Chapter Text
King Robert Baratheon was not too fat to sit a horse, not yet, but it still caused him discomfort to be saddled on one even if it was one of the bigger stallions. The squires had rustled up a large boar and Robert in his finite wisdom wanted to be the one to kill it.
"More wine, Your Grace?" asked the scrawny little Lannister- Lyonel? Lukas? Lyle?- who held up the wineskin to him. He swiped it from him, ignoring the fuzziness in his head but before he could take his customary gulp, a pain lanced through his left side. He grunted and dropped the wineskin into his lap.
"Your Grace?" asked Selmy, riding up on his smaller steed.
For a moment, it felt like the tip of a spear had pierced him in the side. Then it was gone and Robert was looking down into the lined face of his Commander of the Kingsguard. "I'm fine," he grumbled. He dropped the wineskin into the fumbling hands of the Lannister squire to spur his horse forward. "Onward, there's a boar to be hunted!"
As they followed the war horns up the ridge, Robert felt the fuzziness in his head abate. He hated that feeling and opened his mouth to call for Lancel with his wineskin, but the memory of that sharp pain in his side was still fresh. He preferred washing away all his bad feelings (and bad deeds) with some wine, but he remembered how Ned had look at him. Disappointed. Ashamed. Desperation as he tried to find his old friend under the crown and layers of suet he covered himself with. It isn't my fault, he tried to tell himself as they made it to the top of the low ridge. I never wanted the bloody crown. Ned, you should've worn it or Jon Arryn.
Down below in the copse of trees the boar was held at bay by the hounds. Lancel was on his right again offering the wineskin. He had done too much thinking these days on what Ned told him. He needed something to wash the thoughts out like rinsing dirt from a cup. His fingers yearned to take the wineskin but he stopped, causing Lancel's brow to wrinkle in frustration.
He never wanted to be king. He only wanted a good fight, a good fuck, and Lyanna Stark in his bed. Now look at him. Too fat for his armor and as likely to die inside a good whore as with a chicken bone in his throat.
"Robert, the boar has already crippled one of the hounds," Renly said, prompting him from his thoughts.
Suddenly, Robert had no heart for the hunt anymore. "Then you kill it. I've done enough," the king found himself saying.
Renly frowned. "Pardon?" He looked as if his elder brother just grew a third eye.
"As your king, I order you to slay it!" Robert blustered. "My arse is sore and I'm ready for the Keep! Go on now!" Watching Renly ride down the hill with his hunting spear in hand, Robert was envious. His little brother was swift and graceful as he staggered then slayed the beast. That could have been me, Robert thought petulantly. Ten or so years ago, it could have been him, but now he was a fat, dull drunkard. He could not change his dullness but perhaps he could sober himself up enough to heed Ned.
***
At the castle gates his queen was not there to greet him. Robert was not bothered by this but was surprised to see less men than usual milling about. Ned, the honorable fool, was standing with the support of his cane. The man had three of his own house guards with him which Robert thought nothing of.
"Begone, begone," Robert said, shooing off the Lannister squire and his wineskin. "Ned, what is it now?"
"I wish to speak with you there," he said, pointing an empty stable. "The Tower of the Hand is too much of a climb with my leg. Renly, Selmy, accompany us."
Robert almost said something biting about the Lord Stark being bested by some old stairs but he silently agreed to follow his old friend into the stable with Selmy and Renly.
"Robert, I need you put Queen Cersei under arrest," Ned said quietly. "Send Selmy and another Kingsguard to do it right now."
"What? What bloody jape is this?"
"Stark never japes," said Renly quietly, reading Ned's expression.
"Robert, you trust me to be your Hand," Ned said as cold as northern ice. "Sometimes the hand must slap the face to wake it up. Do you trust me?"
If Robert had been drunk, he might have pushed past Ned to find a pair of breasts to bury himself in. A pair of breasts, a goblet of wine, a feast to order made. Unfortunately, he was sober enough to stay put and hear the edge in his friend's voice.
"More than most," Robert settled on saying.
"Then do as I ask. And Renly, go watch the door."
"Selmy, grab Moore and tell the queen she is confined to her chambers," Robert barked. Once he was gone, he collapsed onto a stool. "Now what?"
"I have reason to believe that Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters for uncovering a conspiracy," Ned said, looking back where Renly stood outside the door. "I have proof and more importantly living evidence."
"Living evidence?"
Ned looked troubled. "You have to swear before the old gods and the new that you won't do anything impulsive. As king, the realm and its wellbeing are in your hands."
Robert scratched irritably at his beard. "Seven hells, Ned just spit out what it is that you think you're found." He needed a drink. It was evening and he usually had a goblet by now.
Ned nodded. "Not here. To the Tower."
Despite being crippled, Ned hobbled faster than Robert who hung back to talk with Renly.
"What is he on about, little brother?"
Renly was looking around them, noting the maids, squires, servants, and minor lords in the various halls they passed. "I have an idea it is what got Jon Arryn sent to the silent sisters." Ned beckoned for his steward and another man-at-arms to follow them as well.
The Tower of the Hand was empty when they arrived, which meant nothing if the rumors about hollow walls were true. Ned ordered his men to guard the door, immediately went to a great tome on his desk, and flipped it open. "This is what Jon Arryn was reading when he died. The seed is strong were his last words."
Robert took a seat as he talked. "A book of bloodlines. How droll."
Ned turned the book around and pointed out a passage with his fingers. "Read, Your Grace."
"Black of hair, black of hair, black of hair. What is this fool's riddle, Ned? Ev-" He was going to say "Everyone knows Baratheons are dark of hair" when it hit him. There came a faint ache in his head. He went from one year to the next in a drunken haze for so long that the simple conclusion his brains were drawing felt like a blow from his own battle axe. Then the rage came.
"Who?" He turned abruptly, knocking back the chair. "Who put horns on their king?"
"Jaime Lannister," Ned said quietly. "My son Bran did not fall but was pushed when he saw something he shouldn't have." He closed the book softly. "That is why I went to see Barra. The Baratheon seed is strong."
"Call the small council! Send for Ilyn Payne!" Robert roared. "You, Poole, I order-"
"Robert, be silent!" Renly said in a harsh tone. He had been placid as a pond until then. His face was half as red as his brother's. "Half the small council is in Cersei's pocket and so are the gold cloaks. Only everyone in this room- as well as Cersei and Jaime- know the truth of her children's parentage. With all the time you've given her to get her pieces in place, who's to say she doesn't have Janos Slynt or some other catspaw ready to kill you in your sleep or poison your food if you ever found out. Seven hells, I'm surprised she hasn't poisoned your wine yet but I guess she thought it would kill you eventually." Without a word, he righted the chair so his brother could sit to silently fume.
A knock came at the door and Ned's steward opened it a fraction. "Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Preston Greenfield are here."
"Send them in," Ned said.
"Her cousin is my squire," said Robert. "He kept plying me with wine while we were out hunting. It's my custom, I know, but he looked annoyed every time I refused."
"Is the queen in custody?" asked Ned to Selmy.
Selmy looked at his king before answering. "She is confined to her chambers. We told her the king wishes to receive her there."
"Send her to one of the black cells," said Robert, rubbing his temples. He turned to Renly who would know who was loyal to him. "Who is not a Lannister sycophant?"
"Stannis, of course, Selmy, Greenfield, maybe Moore, Oakheart..." Renly trailed off, his five fingers still splayed. "Ilyn Payne. Perhaps Varys if he sees that Cersei's head will soon be on a pike."
"No," said Ned. "Lord Tywin will start another war if we behead his daughter."
"Not when the whole realm knows of his daughter's infidelity and incest," replied Renly with a cold smile. "The man is ruthless and has only his legacy in mind. With a wanton daughter and bastard grandchildren, his reputation will so sullied that not even his bannermen would stand with him." He knelt beside his brother. "Robert, you must act swiftly but wisely. Have Ser Jaime arrested and his children imprisoned and kill all loyal to the Lannisters-"
"It is nightfall. You would have children chained in their beds and men slaughtered in their sleep?"
"It's politics, Stark," Renly stated, rising to his feet. "I may seem frivolous, but my ears are not stuffed with honor like yours. Cersei's hatred for my brother grew every time he stumbled into her bed drunk to brutalize her in lovemaking." He looked apologetically at his older brother. "As much as I love you, I am not blind to your foolish and brutish ways, brother."
"How dare you talk to the king that way-"
"Barristan, be silent!" Robert sighed and bowed his head. Indeed, there was a headache forming in his forehead and he knew that this night would not end until he was certain that none of them would slain in their beds by one of Cersei's pets. Treasonous queen, traitorous kingsguard, and a Hand too honorable for his own good. He needed Ned's sense of justice, but he also needed Renly's shrewdness for politics.
He sat up as straight as he could. "Selmy, go find Varys and bring him here. Greenfield-" he almost sent the man for a jug of wine but stopped himself- "bring some of that boar Renly killed. It's high time we tried it."
Varys arrived before the roast boar. He smelled of jasmine and rosewater.
"Cersei's children are bastards and products of incest with her brother," Ned told him. "How much of this did you know?"
He tittered. "Surprisingly little, my lord. The queen can be secretive when she wishes. I know she keeps her brother close but I assumed her proxy to Prince Joffrey was the cause. With how she whispers in the prince's ear, I assumed he was her object... of passion."
"Enough," said Robert. "Who is on my side and who's a Lannister spy?"
He pretended to think, tapping his bottom lip. "Petyr Baelish has been quietly bankrupting the crown while lining his own pockets. With the money, he plans to bribe the goldcloaks to help Cersei take the throne in the event of the king's demise. Grandmaester Pycelle is Cersei's lackey certainly." There was a pause as Ned's man let in two maids with the roast boar. Once they left, no one touched it but Robert who ate like it was his last meal.
"Take Baelish into custody," said Robert between bites. "Use Ned's northmen to do it. Tell them the safety of their lord is on the line. Clap Janos Slynt in chains as well as Trant and Blount."
"Those are your own kingsguard," Selmy protested on principle.
Robert gave him rude look. "And you trust them?" When he got no answer, he said, "Strip them of their white cloaks. Ned what will you do?"
"I will inform my daughters they are to go back to Winterfell in two weeks' time."
"Surely not Sansa," said Renly, spearing a chunk of boar on his knife. "The girl is smitten with Joffrey and would tell him everything in a heartbeat. If he batted his eyes just right, she would give him her maidenhead without knowing what it's for."
"You're one to talk of maidenheads," Robert muttered while Ned gave his chuckling brother a dark look. "Tell them nothing, Ned. Ship them back home quick as you can though." Eating helped his headache but only a little. More than anything, he wanted a whore on his lap and wine in his belly to deal with all these revelations and laying of plans. "Someone send a raven for my brother. The more stags I see and the less lions prowling the better."
It took a couple more hours to smooth out the details of their plan. By the end of it, Jory Cassel and Barristan Selmy ushered him to his chambers where he collapsed onto his bed with his last thought being of the taste of Dornish red.