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Chapter 251: The Conflicted Robert
🕑 Added 2025-04-06 12:30:42 +0000 UTC“Look who’s here, our Bear Hunter! Where’s the singer? Damn it, sing me the Bear Hunter’s Song!”
As Lynd stepped into the special courtyard behind the brothel, he immediately spotted the rotund Robert, his face flushed red and reeking of alcohol, draped over several Lyseni prostitutes with silver hair and violet eyes. The moment Robert saw Lynd entering, he bellowed across the courtyard, calling for the singer to perform.
With the king’s command, the first rendition of The Bear Hunter’s Song rang through the brothel as the singer’s voice carried over the gathered crowd.
“Come, come! Sit and have a drink, my chief knight,” Robert called out, waving Lynd over. He grabbed a goblet and placed it heavily on the table.
Lynd stepped closer but replied, “Your Grace, you forget—I never drink.”
“Right! You don’t drink,” Robert nodded, then grinned. “But I am your king, and I command you to drink with me.”
Though Robert’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, his words carried through the courtyard. The music came to an abrupt halt as everyone turned to watch. A tension settled over the gathering, thick and unmistakable. The Kingsguard standing nearby, including Barristan, grew visibly alert. Even Jaime Lannister, ever the rogue, wiped the smirk off his face, looking momentarily stunned.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” Lynd said calmly. “Just as I cannot use magic to change your love for Lady Lyanna Stark, your command cannot change my aversion to wine.”
“Hah!” Robert roared with laughter, slapping his knee. He grabbed the goblet he had intended for Lynd and downed it in one swift gulp. “Lynd, your words are as sharp as your sword.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Lynd replied with a smile.
The tension in the courtyard dissipated instantly, and the music resumed, once more filling the air with song and merriment.
Robert took a few more swigs of wine before roughly shoving aside the Lyseni women clinging to him. He waved them away with a sneer. “Get lost, you silver-haired whores—just like the remnants of the Dragonspawn.” He chuckled, then turned to one of the attendants. “Tell your madam to bring me a fresh batch from the Summer Isles. I prefer their dark skin. And make sure they’re slathered in that essential oil from Bear Hunter’s lands—it’s good stuff.”
He shot a knowing look at Lynd. “You, my friend, are a hypocrite. A man who invents something as fine as that oil must have spent plenty of time in brothels.”
Lynd barely contained his amusement. He had never expected that the essential oil he originally developed to soothe Nymeria’s sore muscles after training would, after mass production, become one of the most popular products in brothels worldwide.
Not only were brothels stocking up on it, but noble houses also kept a steady supply. Rumors even spread that the oil enhanced fertility, which only boosted sales further. At this point, its revenue was second only to weapons trade, making it one of the most lucrative exports of Summerhall.
Knowing there was no way to completely clear up the misunderstanding, Lynd still made an effort. “Your Grace, this oil was designed to relieve the fatigue of warriors after training. It’s not—”
“Of course! For warriors after training.” Robert grinned wickedly. “And what do you call the ones on their backs? Bed warriors are warriors too, eh?”
Lynd sighed and let it go.
Robert grabbed a thick slice of fatty meat, bit into it with relish, then washed it down with more wine. Wiping his hands, he turned back to Lynd. “I heard something interesting a while back. When you campaigned against Tyrosh, they tried to win your favor by offering you two Targaryen brats. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Lynd answered with a nod. “Archon Tyrosh sought to ingratiate himself by gifting me Viserys Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen, who had sought his protection.”
Robert’s expression darkened. “And where are they now?”
“I sent them to Pentos,” Lynd replied, his tone steady.
“Give me a reason,” Robert demanded, his eyes locked onto Lynd’s.
“I am a warrior,” Lynd said simply.
Robert scowled. “Seven hells, you’re as infuriating as Ned! Stubborn as stone.”
Lynd smiled. “And yet, you surround yourself with such stones. Lord Ned is one,” he said, then gestured toward Barristan, who stood silently nearby. “And Lord Barristan is another.”
Robert’s gaze shifted to Barristan, and after a moment, he let out a loud laugh. “Aye! Barristan too!” He raised his goblet toward the Kingsguard. “Come, Barristan, have a drink with me.”
Barristan remained impassive. “Apologies, Your Grace. I am on duty and cannot drink.”
“I knew it! You’re all the same,” Robert grumbled, then downed the wine himself.
By now, the new batch of prostitutes had arrived. The women from the Summer Isles, their skin gleaming with scented oil, stood under the flickering torchlight, their dark olive bodies exuding an exotic allure.
Robert grinned, pulling them into his embrace. He turned to the singer and bellowed, “New song!”
The singer quickly adjusted, switching to another tune. But it was still one of Lynd’s compositions—The Storm Saint’s Hymn, a piece he had played in Braavos, though originally titled Pirates of the Caribbean.
Unfortunately, the singer wasn’t using a violin, but a different string instrument, and his lack of familiarity with the melody made the performance an absolute disaster.
"What a dreadful performance!" Robert scowled, speaking his mind without hesitation. He then turned to Lynd and said, "They say you wrote this song yourself and dedicated it to the Storm God's temple in Braavos. I refuse to believe the original sounded this bad!"
Lynd answered honestly, "Of course not. This instrument isn't suited for the piece, and the singer isn't familiar with it. Naturally, the performance suffers greatly."
Robert acted as if it were a casual remark. "In that case, why don't you play it for me yourself? I want to hear how this song, supposedly composed for the Storm God, is meant to sound."
The entire courtyard fell silent. To nobles, musicians were ranked little higher than court jesters, their status even lower than that of common servants. Now, Robert was asking Lynd—a high lord—to perform as if he were a mere minstrel. It was a blatant insult, one that even a lesser noble would struggle to tolerate, let alone someone of Lynd's standing.
"Your Grace, this is..." Jaime began, unable to hold back.
Robert cut him off sharply. "Shut your mouth, Kingslayer! No one asked for your opinion. Just stand there and keep quiet!"
Barristan stepped forward as well. "Your Grace, this is not how—"
Robert waved him off impatiently. "Enough, Barristan! I just want to hear the song. If he could play it in the public squares of Braavos for foreigners and courtesans, why shouldn't he play it for his king?"
"Of course, I can play for you."
To everyone's surprise, Lynd remained perfectly calm in the face of Robert's unreasonable demand. He gestured for Barristan to stand down, then glanced around before turning to one of the prostitutes. "Do you have a violin here?"
The prostitute nodded quickly. "Yes! There's one in the boss's room—Lord Joel gifted it to her. I'll fetch it right away!"
She hurried off and soon returned with the instrument. Along with her came Lady Melis, the brothel’s owner, who had clearly sensed the tension. She hesitated at the edge of the courtyard, glancing nervously at the silent gathering, as if about to speak to defuse the situation. But Lynd raised a hand, stopping her.
Taking the violin from the prostitute, he made a few adjustments to the strings, then placed the bow upon them.
The murmuring from the front of the brothel faded into complete silence. It seemed word had spread.
Then, as Lynd drew the bow across the strings, a powerful, storm-like melody burst forth from the small instrument.
The moment the music reached their ears, those gathered felt as if they had been plunged into a surging tempest. Waves crashed, winds howled—an invisible storm raged within the sound.
And this was no ordinary performance. Lynd infused his playing with the runic power of the Cloud Top Bell, amplifying its effect, pulling listeners deeper into the storm’s embrace. The music spread far beyond the courtyard, sweeping through the brothel, past the city walls, and out across the land, reaching every corner of Highgarden Castle and the surrounding estates.
Throughout the city, people paused whatever they were doing. They stepped out of their homes, looking up, searching for the source of the sound. And then they, too, were lost in the music—carried away on its tides, soaring through the storm, feeling the thunderous exhilaration of the gale.
The final note rang out, completing the song with a flawless crescendo.
For a long moment, there was only silence, as if the world itself was reluctant to return from the storm.
Then, applause erupted.
It spread from the courtyard to the front hall, then beyond, rolling through the city like a second wave. Even from within the castle walls, cheers and clapping could be heard.
Everyone who had heard the music was left breathless, moved by a melody that felt as if it had been played by the gods themselves.
"That was fucking incredible!"
Robert grabbed the bottle on the table and took a long swig, his eyes filled with both envy and longing as he looked at Lynd. "I should have been out there like you, making my own legend, instead of being stuck on that damned Iron Throne, listening to petty squabbles all day. If I could, I’d trade everything I have now for—"
"Your Grace, be careful what you say," Barristan interrupted, sensing that Robert was about to say something he shouldn’t.
Robert, realizing it himself, gritted his teeth and swallowed the words before they escaped.
Instead, he gestured for Lynd to sit beside him and loudly ordered some water and fruit juice to be brought.
Then, turning back to Lynd, he said, "Tell me about your time in Essos. I've heard plenty of bards sing about your exploits, but their tales are always vague, full of embellishments and nonsense. I’d rather hear it from you—straight from the man who lived it."
Lynd did not refuse. He recounted select parts of his journey across Essos, though he skimmed over the sections involving magic.
Even with these omissions, the crowd hung on his every word. Particularly when he spoke of Ny Sar—how he had met the legendary Old Man of the River and discovered that the ancient Nymeria bore an uncanny resemblance to his wife. At that revelation, gasps of astonishment rippled through the audience.
"So your wife has taken people to Ny Sar to confirm this," Robert mused, seemingly well aware of Lynd's current affairs.
"Yes," Lynd nodded. "After hearing what I told her about Ny Sar, she began having dreams—visions of the city before it fell to ruin. She believes it may be some ancestral connection calling to her, so she wants to see it with her own eyes. Maybe she'll discover something I missed."
"You and your wife—what a life," Robert sighed wistfully. "Going wherever you please, adventuring as you wish... I envy that freedom."
Then, his expression shifted. "What about Qohor? Did you really bring down a disaster that destroyed half the city?"
The courtyard fell into a heavy silence. All eyes turned to Lynd, waiting for his answer.
Lynd nodded, his tone calm and direct. "Yes. I did."
The weight of his words settled over them like a storm rolling in. A collective gasp filled the air. For a moment, it felt as though even the atmosphere had thinned, pressing down on their chests with an unseen force.
Lynd had said little, yet his simple confirmation sent imaginations reeling. Everyone pictured a different kind of catastrophe, but they all shared the same thought—terror.
Robert let out a low whistle. "No wonder they call you the God of Disasters. The way they speak of it, you’ve left them pissing themselves in fear. Looks like you truly scared them out of their wits!"
With a chuckle, he waved a hand at Barristan, pointing to the pouch at his waist. Barristan retrieved a small box and handed it over.
Robert took the box and passed it to Lynd. "Here. Your music was damn good, and your stories were even better. Consider this a reward."
Then he turned to Jaime. "Now, take Lord Lynd back. He’s too rigid—his presence is killing my fun."
Lynd said nothing. He simply accepted the box, stood, and bowed to Robert before following Jaime out.
As they left, Robert let out a long sigh, then laughed heartily, pulling the Summer Isles women back into his arms. He drank deep and tore into his meat, as if trying to drown out something lingering in his thoughts.
...
Once they had exited the brothel, Jaime retrieved the horses and led Lynd through the outskirts of the city. Along the way, he couldn’t hold back his curiosity. "So, what’s in the box?"
Lynd was curious too. He opened it and found inside a decree of royal grant.
Robert had bestowed upon him several of the Stepstones islands under the Iron Throne’s rule, along with the title Prince of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea—an official acknowledgment of his dominion over the region.
