Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

"My memory... hehe. King Robert Baratheon... murdered by a pig. Give me something for the pain, and let me die."

What eloquent last words for a king. But Robert had never been an eloquent man. Not as a rowdy young man. Not as the leader of the Rebellion that put an end to the Targaryen Dynasty. Not as the first non-Targaryen ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He wasn't about to turn into a damn poet on his deathbed.

But I'll leave my legacy behind…oh, Seven fucking Hells, who am I kidding?

What grand legacy had he left? Half a kingdom in debt to Tywin Lannister? Another half in debt to the Iron Bank? A queen who might spit on his corpse? A demon son who spent his youth butchering cats? Tommen and Myrcella were sweet natured, it's true, but they were not his heirs. And now he, a once proud, powerful warrior, was dying a fat, drunken whoremonger who'd been killed while making an ass of himself, trying to hunt.

If anything, I left the realm worse than I found it. Even if I did rid the world of the Targaryens.

For all the good it did. It hadn't stopped the nightmares.

In his dreams, he killed Rhaegar every damn night, but it was never enough. He could drive his war hammer into Rhaegar's heart a thousand times and it would not soothe the aching, the longing, in his own. It would not bring his beloved Lyanna back to life. It would not chase the eternal grief from Ned's eyes. Eyes that were once alight with youthful exuberance as they grew up together in the Vale.

I avenged her. I avenged her father and her brother. And yet ultimately I fought for nothing. It didn't bring her back. It hasn't even brought me comfort now, on my death bed. Grief that milk of the poppy could not swallow wrapped its tendrils around Robert's heart, squeezing painfully, as it often did.

He would gladly trade the seventeen years he spent as King if only he could turn back the hands of time. He would protect Lyanna before Rhaegar could abscond with her. Or he would have rescued her in time. He would have warned Brandon and Rickard Stark to stay away from King's Landing…

If I had half so much gold as I do wishes and regrets. I'd leave Joffrey an overflowing treasury.

At least he would not regret for much longer, not now as his vision grew hazy and black. Soon, it would all leave him. The grief and the sorrow would not follow him into death. But as the last whispers of consciousness faded from his dying mind, a single thought lingered on:

I'd trade everything to go back…

Chapter One

Robert

"My Lord!" the voice snapped Robert out of the blackness.

"CAN'T A MAN DIE IN PEACE!" he bellowed…then paused, blinking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They echoed through the room, bounding off the damp walls, which had never happened in his royal bedchamber.

Where…He blinked again, looking around the room. Not his bedchamber. Somehow he was back in Storm's End. Back in the Throne Room at Storm's End, sitting in the throne. Free of pain, free of the haze of wine or milk of the poppy. He felt healthier than he had in years.

Am I dead? Is this my afterlife? He pinched his arm (an arm that was much slenderer and more muscular than he'd been in years) and grunted at the pain. Not dead…or wait…maybe that just tells me I'm not sleeping?

"Seven Hells…" he grumbled, until a cough caught his attention.

"My Lord, I'm sorry to disturb you…" a robed maester said hesitantly.

I'm not your lord, I'm your king! Robert scowled. He had no idea how he got to Storm's End; the maesters must have saved him while he was high on milk of the poppy. But it didn't matter. He was alive! He needed to get back to the Red Keep.

I have another chance! I have another chance to be a better king. To be the father that Joffrey needs, to groom him into a good future ruler before it's too late. To maybe take Renly's advice and set aside Cersei to marry Margaery Tyrell…

"Where is Renly?" Robert asked the maester. "If I'm here, surely he's here too."

The maester frowned. "Renly, my lord?"

Robert growled impatiently. "Yes, yes, Renly. Where is he? I need to speak with him."

"My Lord…I'm deeply sorry. I'm unfamiliar with anyone by that name."

Robert bared his teeth. Renly is the lord of this castle, you stupid twat…But before Robert could say that, a realization dawned on him.

The maester standing in front of him was not Maester Jurne, the one the Citadel assigned to attend to Renly. Nor was he an apprentice; he was getting old and he wore a lengthy chain. But as far as Robert knew, Jurne was healthy. Even if he wasn't, surely the Citadel couldn't have sent a replacement for him this quickly.

"Has Maester Jurne taken ill?" Robert asked confusedly, his speech slow.

The maester looked even more confused than Robert felt. "Maester Jurne?" he repeated. "I am not familiar with a Maester Jurne, my lord."

Seven Hells…Was this man a maester at all? Unfamiliar with Renly Baratheon and Maester Jurne, despite being in Storm's End?

"Lord Borros, are you feeling well?" the maester asked him worriedly. "You did just have a dizzy spell…"

"Borros?" he repeated.

Borros? Robert's jaw dropped, and he stared at the Maester with wide eyes. The only Borros born into House Baratheon was my ancestor. No one else in our family was ever named Borros after his death almost 170 years ago. During the Dance of Dragons.

"Lord Borros, might I get you a cup of water?" the maester asked timidly. "There is a bit of a sickness going around the village, perhaps my lord is tired? I can examine you later, but our lookouts have just spotted Prince Aemond Targaryen, and…"

Targaryen, he snarled, making the maester flinch back away from him. Even though his confusion, the very name made his blood boil. But the Targaryens were dead, save for that banished Viserys had his whore sister. Neither one of them should be on the way to Storm's End. The only Targaryen Robert had willingly allowed to live after his rebellion was the shriveled maester from the Wall.

"What is Maester Aemon doing this far south!"

The maester stepped in close, examining his face and eyes for signs of fever. "I don't believe Prince Aemond has chosen to join the maesters, my lord…" he said slowly, clearly questioning his sanity. "I can't imagine he'd be willing to leave Vhagar behind."

Aemond, not Aemon. But that was not the name that had Robert's breath hitching in his throat. Vhagar. The monstrous she-dragon from Aegon's Conquest. She had died during the Dance of Dragons, along with…

"Aemond." Robert blinked, swallowing as bits of history began to return to him. "Aemond…One-Eye?" He was Prince Regent until he died in the Battle over the God's Eye…

The maester, clearly relieved that Robert was cognizant again, nodded, but he did give him a chastising glance. "I do not believe he likes being called that, Lord Borros."

You think I'm Borros Baratheon…you tell me Aemond One-Eye and Vhagar are on their way here…

Robert's gaze flickered across Storm's End's throne room, and he realized that the maester was not the only one he didn't recognize. These would be lords and ladies from the Stormlands, some of them his personal bannermen, and yet he didn't remember a single one of them. 

Swallowing, Robert asked him fearfully, "What year is this?"

"129 AC, my lord."

No…that's…that's impossible…It was impossible that Robert was alive at all. The wounds inflicted by the boar were fatal; he knew that without question. But to be in Storm's End, 170 years ago…

He must have died. He must be dead and this was his afterlife. One of the Seven Hells. Forced to live under the reign of the Targaryens. Punishment for not saving Lyanna…or for the hundred ways he mistreated Cersei over the years…or perhaps for not executing Tywin after what he had done to Rhaegar's innocent children…

A Hell where I am lord of my beloved childhood home? No, that couldn't be. If this were one of the Seven Hells, surely he'd be bound helpless to some wall while Rhaegar laughed and tortured him with dragonfire…

Sadly, Robert did not have time to muse.

"I'm afraid you'll need to meet with him, my lord, even if you aren't feeling well. If King Viserys sent his son here on dragonback, then it must be a matter of some urgency."

I know why he's coming, Robert realized immediately, his overwhelmed mind latching onto the memory. He knew this particular history well. He was never a scholar, but he loved all the histories of the great wars of the Seven Kingdoms. And there had been no war half so memorable as the Dance of Dragons. He'd read the books more than once in his youth. His sweet niece, Shireen, was enamored with the tales, regaling him with facts whenever she would accompany Stannis on his visits from Dragonstone.

In 129 AC, Aemond had flown to Storm's End to secure Borros Baratheon's loyalty to his brother, the freshly-crowned King Aegon II. And Lord Borros had agreed, in exchange for a marriage pact with one of his daughters. But it hadn't mattered. King Aegon II managed to kill Rhaenyra, but his sons predeceased him and he died young with no heirs. House Targaryen continued through Rhaenyra's line.

Straight down to the Mad King. To Rhaegar.

During the Rebellion, Robert occasionally wondered what might have happened if Aegon II prevailed. He was only half-Targaryen; his mother was a Hightower. The Hightowers went on to be a wealthy and prosperous family after the war, a well-respected bloodline. Margaery Tyrell herself was part Hightower. Surely the Targaryen madness that polluted Rhaenyra's bloodline would have been less prevalent with Aegon's.

Robert stiffened, sitting up a bit straighter in his throne. Aegon II ultimately lost the war…Robert realized. But that was because of mistakes he made. Mistakes that he could not have foreseen. But far better than foresight…is hindsight.

If there was a chance Robert hadn't gone mad…if there was some slim chance that this was real and he had not been condemned to the Seven Hells…What if Robert could warn Aegon somehow? Stop him from making those mistakes? Give him a powerful advantage that Rhaenyra would not have?

Were the gods giving him a second chance? Not a chance to fix his own mistakes, but a chance to prevent the mistakes from ever happening in the first place?

If the royal line continues through Aegon II…then Rhaegar is never born. Brandon and Rickard never die. Ned does not have to live the rest of his life grieving most of his loved ones. Lyanna…Lyanna is never abducted. She never dies. Tens of thousands of people had died in the Dance of Dragons. Could Robert mitigate some of that damage?

If he could, it would come at a terrible price.

I would never be born, he realized. Robert himself was a distant descendant of Rhaenyra and Daemon. But other bloodlines of major Houses might not be affected all that much, if at all.

If Cregan Stark still ultimately marries his wife Lynara, if other Northern Houses and the right members of House Blackwood still survive, the Stark bloodline might be unaffected.

Perhaps Lyanna, the fierce beauty that she was, would go on to live a long and happy life. Surely she would still marry well. Have children. Her line continuing…

The thought of his beloved Lyanna marrying another man while he himself would never exist was near unbearable, but if it meant she would get to live? If it meant she could have children one day, a part of her living on after her death?

It's worth it, he knew without question. She's worth it. Even now, I love her so deeply I can scarcely bear it. I was willing to die for her back then. What was my life, my legacy, worth without her anyway?

And so Robert rose from the throne, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

"When Prince Aemond arrives…"

No sooner had he spoken than one of Storm's End's guards walked into the throne room.

"Prince Aemond of House Targaryen!" he proclaimed.

As soon as he was announced, Aemond walked in, silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. True to his moniker, he only had one eye, an eyepatch covering his missing eye and massive scar. The sight of him, admittedly, rankled Robert. Aemond looked every bit the Targaryen prince he was, and the sight of a Targaryen triggered Robert's rage.

Swallow it, he commanded himself. This is for Ned. For Lyanna.

"Prince Aemond," Robert greeted warmly, forcing himself to remember his courtly decorum lessons. He'd been a crass king and hadn't used them in many years. "You honor my family with your presence."

Aemond returned his greeting with a polite nod, his expression grim. "Lord Borros, I wish I came bearing happier news." He handed a piece of rolled parchment to one of the guards so he could bring it to Borros. "My father, King Viserys, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, passed away peacefully in his sleep."

Robert forced himself to look grim. Not a hard task, not when he knew what was to come. He accepted the letter from the guard and unfurled it, reading the first line.

"And your brother, King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, has taken his rightful place on the Iron Throne?"

The throne room went silent, incredulous gazes fixed on him, and Robert cursed himself, realizing his blunder immediately. Lord Borros couldn't read.

Oh well, no way to unring a warning bell.

Fortunately, Aemond didn't question it. He needed Robert's (or rather, Borros's) assistance, and so he would try his best to charm him.

"Yes, my lord," he confirmed. "And as you will see, I have come with an offer…"

"To marry one of my daughters in exchange for my assistance, should it be required," Robert confirmed, skimming the letter.

Right, he had four daughters. The Four Storms. Robert looked to his right and saw four young teenaged girls watching him respectfully. Fuck…what were their names? One was…Calina? Cassandra? Fuck it, he could find out later.

Robert folded the letter and handed it to the maester so he could read it as well. This won't change history at all. Aemond never married any of them anyway.

"My prince, I would be honored to allow you to choose whichever one of my daughters strikes your fancy, but it is unnecessary."

Aemond frowned, a deep furrow collecting between his brows, and Robert realized his mistake. He thinks I'm refusing him.

"Aegon Targaryen is the firstborn son of King Viserys, and therefore he is the rightful King of Westeros," Robert declared. "My fealty need not be bought. I will set sail for King's Landing on the morrow so that I might swear obeisance to him in person."

Aemond's frown eased, and he blinked at Robert confusedly. "You will become his willing vassal?" Aemond confirmed. "Without a marriage pact?"

"The only thing I want in exchange is the honor of serving as an advisor on your brother's council," Robert said.

His advisor and his savior, Robert thought with a smile. The only thing I was ever good at was being a warrior. Being a commander.

"While I would be honored to have you as a son-in-law, my prince, it would be best if your brother arranges a more strategic match for you. Perhaps one with a House that is less eager to support His Grace's claim over your half-sister's," Robert finished.

Aemond's eye flashed in determination, and he gave Robert a fierce nod before smiling warmly. "It pleases me to know that my brother has such leal lords at his service. Yes, Lord Borros. If you come to King's Landing on the morrow, I promise you a seat on my brother's council as an advisor."

And in exchange, I will give your brother and his progeny the Seven Kingdoms.

More memories of the war flittered through his brain. Right now, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was either in or headed towards the Vale to secure Lady Jeyne Arryn's support. There was nothing Robert could do about that; Rhaenyra had Arryn blood. But after Jace left the Vale, he would head North to secure House Manderly, the Sistermen, and most importantly, Cregan Stark.

Cregan's father Rickon Stark had sworn an oath to Rhaenyra, but that oath was not generational. Cregan only sided with Rhaenyra because he built a friendship with Jace and swore a new oath to him.

If we can stop that from happening…But he would have to move fast. There was little time.

"My prince," Robert said. "The most important thing to do to ensure your brother's ascension is peaceful is to get similar pledges from all the other great Lords before your half-sister has a chance to get to them. It is a long flight, but might I recommend your next flight be to White Harbor? Or better still, Winterfell? The North has a large army, and winter is coming. Should it come to war, you'll want the northerners on your side. They know how to fight in the cold and snow far better than any southern army."

"Winterfell…" Aemond repeated. "A wonderful idea, my Lord. I was going to return to King's Landing to give the King your response, but if you are going yourself, he will have his answer."

Excellent, Robert smiled and nodded. If I can keep Cregan Stark out of the war, or better yet, get him to side with the Greens, then Rhaenyra doesn't have a chance. The Butcher's Ball will never happen, Cregan's army will not assist the Tully's and the Arryn's in fighting Aegon's men, and Aegon himself will not be poisoned. A vitally important piece of the puzzle.

But before Robert could begin patting himself on the back…

"Another dragon rider, my lord!" a knight called out from the door. "I believe it is the dragon Arrax!"

Fuck…