Robert made his way into the Iron Bank of Braavos. But he was no longer treated like a King there. He had to leave behind his Kingsguard and enter the marble-adorned, high-ceilinged building, airy and echoey as he took each step.
He only had a lone Ser Barristan with him, without his sword. The man leading them looked to be a Keyholder of the Bank, a descendant of the twenty-three founders of the Iron Bank. Nothing grand, there were thousands of such descendants.
"This way."
Robert walked into a massive hall, rectangular in shape. It looked and felt empty, with a massive marble table at the end, behind it three large chairs. As he expected, for him as a visitor, there was a minor stone bench, not even a chair. There were gigantic doors on the right and on the left tall windows letting in the sunlight. The floor was covered with dark marble, contrasting with all the rest that was gray.
The guide left Robert and Barristan alone in that tall chamber.
"They leave no chance to diminish you," Ser Barristan commented, distaste in his tone. "You're the King—"
"Just a client to them," Robert cut in. "They don't see a king, only a fat purse. They bow to nothing but their ledgers and the coin they squeeze from men like us. Don't brood on it, Ser Barristan."
Clack!
A massive door behind the highchairs opened and three men walked in, their garbs refined and lavish, their footsteps loud.
"You are wise, King Robert Baratheon." The man in the middle spoke in a fluent common tongue. "I have the honor to be Tycho Nestoris, a humble servant of the Iron Bank of Braavos."
As the three men took their seats, Robert also sat down on one of the stone benches. He appeared like the odd one out in that hall. Unarmed yet imposing, sitting and still appearing so tall. His beard was trimmed but still lush and full, his face toned as his muscles.
"What can we do for you, King Baratheon?"
"I'm here to speak on the Lannisters and the realm's purse," Robert grunted, words rarely heard from a king better known for drinking and whoring. "Aye, I crave a bit of gold—but only with assurances and fair deals."
Tycho Nestoris leaned forward on the table, arms folded. "My ears are open."
"The darn Lannisters have bled their mines dry. Centuries of digging, and not a damn speck left. Tywin's borrowed from you before, that much I know. But now? He can't pay you back and wage his war on me. Not both."
"So, you ask the Iron Bank to fund your war against the Lannisters, with the promise that, once victorious, you shall settle both their debt and your own to us?" Tycho Nestoris finished before Robert could continue speaking. "Certainly, the idea of Lannisters running out of gold sounds ridiculous but… the evidence suggests otherwise. To my understanding, all but three kingdoms stand behind you."
Robert nodded. The Iron Bank had informers everywhere. He reckoned the bastards even knew the color of his shit from a month ago, so he spoke truthfully. "Westerlands and the Ironborn will bend soon enough. And Dorne… bah, Dorne is Dorne—neither friend nor foe, just a damned thorn in my side."
"And what do you seek from the gold we may loan you?"
"Men, of course! Sellswords—more the better, and that's that. With the Reach at my back, the Golden Lion won't stand for long." Robert indirectly requested the money by revealing his plan. The Iron Bank knew how much it costs to hire sellswords.
The three representatives of the Iron Bank became silent and began murmuring to each other. Their little discussion went a little too long, and Robert slowly started to lose his patience. His foot tapped on the marble floor like a beating heart.
"King Robert Baratheon." Tycho Nestoris turned his gaze upon the King at last, his smile firm. "Your offer is most intriguing, yet regrettably untimely. You misapprehend the nature of your enemies… or perhaps your Master of Whispers is not quite yours after all."
Robert looked at Ser Barristan, and then back at Tycho Nestoris. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. "Are you refusing me?"
"No." Tycho Nestoris suddenly stood up with a dismissive smile. "I bid you farewell, King Robert. You may have reshaped your realm and forged a new path for yourself, but you failed to see the storm brewing in the East. You may yet triumph over men, but with dragons returning, your time is running out. The Iron Bank does not waste its coin on losing ventures."
"Such disrespect!" Ser Barristan boomed in anger. "You speak with the King of the Se—"
"Four," Tycho Nestoris corrected smoothly. "Four kingdoms, for now. But soon, perhaps none at all. The terms are set—just not in your favor."
Creak!
All of a sudden, countless footsteps became audible. The massive doors on the right all opened and men poured in, all adorned in golden armor, swords, shields, and capes. The men displayed luxury and splendor, even their sword hilts were jaded with gems and gold.
"What is the meaning of this!" Robert bellowed, up on his feet. He had no weapon, however.
Almost two hundred men poured into the hall before a passage was parted in the crowd. A young man with blue hair and purple eyes walked forward, arms folded. Behind him was another man, a face that Robert almost recognized. But even behind him was a Dornishman that he truly knew.
"Oberyn!" Robert sneered at the smug Dornishman. "Jon? Jon Connington?"
"Not so wise to cross the sea, Your Grace." Oberyn's lips curled into a sly smile, his hands resting casually behind his back. "But, I suppose I should thank you. You've made it so much easier for the true heir—King Aegon VI Targaryen."
"This boy?" Robert's gaze was sharp, his eyes seething as they locked onto the young, blue-haired figure. "Aye, he has the eyes, but that's not enough. Any fool with purple eyes can claim to be the rightful heir. But you—Jon—did you forget how you barely survived my hand at Stoney Sept? You sucked Aerys' cock, got yourself exiled, and now you side with the same madness? By the Gods, I should've killed you back then."
Aegon chortled and tried to speak. "Heh, he's as amusing as the rumors said. You're an usurper, Robert Baratheon. You stole the throne from my blo—"
"Your mad blood? Your grandfather went mad, your father turned to abduction and raping—your blood's as foul as a sewer rat, if you're even a Targaryen!" Robert roared, uncowed by the armed men surrounding him. "So what's your plan, eh? Kill me here? Sail across the sea? Stannis is my true heir. The Tyrells will hand their girl to him if not to me. Do you think you can face the full strength of four kingdoms?"
"With just the Golden Company? No," the young man—Aegon Targaryen, or so he claimed—said. "But you're overlooking something. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The Lannisters and the Ironborn will stand with me, and they'll do so gladly."
"Hah!" Robert roared, his voice thick with fury. "Lannister? Aye, madness runs through your veins. You stand with Tywin, the very man who sent that beast, the Mountain, to butcher and rape your mother, your sister, and you? Oberyn, is this your defiance of Dorne? Licking the boots of a Lannister? Pathetic!"
"Enough!" Aegon shouted and waved at his men. "You're coming with me, Robert. You will pay for your crimes against my family."
Ser Barristan stepped in front of Robert right then. "Over my dead body."
"Stand aside, Ser Barristan," Aegon continued. "You've earned your honor, and I would not be the one to end your legacy. You deserve to see a Targaryen on the throne. Let the usurper face his reckoning."
Already, Robert surveyed the men he was up against. There were almost two hundred in that hall. He had no blade with him. And as far as he knew, the Golden Company had ten thousand men under its command.
There was truly no way to escape.
Not that he wanted to.
"Stand aside, Ser Barristan!" Robert growled, shoving the old knight aside with a harsh grip. "Get back to the ship. Take Sansa and Myrcella back to King's Landing. Tell Stannis what happened, and for the love of the Gods, don't let him take the throne. I'll be back… with Aegon, Oberyn, and Jon's heads in tow."
Robert was the biggest man in the room. He also knew that he was the strongest, inhumanly so. But he had no weapon and the place was too cramped. He needed space to move around and attack. He didn't want Ser Barristan to die either.
"I'll go with you, pretender!" Robert growled, taking a step forward. "No fight, if you have the sense to let Ser Barristan return to the ship."
"He's free to go. I have no animosity towards him." Aegon shrugged.
Ser Barristan, as expected, was unwilling to part ways. But Robert threatened to relieve him of his duty if he didn't go away.
"But Your—"
"Seven Hells, Barristan. You don't think you can save me just with your fist, do you? Even if you had a sword you couldn't," Robert retorted and stepped closer to Aegon. "Go back and do as I said. I'll return eventually and…"
Robert's gaze landed on the three representatives of the Iron Bank.
"When I return, the Iron Bank better be prepared to repay for this treachery. To conspire against me like this… I'll throw away my crown if I don't turn your proud bank into rubble."
Nobody knew where Robert's confidence was coming from or why he was being so compliant.
"Chain him!" Jon Connington shouted.
Quickly, five men came forward with heavy chains and shackles. Both his hands were quickly cuffed, and then chains were wrapped around his arms and back so he couldn't move his arms entirely.
Before being taken away, Robert looked back at Ser Barristan and gave a confident nod. "I'll be back, Barristan. Stronger than ever."
The men of the Golden Company laughed while Oberyn and Aegon chuckled, dismissing his words as simple ramblings.
If only they knew.
It wasn't the King who was stuck with them.
It was them, now stuck with the King, the Demon of Westeros.
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