GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

"Valar Morghulis? I know that phrase."

"You do? What does it mean?" Robert sat in his solar while Melisandre and Stannis stood before his table. He had sought her opinion as the coin's engravings suggested an Eastern origin.

"'Valar Morghulis' means 'all men must die'. It's a customary saying in Essos. It's answered with the saying, 'Valar Dohaeris', meaning 'all men must serve'. It's used by Faceless Men." Melisandre explained briefly, bravely taking a step closer despite Robert's public disdain for her. "They follow the Many-Faced God, a god of death. House of Black and White in Braavos is from where they operate."

"God of death?" Robert's attention focused on that small part of her explanation. "What type of god of death? We have the Stranger."

"It is all one, in their eyes. Qohor, the Black Goat, the Lion of Night, the Stranger. They believe they all serve the same god of death, just in different incarnations. The Faceless Men are the elite of the religion, assassins who bring the gift of death to anyone for a price. They have seemingly magical abilities to change their appearance at will. If that coin has found its way to you, know this: it is no accident. A Faceless Man walks among us, and his purpose remains hidden." Melisandre finished with an eerie warning.

Robert frowned and looked at his brother. "Tywin? If he hadn't colluded with the Ironborn, I wouldn't have considered this possibility. But now... it's possible he's hired those bloody Faceless Men to do the deed."

"No, Your Grace," Melisandre interjected. "Had it been their will, the Faceless Men would have taken your life long before we knew of their shadow. That coin carries meaning. It seems those Faceless Men wanted to make their presence known."

God of death, ha? Robert silently pondered. Did it bring me back to this body?

Knock! Knock!

The door opened and Ser Barristan reported. "Your Grace, Lady Olenna seeks you."

Robert nodded, pocketed the coin, and dismissed Stannis with his red whore. "Keep this matter to yourself. Barristan, send her in."

Moments later, Olenna Tyrell walked in, her presence blooming the room in a thick scent of whatever perfumes they used in Highgarden. Dressed in light blue with headwear, she took a seat before Robert could offer her one.

"My, what a brutal campaign you waged in the North, your Grace. I must say, it warms my old heart to see you wed to my sweet Margaery. Fame, might, and beauty bound together—surely a union the bards will still croon about when we're all dust. Wouldn't you agree?" Olenna inquired, seizing control of the conversation as deftly as plucking a rose.

Robert silently nodded and offered her a cup of water. In his heart, he was battling himself to make a decision. He had already plucked the little rose, not once but almost every night for more than a week.

Marrying her makes complete sense. Robert told himself, a fact as clear as the day. But I hold no love for her.

He didn't want to marry anyone in this second life. He didn't want to sire any children. But he also knew that it was his duty. Furthermore, he didn't want to repeat the mistakes old Robert made with Cersei. He didn't want to turn Margaery into a bitter mess.

"Ironborn and Lannisters, thick as thieves now. The Vale's ours for the moment, but how long before that changes? And Dorne—ha! They've got eyes for the Targaryen wench across the Narrow Sea. So tell me, Lady Olenna, is it Margaery's happiness you're after, or is this all about putting a Tyrell on the throne and inching your house closer to the Crown?" Robert asked her directly as that was Robert's personality.

"Hah, oh, my dear," Olenna chuckled, plucking a cake from the table with a delicate hand. "Must everything in life be sweet or sour? Sometimes, the clever balance of both is the real delight. Speaking of balance, I've had a word with Margaery. She tells me all about your nightly rendezvous—says you treat her well."

She was no virgin. Robert wanted to refute, but he held back. As a man with his reputation, he was the last to demand a virgin. But he understood the meaning behind Olenna's words. He had done the deed with Margaery and there was no going back now without making an enemy out of them. That was the last thing he needed.

"Do you know what I worry about the most, Lady Olenna? Harboring another Cersei in my bedchamber."

"An issue? Hardly. My sweet granddaughter is clever, not reckless. She knows her place, and her duties, and will give you children willingly—and with love, no less. House Tyrell stands with you, Your Grace, against that decrepit old lion. As for Dorne? Useless, as always, clinging to the scraps of a pretender who can barely keep herself breathing." Olenna fixed Robert with a sharp gaze. "I have no regrets, Your Grace. By actions you have made it clear you're a changed man. Your might has surpassed your prime and might I say, you look much healthier."

Creak!

Robert stood up, on the verge of making a decision. He walked towards a large window and looked outside at the view of the sea before him. In silence, he thought about a great many things. About his two lives, about Catelyn, his future, and his duties.

"My lady, it's a marriage of politics, there is no denying. I know not if I'll come to love her. Margaery is a fine flower, and I… Well, I am no more than a withered old tree. But I swear this—I will do right by her. She'll have the love a wife deserves, the care and respect she seeks. She will bear no tears, but only laughter in this keep. That is all I can give, for that is my duty and I will honor it."

This is my duty to the realm.

With that, he gave his verbal agreement to the marriage.

"Hah, for a moment, you sounded like Eddard Stark. But it gives me much assurance, Your grace." Olenna stood up weakly, using her cane. "Very well, let us have you both exchange your vows in two months."

"Let's do that." Robert agreed and watched the woman leave.

I hope I made the right decision.

Once Olenna was gone, Robert finished up his work and stepped out of his solar. He looked at Ser Barristan, following him. "Where's Jon? I'll share a cup of wine with that lad today."

"He's with Tommen, Your Grace. They're sparring."

"Sparring, eh? Well, let's see what they've got." Robert's mood lifted as he quickened his pace. "And make ready, Barristan. We're off to Braavos in two days."

A little surprised by the abruptness, Ser Barristan silently noted the order.

####

"No, no, no! What are we to do now, Myrcella? He's marrying Margaery!" Sansa's voice trembled with panic as the word of the King's decision spread.

Myrcella stared at her, momentarily lost for words. Then, with a firm grasp on Sansa's slender shoulders, she shook her roughly. "We don't have much time, Sansa. Only two months left. Remember the training. We must act swiftly."

"But what can we do? He's already made the promise, hasn't he? And it's House Tyrell—surely that's what he needs right now," Sansa asked, having started to understand politics to a degree. "I think we should…"

"Quit? No, never! We've worked too hard for this, Sansa. Don't forget the long nights and all the reprimands. Don't you want to be queen, to stay here forever? With me? We can do this, I'm sure of it." Myrcella's words were meant to be reassuring, though her own heart trembled beneath them. "I'll think of something, I will."

"What?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll find a way. You just be ready, Sansa."

####

With the marriage with Margaery in order, Robert had to fulfill his duties, even if he had no desire to. The very next day, once the hangover faded, he woke up, dressed up, and arrived at the Sept of Baelor to discuss the marriage ceremony.

"I'll have no wasteful spending—no gaudy decorations, no damned pomp and pageantry," Robert barked at the High Septon. "Keep the ceremony short and simple. That's what the realm needs, not your endless chants. Stannis will see to the celebrations afterward. Invitations go only to the names I give you. No more, no less."

This was the third High Septon of his reign. He had beheaded the last one himself on the charges of immorality and misusing his authority. Clearly, this new High Septon was on the edge, not wanting to offend the King.

"I shall be mindful of that, Your Grace."

"As you should." Robert assertively looked around at the main chamber. In one corner, he noticed Septa Unella standing alone, staring at him as if trying to grab his attention.

What does she want now?

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