his lust. Her head bobbed as he used her face like a cock-sheath.

Gluk! Gluk! Gluk! 

Thick sounds echoed in the chamber as his cock slid in and out of her warm throat.

Myrcella sputtered and choked, but never backed away from her obsession. The spit that couldn’t stay in her mouth dribbled down her chest and pooled at her cleavage, while the squelching noises turned obscene. And whenever Robert paused to let her breathe, she coughed and giggled through her tears, licking her lips with a blissful grin. 

"More… don’t stop… please!"

Eventually, Robert had enough of holding back. With one final thrust that made her gag, he pulled out of her mouth entirely.

She gasped for air, her chest heaving, but her eyes never left his cock.

Without another word, he pushed her back and stood up, stripping his tunic and breeches off entirely. Then he reached down, lifted Myrcella by the arms to her feet, and yanked that flimsy, golden gown over her head, tossing it aside like it was nothing but wrapping on a gift.

She stood nude before him now. Bare, glistening, radiant. She wasn’t voluptuous, but she was divine in her own right. Her breasts were petite, perky, and tipped tight with flushed arousal. Her waist was slender and soft, her belly flat and kissable. Her hips curved just enough to guide his eyes downward to the sultry, glistening heat between her thighs. She was trembling with need.

Before anything else, Robert grabbed the edge of her discarded robe and used it to wipe her chin, her cheeks, and her lips. Cleaning the mess of spit and cock-dribble from her face with a gentleness that contrasted the brutal throat-fucking before.

"How do you want it?" He asked, doing as she wanted. Giving her what she desired. 

Myrcella gave a giddy, breathless laugh, eyes shimmering with hunger. She practically skipped backward, crawling onto the bed with a bounce. She scooted herself all the way to the pillows, then lay down on her back, spreading her tender legs wide, her glistening rosy slit already drooling with anticipation.

"On top of me, Your Grace…" she gasped, her voice rising with desire, "I want all of you… Everything."

Her body was on full display, her legs parted, knees bent high, arms open in surrender, and her eyes gleaming with worship. She wanted him on top of her, to be crushed beneath his mass, to be flattened into the bed as he pounded her mercilessly into the bedding. The way he’d claimed Sansa; she had seen it once, and ever since then, she’d yearned for it. 

She wanted to feel that same rough, weighty press, mated like a beast in heat, to be split open and stuffed full under his full-bodied dominance.

Robert didn’t hesitate. He’d fucked her before, and he knew just how much her tight cunt could take. Seeing her already dripping, her folds soaked and parted, he climbed onto the bed without a word. 

But just as he positioned himself between her thighs for a regular fuck, Myrcella shifted. Her legs rose high, calves resting on his broad shoulders, her body offering itself with shameless surrender.

“All of you—don’t hold back, Your Grace,” she breathed, eyes glassy with lust. “Make love to me like you would… a lover… a whore combined.”

That struck him deeply. Myrcella never used crude words, but the weight behind what she said lit his blood on fire. 

He didn’t reply, just moved into position, bracing his arms beside her head, her soft legs folded up against his shoulders. Her body curled into itself, minuscule under him. Her tight tits squished between her thighs, pale, creamy, and trembling, nipples stiff against her own skin.

From above, she looked perfect. Her golden hair fanned out like a halo. Her green eyes gleamed with craving, no venom, no schemes, just pure, aching want. She wasn’t Cersei. She didn’t hate him; she wanted him. And that stirred something primal in his gut.

He finally lined up his twitching shaft. Pressed his thick, swollen cockhead to her welcoming pussy. And pushed.

Her cunt bloomed around him slowly, greedily, reverently. She’d only ever known one cock, and it was his, and only once. The tight heat gripped him inch by inch like a sensual massage. Robert gritted his teeth. She was so tight, so slick, his cock pulsed as her inner walls stretched to swallow him. Every nudge forward sent a jolt through him. He could feel every squeeze, every twitch and flutter. Her hips arched higher the deeper he pushed, as if begging for more.

“Ummmmmh… Yes! Oh… Please… give me all of you!” she whimpered, eyes rolling back, mouth hung open in a moan that wouldn’t end.

She reached up, hands brushing over his beard, stroking his face as if he were something sacred. 

As Robert began thrusting his hips, her petite body started to bounce under his ravenous plunges; each thrust jostling her up and down into the mattress. Her legs twitched, toes curling towards the ceiling, arms shaking from the rhythm of his pounding. She looked up, saw her own legs draped on his shoulders, and then stared at the ceiling with a blissful smile.

Then, arms out, she called to him softly. “Please… kiss me-eh… Your Grace…”

Robert answered with a punishing slam. His hips crushed forward, burying himself so deep he wasn’t sure if he struck her cervix or punched into her womb. He collapsed on her, chest to chest, weight smothering her entirely, vanishing her into the soft bedding. His elbows pinned her arms above her head, locking her in place, while his hands cradled her cheeks like something precious.

Then his lips found hers, and the kiss was anything but tender. Wet, ravenous, messy. He devoured her mouth like a starving beast. Tongues tangled, lips mashed, his mouth sealed over hers in a kiss that sucked the very breath from her lungs. 

Their moans melted into it. Their spit mixed. Her jaw opened wider and wider, letting him lick, bite, suck, treating her like a feast. Robert was eating her alive, and she didn’t want it to end.

“Ugnh… umhh… ahhhh!”

She felt it all. The sheer weight of him pinning her down, the size of him stretching her wide, throbbing deep in her core. She felt so insanely, obscenely folded, her legs pushed further up by his weight, her toes almost reaching the sides of her head.

Her belly ached with every thrust, an ache that thrilled her. The walls of her pussy molded to his beast of a cock like it was made for nothing else. Sore already, her muscles strained, and her breath caught. But she wanted more, could take more. She welcomed it. 

She opened her mouth even wider, and let him kiss her raw, their bodies slicked in sweat and spit and something filthier. Her whole world melted into the mess of it.

“Ahhhhggh! Gooo–ds! Fucc~!” Myrcella came with a ragged, broken cry.

Her body struggled to arch violently beneath him, pussy clenching tight enough to nearly choke his cock. The orgasm ripped through her, wild and volcanic. Her nectar had nowhere to escape, stuffed full of his cock, her cunt bloated around his girth. It was only the sheer force of his relentless drilling that forced it out, her juices squirting around his cock in filthy, noisy gushes.

The squelching was obscene. Every plunge of his cock drove more juices out of her, loud, lewd slaps of skin on skin echoing off the walls like a perverse song of devotion. 

Myrcella couldn’t speak, she only exhaled sharp, breathless grunts as Robert hammered the air out of her lungs with every downward thrust. And she loved it. Loved how brutal he was, how thoroughly he used her. She was delirious, drunk on cock, and craving. His cock was her religion. Nothing compared.

Then Robert shifted. Propped himself up on his elbows, bent down, and suckled the fuck out of her modest chest. His beard scratched her sensitive skin, and his lips devoured her nipples, biting and sucking until they glowed red with fresh marks. All while his cock continued to hammer, animalistic and untamed, inside her trembling cunt.

“Fuuuuccc... Oh Fuck! Yes! Yes! Take me, Your Grace! Use me—eh!” 

Another climax tore through her. It struck like lightning, her whole body trembling beneath him. Her thighs shook vigorously. 

Robert felt her walls tighten again, and that was it. His own edge was near. His cock flexed and twitched inside her.

“Please… all of you… please… in me!” she begged when she noticed. Her eyes rolled up, voice hoarse with unholy lust.

Robert got the hint. He sat back, towering over her, and wrapped a hand gently around her throat. He used just enough pressure to make her moan louder, but not panic. Her eyes fluttered in pleasure when his hips slammed harder, faster. The strokes turned violent. Her entire delicate body jolted, and the bed creaked threateningly.

“Gaaaaah~”

He exploded; cock jerking deep inside her tight, spent cunt, pumping rope after rope of hot, filthy batter into her soaked pussy, likely her first time feeling that creamy, viscous batter burn inside.

It was messy. Loud and filthy. He grunted with each pulse, his balls emptying themselves inside the tight cunt that would never bear him an heir. Still, he filled her like it was made to hold his legacy. His thrusts became smaller, shorter, but no less intense. Cream frothed around his base, bubbling out from how full she was. Their bodies slapped together with squelching decisiveness, fucking through the mess.

Done, finally, he leaned back on his calves, panting. His palms stayed spread under her thighs, holding them up, making sure her cunt stayed on display. What he saw made him growl.

A flood, white and thick. His cum spilled from her twitching pussy in a sinful, creamy waterfall. It dripped down her ass, soaked the sheets, and made her look ruined, and impossibly beautiful. Her body still trembled, belly clenching like she was seconds from another orgasm.

Myrcella gasped between breaths, giggling with soundless joy. She threw the back of her hand over her face, smiling wide. Wrecked, sweat-drenched, thoroughly fucked, and loving every second of it.

"I… I-uh… Your Grace… I'll never mind this… Have me whenever… Just… never send me away."

Robert exhaled deeply and leaned back on his arms. He stared at her glowing form; golden hair splayed like a crown, her skin glistening, her cunt leaking the proof of her surrender. She looked like a princess. She was born for more. But she didn’t want more.

She wanted this.

His personal whore. And she reveled in it.

Madness… but the sweetest kind.

"Worry not… I don't go back on my word."

Right away, Myrcella gave a charming, big smile, her pearl-white teeth glowing. In a true sense, she was made of charm.

Done for the night, Robert cleaned up and wore his clothes before returning to bed to rest. Myrcella, however, only cleaned up and without getting dressed, slid under the quilt to hug him and sleep. 

At that point, he didn't even push her away. His thoughts were too preoccupied by morning's battle. 

Margaery… my son… I'll save them. 

####

"Your meal, Your Grace."

It wasn't very common to have a large breakfast in Westeros. Most would grab a quick, easy bite and be on their way to work. Most folks ate only twice a day. But that day, Robert ordered a big breakfast. Ten egg omelets, bowls full of meat, and a pitcher of wine. 

Robert ate fast as the sun was about to rise beyond the horizon. After eating, he made his way into the armory and ordered the various squires managing it, polishing weapons, and sharpening blades. 

"Bring my armor," Robert ordered and took a seat on a small bench. "And the antler helmet." 

The squires rushed to do their job and started putting Robert's armor on his body. It wasn't a common thing for kings and nobles to don their complete armor as there were too many pieces. So, it took some time for all the pieces to come together and be tied. 

"Hammer." 

Two squires brought the famed warhammer of Robert to the front. 

With ease, Robert gripped the hilt and slung it over his right shoulder. He stood there like a behemoth, his armor making his height appear larger than he already was. 

Then, he walked out of the armory and arrived at the gates of the Red Keep. There, his horse was kept prepared by one of the Kingsguards. The Kingsguards there didn't look very pleased as they were once again ordered to stay behind. This time they were threatened with dishonorable discharge from the Kingsguard. 

"Please reconsider, Your Grace."

Robert didn't even respond to them. Ser Barristan was still not back. It was unknown if the old man even knew that he had returned to King's Landing. 

"HA!"

Robert steered the horse to gallop through the city streets, back to the gate he'd broken yesterday. He'd already received word in the morning. The Tyrells were dead, burned to death in the 'tragic' fire at the castle. But Margaery and his son were alive.

Of course, Tywin survived and now he stood not too far from King's Landing's Old Gate as it was already broken. 

"Ha!”

Robert didn't stop and passed through the massive broken hole in the gate. Some carpenters and blacksmiths were at the scene, repairing the broken gate. 

The hooves clopped hard on the road. The armor clanked loudly. Soon enough, a marching army was visible in the distance, at least thirty thousand strong. But most of them flew Tyrell banners, and in command was none other than Loras Tyrell. At the far back of the marching army was the lone man in full golden armor and red cape, Jaime Lannister. 

Tywin played well. 

Robert unholstered his warhammer and gripped it to the side with one arm. With the other hand, he gripped the reins of the horse and made it go faster. 

The distance between Robert and the army grew shorter. 

Soon, just a few meters remained. 

And then…

"SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE DEAL!" 

Robert roared and let the horse leap high, its legs folded, majestic, beautiful, but suicidal—for the Tyrell army.

BAM!

Robert swung from the back of his horse with such inhuman brute force that a single swing completely shattered and beheaded five fully armored, helmet-wearing soldiers. A splash of gore and blood came so vast that the crimson blood itself rained down moments later. 

The terror spread instantly. 

"I gave you the chance! WHERE IS MARGAERY!" 

BOOM!

Robert jumped down from his horse as the horse wasn't as strong as him. Alone, he used both hands to smash his warhammer into the crowds while ignoring all the swords and spears that tried to stab or slash at him. Most failed, thanks to his fine armor. 

But those who met Robert's strike were not so lucky. Each of his massive, wide hammer swings was like a gardener cutting tall grass with a scythe and paving a way for himself. 

BAM!

Every single strike killed more than ten Tyrell soldiers, and the death didn't come instantly in that crowd. Chests smashed, heads half caved in, ribs cracked and punctured into lungs. Blood and loud, raging, demonic cries of agony filled the battlefield. 

Robert, in his antler helmet, looked no less than a devil. 

"WHERE IS MY SON?!"

He roared and continued to charge forward, paving himself a clean road on the corpses of Tyrell soldiers. Bones, flesh, blood, it was like a crimson pond beneath his feet. And his own body turned into a bloody mess too, like a man baptized in blood. 

WOOSH!

BAM!

The sound of the hammer cutting through the air was always followed by loud thuds and clanks. Entire squads vanished from the army. From the leaders to the men under. Captains with their finer armors fell instantly. 

At that point, Robert was indeed cutting, not smashing his way through them like they were just long grass. Of course, some lucky stabs struck him from the gaps of his armor, but they didn't matter to him. As if he were simply unable to feel pain. 

By the time Robert reached the middle of the Tyrell army of thirty thousand, men started to hesitate before approaching him. At the end of the day, nobody wanted to die. 

And just when everyone thought Robert had reached Loras Tyrell, atop his horse, Robert simply walked past the frozen Tyrell Knight. 

BAM!

Left and right, there were only dead bodies and cries. He was no longer human, he knew that before. 

That day, the entire world saw. 

"YOU!" 

Robert crouched slightly and then leaped forward with every ounce of strength in him. His jump reached a fantastic height of twice his size. He flew over the heads of the last few lines of Tyrell soldiers, his entire focus aimed at the lone horseman in the far back. 

By the time the horseman woke up from the stupor, Robert had already closed in and… 

"HAAAAAA!" 

With a single downward slam of his warhammer the beautiful, white horse died instantly, its entire head neatly shattered, beheaded before its body could fall. 

THUD!

"Argh! R-Robert… Y—Monster!"

Robert ignored those guttural cries and groans. "Jaime fucking Lannister—I should have beheaded you with your sister. Even after fucking your own twin and siring bastards you didn't learn any lesson? And I remember breaking each of your limbs. Who healed you?!"

Robert reached down and clawed Jaime Lannister's throat and as if he weighed nothing, he lifted Jaime in the air, ignoring the crunches that echoed as Jaime's leg, stuck under the dead horse, got twisted because of his merciless pull. 

"Ugh… Aaaaargh!" Jaime groaned in pain. 

Robert sneered, a smile creeping. He—the Ned side within him, remembered that day when Jaime attacked him and how he injured his leg. 

Not today.

Robert had come with a purpose. He wanted to kill Jaime, but not at that moment. If he killed Jaime, then Tywin would also kill Margaery and his son. It was better to kill the Old Lion and his son together later. 

"Kingslayer!" Robert roared at Jaime, flailing like a child as he choked him in the air. "Go and tell your father—Tell him I’m coming! A storm’s coming for House Lannister! All but his loathed imp will be crushed beneath my hammer! You won't survive this time, all of you!"

And then, Robert threw Jaime away into the clear opening. 

Panting, Jaime crawled backward to get away from Robert's monstrous figure, his entire frame soaked in blood, his hammer still reeking of flesh. But Robert wasn't done roaring at him, and Jaime did feel his heart shake.

"Go and tell him! The bards will no longer sing of Castamere but of the day when the gold ran red, when I struck, the Doom of Casterly Rock!"

With that, Robert turned back to face the Tyrell army, more than twenty-five thousand still stood, but now with fear and hesitation. 

Robert stood in their path of retreat. So, there was only one way for them to go. 

"May this hammer send you screaming to the Stranger's hall!"