ROBERT
The giant doors of the Great Sept of Baelor opened, spewing thousands of mourners back into the real world. The funeral had ended with a deafening silence, a void of sound that felt heavier than the cheers of any war. Inside, under the gaze of the Seven Gods, no one dared to speak, no one dared to whisper. They all held their breath, trying to honor the King, or at least, trying hard not to look disrespectful before the stone-faced New King.
As they stepped out, the midday sun slammed into their faces. The sky above King's Landing was blindly bright, a flawless blue, as if mocking the grief that had just been staged beneath it. A slight heat stung the skin, worsened by the layers of black wool and thick velvet they wore.
Robert squinted, shielding his eyes from the glare. He took a long breath, filling his lungs with air that did not smell of incense and death. It felt relieving. Like stepping out of a cramped tomb.
People moved around him like a colony of ants exiting a disturbed nest, neat, orderly, yet with a hidden urgency to get away immediately.
Beside him, Stannis stood still. His younger brother did not even squint against the sun. He just stood tall, his jaw hardened, his hands folded stiffly behind his back.
Robert looked at him for a moment. Stannis was always so serious, as if he carried the weight of the entire storm on his young shoulders. Robert felt a sudden urge, an elder brother's instinct, to crack his brother's hard shell.
He patted Stannis's shoulder, perhaps a little too hard.
Stannis jerked slightly, his shoulders tensing under Robert's hand, then he turned. There was a slight smile there, very faint, barely visible, like a crack in ice.
"You hungry?" asked Robert, his voice a little too loud amidst the murmurs of other mourners.
Stannis nodded lightly, a breath that sounded weary escaping his nose. "Standing there took a lot of energy. Silence is exhausting."
"Aye," Robert agreed, squeezing his brother's shoulder before letting go. "My knees feel stiff. I hope we won't have to attend events like this too often. Funerals are boring, Stannis. Too many sad people, too little food."
Stannis did not answer immediately. His dark blue eyes, which were more like the deep sea compared to Robert's bright ones, glanced toward their parents walking a few steps ahead. Lord Steffon appeared to be speaking quietly to Lady Cassana, his face still grim.
"Hopefully," said Stannis.
…
Night had fallen over the Red Keep, bringing with it a cool breeze that swept away the heat of the day. On one of the stone terraces facing the city, Robert Baratheon stood with his back to the railing, one elbow resting casually on the cold stone.
Torches and candles had been lit everywhere, creating islands of light amidst the darkness of the fortress. The sound of night insects chirped from the gardens below, a constant, soothing rhythm. The wind rustled through the tree leaves, adding a coolness Robert sorely needed after a day confined in formal wear.
He held a goblet of wine in his right hand, of course.
"So what do you do at Storm's End, Stan?" asked Robert casually, breaking the silence between them. He genuinely wanted to know. Since he was sent to The Eyrie to be fostered by Jon Arryn, he rarely heard detailed news about his brother's daily life.
Stannis stood beside him, but did not turn his back to the railing. He faced outward, both arms propping up his body as he leaned forward, staring at the dark sky scattered with stars and the expanse of King's Landing's city lights in the distance.
"Studying," answered Stannis briefly. "With Maester Cressen. I memorize every Sigil and words of the noble houses, the history of the conquest, tax laws, family genealogies, border politics."
Robert grimaced softly into his goblet. That sounded boring as hell. "And you, how is it?" Stannis asked back.
"Me?" Robert grinned, sipping his wine. "I like traveling with Lord Arryn. We ride across the mountains of the Vale. The scenery is magnificent, Stan. You must see it one day. And sometimes... sometimes we even beat back the wild clans when we get bored."
"Wildlings?"
"Aye, the mountain clans. They come down to steal sheep or women. We drive them off." Robert chuckled. In truth, it wasn't out of boredom, but Lord Arryn's duty to protect his people, but Robert preferred to tell it as an adventure.
"Sometimes I go with Father too," Stannis added, his voice rising slightly, as if not wanting to lose in terms of experience, even if his experience was of a different kind. "Not fighting wild men of course. But negotiating. With vassal Lords disputing land, or merchants trying to cheat taxes. I... I just watch from a distance, observing how Father speaks."
Robert laughed crisply, shaking his head. "Ah, you really fit that sort of thing. You, and your musty-smelling books. You have the patience to listen to old men argue about fence borders."
Stannis frowned, his shoulders tensing. Robert immediately realized that his words might have sounded like a mockery, though he hadn't meant them that way. Stannis was always sensitive about things like this.
Robert straightened his body, placing his goblet on the stone railing. He hurriedly added.
"You've been very smart since long ago, you know? When we studied with Maester Cressen... you remember? You were the one who could memorize everything first. You could name the Targaryen Kings in order without error, while I forgot who Aegon V's father was."
Robert looked at his brother with an appraising gaze. "You answer with logic and facts. I'm not bad, I admit that, I'm not stupid. But I have patience as thin as Lannister paper. I can't stand sitting still and reading dusty parchments. So I always felt unfit to be there, in that study room."
Stannis looked down at his hands gripping the stone railing. Praise from Robert was a rare thing, and he seemed not to know how to receive it.
"You just have to try harder, Robert," said Stannis finally, his voice awkward yet firm. He turned, looking at his older brother. "In the future, you will inherit the land. Storm's End will be yours. You will lead many people, from lords to farmers."
Stannis straightened up, his 'little teacher' mode coming out. "Everyone will make you a role model. They will look to you for justice, not just for protection. So every lesson is important for a Lord. Not just swords and warhammers. You must know the law. You must know how to count grain."
Robert sighed heavily, looking up at the stars. That burden again. Expectations.
"I know," muttered Robert. "Sometimes... sometimes I also imagine what I will be like in the future, if my interest lies only in things like fighting and hunting. Will I be a bad Lord? Will Storm's End crumble in my hands?"
"I will not comfort you with nonsense," said Stannis with his characteristic brutal honesty. "If you are lazy, you will fail."
Robert snorted. "Thank you for the support, Brother."
"But," continued Stannis, "to make you feel better... a Lord who is great at fighting is also very necessary. Westeros respects strength, Robert. People respect your warhammer. That ability of yours will save you when words fail. At least, to remain respected and feared by enemies."
Stannis paused for a moment, then added in a flat tone, "Though perhaps some Lords will curse your incompetence for letting the bookkeeping get messy."
Robert laughed out loud, his voice breaking the silence of the night. He patted Stannis's shoulder again.
"You're right, you're right. I'll need a very smart treasurer later," said Robert while wiping the corner of his eye. He looked at Stannis, suddenly a thought crossing his mind. A thought that often appeared when he felt burdened by the pile of duties waiting in the future.
"You know, Stan," said Robert lightly, "Maybe you should be the Lord of Storm's End in the future, replacing Father. You fit all those parchments and rules better than I do."
It was a joke. A light complaint about responsibility.
But its effect on Stannis was immediate and frightening.
"Don't say that."
Stannis's voice was hard, sharp, and cold as a whip.
Robert was slightly startled, his smile fading. He saw his brother turn fully to face him. Stannis's face under the torchlight looked tense, his jaw hardening until the veins in his neck bulged. His blue eyes stared at Robert with a burning intensity, a mixture of deep sadness and fear.
"Never..." hissed Stannis, his voice trembling with held-back emotion. "Never say that."
Robert's breath hitched.
…
That expression was still embedded in Robert's mind, carved as clearly as a statue on the walls of Storm's End.
Hours had passed since that conversation on the stone terrace. The two of them had parted ways after a few awkward exchanges about the weather, yet the image of his brother's burning blue eyes still haunted him as he walked down the silent corridors of the Red Keep.
Robert kicked the empty air in frustration. He didn't understand. Truly, by the Seven Hells, he didn't understand why Stannis had reacted so harshly.
"I was just joking," he muttered to his own shadow lengthening on the stone floor. "Just a stupid joke."
But the joke seemed to touch a raw nerve inside the boy. Something hidden deep beneath Stannis's hard shell. Robert sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly. Damn, he really didn't understand feelings much. Ned had once said politely that Robert 'sometimes often missed emotional details', which in common speak meant he sucked at reading other people's moods. And tonight, that was proven decisively.
The night grew later. The torches on the walls began to dim, leaving glowing red embers.
Robert returned to the guest chambers provided for the Baratheon family. The room was quiet. No one was there; his family had likely gone to their respective rooms.
Robert threw himself onto the sofa in the common room. He was bored. Wine was no longer appealing tonight; it tasted sour on his tongue after the incident with Stannis. He needed a distraction. Something to silence the voices in his head telling him he was a bad brother.
His eyes swept the room, and fell upon a wooden bookshelf in the corner. The shelf was full of scrolls of parchment and thick leather-bound books that looked boring. Usually, Robert would rather be beaten than read voluntarily. But tonight... his head was spinning, and he needed an escape.
With a little force on his lazy legs, he got up and approached the shelf. His fingers traced the dusty spines of the books. History of Westeros. The Tribes of the North. Lineage of House Tyrell.
"Rubbish," he muttered.
Then his finger stopped on a small book tucked between two giants. The book was thin, its cover simple brown leather without gold ornamentation. The title was faded but still legible: "Journey to the East".
Robert wanted to snort in disdain, but he held back. Adventure. That sounded better than House Tyrell.
He took the book, returned to the sofa, and plopped down. The candle light on the side table flickered as he opened the first page.
The preface was written by a Maester named Killian, dated to the year 121 AC, a time when dragons still danced in the skies of Westeros. The Maester wrote that this story was based on the oral tales of a hedge knight named William. No House name was mentioned, or at least the author intentionally hid it. William was only said to be from the Reach, a second or third son who had no land to inherit.
Robert began to read. Initially with skepticism, but slowly, his furrowed brow began to relax.
William was a curious child from a young age. He was described as a restless youth, whose hands always itched to hold a sword or axe, trying to chop wood, hunt, do anything other than sit still.
Robert smiled faintly. I know that feeling.
But all of that was so monotonous in William's life. He seemed to have no future other than just training, entering tournaments, winning ribbons from maidens, and getting drunk. Especially when the people around him, the Reach nobles, only feasted continuously, talking about complicated court politics and who married whom. William felt so alienated in the crowd. He felt like a wolf forced to sit at a dinner table with politely bleating sheep.
So, rather than socialize and force a fake smile, William chose to disappear. He read map books when his mood was grim. From there, he could see much of the world through mere writings. He didn't know if it was true, and if what was in his imagination was the same as how the author described it. But he kept reading because in his mind, the world out there was so alive, so wild, and so free.
Then, the first chapter began. William started collecting gold piece by gold piece. He won tournament prizes, he saved, he sold his spare horse. And when enough was gathered, only then did his journey begin.
From the Reach he continued east, riding alone through various regions. He slept under the stars, ate what he hunted. He met various walks of life, from arrogant Lords at the borders to common folk who gave him a ride in hay carts. He arrived at the port of Storm's End, Robert's ancestral land, and from there he stared at the sea. His destination this time was Braavos…
"What are you reading?"
The deep voice broke Robert's concentration instantly.
Robert jumped in surprise. His heart leapt in his chest. He closed the book reflexively with a slam, as if he had just been caught peeking up a woman's skirt instead of reading literature.
He turned and saw his father, Lord Steffon Baratheon, standing in the doorway connecting the common room to the master bedroom. His father was still wearing his mourning clothes, though his outer cloak had been removed. He stared at Robert while raising one thick eyebrow, an expression of amusement clearly printed on his tired face.
"You… you, you startled me, Father!" exclaimed Robert, his chest still pounding hard. He hid the book behind his back, then realized how ridiculous that was and placed it back on his lap. "By the Seven Hells, don't sneak up like a cat!"
His father fell silent for a moment, and instead of apologizing, a low and warm laugh escaped his throat.
"You, you, Robert," repeated Steffon shaking his head, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Reading a book? At night? Without being forced by Maester Cressen? Do you have a fever? Or has the ghost of the Red Keep library possessed you?"
Steffon stepped forward, placing the back of his hand on Robert's forehead in a joking fatherly gesture.
Robert immediately swatted the hand away, his face reddening with embarrassment. "Don't do that. I'm not sick."
"Alright, alright," Steffon chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. He then dropped himself onto the sofa beside Robert, sighing heavily as his back touched the soft backrest.
Steffon's eyes glanced at the thin book on Robert's lap. "So? What is the title? Strategies of War? History of Man?"
Robert hesitated for a moment, then turned the book so his father could see the title. "Journey to the East. An adventure story."
Steffon read the title, and the smile on his face changed. Becoming softer, more nostalgic. "Ah. The tale of Ser William the Wanderer."
"You know this book?" asked Robert, surprised.
"Of course," answered Steffon. "I read it when I was your age. Maybe a little younger."
"You were interested in adventure?" he continued.
With the book on his lap, Robert felt the need to be honest. The night atmosphere and fatigue made his defenses drop. "I... I have indeed always been interested in adventuring, Father. It feels boring to constantly be in the castle, listening to rules, learning etiquette. William... he was free. But I'm reading this only because I'm bored tonight, really. I just grabbed the thinnest book on the shelf."
Chuckling softly, Steffon's tone turned low and serious. He stared at the flickering candle flame.
"I was also always interested in adventuring, Robert. Before, when I was young, before I became Lord, before the burden of Storm's End fell onto my shoulders."
Steffon leaned back, his eyes distant. "Back then, I, Aerys, and Tywin... we often talked about it. Well, more like Aerys and I. We thought about running away for a while. Going on a grand journey to the Free Cities. Maybe becoming sellswords for a year, touring Braavos, drinking wine in Lys. Just the three of us, our swords, and the world."
Robert gaped. Imagining his father, the King, and the cold Tywin Lannister wandering around as young adventurers felt very unreal.
"But you didn't do it," said Robert quietly.
"No," Steffon shook his head, the shadow fading from his eyes. "Because I realized that I couldn't run from my responsibilities. Your grandfather wouldn't live forever, Storm's End needed its heir. Tywin... well, Tywin was always too serious to truly leave his duties as a Lannister. And Aerys was the Prince."
Steffon looked Robert right in the eye. "Many people needed me here, Son. My people, my bannermen. If I left chasing the sunrise, Storm's End would be in chaos. That is the point. Freedom is tempting, but duty... duty is what defines us. And honestly, I wasn't too confident in passing my responsibility to someone else. No one can guard your home as well as yourself."
His father then reached out, holding Robert's shoulder with a strong and warm squeeze.
"And now, the reasons why I stayed have increased," said Steffon softly. "I have your mother. I have you, Stannis, and Renly."
Steffon's smile widened, sincere and full of affection rarely shown by a Lord in public. "If I had chased my daydreams back then, becoming a hedge knight who died in a ditch, you might not exist. And who would finish all the food supplies if not you?" he joked at the end of his sentence.
Robert laughed small, but his throat felt choked. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, something he rarely felt amidst the harsh upbringing of an heir.
"You don't regret it?" asked Robert suddenly, his question more serious than he intended. "Giving up that freedom?"
Steffon raised his eyebrows, as if the question was strange.
"Regret?" repeated Steffon quietly. He shook his head firmly.
"No, Robert. Not for a second. Having you all... watching you grow, even though you often give me a headache and make me want to pull my own hair out... is the greatest adventure I have ever had. It is one of the best things for me. You know that, right?"
Robert fell silent. He didn't know how to answer. He only nodded stiffly, trying to hold back emotions that suddenly urged to rise.
Outside the window, the night wind blew, bringing promises of an uncertain tomorrow. But inside that room, under the warm candlelight, Robert closed his eyes for a moment, trying to digest those words.
...
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