Chapter Text
It was an awful trip, from Robert's perspective. The climb into the gold hills was cold for the supposed spring, while the uneven and frankly embarrassing roads made it difficult to travel. But Cersei was insistent that they visit Lannisport. He'd never seen the gold coast in his life, so he had agreed to go. Jon Arryn was well enough to rule back home, so why shouldn't Robert go on a lord's tour? He'd been on one around all of the south-east of Westeros, all lands he controlled were visited.
The only interesting moment on the entire trip was when a thick, plume of smoke rose into the sky, black as pitch and solid as stone. Robert called a halt on top of a taller hale overlooking Lannisport. Or, at least he thought it was Lannisport. He seemed to think that it was, well it wasn't a quarter blackened.
He could see a large port grappling the coast, the whole city arcing downwards with great chains and cages to transfer cargo from the docks to the open plains three hundred feet above. But now the north port was blackened, two and twenty iron cages and pulleys hung open in the air, with naught but blackened stone and the wreckage of ships, still barely burning in the pre-dawn light. Mace Tyrell rode up hard to Robert's side. "Good gods," was all the fat man could say.
Tywin Lannister was not at Casterly Rock, much to Robert's chagrin. But neither were the more interesting Lannisters. The missing boy Jaime wasn't there, nor was the swordsman Tygett or the Laughing Lion Gerion. But no matter who he liked or didn't like, he needed Tywin Lannister.
Robert was briefed about the attacks by a Ser Lan-something or other. All of them had 'Lan' in their first names, annoyingly. It was rather annoying if he was frank, but he wouldn't say such to a Lannister, Lannetts, Lanntell or Lanny.
Iron Man trading ships had pulled into the harbor near dusk, trading a niggardly amount of iron and buying more pitch, lamp oil, and wood than anyone would have fought. Forty or so ships sailed out with the wood while the others stayed in port. No one seemed to notice that the fleet numbered well into two hundred and that they were all crewed by men in chain mail and steel plate wearing long saex knives and axes. Nor did any of the guards notice the iron men carrying their pitch and oil to the Lannister ships.
No one noticed anything was wrong until flame licked up the fleet glowing and half the ships ablaze.
"You're fools, you all know this, aye?" Robert said to the knights present. "Fools," he continued, "near three hundred ships and men with weapons and armor, and none of you thought to make question of it?"
All the Lanns gathered looked down in shame, with only the small shrewish Lanny looked up, "M'lord-" he said like an ignoramus. "Be quiet, you idiot. You look at a torch and claim it the sun. So close to low born you speak 'M'lord' not 'My lord!' Two words! Not one!"
The boy looked down, but Robert still glared into his soul, "And it would be 'my grace.' I just fought a war for that word between my name, and I mean to keep it." The boy looked near to tears. "All of you must know my name, and all of you must know that an army of men with weapons and the tools to burn are there to burn things and wage war. Do you all understand?"
Only the sound of the crackling braziers filled the air. That, and the tears of the Lanny and his quiet sobs.
"Raise yourselves like me and help me, damn it. I just forged this realm with fire and hammer, now help me hold him still. Maester!" A man in a grey robe ran up to him, "Write to Hoster, Tully, and all the other holdings. Tell them it is war."
"War?"
It wasn't the Lanny, Gods be praised, but it was difficult to tell one of those with Lannister blood from another. It didn't matter, however. They were all fools. "Would you prefer it if I gave the Iron Men a good hug? We are going to knock down the walls of Pyke and drown their damn rocks."
He hated to think about it but he needed to. To not be firm would show weakness to all of Westeros; and perhaps beyond. His brother had failed and the dragon spawn could use this as an opportunity, an opportunity to return madness to the realm. Cersei was right. A heavy hand and a heavier hammer.
"I need my fleets. Vale, Royal and Reach, damn you," he spat as he left the room, "And what little fleet you have left."
"I did not care for it if I am to be straight with you." Speaking with Cersei after they had both spent themselves had become a rather regular form. Mainly due to the fact she would never let him in her bed if he smelled of wine. Though Robert knew she was less like to follow through on her threat if she was drunk as well.
"Oh come now Robert," She was laying on her stomach, feet swinging over her large, bare rear. "Tywin Lannister was all but the king for twenty years. A firm hand, a quiet realm."
Robert grimaced, "Oh yes, Aerys' madness and the defiance of Duskendale were all firm and quiet, weren't they?" He chuckled and she began to giggle loudly as though they were both children laughing at a crude joke. She looked lovely, her blonde hair in a loose tumble of ringlets and curls, her cheeks red and flush while her eyes sparkled with passion. When she laughed and smiled, she rivaled the Maiden herself in beauty. He leaned across the bed and kissed her lightly on both cheeks, causing her to laugh further.
"I love you, Cersei Lannister."
"I married you, remember? You meant to love you, Cersei Baratheon.'"
He smiled. "Gods, I wish for a child."
She moved to pour the flagon into a cup but stopped only to drink it all by herself. He went to grab only for her to shrink up, pressing the silver to her bare breast, a smile on her face. "Oh no, I need more wine if I am to do this again. Such a slob!"
Robert laughed "Oh, you are a bold one, Cersei Baratheon."
"Of course I am, I'm the Queen. Now, would you like to get to it?"