ROBERT
Robert Baratheon strode down the cobblestone streets of the merchant district, far from the suffocating shadows of the Red Keep. This time, he had his own intentions. Not to seek out brothels or cheap wine sinks that were usually his main destinations when visiting the big city, he was looking for other things. Things that were 'interesting'. Places where you could laugh without burden, see life pulsating, and forget that a dead king had just been buried.
Beside him, Eddard Stark walked with a quieter, more measured pace. Ned wore a simple grey tunic without decoration.
"You walk too fast, Robert," Ned commented quietly, avoiding a fishmonger carrying a smelly basket.
"You are the one walking too slow, Ned. Your Northern legs aren't used to the capital's stones, eh?" Robert laughed, his voice cutting through the market's hustle and bustle.
They passed through crowds of people still jostling about. Even in the somewhat secluded alleys, activity did not cease. News of the king's coronation which would be held soon had drawn people from all corners of Westeros like flies to food. And the funeral... it was still warm like an apple pie fresh out of the oven, becoming the topic of conversation on every street corner.
The sky above them was clear, a deep blue rarely seen in this city. Clumps of white clouds drifted lazily, adding their own charm. Seagulls flew low, flapping their wings here and there looking for scraps of food, their cries answering the shouts of the merchants.
On the roof of a leaning building, a fat black cat walked casually along the edge, tail held high, as if this whole place belonged to him alone and the humans below were merely his servants.
Robert smiled seeing it. "Look at that, Ned. That cat has a walk more confident than half the Lords in the court."
Ned snorted with amusement. "And probably smarter too."
Robert glanced at shop signs while scanning the surroundings. His eyes caught something in a small square between two tall buildings.
There was a simple wooden stage set up there. A group of people dressed in colorful, though somewhat shabby, clothes were practicing. A stage play. Robert could see some of them holding white sheets in their hands. Paper.
They performed dramatic movements, a man in a fake cloak kneeling while spreading his arms to the sky, while others practiced their voices.
"Oh, poor Prince! Your destiny awaits there!" cried one of the actors with a voice made to tremble artificially.
Robert stopped for a moment, grinning broadly. He nudged Ned's arm.
"You want to try doing that, Ned?" asked Robert, pointing towards the stage. "I can imagine you up there. 'Winter is Coming!' with that famous flat face of yours. The audience would love it."
Ned smiled thinly, shaking his head. "Me? Impossible for me to do that, Robert. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do it well. My tongue is stiff for poetry and drama. For one of us, you are the one who should be up there. You have a voice that can reach the back row without shouting."
"True," Robert laughed, puffing out his broad chest. "You don't have much emotion for stage performances, Ned. No offense, but you are like a walking ice statue."
"And you are suited to play a skilled fighter," Ned chuckled, this time his laughter more loose. "A tragic hero who swings a hammer and wins the princess's heart, then dies from drinking too much wine. You would be more immersive in that regard."
"Damn you," Robert grinned. "I would ask for a real warhammer if they made me the lead. I don't want those wooden toys. I want to feel a real impact when smashing the villain."
"Sheesh," Ned pretended to grimace in horror. "In that case, make sure you prepare gold dragons to pay the Maester fees for your co-stars. No actor wants their head cracked for a few coppers."
"No. I would have surely spent it buying food before the show started," Robert joked, patting his flat yet solid stomach.
They laughed together, a rare light moment amidst the tension of the last weeks. They continued walking again, leaving the actors with their drama.
Footsteps took them to a more organized part of the market. The stalls here were more permanent, built from polished wood, not cloth tents.
Robert stopped in front of a stall that caught his attention. The stall displayed many fine handcrafted goods. There were detailed wooden ship carvings, brightly painted masks, soft wool scarves, tunics, and also several pairs of leather gloves. And of course, in one corner, there was a stack of books.
This stall looked neat, no glass windows like many fancy buildings on the main street, but because the front door was wide open, sunlight entered well, illuminating the merchandise warmly.
"Let's have a look," Robert invited.
Entering inside, Robert was greeted by the scent of wood and new leather. He greeted a middle-aged man standing behind the table with his signature wide grin, a smile that could radiate light and make strangers feel like old friends.
Robert picked up a carving shaped like a sailing ship. The ship looked small, the size of his palm, but the details were extraordinary. The sails were made of thin linen, and the hull was carved with precision. On other shelves were carvings of horses, lions, stags, and dogs.
"You made this yourself, Old Man?" asked Robert, holding the ship carving high to see the bottom.
The shopkeeper, who had a friendly face with laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, laughed softly and approached him.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Looks like the real thing. No, My Lord, I do not have hands that steady. This is made by my neighbor, a young man of only twenty namedays! He consigned it here to be sold. Very talented, his hands blessed by the Smith."
"Yes, my brother might like it," muttered Robert, his smile softening. The image of little Renly left behind at Storm's End flashed in his mind. The baby always cried, but maybe a toy would keep him quiet. "He is still a baby, so I'm not really sure he understands what this is. But babies like everything they can hold, right?"
"If it is for a baby..." The man said hesitantly, his tone full of ethical consideration rarely possessed by King's Landing merchants. "I think most of these carvings would be dangerous, My Lord. There are some small parts that could be swallowed, or corners that would hit his skin. Indeed not too sharp, but still..."
Robert stared at the toy boat. He twirled it in his large fingers.
"No matter," said Robert firmly. "I will keep it. I will give it when he knows enough to play and not try to eat the sails. As a big brother, I want to give his first gift now, even before he can speak. So that in the future, when he sees this ship in his room, he will know that I loved him since he was still snot-nosed."
"Very kind," The man smiled sincerely. "What is your name, young man? Rarely do I see young nobles thinking of their siblings like that."
"Robert," he answered briefly. He reached into the leather pouch at his waist. "How much for this thing?"
The man patted Robert's shoulder familiarly, forgetting caste etiquette for a moment because he was impressed. "Three. Three silver stags. I give you a discount for touching this old heart of mine. Isn't that good?"
Robert snorted, but kept smiling. He knew that was probably the normal price or even slightly inflated, but he didn't care. "I am currently rich, and my mood is currently good. So I will still buy it. Here you go, Old Man."
He placed three silver coins on the table.
"Thank you, Young Lord!" The man stared at the silver with sparkling eyes. "You are like a prince sent by the Seven, who will bless this shop to soon be crowded by other visitors."
The man deftly wrapped the ship in cloth. Then, his eyes glinted with merchant instinct. He took a book from a nearby shelf. The book wasn't thick, the cover simple.
"And because of that... would you like to buy this Seven-Pointed Star?" offered the man. "This is new, printed directly by that famous Lannister family in Lannisport. Look, it is made of paper, very smooth, the ink clear. The price is far cheaper than handwritten parchment, and perhaps... perhaps it will bring you more luck and blessings."
Robert wanted to roll his eyes. Another book. He had just escaped the library yesterday.
He looked towards Ned, who was busy staring at a display of gloves in another corner, pretending not to hear.
"You have a silver tongue, Old Man," said Robert, taking the book. It felt light. The paper was indeed smooth, far thinner and neater than the old books at Storm's End. "Honestly, I am not that interested in books. Reading them makes my head hurt."
But then Robert remembered. Lannister. Jaime Lannister. The boy he met in the stables. The boy who started all this. And the conversation with Jon and Ned about how this paper was changing the world.
Maybe he should see what everyone was making a fuss about.
"But yes, I'll take this," said Robert suddenly, surprising himself. "I am already too bored being in this city without entertainment. Maybe I will pray to the Seven to give me something interesting through this book." Or at least I can use it to swat flies. He didn't say the last sentence.
Robert paid the extra silver. The object was now officially his.
They exited the shop, returning to the busy streets.
"I cannot believe you actually bought a book, Robert," Ned Stark raised his eyebrows high, staring at the book in Robert's hand as if it were a dragon's head. "Do you have a fever? Or has the air of King's Landing finally softened your brain?"
Robert snorted, tucking the book behind his belt. "Don't start, Ned. I met Jaime Lannister weeks ago. He is a strange boy, but he seemed decent enough. So I decided to support his family business with a few silvers. Consider it me giving him pocket money."
Ned laughed softly. "Lannisters don't need your pocket money, Robert."
"Also," added Robert, his voice a little more serious, "You and Jon talked about the Citadel and the Faith, about paper and that school as if it were a profound problem. You two sounded very smart and worried. I want to try to understand a little of what's inside here. Who knows if there is something interesting in it."
"Well," said Ned, patting his best friend's shoulder. "Hopefully you don't fall asleep after the first few paragraphs."
"Hopefully," Robert nodded, staring at the road ahead. "Or at least, hopefully the paper is soft enough to be made into a pillow."
...
They arrived at the front courtyard of the Red Keep when the sun began to dip to the west, turning the sky's color from bright blue to a slight gold. Robert's legs felt a little sore after walking far from the city, but his heart was light. He had managed to avoid trouble, mostly at least, got a 'souvenir' for his brother, and even bought a book without being forced. A productive day, he thought.
As they approached the entrance to the guest wing, one of Jon Arryn's household guards, a man named Adam, approached them with steady steps.
"Is there a problem?" asked Ned first.
Adam bowed slightly. "No problem, My Lord. Just news. Your family from the North... Lord Stark's party has been sighted passing through the main gate a few moments ago. They should be arriving here shortly."
"Oh," Ned smiled, a rare and soft smile that softened his long face. "Good. Very good. I will welcome them out front."
Robert's heart also suddenly bloomed, beating with a rhythm faster than usual.
The Stark family was arriving. That meant Lord Rickard, Brandon, Benjen... and her.
Lyanna Stark. His betrothed.
Robert had never met her. Their betrothal was arranged through letters between Lord Rickard and Lord Steffon, strengthened by Robert's friendship with Ned. But Robert had imagined her face a thousand times. Ned rarely spoke of his sister, but when he did speak, he painted a picture of a girl who was wild and full of spirit. And if she was as beautiful as her mother, as people said, then Robert was a lucky man.
This was Robert's lucky day! This strange book seemed not bad; it had brought good news only minutes after Robert bought it. Robert decided he would kiss the book later in his room, of course when no one was looking, so he wouldn't be thought mad.
But before that, there were more important things.
"Adam!" Robert handed over the cloth-wrapped toy ship and the Seven-Pointed Star book a bit hurriedly. "Hold this for a moment!"
He brushed the street dust from his clothes, tidying his thick black hair with his fingers. He wanted to look clean, or at least neat, when they first met. He wanted Lyanna to see Robert Baratheon her handsome betrothed, not Robert the Vagrant.
They walked towards the gate. This time, Ned walked faster than him. His steps were long and eager, an enthusiasm he rarely showed. Robert had to lengthen his stride to match his best friend.
When they reached the middle of the courtyard, the sound of galloping horses and carriage wheels was heard. The party from the North entered the gate.
They were not as luxurious as the Lannister or Tyrell entourages. No glittering gold or colorful silks. The Northerners wore grey and white wool, thick furs, and sturdy leather. The Direwolf banner fluttered gallantly above their heads.
Ned immediately stepped forward, welcoming his father, Lord Rickard Stark, who dismounted from his warhorse with dignity. They embraced briefly, a Northern men's hug that was stiff yet full of respect. Then Brandon, who laughed loudly and patted Ned's back. Then little Benjen.
But Robert, standing a few steps behind, did not look at them.
His eyes were fixed only on one person.
A girl had just stepped down from the carriage, refusing a servant's helping hand. She wore a simple pale blue dress.
She turned.
And Robert's world stopped turning.
She was beautiful. No, that word was too weak. She was... alive.
Her hair was dark brown, long and slightly messy from the travel wind, framing a heart-shaped face. Her skin was pale typical of a Northerner, but her cheeks flushed red slightly. And her eyes...
Those eyes were grey, like Ned's eyes, but in there was a fire Ned did not possess. Those eyes were full of life, full of challenge, and a little wild. Her expression was a bit cold, assessing her new surroundings with a sharp intelligent gaze, unlike Southern girls who usually looked down shyly.
She laughed at something Brandon said, and that laugh sounded to Robert's ears like music.
Lyanna Stark.
Robert knew it without needing to be told.
...
The atmosphere inside the guest solar felt stiff, as if the air had been replaced with politeness.
"The Kingsroad must be repaired, Lord Arryn," Lord Rickard Stark's voice was heavy and serious, like grinding stones. He raised his goblet of wine, yet his eyes saw no enjoyment in it. "We kept passing roads covered in mud or rockslides. That is all what made the travel time two weeks longer than it should have been."
"Indeed," Jon Arryn replied with a polite sympathetic nod. "The Kingsroad is the most decent road we have right now, the kingdom's main road, and that alone is that bad. Doing maintenance is indeed difficult, it seems, especially in these chaotic times."
They continued talking about road taxes, stone quality, and bandits, topics that were boring to death. Robert didn't care what that was. His ears rang hearing the word 'infrastructure'.
His gaze, however, had a focus that was far more interesting. His eyes always returned to Lyanna Stark.
They had been introduced politely before, a stiff exchange of names and titles under supervision. But Robert hadn't had the chance to speak further. He wanted to hear her voice again, the laughter he heard in the yard earlier. But the conversation between the two old men currently happening was like a fortress wall blocking him. Annoying. He was bored listening to their chatter continuously. He wanted to act.
Suddenly, Lyanna stood up. Her movement was graceful yet firm, like a wolf rising from a sitting position.
"Father, Lord Arryn," she said, her voice clear cutting through the discussion about mud. "I think I want to go out and see the scenery outside..."
Good! Robert's mind cheered. Hah! The girl had courage! She didn't wait for permission, she informed. Robert liked that.
Without waiting for a long answer from the two parents who were chatting, Lyanna turned and went out.
Robert cleared his throat loudly, drawing the attention of Lord Stark, Jon, Brandon, Ned, and Benjen who stared at him.
"I want to get some fresh air," said Robert while standing, trying to sound casual even though his legs were already itching to run. "This wine is making my head dizzy."
A stupid excuse, considering he could drink a barrel without getting dizzy, but who cared? Robert left the room with wide strides.
He went out into the corridor just in time to see the hem of Lyanna's dress disappearing around the corner towards the garden. Robert grinned and quickened his pace.
"My Lady!" shouted Robert, his voice echoing in the stone hallway.
Lyanna stopped. She turned slowly. Under the corridor torchlight, her face looked calm, almost expressionless. She glanced at Robert, her gaze softly soothing.
"Yes, My Lord?" she asked politely.
Robert caught up to her, his breath slightly hurried not from fatigue, but from enthusiasm.
"You want to see the scenery?" asked Robert confidently. "Don't just look at these boring castle walls. Come, I'll show you the great ones. I have been here a long time, well, a few weeks, I know interesting places! Places unknown to the boring old people in there."
Robert smiled broadly, showing off his rows of white teeth. He knew this smile. This was the smile that made serving girls in the Eyrie giggle shyly.
Looking hesitant, Lyanna fell silent for a moment. Her grey eyes scanned Robert's face, as if searching for something. "Would that not trouble you, My Lord? I am sure you have important business."
"Why would it be a trouble?" Robert laughed lightly, waving his hand. "I will be accompanying a beautiful woman, who happens to be my betrothed. There is no business more important than that."
He saw Lyanna's cheeks redden slightly. Of course she blushed, thought Robert with satisfaction. Robert Baratheon's charm never missed.
"Come," invited Robert, offering his arm.
Lyanna hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer with a light touch.
Thus began Robert Baratheon's grand tour.
He took her to the outer defensive wall overlooking the city.
"Look at that," said Robert, pointing to the expanse of shabby roofs of Flea Bottom visible in the distance. "That is the lower city. The place smells, but down there are taverns selling the best brown soup. One day, I will take you there, if you dare."
Lyanna nodded, her eyes staring into the distance. She didn't ask what brown soup was.
Robert took her near the Kingsguard training ground, hoping to see sword practice. Empty. But he told stories anyway.
"Here usually Ser Arthur Dayne trains. I fought him once. He is great, but I managed to hit him," bragged Robert, exaggerating a little. "You like strong men, right? Northerners like strength."
Lyanna only nodded again. "Certainly, My Lord."
Robert continued walking, feeling more and more confident. He took her to the gardens, pointing out flowers whose names he didn't know, making up funny names for them. He took her looking around the fortress.
All the while, Robert talked. He told jokes about Eddard Stark snoring. He told how he won a drinking contest against a merchant. He told how great Storm's End was compared to this place.
Lyanna listened. She nodded at the right moments. She smiled thinly when Robert laughed. She didn't speak much. Always like that.
She was charmed, thought Robert. She was a quiet woman. A good listener type. Perfect. His charm must be working. This wild girl from the North was being tamed by his charisma.
Finally, they stopped at a quiet terrace overlooking Blackwater Bay. The sun began to set, coloring the sea with blood red and gold. The view was beautiful.
Robert leaned on the stone railing, feeling very satisfied with himself. He stared at Lyanna who was gazing at the sea. The sea breeze blew her brown hair. She looked beautiful. And she would be his.
"You know, My Lady," Robert chuckled, his voice low and intimate. "You can talk much in front of me, you know? No need to be shy or reluctant. I am not the stiff Ned. Just let out all your thoughts. I want to know my future wife."
Lyanna turned to him. The thin smile was still fixed on her lips, but her grey eyes looked different. Sharper. Colder.
"I worry if I let out all my thoughts, you would be surprised, My Lord," she said softly.
"Surprised?" Robert raised an eyebrow, laughing dismissively. "I am Robert Baratheon. I have seen many things. Storms, battles, madmen. Nothing can surprise me, let alone the thoughts of a sweet girl."
Robert leaned in a little, encouraging her. "Come on. Tell me. What do you think about our little tour? About me? Don't be afraid."
Lyanna stared at him. That polite smile slowly faded from her face, like a melting wax mask. Her expression changed, from soft to flat. Flat and hard like ice at the Wall.
"You want to know my thoughts while you were babbling?" asked Lyanna. Her voice was no longer soft. It was sharp.
Robert blinked, his smile wavering slightly. "Yes?"
"It was boring," said Lyanna.
The word hung in the air.
"And too noisy," she continued mercilessly. "Honestly, I don't even care about most of what you showed. Dirty roofs? Empty training grounds? Stories about you getting drunk? It was all ugly. Nothing interesting."
Robert's mouth opened slightly. He had never, in his life, heard a woman speak like that to him.
Lyanna stepped forward one step, looking up to meet Robert's eyes.
"And you, My Lord," she said, her index finger pointing at Robert's chest without touching it. "You try too hard. You try to look gallant, look funny, look charming. It looks... pathetic."
Robert froze. Pathetic?
"I am tired of wearing this dress!" Lyanna suddenly yanked her blue silk skirt roughly, frustration exploding. "It's tight! It's heavy! It restricts movement! I cannot step wide, I cannot breathe freely. And I was forced to use it by Father just because you would definitely be here!"
Her eyes lit up with a fire that made Robert take a step back instinctively.
"It is annoying, you know?!" cried Lyanna. "Walking around in a suffocating dress, listening to the bragging of a man who thinks he is the Gods' greatest gift to women, while pretending to smile? It is torture!"
Lyanna looked away towards the sea, her breath heaving with the anger finally released.
Robert Baratheon, Heir to Storm's End, stood transfixed on that terrace. His mouth was still slightly open. His brain, usually quick to respond with laughter or anger, was now totally jammed.
He had been insulted. He had been rejected. He had been called pathetic and boring.
And strangely, as he stared at the angry girl's face, with cheeks flushed from genuine emotion and eyes flashing sharply, the only thing Robert could think was how extraordinary this girl was.
She was not a sheep. She was not a wolf.
She was a storm.
..
Power Stones would be greatly appreciated, it would also keep me motivated for faster updates.
Also, you can read early chapters at Patreon.com/Daario_W
Thanks for reading!