The Unyielding Stag (Game of Thrones AU/Invincible)
Chapter 1: Prologue

A/N: Hey everyone, welcome to my newest long form Free Write! Planning to update it every single day for the foreseeable future! Excited for this one~

-x-X-x-

Robert Baratheon's nostrils flare as he breathes in the scent of smoke, blood, and sweat in the air… before grinning viciously. Victory had never smelled so sweet. That bastard Rhaegar was dead and the tide of battle had turned in their favor the moment that Robert had delivered the killing blow with his Warhammer, smashing the rubies right off of the pompous prick's armor in the process.

Everywhere he goes, he receives the cheers and praise of the men. Everywhere he goes, he sees the awe and respect in their eyes. Today was the day the Targaryen Dynasty fell.

It didn't matter that the snakes still held King's Landing nor that the Mad King still lived. This battle had turned into a rout, leaving the loyalist forces all but decimated. The path into the Crownlands was wide open and Robert intended for them to take full advantage of that fact.

His own injuries had already been wrapped, and a short post-battle meeting between him and the other rebel lords had already taken place. With Rhaegar Targaryen and Lewyn Martell both dead in battle, the most important decision to be made at that meeting had been the fate of Ser Barristan Selmy. One of Ned's bannermen, Roose Bolton, had advocated for Selmy's execution, but Robert had ultimately decided against it.

Ser Barristan Selmy was a courageous and honorable knight. He was a man of oaths and loyalty in a world filled with vipers and cowards. Robert couldn't bring himself to allow such a man to be killed in such a way. Instead, he'd pardoned Selmy and even sent his personal Maester to make sure that the man survived.

Now? Now Robert found himself walking almost aimlessly, not quite sure what he's looking for. Perhaps he simply wishes to revel in his victory some more. Or perhaps he's looking for exactly what he finds. Truthfully, part of him knows that he shouldn't be seeking out base pleasures, not now that Rhaegar is dead and the path to his Lyanna is finally cleared.

… But Robert is only a man at the end of the day, a man with an able body and needs of the flesh. This was this and his love for Lyanna was something else entirely.

As such, when he catches sight of the woman standing there amidst the carnage, Robert can't help but be immediately taken with her. She wears strange white cloth and doesn't have a single scratch on her, despite her hands being covered in blood and curled into fists at her sides.

A battlefield healer. Must be. Women like her were rare, but Maesters who were willing to leave their stuffy castles to treat anyone beyond their liege lords after a battle were even rarer. As such, it fell to her type to try and save who they could, more often than not.

But even as Robert marks her as a healer in his mind… her eyes meet his and a shiver runs down his spine. The intensity in her gaze makes him feel the need to arm himself for some reason. Like he should take up his Warhammer and wield it against her, despite her sex.

Moving through the battlefield like she belongs on it, the woman approaches him, her eyes roaming up and down his form before arriving back at his face.

"You are the one they call Robert Baratheon."

Not really a question, more of a statement. Robert chuckles, finding himself liking her instantly.

"That's right. Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm's End. Leader of this motley bunch. And you are?"

The woman in white with her bloody fists tilts her head to the side, gazing up at him knowingly.

"… Does it matter?"

A toothy grin spreads across Robert's face as he slowly shakes his head.

"No… no it does not."

-x-X-x-

She leaves him gasping and sore. So much so that when he wakes up the next morning alone in his tent, he can barely move a muscle. Robert can only stare up at the tent's ceiling with wide, wild eyes, remembering the details of the previous night quite… vividly.

He was a large man, and though he was not ever in the business of hurting women, he was also not in the business of being treated like one either. But this woman… she had strength to her that belied her form. And what a form it was. Once she stripped off those white coverings, he had quickly begun to wonder if she was some sort of healer-warrior, just based off of the scarred, corded muscle that had combined with the soft feminine parts of her for a truly strange yet oddly appreciable view.

Of course, he hadn't had much chance to ask questions of her. Not when she was so… insistent. So… needy. Robert had been with lustful women before, but this was different. He'd been with women who knew how to ride a man instead of being ridden before as well… but again, this was different.

In truth, he felt like she'd done more damage to him last night than Rhaegar or any of the Loyalists had in the battle just hours previous. Robert felt strange about the entire encounter… but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed the experience all the same. And multiple times at that…

Only, things take a turn for the strange when he finally gets himself out of bed. Requiring a small dose of Milk of the Poppy to function through the pain and soreness, Robert begins to hunt for the woman he'd bedded the night before. Except… nobody can direct him to where the woman might be. Nobody can even tell him who she was either. It's like she was a ghost. In the end, after hours of fruitless searching, all he has is his memories and the marks she's left on her body to remember her by.

It was the strangest, most engaging experience of Robert Baratheon's life, leaving him with so many unanswered questions and a strange yearning for more. But he could not allow himself to be distracted from what needed to be done. In the end, all he could do was rally his forces and continue to push forward. So that this pointless war could end and the Mad King could be brought to justice.

So that he could finally have his Lyanna, once and for all.

-x-X-x-

Robert Baratheon sits alone in a study with naught but despair in his heart and ashen regret in his mouth that no amount of wine seems capable of washing away. They'd won, just as he knew they would. Aerys was dead, slain by his own Kingsguard. Robert has been made King with Jon agreeing to serve as his Hand. And yet… and yet… none of it means much of anything, does it?

After all, Lyanna is dead, located too late in Dorne before the worst could happen. Ned has returned to the North with her body, leaving on bad terms because he was angry over Robert's reaction to the brutal deaths of Rhaegar's wife and dragonspawn.

And Robert… Robert finds himself surrounded by snakes dressed in the skins of lions. House Lannister had done nothing during 'Robert's Rebellion' as they're already taking to call it. It had not sided with the rebels, nor had it come to the aid of the Mad King.

Until, at the very last moment, Tywin Lannister had brought his army to King's Landing, arriving ahead of Robert's forces. It could have been bad for his side if the Lannister Lord didn't intend treachery all along. The moment that King's Landing had opened her gates for the Warden of the West, the city had been ransacked and ravaged.

Meanwhile, Tywin's son, Jaime Lannister, had run Aerys through with his sword, the Kingsguard betraying his oaths and killing his liege lord right there in the throne room at the same time that trusted Lannister Men had apparently hunted down and slaughtered Elia Martell and her two young children.

Robert didn't care that the Mad King was dead. He didn't care that the dragonspawn were dead either. The killing of Elia Martell was poorly done, but truth be told he couldn't even bring himself to care about that so much either.

What he did care about was the duplicity of the Lions… and the unfortunate truth that he now had to rely on them anyways. He and Jon had had long talks about the issue after Ned brought news of Lyanna's demise and left for the North but none of those conversations had been remotely satisfying.

Robert had put it off for as long as he could, really he had. He'd stalled for as many moons as he could manage… but in the end, it mattered little. The Old Lion had still gotten his way, for today… today was Robert's wedding day.

Today, he was expected to marry Cersei Lannister and name her his Queen. A joining that was supposed to secure his throne and dynasty for generations to come. He should have been excited. Cersei was certainly not ugly. He should have been thrilled. Lannisters were well known for shitting gold and always paying their debts.

… But none of it mattered without Lyanna. What was the point of being King without her as his Queen? Why did it feel like even though he'd won, he'd actually lost? What-

C-CRACK!

Robert startles, eyes widening as something strikes the window behind him. That shouldn't have been possible, this private study on the upper floors of the Red Keep was hundreds of feet above the ground. Whipping around, he freezes in place and just stares in disbelief for several long moments until finally, the person on the other side of the glass speaks.

"Either open the window or direct me to the closest balcony. Quickly now if you don't want me to just come through the glass."

It was her. The woman from the Trident… and a handful of other places besides. That first night with her had not in fact been the last. Even as nobody had been able to track her down or tell him who she was, even as Robert and his army had continued to make their way South towards King's Landing… she'd kept showing up like a bad copper star. Though a woman like her was more of a golden dragon, admittedly.

Night after night, she'd come to his bed. Night after night, Robert had felt like he was fighting for his life, even as he experienced pleasures beyond his reckoning.

Then, several moons ago… she'd stopped showing up. Vanished altogether, never to be seen again. Shortly after, he'd arrived in King's Landing and found himself too busy to pay any thought to her and the mystery surrounding her.

But now… this goes beyond mystery, because the woman is floating there outside of the window. She's hovering in the air like it's nothing… and more than that, she has a bundle nestled in one arm, pressed to her exposed chest. Robert's eyes widen as he belatedly recognizes the bundle for what it is… an infant. A child.

In the end, he has to direct her to the nearest balcony. The window in the study is too large and does not open. Though there is now a crack in its surface from the rock that she had thrown at it all too casually.

As she lands on the balcony, the young King of the Seven Kingdoms doesn't know whether to stare at her or the baby she's holding in the crook of her arm.

"Is he-?"

"You are the King now, are you not? I watched as they crowned you. You rule these lands… these 'Seven Kingdoms', yes?"

Robert's mouth opens and closes for a brief moment before he finally, hesitantly nods.

"… Yes. I do. I am… set to be married later today."

He fears for a moment that she will take that poorly, but the woman just scoffs.

"That does not matter to me. This one is for you."

Just like that, she hands over the baby. Robert opens his mouth to confirm his parentage, only for the question to catch in his throat the moment he sees the boy's tousled black locks and blue eyes. He is Robert's… beyond a shadow of a doubt, he is of Robert's blood. A baseborn bastard, but then Robert should have expected no less given just how much the woman had extracted from him.

"I don't understand. Who are you? You've never even given me a name?"

Scoffing again, the impossible woman crosses her arms over her chest.

"You do not need my name. You should not be asking who I am, but rather WHAT I am. And what I am… is a Viltrumite. I am not of your world. I come from the 'heavens' as you primitives might say."

A Viltrumite. The heavens? She's… an agent of the divine?

"You were sent by the Seven to ensure my victory then? Or to judge whether I was worthy of Kinghood?"

But the woman, the 'Viltrumite', just scoffs again.

"No. I am not of your gods. I come from beyond the stars. It is of little importance to one such as you. What matters is the boy. He is part Viltrumite."

Robert purses his lips together, looking down at his son as the weight of all of this comes down on his shoulders. In the end, he finds himself blurting out the truth, blunt honesty spilling from his lips.

"I… will not be able to claim him as my own. He is a bastard. He will not bear my family name, nor will I be able to raise him here. Perhaps you should take him back because I cannot be the father he needs."

The woman stares at him for a long moment.

"… Bastard? Family name? Father? Do you think I care about any of that? These words are meaningless. The boy is of Viltrumite blood. He will be a warrior, a soldier, a fighter. I care not where you put him. He cannot come with me. His place is here on this world, where maybe in a few decades he will be able to make something of this misbegotten and backwards planet."

She flicks her hand out almost contemptuously, a sneer on her lips.

"Send him away for all I care. Place him in the harshest environment imaginable and he will either succumb or surpass expectations. Do as you will with him so long as you neither try to kill him nor order him killed. Understood?"

Taken aback by the complete lack of maternal instincts, Robert slowly nods, his mouth opening to ask the first of a million questions. Unfortunately, he never gets a chance. The moment he signals even the barest form of assent, the woman overrides him with one last message.

"Good. I'll be back eventually to check on the boy's progress. Perhaps a hundred years. By that point he'll either have made some sort of headway or be dead, in which case I'll simply start over. Goodbye pitiful ruler of a pitiful continent on a pitiful planet."

She's gone a moment later and Robert barely registers that she's left by going straight up before she's completely out of sight. His eyes squint upwards, trying to follow her but she quickly becomes a distant dot before vanishing from view altogether.

He's still staring up at the sky when Jon's voice reaches him a moment later.

"Robert? Robert, what are you doing out there? The wedding starts soon."

… How does one even begin explaining what he just experienced? Robert's mouth opens and closes, but in the end he shows Jon instead of telling. The Hand of the King's eyes shoot wide open when he sees the infant in Robert's arms.

"Is that… is that a child? Robert, where did he come from?"

It's a good question. One that Robert has no intentions of answering lest his father figure start to believe he's gone just as mad as his predecessor. Instead, Robert swallows hard and forces a cool expression onto his face.

"He's mine Jon. My firstborn son… a bastard, of course."

Jon's face goes through a variety of expressions that might very well have been amusing if these were different circumstances. In the end though, Robert recognizes the look in the older man's eyes quite well. Before the lecture can begin, he cuts it off at the knees.

"He can't stay here, of course. The new wife wouldn't like it, I'm sure. Make arrangements to have him sent to the Vale, please. Let him be raised there in whatever manner you see fit, Jon. As for a name… call him Axel. Axel Stone, since he'll be of the Vale."

Technically it should have been Axel Waters for the Crownlands, but it wasn't like Robert really knew where the woman had given birth to him anyways. And giving him the name Stone would hopefully offer an extra layer of protection from those who might wonder about his identity.

His Hand looks poleaxed by Robert's orders as he hands the baby over. It's clear that Jon is shocked by Robert's maturity in this moment, having been expecting to have to tell the new King he couldn't possibly keep the boy by his side.

Robert wasn't an idiot though. He knew that full well. These Lions he'd been forced to surround himself with since becoming King… he didn't trust them within a hundred feet of his son.

No… Axel would be safer in the Vale. Setting aside all of the insane things his mother had said (and done), the boy would be better off there. Robert was sure of it.

"See it done, Jon."

Giving the shocked man a pat on his shoulder and a tired smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, Robert leaves his Hand behind still holding the baby and begins making his way towards his executi- err, his wedding. It's the last time he'll ever see the boy. That's probably for the best, all things considered.

-x-X-x-

It's all his fault, in the end. His death. Their deaths. As time seems to slow in the pivotal moment, Robert's last clear thought is that it's all his fault. If only he hadn't done this. If only he hadn't done that.

His first mistake was definitely allowing himself to sober up long enough to show interest in his children on that fateful morning. After decades spent in a drunken stupor, Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, had come to breakfast feeling surprisingly clearheaded for the first time in longer than he could remember.

It was there, at breakfast, that Robert had asked his sons and daughter what they'd been up to of late in what even he recognized as a very rare display of interest. All three of them had immediately gone quiet until Robert had asked again with insistence and some forced levity in his voice.

That was when Tommen, sweet innocent Tommen, had piped up to tell his father that he'd been exploring recently. Adventuring, that was the word he'd used. And Robert… Robert had been intrigued enough to ask for more details.

When he found out that Tommen had started slipping his minders to go exploring tunnels underneath not just the Red Keep but even out into the greater city, Robert had been enthused. Now that sounded like the kind of trouble him and Ned had got up to back in the day!

His oldest son Joffrey just had to make a snide comment though of course, and so when Robert decided that Tommen would take him with him on the next adventure, he'd also decided Joffrey was coming as well. All three of them, along with something like half of the Kingsguard, going underground to see exactly what sort of 'treasures' Tommen had uncovered.

Cersei hadn't been happy about it, of course. His Queen had scowled and been just shy of screeching as she tried to head off what she deemed to be a foolish and dangerous expedition. Robert had brushed her concerns off though as the wailings of a weak woman. He had certainly come to regret that, hadn't he?

Tommen had led them under the Red Keep, and then into tunnels that took them further from the castle and under the city itself. Robert had been enjoying himself immensely as he bonded with his youngest son, even as his eldest made an ass of himself with every word that left his lips.

Until finally, they'd reached a strange door with a strange marking on it that was both familiar and unfamiliar at first. Through that door, Tommen had showed them the treasure he'd found… rows and rows of carefully sealed pots, each of them carrying the same mark as the door, just smaller.

Robert had picked up one of the pots before asking Selmy to come over, curious if the other man would recognize the marking. Fortunately, the Commander of the Kingsguard did. It was the marking of the all but defunct Alchemist's Guild, an organization that Robert had barely tolerated and never elevated in his time as King. Mostly because they made just one thing and that one thing was incredibly dangerous and volatile.

In the same moment that Robert had realized he was holding a pot of wildfire in his hands, he'd heard Tommen whine and Joffrey laugh, only to look over and see his eldest son tossing one of the pots up and down in the air, playing a game where he pretended like he was going to drop it and break it all over the ground at his and Tommen's feet.

Perhaps there were other ways Robert could have handled the situation. Perhaps there were ways that they all could have survived with this just being a scarily close brush with death. But in that moment, Robert reacted without thinking.

"Joffrey!"

His sharp, reprimanding tone made it clear that he wanted his eldest son to stop what he's doing. Unfortunately, Joffrey's fear of him works against them in the moment, because he jumps in fright… and drops the jar in the process.

Time slows down in that moment for Robert Baratheon as everyone starts to react far too late. Nobody can stop it. Nobody can do anything to prevent what happens next.

As bright green flames cover the tunnel and fill his vision, the last thought the King of the Seven Kingdoms has… is that it was all his fault.

-x-X-x-

(The base price of my Patreon also increases from $3 to $5 at the end of July but if you get in now you keep the $3 price as long as you want, so now is a great time to sign up!)

A/N: So a basic summary for this would-be story is Half-Viltrumite son of Robert Baratheon and nameless Viltrumite Woman becomes King of Westeros after terrible wildfire accident in the Capital. Shenanigans ensue.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, though if you're wondering how Axel claim jumps Renly and Stannis, you'll just have to wait for Chapter 2 to find out!

See you all tomorrow!