Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 377: Robert’s Great Breakdown

The boat beached on a tidal flat, and Robert and Gendry waded onto the Isle of Faces, the dark brown mud clinging to their cloaks and leather boots. Robert immediately sensed eyes watching them from the trees. Gendry, slower to react, noticed the tension and gripped his hammer, glancing around warily.

"Don’t worry," Robert said gruffly. "The green men here are descendants of the First Men and the Children of the Forest. As long as we make our intentions clear, they won’t harm us."

Robert’s years as king had given him a far broader understanding of the world than Gendry, who had grown up as an apprentice in a blacksmith’s forge. Robert stopped, expecting his son to announce their arrival, but Gendry stood there, staring blankly.

Robert shot him a pointed look. Gendry blinked in confusion. What?

With a frustrated grunt, Robert cleared his throat and shouted into the eerie, blood-red forest of weirwood trees. "I am Robert of the House Baratheon, First of My Name, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar. I seek guidance!"

His booming voice echoed through the trees, startling a flock of ravens, which burst from the red canopy and flew over their heads in a flurry of black feathers. The air felt heavier, the silence after the ravens’ departure even more unsettling.

A moment later, several humanoid figures emerged from the forest. They were no taller than children, with large ears that reminded Robert of House Florent’s distinctive flared ears—though these were even larger. Their skin had a reddish hue, and they wore simple, rough garments. Their leggings appeared to be made of tree bark, offering some protection.

One of the green men, who seemed slightly older than the others, stepped forward. "Your Grace," he said in a low, measured voice, "Lord Father knew you would be coming today. He sent me to greet you."

"Lord Yue?" Robert repeated, more curious than concerned by the strange name. Without questioning why this Lord Yue hadn’t come himself, Robert gestured for Gendry to follow and obediently trailed the green men into the forest. Though they were no taller than gnomes, they moved with purpose, leading the king deeper into the Isle.

Gendry followed closely behind, feeling an odd discomfort as they passed the weirwoods. The faces carved into the ancient trees seemed to be watching him, their blank, emotionless expressions unsettling.

The forest grew denser as they walked, and at first, there was no sign of a path. The green men wove between the trees with ease, leaving Robert and Gendry to stumble behind. But as they ventured farther into the heart of the isle, faint trails began to appear—signs of frequent passage.

They began to encounter more of the green men, both male and female, their facial features making their gender clear despite their unusual appearances. Gendry glanced at Robert, wondering what his father thought of all this. From his position behind him, Gendry couldn’t see Robert’s face, but the king’s posture was rigid, his back straight. Even in the depths of this mysterious forest, surrounded by strange beings, Robert carried himself like a king leading an army, not a man followed only by his bastard son.

As they walked, they passed through fields of crops unfamiliar to Gendry, plants unlike anything he had seen before. Beyond the farmland, semi-subterranean houses came into view, resembling small mounds of earth. At first glance, they seemed like ordinary hills, but these had openings like windows, and from some of them, curious faces peered out to watch the newcomers. Many of the windows were so low that Gendry and Robert towered over them.

Among the smaller mounds stood one much larger, dominating the area. In front of it sat an exceptionally old green man, his appearance striking even among these strange people. He wore garments woven from vines and leaves, which had turned tawny with age. In his hand was a cane crafted from weirwood, intricately carved with human faces—each one distinct, some male, some female, all eerily lifelike. These were not the generic, expressionless faces typically seen on weirwoods.

The old green man bowed slightly as they approached. "Oh, Your Grace," he greeted, his voice low and rasping.

Before Robert could respond, Gendry jumped in, his voice loud and awkward in the quiet clearing. “Before you stands Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar.”

Robert suppressed a sigh, wishing, for a brief moment, that Lancel were by his side. At least Lancel had some sense of timing, he thought bitterly. Gendry had interrupted without thinking, and now stood there sheepishly, as if he realized too late the mistake he’d made.

After Gendry finished, Robert spoke, his voice filled with the authority of a king. “I have come to seek guidance.”

The old green man closed his eyes, remaining silent for a long time. Robert waited, his patience wearing thin but his regal demeanor unchanged. After what felt like an eternity, the old man finally opened his eyes and spoke.

“If you have come to ask me about victory,” the old man said softly, “then I cannot help you.”

Robert's expression remained unreadable, though his jaw tightened. "Then what guidance can you give me?"

The green man met Robert’s gaze with calm, ancient eyes. "If you have come to ask about your end, I can tell you... it is at the Ruby Ford."

Robert’s eyes narrowed, the mention of Ruby Ford stirring his temper. More than a year ago, Viserys had destroyed his fleet, brazenly crashing Robert’s feast to declare that he would kill him at Ruby Ford. Now, this old man was echoing the same prophecy. The idea that his fate had already been sealed, and at the very place his enemy had foretold, filled him with a deep unease.

No one would accept this, Robert thought bitterly. Not me.

“Why?” Robert's voice was cold and hard, carrying an edge of disbelief.

“You killed the man who tried to save you. You must pay for your wrongdoings,” the old green man replied calmly, his words cutting deep.

Robert’s face paled. “The man who tried to save me? What do you mean? The rapist tried to save me?” He could barely contain his rage, the memory of a rumor surfacing in his mind—the tale that when the Mad King Aerys demanded Ned and Robert be handed over, it had been Rhaegar who persuaded the king to spare them.

The thought was unbearable. Robert could not accept the words of this so-called “Lord Father,” nor the rumors that haunted him. His anger boiled over.

“He took the love of my life!” Robert roared, his fury shaking him to the core.

The old green man remained unmoved. “Did you truly love her?”

“Of course I did! I dreamed of spending my life with her,” Robert bellowed, his voice thundering through the forest. Leaves shook loose from the weirwoods and fluttered to the ground, as if nature itself recoiled from his outburst.

In a fit of rage, Robert spat at the old green man. “I’ll burn your cursed forest to the ground!” he snarled, his voice venomous with hatred. But even that wasn’t enough to satisfy his fury. He grabbed the hammer from Gendry’s hands, his muscles tensing as he raised it, prepared to strike.

Before he could bring it down, a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he collapsed.

When Robert woke, he was no longer in the forest. Instead, he found himself lying in the boat, the gentle rocking of the water bringing him back to his senses. His head throbbed, and his chest felt heavy, as if something were gripping his heart.

“Your Grace, if you’ve rested, let us go ashore,” came Gendry’s voice, unsure but steady.

For a brief moment, Robert looked around in confusion. Then, the weight in his chest tightened, making him catch his breath.