GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag 27 - The Warrior's Champion I

[A/N: You guys voted a lot in the last chapter. Since so many of you want him to keep Margaery and also kill her, I'll do both. But for that, let me cook.]

___________

Splash! 

Splash!

Robert had never tried it before. But now, experiencing it, his belief was reaffirmed. He was no longer a human. This strength, this body, it couldn't be anything normal. 

He swam like a shark, his arms parting the water and pulling him forward while his mighty legs paddled. He was faster than fish, passing by ships before anyone could even see him swimming. But one drawback he had was his stamina. 

Although his body, his strength had grown inhuman, his stamina remained mostly the same. And he also grew hungry fast after exerting himself too much. Still, even without all his new powers, he'd always been far stronger than most other knights. His stamina was already at the upper limit of humans. 

"Hah!" 

Grunting loud breaths, he swam all the way to Aegon's High Hill, the cliff-like mountain on which the Red Keep sat. There were sharp rocks all around, followed by steep stone walls, beyond which stood the tall, protected walls of the Red Keep. 

With his bare claws, he pulled himself out of the turbulent waters, ignoring the waves splashing over his back. He hit the rocks hard, but none bruised him. One arm at a time, he pulled himself up on the steep cliff and finally stood in front of the tall walls of the Red Keep. 

The side facing the sea was more protected. There were no windows or doors on the ground level. So, Robert looked up at the height and noticed the large balcony of a room. He couldn't remember whose room it was, nor did he care. He wanted to covertly enter the Red Keep. 

"Ugh…" 

Once again, through the sheer strength of his fingers, he clawed up the high wall. He was as inhuman as one could be. A walking, talking, often fucking—creature of pure brute strength. 

####

It was obsession that border-lined lunacy. Myrcella Waters had gone from a princess to a bastard to the King's lover. Well, that last bit was one-sided. But she liked to believe it was temporary. 

She never desired or hoped to fall head over heels for Robert Baratheon, the man she used to believe was related by blood. But once all those doubts were cleared, and when that night he saw her and Sansa—She felt a fire ignite in her heart. The way his gaze lingered on her chest, her legs, she wanted to give it all to him. And she did… albeit using the wrong methods. 

She ate well, she walked a lot, and she tried to keep herself beautiful and fit for him. But as days went by, she cried at the thought that Robert might be dead. She was not a religious woman, but she prayed that the realm was wrong. 

She begged and vowed to the Seven that if Robert returned, she'd devote her life to him. Give her body, mind, will, life, everything to him. 

"Aaaah… Ummm… No-oh… Nothing feels as good… as him… Mmmmm~"

Myrcella's crying moans filled the bedchamber, locked from the inside. It was just her, on the bed, bare to the skin, head against the pillow, legs spread wide. Her hand pressed between right on her flushed, rosy petals, still tight as ever, revealing only a beautiful, slick line of her entrance. But currently, it was stretched open with a wooden, polished tool she once used to teach Sansa. 

"Aaahmmm… Please… come back, Your Grace—H-Have me… have me please."

Her face flushed red, her beautiful, golden locks sprawled around her head in a mess. The bedding under her hips was already drenched. It was questionable how long she'd been at it. 

"Aaahhnn… Your Grace, please… Come back… come fuck me—have me like you had Sansa," she whimpered, voice cracking into a sob, tongue licking her glossy lips as her head rolled back in delirium.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and in the dark behind her lids, she saw him, broad-chested and shirtless, muscles carved like stone, his face painted with sweat and lust. Gods, she wanted the weight of him pinning her down so badly, his strong thighs parting hers. She missed his cock stretching her for the first time, making her cry and come all at once.

"I wish… I were a maiden again," she slurred in a daze, "just so you could ruin me all over… tear me open again…"

Her hips bucked sharply, a reckless thrust from sheer muscle memory, and the polished toy slid in deeper, her soaked folds parting with obscene ease to welcome it. She shoved it in hard, her hand curling tight around the base as she twisted and pushed, forcing the smooth girth to stretch her pussy wide, to kiss the back of her slick little hole. 

Then she dragged it back slowly, agonizingly slow, her fingers trembling as she watched the soaked wood glisten with her juices, her swollen lower lips clinging to it, refusing to let go. Greedy, weeping, and twitching around the loss.

"Your cock… Gods, your cock was thicker than this, My King… hotter—I still smell you when I come…"

She gasped and shoved it back in again, harder this time. Her cunt squelched as it swallowed the length, folds sucking and pulsing as if begging it to stay. Every push made her cry out, and every pull left her gasping, her hole fluttering around nothing before she filled it all over again.

“Aaaah! Mmmphf… yes—stretch me! Stretch me like you did that slutty Sansa!” she moaned loudly, eyes wide, unfocused, her mind spinning wildly. "I want it too—I want to be helpless under you, want you to grab me and fuck me like I'm yours, like I'm nothing but your little spunk-stuffed thing!"

Her free hand flew to her breasts, groping one tight, flushed mound, pinching her nipple until it ached. She whimpered, rocking her hips harder, driving the toy in like a madwoman possessed. Her legs trembled, thighs glistening with her wet arousal.

“Fuck me like you fucked Sansa! I saw—I saw you slam into her. Unghhh~ Fuck me like that! I’ll be good—I’ll scream for you, I’ll beg… I’ll thank you for using me!”

Completely deranged, her back arched violently, hips lifting off the bed, toes digging into the sheets as she braced herself with just her shoulders and heels. Her body curled in that sinful arch, her pussy now exposed and angled perfectly as she fucked herself harder, juices running down the curve of her ass.

"I'll carry your bastards if you want—all of them! Fill me with your seed, My King—fill me 'til I’m ruined, til I’m leaking, til I can't hold it in—"

The pleasure surged, overwhelming. Her legs kicked out as she teetered on the edge, body stiff as the spasms took over entirely.

“Make me your dripping, shaking toy—fuck me forever, fuck me stupid—aaahhhhhh!”

Her voice cracked with madness, her cries guttural, barely coherent. She sounded possessed, enslaved by lust. Her golden hair clung to her sweat-covered face, lips parted, spit glistening on her chin as her body writhed. Her pussy felt alive, fluttering uncontrollably, throbbing like it had a heartbeat of its own, twitching around the wooden toy as though it were Robert's thick cock stretching her raw.

Then her glassy eyes shifted sideways toward the open window. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Aaaaah… Oh, I want you so bad… Your Grace… I can see you… even now… please come back!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned over, facing what she thought was just a hallucination born of raw need. Spreading her legs wide like a wanton showgirl offering her soaked stage to the gods, she bent her knees and held her thighs far apart. Her folds glistened, stretched and swollen, trembling on the edge.

And then she burst.

"Yessss… L-Look… This…! Do this to me… Please come back and do this to me, Your Grace. I-I'll do anything for it… just… fuck me day and night, as you please… Oooh!"

Another gush followed, then another. Her body losing control, hips seizing, nerves firing off like mad. It was feral. The sheets were ruined. The floor at the edge of the bed glistened. And still, her trembling hand kept working the toy in and out of her spasming cunt, shallow thrusts pushing through her pleasure filled tremors, slick squelches echoing with each tired pump. 

Her wrists ached, fingers slipping from how drenched the handle was, until at last she whimpered, arms giving out, and the toy slid free on its own, leaving her twitching cunt utterly soaked. Her glistening, sweaty bosom heaving in rapid pants.

"Hehe… I hope this dream never ends. I can still see His Grace."

"..."

There was a moment. A silence so heavy it hung like fog.

And then… a real hand grabbed the edge of the quilt and tossed it over her ruined, naked, sweat-and-nectar-glazed body.

"Gods help you, girl. We’ll discuss this matter later. I have a fucking siege to end—do not leave this fucking room!"

Her eyes gaped open in realization, her brain stuttering.

He was real.

Her dreamy, fantasy-filled eyes blinked up at him. “Y-You’re real?!”

Robert paused at the doorway, the frustration and disbelief plain on his rugged face. His tunic was drenched by seawater, hair damp, and his mouth curled in a tight, biting line.

“After this… I wish I wasn’t, girl.”

####

Robert climbed. 

He was tired, his fingers felt sore. Killing a thousand men was one thing, but climbing his weighty body by just using his nails and the tips of his fingers was another. At least he felt calm knowing that even if he fell, he wouldn't die. 

"Mmmmmh…"

What's that sound?

As he neared the window, he heard loud, feminine cries. Although his destination was a large balcony, he quickly decided to go for the window in case someone needed help. Having been through the sacking of King's Landing, he understood how harshly the blades swung. 

Moments later, he finally reached the open window. The sounds became clear, feminine, needy cries. And sure enough, a blonde girl was being speared, but not by a sword. 

Robert's face darkened. He heard everything, all those moaning cries and words. He'd expected for Myrcella to have moved on by now. He'd pondered a lot and even forgave Sansa. They were young and curious girls, full of dreams about royal courts and kings. 

But this was too much. It looked as if Myrcella's madness had only grown stronger. 

What is wrong with her head? He asked himself, unable to look away. Her head thrashed left and right, her hair making a mess, sweat dotted her pale, glistening skin. Her legs spread wide, her hand moved in that wet, squelching furnace. The way she cried for his attention. What in the Seven Hells does she find attractive about this body?

Robert had changed from being a fat man addicted to whores and wine, to a man of pure strength. He'd gotten rid of excess fat and mostly gotten rid of his beer belly, although it never fully went away. His chest had hair that never stopped growing, he loomed over her delicate body like a bull. His face was just average. There was nothing beyond his status that a woman should desire. 

Less so someone as beautiful as Myrcella. Cersei had many faults, but her beauty wasn't one. And that beauty had clearly been inherited by Myrcella. 

And hearing her words, her obsession. It was confusing. She desired not his status but his body? His attention? Even seeking his scent? That was a first for him. 

Having seen enough, he climbed in through the window and stood straight. His clothes were still soaked and clung to him like a second skin. He'd hoped Myrcella would stop after seeing him. 

"Ooooh! Yes, yes, yes…."

To his utter dismay, she became more daring. She even turned her body towards him so he had a straight view of what lay between those stretched, open legs. Her tits jolted, her cunt bruised and swollen, blushing and drenched. 

Robert no longer hated himself for it. His cock swelled on its own, it was natural. He was no longer angry at her but more confused. He'd offered Myrcella to find her a handsome husband, a lord. And no doubt, any lord would have married her for her beauty. 

Yet she wanted him, a man more than twice her age, while she lay there at the apex of her beauty, femininity, fertility, ripe to be wed. 

And then she climaxed. So loud, so much, so depraved—the scent was overwhelming in that room. Mixed with perfumes and her juices, her cunt throbbing towards him, her toned, glistening legs quivering in spasms. She squirted streams of sultry juices and drenched the bed, and droplets fell as far as his feet on the floor. 

Did… Robert wondered if this change in her personality was due to the trauma of her mother's beheading. Let's deal with this later. 

More than anything, he was worried for this girl. He'd seen her grow into a fine, respectful, and smart lady. This shouldn't be how it turned out. Somewhere, something had gone horribly wrong.

Robert sighed and just left. She was too hysterical to think straight. 

“After this… I wish I wasn’t, girl.”

####

Robert walked straight to the small council. There was nowhere else Stannis could be, he reckoned. On his way, a lot of Kingsguards guarding the castle became alert. At first, they froze, and once they recognized him, they became frenzied. 

He had to curse them a few times to make it clear that it was really him. It helped that he was simply far too easy to recognize due to his size. 

Soon, about ten Kingsguards marched behind him in line. Once he arrived at the Small Council chamber, the two Kingsguards standing guard pushed the doors open for him. 

Robert barreled in like he owned the place—which he did. "Sit your arse down. Time’s short, and I’ll be damned if I spend another breath on that bloody old cat."

They still rose to their feet. It was impossible not to do it. It was a shock since they hadn't heard anything about Robert arriving. Nor did they hear about him being in Braavos. Heck, how did he cross the enemy encampment? 

"Y-Your Grace!" Tyrion exclaimed. "Yo—"

"Aye, it’s me. Took my bloody time, didn’t I? Long tale. Got tangled up with that Targaryen wench—handled now. Set sail the moment I caught wind of Lannister’s damn mutiny and Tyrell’s backstabbing. Tell me—what mess are we in?"

"How did you sail here?" Stannis inquired. "The port is blocked."

"I swam in from the bloody edge of Blackwater Bay. Now listen up, you lot. I want numbers—how bad’s the damage?" Robert took the closest empty seat, which was beside Melisandre, to his dislike. 

The members of the council stared at each other's faces dumbly. What did he mean by 'swam'? Was that a joke? Even small boats feared going too far out into the sea, and Robert said he just swam?

But they knew better not to drag needless things. 

"We have the full strength of the Westerlands and the Reach poised outside our gates. Lord Tywin, in his infinite generosity, offers to spare the city—if Lord Stannis will kindly lay down his crown and hand it to your son with Margaery.” Tyrion explained in short. "They number almost a hundred thousand men."

"The crown is not mine to give," Stannis sternly said. 

Sighing, Robert crossed his arms. “And the bloody Tyrells? I sent word, didn’t I? Told you I’m still breathing. So why in the seven hells are they with Tywin?”

Tywin was expected. But Tyrell's betrayal stung him. He'd agreed to marry Margaery, and once he knew she was pregnant, he was more than willing to make her the queen. But this betrayal soured it all. Even if he married her now, she'd only ever be the daughter of a traitor. 

"Fits them perfectly, doesn’t it? The Tyrells are as opportunistic as Father. Why wait for your glorious return—which, let’s be honest, may never happen—when they can snatch the throne now, all for themselves? And if Father handed them his support on a golden platter, why would they say no?"

"That old hag," Robert growled. "Fine, I’ll break the bloody siege myself. Tyrion, get ready to wear your father’s boots. Stannis, we’re joining all of the Reach into the Crownlands."

It sounded like a fool's errand. They simply didn't have enough men to fight. Let alone the Reach, they couldn't even fight the Lannisters alone. 

"How?" Stannis inquired.

"With my fucking hammer." Robert stood up, his chair pushed back with a shriek. "I wasn't counting flowers in Essos."

Tyrion disagreed. "But still, it's an army of a hun—"

"He can do it." Melisandre interrupted them, her eyes full of fervor, even excitement. "He cannot be stopped."

"Damn right. And I'll do it alone!"

####

Robert needed no surprise tactics to battle anymore. He ordered Stannis to spread the word that King Robert has returned. It was expected that the enemies wouldn't believe it. 

"Your Grace, please wear armor!" 

"Your Grace, wear a helmet!"

"Your Grace, the gambeson is prepared!"

"Ugh, just give me my damn hammer, boy," Robert growled, ignoring all the Kingsguards trying to follow him out of the Red Keep. 

It was chaos. But Robert chose not to explain himself because of how absurd it would sound. He ignored Stannis, Tyrion, and the Kingsguards, and walked out of the castle. Heck, he was just dressed in loose trousers and a full-sleeved, cotton tunic, airy and light. 

As soon as he was done taking a bath, he decided to go ahead and face his enemies. With his warhammer in hand, he climbed onto a horse and trotted through the barren streets of King's Landing. 

The fact was that the people were suffering. The naval blockade wasn't to stop ships from entering. But to starve the city to a point that people would rise against their ruler. It was a common tactic, and that's why Robert wanted the siege to end right away. 

The land outside King's Landing's walls was dotted with houses, arbors, granaries, brick storehouses, timbered inns, merchant stalls, taverns, graveyards, and brothels. Although not as thriving as the main city, the area outside the city was a large part of the city's economy, too. And currently, all those people had taken refuge inside the city. 

Robert could smell the scent of smoke. The enemy army had likely burned down all buildings outside the city. It was standard practice while laying siege. And it enraged Robert a lot. He was trying to fix the crown's mess, and Tywin was doing the opposite. 

There is only one way this will end. 

Soon, Robert reached the Old Gate of the city. It was the closest to the main enemy camp. Currently, the Tyrell, Lannister, and Greyjoy joint army had built camps near every gate of the city. Meanwhile, the main army was camped back in the distance. 

From what Robert had learned, the main camp where Tywin stayed was set in Hayford castle, a Crownlands Lord's fief, but the Lord was most likely dead already. It was also where the Tyrells had set up their base. 

"Open the gate," Robert ordered the City Watch. 

The men of the City Watch looked back at Robert in confusion. They recognized him and were even happy. But opening the gate was the opposite of what they were supposed to do—protect it. 

By then, the Kingsguards and Stannis had arrived. They again requested him to return to the castle and plan a strategy. 

They won't understand even if I tell them. 

"Your Grace, this is suicide," Stannis advised. 

Robert shook his head. "Stannis, I'm many things. Suicidal isn't one of them. Very well, if you won't open the gate, I’ll smash it open myself."

The Old Gate may be known as the Old, but it was still King's Landing's gate. It was meant to protect the city. So, it was thick and reinforced with iron. Even for an army, it would require a battering ram and constant strikes to dent it. 

Dent was the key word. 

Stannis looked up at the men above the gatehouse and shook his head. He couldn't allow Robert to go out like that. He wasn't even wearing any armor, forget an army. 

Yet, Robert approached the tall wooden gate. It was connected with chains above, with the rotating mechanism housed above in the gatehouse. The gate was lifted up in order to open it… usually. 

"Eyes front and mouths shut! Your king's speaking, and you'd best bloody listen!"

Nobody expected anything. 

Robert raised his warhammer high above his head, both his arms clutched tight on the grip. Then, he took a deep breath in and…

BOOM!

Muscles flexed, the famed warhammer struck the wooden gate with enough strength that the strike echoed across half of the city. The wood splintered apart, and a massive hole appeared in the door, larger than Robert's own size. 

THUD!

But then, the entire door came free of its hinges that kept the upper chains tied to it. Once that happened, the gate became free and crumpled apart in its own weight, its structural integrity in ruins because of Robert's strike. 

“Not a damn one of you is coming with me! That’s an order.” Robert roared, striding through the shattered gate. The noise should have alarmed the nearest enemy camp, and he wanted it that way—standing tall, ten feet past the gate, he waited.

Crossed arms, he stood like a wall. His hammer was planted in the dirt, its handle straight, ready to be gripped at any time. 

Soon enough, horses appeared in the distance. Then, a cloud of dust appeared. Robert counted a total of a hundred men. He reckoned the scouts must have seen him through the far-eye already. 

"Your Grace! Please step inside!" Stannis furiously requested. 

Robert glared at his brother. It worked. Stannis shut his mouth and unsheathed his sword, never leaving. 

“Stay back. You’ll only get in my damn way,” Robert barked, snatching up his warhammer. "Much has changed, Stannis. I saw dragons, I slayed them—Hah. Compared to them, men break too easily.”

The ground seemed to shake as a hundred horsemen soon neared. Their armors were mixed, some Lannister and some Tyrell. They quickly got off their horses and formed a complete formation.

Then, a lone man with two aids walked forward. Robert recognized him right away, golden armor and cloaked in red. Tywin's own brother, Ser Kevan Lannister. 

"Did you come to surrender, Kevan?" Robert bellowed. 

Ser Kevan halted once he was ten feet away from Robert. "So the rumors were true. You were alive."

"Aye, I suppose I am. What of it? Disappointed, are you?"

Kevan shook his head. "It changes nothing, Robert. The city’s still ringed in steel. The people grow hungrier by the hour. Sooner or later, they'll throw the gates open themselves. But it needn’t come to that—"

"Save it, Kevan. You’re the one who needs to listen. One day—no more. If my son and Margaery aren’t here by morning, I’ll butcher the lot of you. No House Lannister will be left, but the Imp. No Tyrells either—Make your choice." 

Ser Kevan gave a dry chuckle, lips curling faintly. "Hah… And tell me, how do you plan to manage that? You’ve got no host to speak of. Three kingdoms rise against you."

Robert raised his warhammer high. "I am plenty, Kevan."

Ser Kevan let out a long breath. “Very well. If that is truly your will, I shall see Lord Tywin informed. The siege will go on.”

Ser Kevan turned around and started to leave. 

"Where do you think you're going, Kevan?"

Woosh!

Ser Kevan looked back for a moment and froze. "Wh—Aghk!

Too fast, Robert was already upon him. The next thing Ser Kevan felt was being grabbed by the throat and lifted into the air. He flailed his arms and legs to break free, but Robert's grip felt inhuman. 

"Lord Kevan!" 

The two soldiers with Kevan took out their swords to attack Robert. 

But Robert lazily swung his warhammer with the other hand. 

BAM!

The Lannister soldier's steel helmet caved in to a degree that the skull itself blasted open. Brain matter and blood splattered on the dirt. 

"None of you but one shall leave! Pray to the gods that you're the lucky last!" 

Bam!

Robert struck the other Lannister soldier, this time in the chest. Once again, the armor caved in, shattering the ribs and the heart. The man fell, a river of blood flowing from his mouth. 

That whole time, Robert kept Kevan lifted in the air, getting choked. His sudden action had surprised the other men, and before they could rush an attack, Robert placed his warhammer on the side for a moment. 

Then, with ease, Robert lowered Kevan down onto his knees. No, he forced him down. Kevan tried to fight back against that pressure, but his knees cracked apart. 

"Aaaaargh… A-Ah-Attack!" Kevan growled to his men. 

Instantly, the remaining ninety-something men rushed forward towards Robert. 

"You think that will save you, Kevan?" Robert sneered and did something brutal. Something not even the likes of the Mountain did so openly and carelessly. "The end of House Lannister starts with you."

"Y-You… Uh!"

Like a man splitting apart chopped wood with his bare hands, Robert did the same with Kevan. He dug his fingers underneath Kevan's jaw with one hand, and the other hand gripped his chest. After that, he pulled his arms apart. 

"Aaaaaaaaa!" Kevan kicked his leg weakly. The pain was too much. 

"THIS… IS… KING'S… JUSTICE!" 

"Aaaaaagh!"

Kevan's screams were ear-shattering, animalistic. 

Squelch!

It was slow. Robert ripped Kevan's neck apart. At first, the tears left long wounds with blood spraying everywhere. Then, the vocal cords were stretched, making Kevan's last cry sound almost demonic. 

And then…

Woosh!

Kevan's entire head was ripped off, along with the spine still attached. While Kevan's headless body fell to the ground, Robert's other hand raised the severed head into the air, the bloodied spine hanging down like a vine. 

The eyes were open, the expressions of fear were frozen. All ninety-something men came to a halt at the inhuman sight. Robert had done that to a well armored man. 

"COME NOW! Who's next?"

Robert released the head and let it fall on the dirt. Then, he stomped on it. 

SPLASH!

It was now impossible to even know what happened to Kevan Lannister. The body was of no use, the head was a paste of blood, flesh, and bone. 

Shocking the army, Robert grabbed his warhammer and rushed forward towards them. His speed was far more than any knight. In moments, he lunged into their ranks and began smashing his warhammer left and right. 

Each time his hammer struck, blood sprayed like a fountain. Entire heads were blasted, limbs flew apart, and some who fell got stomped on by Robert's mighty leg. 

"Argh!"

"M-Merc—Ah!"

Cries, roars, and pleas echoed. The City Watch of King's Landing, Stannis, Kingsguards were frozen in complete shock. 

In a way, the same was the case for Tyrell and Lannister men. Too shocked by Robert's strength, they couldn't even swing their blades properly. 

"Die, fucking traitors! Each one of you!"

Robert killed each one, one by one. And he was insanely fast. In a matter of moments, he reduced the men to single digits. And soon, there was just one man left, crawling on the floor, tears in his eyes. Snot covered his nose and half of his face, and the blood of his friends covered him from head to toe.

"P-Please… I… I have… I have kids… Please, Your Grace."

Thud!

Robert put his foot on the soldier's chest, keeping him pinned. 

"You can crawl back, boy. But tell Tywin this—he's got until dawn to hand me Margaery and my son. Else I’ll make what I did to Kevan look like a bloody kiss."

"Yes, yes… I'll do it!" 

Quickly, the soldier ran away, stumbling and balancing. Without looking back, he jumped on a random horse and just galloped away. 

Robert took a deep breath and walked back to the city walls. He was once again drenched in blood from head to toe. It was now a ritual whenever he fought. 

"I'll need a damn bath again."

Stannis woke up from his trance at last and chased after his brother. "Y-Your Grace… How did you… What are you?"

Robert annoyedly grunted. 

"No bloody idea."

####

Tywin listened to the mumbling mess of a man in front of him. It was a Lannister soldier, and in one look, he could tell that his spirit was completely broken. But it was impossible to believe him. Robert defeating all one hundred men—that was what bards used to sing about after the Rebellion. 

"Take him away." Tywin coldly ordered his men. He had no time to listen to fools, and the fool would never get to ramble on like that again. He had more pressing matters. Robert was alive, and Mace had returned from Braavos, too. 

For some reason, Mace had urgently requested a meeting, including all of House Tyrell members. 

With Kevan dead, there was no going back now for Tywin. 

Dreaming of a retreat now that Robert has returned?

He understood what Mace must be planning. Margaery's son's claim rested on the fact that it was Robert's blood. Now, since Robert had returned, there was no need to fight as things could proceed normally. 

Sighing, Tywin looked at his son, back from the Wall for a while now. "Prepare for the feast tonight."

Leaning against a wall, with just one hand, Jaime smiled. "Are you sure, father? We do need the Tyrells' support."

“We will have them. Loras commands well enough. As for the rest… they may follow the Reynes.”

"What of Margaery and the babe?"

Tywin clenched his fist, his eyes cold, lips quivering in controlled anger. 

"Let us see how far Robert is willing to go for them."