The Penitence of the Wolf - Tension in Dragonstone. (Patreon)

Robert Baratheon, Dragonstone

“I hope you behave, Robert. I do not want you humiliating us again like you did at the prince’s wedding,” said his Lord Father while looking toward the docks of Dragonstone.

“Yes, Father,” said Robert, rolling his eyes.

And apparently, Lord Steffon was able to identify it in his tone.

The Lord of Storm’s End turned around and grabbed him by the shoulders with such force that Robert had to make an effort not to grimace.

Let it not be said that Lord Steffon Baratheon did not possess the fury of the storms within him.

“I am serious, Robert. Since your lamentable performance in King’s Landing, every marriage proposal I have sent has been rejected. You will behave according to your title, if you know what is good for you,” threatened Lord Steffon, looking coldly at his firstborn who had given him so many problems.

Robert merely frowned and said,

“What about Lyanna Stark? There was already an agreement between—”

The young Baratheon did not even finish speaking before his father shook him with both hands, his face furious.

“Forget the young Stark. That is something that will never happen. Her future marriage is in the king’s hands. It is possible the girl may even inherit lands on her own.”

Robert frowned and replied,

“Why would Lyanna prefer to rule a piece of land at the lonely Wall instead of being my wife and becoming the Lady of all the Stormlands?” Robert asked with genuine confusion in his voice, incapable of understanding such a decision.

“Enough, Robert. We are about to arrive at Dragonstone. Behave,” ordered Lady Cassandra with her characteristic edge in her voice, silencing the loud Lord instantly.

His mother was without a doubt a thousand times more terrifying than his father, so Robert only nodded and looked toward the bay in total silence, observing how the small fishing village he remembered had completely disappeared.

In its place, a fortified coastal city had been raised. Thick walls were being constructed, the docks had been expanded absurdly, many of them evidently used for commerce. Robert could observe ships from all over the realm, from Dorne to the North.

“Aerys has been busy,” said his father, looking toward the docks with curiosity, while his mother nodded softly at his side.

“It would seem so. I have never seen so much movement in Dragonstone, and look at those shipyards,” said Lady Cassandra, making Robert’s attention focus where his mother had indicated.

“Shit,” he said out loud, observing what she was pointing at.

Five shipyards working on five completely new ships, with robust and thick ebony hulls.

Part of the new royal fleet without a doubt, Robert thought.

The entire fucking coast was filled with the new vessels, of various sizes for different roles, evidently.

“That ship is enormous,” his father whispered.

Robert simply looked at the old man with disbelief.

“Ship? That thing is a fucking floating castle,” he said, genuinely impressed by the new fleet.

It was quite clear that it had been designed for war.

“It’s curious, don’t you think, Father?” Robert asked in a calculating manner, drawing the attention of Lord and Lady Baratheon.

“What thing, son?” asked Lord Steffon.

“How… well prepared the king is. Every action, every order — too convenient that just when the Greyjoys begin to be a nuisance after decades, the king has commissioned a new fleet especially effective against them.”

Robert might have many flaws, but the Gods had blessed him with an extraordinary gift for war.

And he recognized Aerys Targaryen’s actions for what they were — the preparation of a battlefield.

Even without the fucking winged lizards, the three fortress cities surrounding the Crownlands, the fortification of King’s Landing, the education of the smallfolk, the renewal of the fleet, and the training of the black order.

They were all precise moves, discreet in their own way, but with a clear objective.

Domination of the royal house, centralizing King’s Landing as the absolute power of the continent.

The king was fighting a war against all Westeros.

And he was winning.

Lord Steffon frowned while stroking his chin, a sign that he was quite thoughtful.

“Do not speak of this while we are in Dragonstone. We will discuss this matter later,” ordered his father, making Robert nod and adjust his cloak. They had already reached port and an escort was waiting for them to go to the castle.

The martyrdom was beginning.

The Baratheon family descended from the ship at one of the docks of Dragonstone, observing as Ser Brynden Tully, clad in his white armor, received them with an escort of Targaryen soldiers.

“Lord Steffon, welcome to Dragonstone,” he said, bowing his head in respect.

His father responded with a nod.

“Ser Brynden, a pleasure to see you, though I expected to be received by one of my cousins.”

His father’s words were courteous, but with a certain reproach in them.

At least until a feminine voice made itself heard.

“We still know the protocols, Steffon. You may rest assured.”

Seconds later, the image of the queen appeared, walking from behind a group of soldiers, wearing not a dress, but an elegant blood-red tunic, with a matching black cape and gloves, her head adorned by a simple steel circlet.

“My queen,” said his father, bowing his head, an act the entire Baratheon family imitated.

“My Lord, it is a pleasure to see you. Aerys is meeting with one of his informants regarding the situation of the islands, and Rhaegar is in session at the Throne of Dragonstone. Therefore, I will be your escort to the castle today.”

After following all the fucking useless protocol and finally setting off, Robert found himself riding beside Stannis, while the rest of his family rode in the queen’s carriage.

The city streets were full of life. Men, women, and children walked efficiently, all busy. The coal from the forges working without rest flooded Robert’s nose, while the comforting sound of a hammer striking metal could be heard nonstop everywhere.

On the main avenue, merchants from all parts of the realm traded — wood, furs, grain, meat, and metal were abundant.

The commercial operation of Dragonstone had succeeded, it seemed. Robert did not doubt that the royal family collected a large amount of gold from every deal on the island.

Gold that was evidently being used to finance the fleet and the new Targaryen army.

The procession left the docks behind and began the slow ascent toward Dragonstone, which was dominated by two of the royal family’s dragons, who flew freely overhead — a constant reminder of where they were.

This island belonged to the House of the Dragon.

And it was something both nobles and commoners should remember.

The easy way.

Or the hard way.

After a fucking extremely long and boring walk through the castle corridors, with paintings, murals, and endless nonsense about the glory of the House of the Dragon, they finally arrived at the throne, occupied by his “dear” cousin.

“The established balance is quite clear and the terms are generous,” Rhaegar’s voice was heard, speaking with seriousness and firmness.

The prince sat upon the Throne of Dragonstone, Ser Arthur Dayne like a faithful hound at one side, while Princess Elia stood at the other.

Though Robert’s attention focused completely on the woman standing beside the insipid Dornishwoman.

Lyanna.

His Lyanna.

Beautiful, elegant, and wild, clad in a blue and white tunic, adorned with an elegant silver circlet upon her head and a blue rose necklace. In her hands was Princess Rhaenys, who laughed softly while playing with her long black hair.

“But my prince, those prices are higher than what the rest of the merchants pay, we—” the merchant tried to say, only for Rhaegar to stand swiftly, silencing the Essosi.

“They are the prices our Westerosi merchants pay. You, by order of King Aerys, are being assigned a fifteen percent tariff on all products you sell. A more than fair deal, considering the practices of the Braavosi market toward our own merchants.”

At those words, the foreign merchant closed his mouth, while the nobles present nodded, pleased by the prince’s words.

“Of course, if Braavos is willing to reach a more… interesting bilateral agreement for both parties, those tariffs could be reduced or even disappear,” said the prince, placing his hands behind his back and looking directly at the foreign merchants.

The Essosi looked at one another, having an entire conversation without speaking a single word.

“No… we do not possess that kind of authority, my prince, but we can carry your terms to the Sea Lord and return with some proposal,” said one of them.

Rhaegar merely nodded, evidently satisfied.

“I will ensure that Lord Tywin provides you with a sealed parchment for your Sea Lord. That will be all for now.”

They nodded and withdrew.

At the same time that House Baratheon entered the throne hall and, to Robert’s absolute disgust, knelt before the dragon throne.

“My prince, House Baratheon answers the call of the dragon,” said his father, bowing his head before Rhaegar, who, for an instant, did not respond.

The silence in the throne room was brief, and yet the tension between the two families was more than evident.

“Rise, my Lord. House Targaryen reaffirms the friendship between our two families and thanks House Baratheon for its swift response,” said the prince cautiously.

Robert rose with the rest of his family, though his obsessive gaze was focused entirely on his woman.

On Lyanna.

By the Gods, she was beautiful. With that long hair and those eyes, she had to be his. He would tame the she-wolf maiden, make her scream and roar with pleasure like—

Robert’s thoughts were interrupted by his father’s cutting voice.

“Is that correct, Robert?”

“Huh?” asked the young Baratheon, confused, looking at his father, who stared at him with evident disappointment and irritation.

“I said… if you have something to say to the prince and the princess,” said his father, the order more than clear, his eyes containing both warning and fury.

Robert frowned, understanding the situation. His father wanted him to apologize for the disaster in King’s Landing. And though Robert did not want to do it, it was not as if he truly had a choice.

Robert looked at Rhaegar, who observed him with alarming calmness and coldness, without extending even a hand or a simple courtesy, the contempt for Robert more than evident in his violet eyes.

And though it was mutual, Robert was not willing to tempt fate and defy his father. So, swallowing his pride, he bowed his head and apologized.

“I apologize for my shameful attitude and for the incident at your wedding, my prince,” said Robert simply, not truly feeling anything.

Something that, evidently, the dragon prince also noticed, if the frown on his face was any indication.

“I understand, my Lord. Let us hope that such shameful and unpleasant behavior does not repeat itself. The Baratheon name was sufficiently stained the last time, after all,” said the prince, without any mercy.

Robert frowned but bit his tongue, at the same time that Rhaegar stepped between him and the sight of Lyanna.

The message was more than clear.

“You must be tired from your journey. A banquet will be prepared tonight. My father will return tomorrow with news regarding the Greyjoys, and the war council will take place,” said the prince, turning around and returning to the throne.

“Welcome to Dragonstone.”

His father and mother bowed, as did Robert, who burned with fury at the insolence of the bastard Rhaegar.

And in that moment he prayed with all his strength to the Gods for the fucking opportunity to tear the arrogant bastard apart. He would give his fucking soul to smash that chest with his hammer again and again without stopping.

How amusing fate was — that the young stag’s wish would be fulfilled sooner rather than later, becoming, without knowing it, a participant in the machinations of an old falcon and a foolish trout.

But that…

Is another story.