The Prince in the Rock Arc I: The Good Son returns home.
A/N: Hey there! I know what you may be thinking "OMG, HE'S BACK! THE MAN'S BACK! UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!"
Sorry, but there won't be an update for The Legendary Gamer of Kuoh anytime soon. There's just too much data to recover, and I still need to recalculate tables and shit. So yeah, no Gamer for now.
Anyhow, I've been a fan of ASOIAF for quite some time now. I've read all the books- casually, of course- and some of the spinoffs and extras. So the thought of writing an Ice and Fire fanfic is not new.
I've been reading some of the works, especially in the so called "Black Prince" line, in which one son of Robert and Cersei survives and becomes King. And boy…is it my impression, or nearly all characters are invincible Mary Sues? The stories are very good, mind you, but…you know, goodie two shoes characters rarely survive in Westeros, no matter how intelligent they are.
So, I present you with my own version of what a "Black Prince" would be. Enjoy it.
Wildfurion
"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are."― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince
Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, nor do I own any of the series/anime/movies/comics/games/books cited. I merely own my character, and this fanfic.
The Prince in the Rock Arc I: The Good Son returns home.
Prologue
-{The Loyal Squire}-
Fighting Pits, Lannisport, 2nd Moon Turn, Month of the Stranger, 298 AC.
The air was filled with the queer stench of human sweat, beer…and blood.
Under the towering shadow of Casterly Rock, the walled settlement of Lannisport prospered. Famed for its goldwork and remarkably low port fees, and kept safe by the mighty Lannister fleet, the city is the largest in the Westerlands, and one of great importance for the entire Kingdom.
And as the city thrived, so did its night life. In particular, the fighting pits.
From his spot right by the wooden fence that limited the circle of dust which was the "arena", the boy could only watch in awe, as his friend, cousin and mentor fiercely exchanged blows with a massive, fat butcher- who owns the title of Champion of that place. His name is Tyrek, Tyrek Lannister- a member of the prestigious, ancient House that rules over the Westerlands- and he is about three and ten namedays of age the classical curly blonde hair and greenish eyes his family is so famous for. 'Lord Tywin is not going to like this…' he thinks, gulping nervously as he watches the brawl. 'He's not going to like this at all!'
Inside the circle, two men are engaged in a wrestling match. The prize? A bag of 50 gold Dragons and a night at the city's best brothel, with its most expensive girls, all paid by the owners of the place.
Both are tall, strong, shirtless and proud- though the challenger is much leaner than the current champion. He is handsome and muscled, having short, messy, raven black hair, a greasy black beard and greenish blue eyes. His name is Robert, Robert Baratheon, and he is…well…
'He's the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, how dare this man hit him!' the Lannister thinks, offended by the man's audacity. 'Nobody here knows he's the Prince, though…' he then remembers, sighing in awe. "You shouldn't be doing this, Your Grace…"
Despite the beating, though, the eager- quasi-insane- smirk never left the Price's face, and he paid the blows back with equal intensity. Tyrek could only watch in awe as he delivers a powerful uppercut to the butcher's jaw- the sound of a bone cracking reaches his ears, and the pit's former Champion falls on his back with a loud thud, unconscious. The fight is over, Robert Baratheon is the winner! Yet again, that is…
"Robert! Robert! Robert! Robert! Robert!" the inflamed crowd cheers, as bags of money change hands, and new bets begin to be made for the night.
"Tyrek!" The famous Whoremonger Prince says with a grin, as he reaches closer to the wooden fence and hops over it. "Gimme a beer, just hit a jackpot tonight."
"Geez, you ought to be careful, Your Grace…" the boy whispers back with a sigh, handing a bottle of strong, Westermen ale. The Prince ignores him, and greets the cheering crowd back with a grin, before receiving a large bag of money, and a small piece of parchment from the owner. It was the prize for beating the Champion. "What if Lord Tywin learns of this?"
"Then grandpa will have to cage me with the lions, because I ain't stop fighting!" the cheerful prince replies with a loud chuckle, emptying the contents of the bottle in an instant before grabbing another. "And if he does that…well, I'll have to wrestle with the big cats then!"
"You shouldn't be drinking this much, Your Grace…" Tyrek tries to protest, as he helps the Prince put his black, rough cotton tunic on. Sown on its back, is the proud, golden roaring lion of House Lannister. "The Maesters say it's bad for your health if you drink too much! It damages the liver!"
Robert's response, though, is another chuckle, much to the boy's despair.
"Uncle Tyrion always says: 'It's not easy being drunk all the time, everyone would do it if it were easy'" The Prince replies as he adjusts his weapon- a large, heavy war hammer, so heavy Tyrek can't even lift it- and hangs it to his leather belt. "The little man knows things. Besides, Qyburn always says I'm as healthy as a horse!"
Just hearing that man's name sent a cold shiver up the Lannister's spine. That wretched Maester and the…witch, they had their claws deep onto the Young Stag.
"B-But…"
"No buts, Tyrek. When ya strong enough to lift my hammer, then ya can bitch all you want about my Health!" Robert replies in his…unusual Stormlander accent. Despite being merely two years older than Tyrek, his royal cousin was almost a grown man- tall, strong, and having a great beard. Maybe it was because he was a Baratheon? The poor Lannister doesn't know, though he certainly envies it. "Anyways, how's your training with the sword going?"
"It's going well, Your Grace." The blonde replies, as the duo walks through the paved streets of Lannisport towards the ruling family's stronghold, the Rock. Two seasoned guardsmen- both dressed in good chainmail and bearing the sigil of house Lannister on their chests- position themselves by their sides. Robert may be a powerful warrior, but he's still a Prince, the Crown Prince, to make things worse- and a Prince never walks the streets unescorted.
The passers-by look at them with curiosity. Some whisper 'Is that the Prince?', while others simply observe in awe. The streets of Lannisport are particularly lively and crowded at night- due to the city's famous bazaar- so the peculiar duo is guaranteed to attract quite a lot of attention.
"Good, you're my squire. Ya better be good, else I'm sending ya to Ser Gregor." Robert jested with a grin. Tyrek felt a drop of cold sweat falling down his forehead, just by hearing the Mountain's name. That man was just a vicious, cruel beast- a war dog, Lord Tywin's war dog. "Just jokin', you're my little cousin, so I'm keeping ya close. Besides, you're good at getting me wine and girls, and at covering for me when I'm out at…certain houses."
"I'm not sure if that's a good thing, though…" the young Lannister replies. The walk was fast- though he had to struggle a bit to keep up with Robert's large steps- and they soon made it to the Lion's Mouth- the two hundred feet tall natural cave that served as the Rock's main entrance.
Their uncle, grand-uncle in Robert's case, Ser Kevan Lannister, waited for them there…with a hundred guardsmen on his back.
And he was angry. To say the least.
"Your Grace." The big, bulky, balding old Lannister greeted politely- though his glare clearly indicated how he truly felt behind the courtesies. "I can see you have been…enjoying yourself in Lannisport, and you even took my nephew with you."
"Ol' man Kevan!" The Stormlander prince replied with a grin, much to Kevan's chagrin. "Yes, yes, me and lil' Tyrek here were just having some good time down in the city. Staying in the castle all the time was getting damn boring…" As if he'd just noticed the men standing by in attention, Robert then jokingly inquired. "What are ya thinking, though? Bringing all those men down here? Is somethin' the matter? Are the Ironborn coming again? If they are, I'm definitely joining the fight!"
"The ironborn are not coming, Your Grace." Kevan replies with a sigh, knowing the handsome Stormlander way too well to let him get under his skin. "Lord Tywin ordered me to look for His Grace, after he suddenly disappeared from his chambers."
'I'm dead…' a desperate Tyrek thought, while Robert merely replied with a chuckle. The Prince then grabbed a small bottle of Dornish wine from his pocket, and drunk the content with a pleased groan. "Forgive me, uncle. I couldn't stop him." The boy apologized with a deep bow.
"Guess even the Mountain wouldn't be able to do that." Robert says with a confident grin, as he followed his uncle up the stairways towards the massive stronghold that was the Rock.
If one needs a word to describe Casterly Rock, the first term to come to mind is: huge. With incredible two leagues from West to East, the historical seat of House Lannister was built upon a massive mount, by the pebbled shores of the Sunset Sea. Correction…the castle was part of the mountain itself.
The Maesters once measured it to be three times taller than the Wall, or the Hightower at Oldtown. Its complex contained numerous tunnels, dungeons, storerooms, barracks, halls, a godswood, stables, stairways, a sept, courtyards, docks, balconies, and gardens. In the deepest caves of the Rock, there are massive rooms where lions- living lions- are kept, guarding the cells where the worst prisoners wait for the Lord's judgment. There were also famed places, such as the Hall of Heroes- where the most heroic members of House Lannister are buried- and the Golden Gallery, which contains the House's vast treasure.
Indeed, an impressive stronghold. One fit for a King, or, in this case, a Great Lord.
As they walked past the Upper Gate and into the Keep, the guards disband, and light steps made themselves heard in the vast hallways. Rushing in their direction, soon followed by the sound of light pants.
"Big Brother!" The little girl happily said, as she buried her head in Robert's stomach. Wrapping her petite, slender arms around his waist in a tight hug. "You're back!"
"Hey there, lil' Joy." The tall Baratheon prince said with a smile, lifting the girl up with his big strong arms. "Happy to see me?"
The girl was none other than Joy Hill, their cousin and the bastard daughter of Lord Tywin's brother- Gerion Lannister- and a common woman named Briony. Joy is a sweet, blond-haired child of ten namedays old, a Lannister- except for her name and eyes, which were of a strong blue tone. 'She used to be lonely after uncle Gerion went missing, ten years aho…' Tyrek thought, letting a smile form on his lips as he watched the scene. The immense Robert was throwing her up and down in the air, always grabbing her when she reached the line of his eyes, before tossing her up again. Her weight was like a feather's to him. 'She seems quite fond of Ser Robert, though…'
"*ahem* Your Grace, my apologies for interrupting you…" Ser Kevan started, making both the Prince and Joy freeze and stare back at him. "…but I think it not wise, to make Lord Tywin wait any longer."
"Alright." Robert replies with a shrug, after some seconds of musing. He then turns to Joy, and plants a light kiss on the girl's forehead. Joy blushes as red as the color of their House, yet the Stormlander doesn't seem to mind at all. "See ya later then, lil' Joy."
The girl's handmaiden – a pretty girl named Meg- then comes to take her back to her own chambers. Robert gives the maid a grin, and a wink, silently mouthing the words 'My chambers, tonight' and earning a giggle from the girl, before following Ser Kevan up a set of stairways to Lord Tywin's office, in the highest tower in the Rock- by the scarped edge of the mountain. "Geez, your Grace…that's unbecoming of a Prince." Tyrek whispers, low enough so that only the Prince and himself can hear it.
"What?" Robert teasingly asks back in the same tone. The Crown Prince is so much taller than the young squire, that he needs to look up when talking to him.
"Sleeping with someone other than your intended, Your Grace…"
"But my intended doesn't mind sharing me with other women." The tall Baratheon replied without any sign of hesitation is his voice. The trio walked past the massive, guarded golden doors of the Golden Gallery. They were now quite close to the Lord's private solar, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocky scarps could be heard at distance. The queer smell of salt filled their nostrils, yet none seemed to be bothered by it. "I have my needs, ya know? She understands it, and allows me to do as I wish. I'm just one hell of a lucky man."
"Wait…you have an intended?!" Tyrek asked a bit too loudly, earning a questioning glance from ser Kevan and the guards that stood by the crimson walls of the corridor. The young squire was way too shocked to even address the young Knight he served properly.
"Yeah, you didn't know?" Robert replied nonchalantly, taking a generous gulp from his bottle of Dornish wine. "Not a surprise, only ol' man Kevan here and gramps know it anyhow." He then put the bottle back into his tunic's pocket and adjusted the tight robe, before continuing. "It is kind of a secret…though the Spider knows it as well, so does dad…and mother…and gramps…"
"Who is she? Is she a maiden? Where is she from, the North? The Reach? Dorne? Do you love her? Why aren't you still married?" The thirteen namedays old bombarded the Prince with whispered questions. Still forgetting all the formalities due to the shock.
"Well, all I can say is that she's the only one I'd ever consider to be my wife." Robert replies with a grin, as he stands before the oaken doors of Lord Tywin's solar. "And well, we aren't married because…well, she's currently locked at the Maidenvault, guarded by a knight of the Kingsguard and dozens of soldiers all the time, oh…and she sleeps with septas on her bed." Tyrek turned his gaze to Ser Kevan, who knocked at the door, and waited for permission to come in. "But I can still skip past those sometime to see her. Not often though."
"Come in." Lord Tywin's solemn voice replied from the inside, and Tyrek felt a slight tap on his shoulder before being handed Robert's immensely heavy, massive war hammer. Needless to say, the young Lannister boy nearly fell down while trying to hold the weapon. "Go back to my quarters and polish this." The Prince said, before he walked into the solar with Ser Kevan in tow. From inside, he heard a last command from the warrior.
"I want it shining, so you'd better hurry up boy!"
'Sometimes I wonder why him…' the boy thought as the doors were closed on his face, before brushing those thoughts out of his mind with a long sigh. At least he'd learned a new thing about his cousin and future King today, and that was good enough for Tyrek as a squire. He then smiled, thinking about the things yet to come on his serving under the Knight.
And as he made his way back to their shared quarters with the heavy hammer, Tyrek silently hoped that, in a near future, he could brag to his cousin: "I served as a squire to the King!"
-{The Young Stag}-
Despite the extravagance and utter decadence displayed all over Casterly Rock- seat of the wealthiest (by far) House in the Seven Kingdoms- Robert could still say, as he stepped into his grandfather's private solar and working place, that Lord Tywin still valued simplicity in his private life. The room is simply decorated, with the least furniture possible. Beside the long wooden table- carved with the lions of the House- and the numerous bookshelves, the only noteworthy furniture was a small comfortable couch and a wooden hack by the door.
Lord Tywin sits on his desk, under the light of candles, reading through one of the many documents that scattered his office with religious attention. Robert's grandfather is a tall man, but unlike the Prince, his figure is slender and he has broad shoulders. Ever since he started going bald- which was about 9 years before- the Old Lion has been keeping his head shaved, though bushy, golden whiskers do grow from the side of his face. His eyes- like the Queen's- are of a strong green- as usual for the Lannisters- though flecked with gold. Tywin's garb is an impressive, blood crimson shirt made of Qartheen silk, combined with fine cotton pants from Lannisport.
Overall, one could say Robert's grandfather was one of the most impressive figures in the Kingdoms. That is, by a mere glance. If one were to look at his feats, then…
Knowing his grandfather liked to make others wait for him- as a strategy to intimidate- while he worked, Robert made his way to the desk facing Tywin's with the grace of a dancer, before making himself comfortable. He dared not take his wine out, however. 'I may be daring, but I'm not a madman to insult gramps.' The Stormlander thought, as he watched Kevan walk to his place behind his older brother and liege.
The sea breeze brings freshness to the room, and the prince chooses to let himself doze off…looking at the night sky through the solar's large window.
"I hear you've been fighting at the pits of Lannisport quite often…"his grandfather started, not even moving his eyes from the paper. Lord Tywin didn't need to look him in the eye, to intimidate him. "…and going to brothels, nonetheless."
"I do." Robert finally responded, not the slightest hint of fear or intimidation in his voice. After nine years being fostered at the Rock, the Prince knew very well that the ones that show their fears…are easily crushed, like ants under Lord Tywin's boot. "I'm bored, gramps. There's nothing to do here and-"
"And?" the Old Lion inquired, raising his eyebrow in question.
"And…"
"And His Grace chooses to brawl like a peasant, in a pit of dust and blood."
"I'm sorry, gramps." Robert finally replied, giving out a resigned sigh. He was the Crown Prince, and a good fighter, but he knew better than to argue back to Tywin Lannister. Even his mother couldn't do it. "I've put my needs above my duties, I'll not do this again."
"Robert, you've been my ward for ten years now. For ten years, I've been grooming you to be King." The stern Lord replied, looking up to stare deeply inside the Prince's eyes- as if he could actually read his soul. "I know you better than anyone, even yourself, and that's why…"
"You'll not trust my apologies this time huh?" Robert replied with a cocky grin, accepting a small goblet of fresh wine from Ser Kevan- who also served one for Tywin. Unlike his grandfather, though, he actually touched his drink. "Gramps, gramps, gramps. Seems like my smiles, lies and Stormlander accent can't really fool Lord Tywin Lannister."
"How dare yo-"Ser Kevan, having had enough of Robert's ways, was about to give him a reprimand when he was shut by Lord Tywin's raised hand. 'He knows better than to reprimand a Prince, grand-nephew or not.'
"Ol' man Kevan, would you be so gentle…" Robert started, rising up his goblet to the stern Lannister with a smirk. "…as to serve me another glass?"
Minutes later, and silence once again ruled absolute over the room. Lord Tywin still gave his work more attention than his grandson, while the Prince was busy trying to end all of the Lord's private stock of wine, Arbor Gold wine, directly from the Reach.
"The next time I hear of you fighting at the pits, Robert, I'm confiscating your hammer." Lord Tywin replied sternly, nearly making the Prince choke on his drink. That was new. "The next time I hear of you whoring, I'm closing down the Sweet Hands brothel you're so fond of."
"…Alright, gramps." Robert replied, with a confident grin as always. A grin that did little to mask the fury building in inside him, fury born out of his Baratheon spirit. He used to be a stubborn boy, though nine years in the Rock taught him better than be as such with his grandfather. "Are we finished here?"
The Prince's pissed out of his mind, to say the least. He's a proud, mighty warrior- even more, he's a Baratheon prince, the Crown Prince nonetheless, orders are something he's supposed to give, not to take. He just wanted to go and fuck that handmaid like a beast all night long. 'I need to get drunk after this, else I'm killing someone tonight…'
Maybe he's truly got too much of his House's well-known spirit in him.
"No, we aren't." The Baratheon's grandfather replied, blunt as a mace. "Your immoralities are an important issue, indeed. However…" The Lord then pointed his writing pen at the Prince's face. "That wasn't the reason I called you here. The King, your father, has summoned you back to King's Landing."
"May I ask why?" Robert inquired, slowly feeling his impish mind calming down. He emptied another goblet of wine, and as he waited for an answer, helped himself for some more of the sweet drink.
"There will be a tournament to celebrate Prince Joffrey's 12th nameday." The astute old man said, finally pressing his personal seal against the document and drinking the contents from his glass. "You have been recently knighted, and therefore the King wants you to participate. You're leaving in two days."
"But my shoulder still hurts from that Melee at Lannisport…"
"The King wants his heir to participate at the tournament. Voice your complaints to him." Yet again, Robert was cut short by his grandfather, whose words were as cold and sharp as Valyrian steel. "Besides, I could see you're quite good at jousting. You even unhorsed Ser Stafford during the tournament I hosted down in Lannisport."
"Gramps…will she…?"
"If the King permits it, then yes."
"Hell yeah! Then I'm goin' to win this tournament for sure, gramps!" The tall prince cheered, slamming his fist on the table in excitement. "Who's goin'? Uncle Jaime? Ol' man Barristan? Loras? I'm unhorsing them all. Then I'm beating Thoros at the melee and then…"
"And then you're coming back to Casterly Rock, if the King allows it. I hope you satisfy your 'needs' at King's Landing, Robert." The wealthy Lord Paramount of the West then turned back to his loyal right hand and brother. "We're done here. Kevan, you may lead His Grace back to his chambers. Make sure he does not get 'lost' in the corridors."
Robert smirked and stood from his comfortable seat, giving his tutor and grandfather a respectful bow before following Ser Kevan out. The two men walked in silence, their steps echoing in the dark, silent corridors of the Rock. Yet Robert didn't really mind it, he was fuming with excitement- various thoughts coming and going from his mind at a speed he couldn't try to accompany.
"I'll make sure to impress her…" the young prince whispered to himself with a wide smirk.
A rare occasion it was, indeed. For the first time in years, the Whoremonger Prince felt like a boy once again.
Robert "the Younger" Baratheon was finally returning to the capital at King's Landing, and he'd make damn sure to win this tournament.
He had a Princess to impress, after all.
Prologue End.
-{Myrcella}-
Myrcella's Apartment, Maegor's Holdfast, Red Keep, King's Landing. 4th Moon Turn, Month of the Stranger, 298 AC.
It is a hot, sultry, late morning of Summer in King's Landing, the capital and largest city in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Milady, milady, milady." A voice echoes in the deep darkness of the girl's unconsciousness, as a hand delicately removes her sheets in an attempt to awaken her from a dreamless sleep.
"Humm…give me five minutes, Alyssa…" the Princess groggily responds, still half-asleep. "Wake me up for breakfast…"
"But milady…" the buxom, brunette handmaid says with a giggle, as she pulls the curtains of the room open, allowing beams of sunlight to enter the once dark apartment. "The Prince Robert's supposed to arrive from the Westerlands today…" a skilled chambermaid, the girl swiftly separates a set of white underwear and a dress for her lady, before continuing. "…is the Lady sure she wants to leave him waiting~?"
Emerald eyes instantly shot open at mention of the Crown Prince's name. "Robert?!" the young girl asks eagerly, jumping out of her large, comfortable bed in a blink of an eye. "Robert's here? Where is he? Is he coming to see me?"
"*giggle*The Prince's not here yet, my princess." Is the maid's response, as she lights up an aromatic candle from Oldtown. The smell of roses soon fills the air in the room, bringing in the freshness the sea breeze failed to provide at the Keep. "But I've heard from the other servant girls, they told me he's somewhere out there in the city."
"I see…" The girl, now revealed to be none other than Princess Myrcella Baratheon, of the Seven Kingdoms, says with a relieved sigh. "Then I still got some time…"
Few minutes pass, and soon the young princess finds herself inside a cold, refreshing bath prepared by her handmaids. One of the girls aids Myrcella in the difficult task that is bathing her long, beautiful golden curls with perfumed oils from Lys. Meanwhile, Alyssa uses a sponge to wash the girl's back with bath salts and soap, while the princess cleans the rest of her body for herself. While the reason she asked her handmaids for a bath was to "refresh from the Summer heat", Myrcella's true motives were much more improper and unladylike. 'I want his eyes on me today…'
She never knew when she begun to think of her elder brother, in a way not quite appropriate for a sister to do. Myrcella knew she had been clingy to the black-haired giant of a brother she has ever since she was a toddler, but the feelings she had now were…different. "Especially after he met that bitch…" she whispers, voice low and dripping in envy and poison unexpected in a girl of her age.
"You said something, my princess?" Alyssa asks with curiosity. Damn, she must have let it slip.
"Nothing, I just said that I…I…" Myrcella needed to think of something quick. She couldn't say she was thinking about Robert, it would cause too much gossip with the servants. "I was thinking about that new dress, the red one that Lord Jon gave me for my nameday."
"Hmmm…" Is the maid's thoughtful response, before she shrugs it off and goes back to rubbing the Princess' back.
'That was close…' The blonde thinks with a relieved sigh. 'I need to be careful, I can't let this slip…'
Shortly after the bath, the young Princess stands before a mirror- held in place by one of the girls- while Alyssa adjusts a beautiful, frilly, crimson dress around her little body. "You look beautiful, my Lady." The handmaid whispers at her ear with a giggle, making the girl's face turn as red as her clothing. "You'll surely have the Prince's attention in this dress."
As they made their way through the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast to the Queen's Ball room, Myrcella couldn't help but think of how Robert would actually react when he sees her. 'Knowinng big brother, he's probably just going to laugh and lift me and Tommen up, as always.' She thinks with a sigh. 'I wish he didn't see us as children all the time, though.'
Myrcella's entrance to the nearly empty Ballroom was announced by the bulky, bald figure of Ser Boros Blount, one of the knights of the Kingsguard. While it is only half the size of the Small Hall- at the Tower of the Hand- the ballroom was one of the brightest chambers at the Red Keep, mainly due to the beaten silver mirrors behind the walls, which are paneled with richly carved wood. The windows are high arched and let fresh wind into the hall, and there's a small gallery above the main floor.
And there, sitting at a round table by the window, was her mother.
The wife of King Robert I and mother of his heirs, Cersei Lannister is a woman whose legendary beauty is known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. A rose from the Westerlands, she wears a long, silky, crimson dress, like the color of her House, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, and has a luxurious, jeweled tiara resting in between her golden locks. The emeralds embedded in her collar were of the same intense green as her breathtaking eyes.
'I certainly look like her, so do Joff and Tommen.' The Princess thinks, flashing a smile as she approaches her family. As usual, her father, the King, didn't bother to come to eat with them, while Myrcella's older brother, Joffrey, was- notoriously- absent. 'That's new, Joff always eats with us…could it be…?'
Across from the Queen- who was currently savoring a small, sweet pie- was the youngest of the four royal offspring, the chubby and gentle Tommen. Myrcella's younger brother is short and plump blonde boy- much unlike the slender Joffrey, or the muscled giant that was Robert- whose golden curls fall down over his emerald eyes. Also unlike his older brothers, Tommen is a gentle, tender boy, with a big heart and forgiving nature- while both Robert and Joffrey had strong , unbending wills and wild tempers.
"Oh, Myrcella. Good morning." The Queen greets with an unusually warm smile. "You look radiant today, my little princess."
"G-Good morning, mother." Myrcella couldn't help but blush at the remark. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed by being called beautiful. 'If it were Rob though…'
"Cella! Good mornin'!" Her little brother cheerfully greeted. The blonde princess couldn't help but giggle at his attempt to mimic their father's strong Stormlander accent. It was just too cute. "Ya slept well?"
"*giggle* You're talking just like father and big bro, Tom~"
"Well, he's certainly being just as loud as my Rob." The Queen remarks with a giggle. "Should I get you a hammer too, Tommen~?"
"I'm sure he'll be the next Dragonknight~" Myrcella goes and kisses her mother's cheek, doing the same with the little Tommen before making herself comfortable on her seat. "Where's Joff?"
"Your brother…"
"Joff went out to look for big bro!" Tommen cheerfully replies, cutting their mother short in his enthusiasm.
"The City Guard's report says Rob's entered through the Lion Gate earlier this morning." The Queen adds up, ruffling Tommen's hair affectionately. A servant comes and serves the Princess her favorite dish, mashed eggs with bacon. "Nobody knows the reason for his delay, though…"
"Maybe he's training for the tourney?" Tommen innocently states while chewing on his favorite pigeon pie.
'Or he's at the brothel, as usual.' Myrcella thinks with nothing but jealousy. 'He only has eyes for his whores…Robert, why don't you look at me?!'
"Is something the matter, Cella?" Their mother- attentive as always- inquires, noticing Myrcella's fingers tightening around the fork- clenching so hard they turned white as milk.
"N-Not really, mother." The princess manages to stutter, rapidly recovering her composure. She really needed to learn how to hide her feelings better, like her mother did. "I was just thinking about the Tourney. Do you think Rob's winning this one?"
"Perhaps…" Cersei replies after brief musing, her emerald ponds looking at the Myrcella's eyes as if she could read her very soul . "I heard he's won the tournament for his nameday at Lannisport. Your grandfather says he's a great fighter, as does Ser Arys…"
"I always knew Rob was the best!" The younger prince boasts proudly with the most confident smile a child could muster. One of his many pet cats graciously jumps up to his lap, and Tommen feeds it a piece of toasted bacon- much to their mother's disapproval."I heard the servants talking once. They say he's Daemon Blackfyre reborn!"
'Or maybe Aegon, the Unworthy.' Myrcella thinks with a discreet sigh.
"You shouldn't take those rumors seriously, Tommen." The Queen reprimands with a glare, sipping tea from her cup with her usual grace.
"B-But …"
"No buts, little cub."
The rest of the meal follows in silence. 'I wonder…' Myrcella muses, looking out through the window at the city bellow Aegon's Hill.
'Does brother think about me when he's at the Rock?'
-{Robert}-
Chataya's Brothel, Street of the Silk, King's Landing.
Meanwhile, lying on a warm bed, in a cozy, small room at Chataya's Brothel, down at the famous Street of Silk in King's Landing, and just northwest of the ruins of the Dragonpit, a certain black-haired Prince sneezes.
Robert Baratheon sits by the edge of the cozy bed, naked. From her spot on his lap, a beautiful, nude, black-haired girl of his age runs a small blade over his cheeks, shaving the last remnants of that greasy, black beard from his handsome face. "*giggle* You definitely look better without the beard, brother~" The girl says with a mischievous glint on her blue eyes.
Her name is Bella, and she is one of the many bastard daughters of King Robert Baratheon, Rob's father. She was named after the famed Battle of the Bells, in which the King defeated Lord Jon Connington at Stoney Sept- that is, during the Rebellion. She used to be a prostitute in a brothel called the Peach, in her hometown, before being brought into the fold by the Crown Prince.
"Yeah, yeah, the beard's a disguise ya know?" The Prince replies with a smirk, kissing his way down her pale neck with passion. "People won't want to fight their Prince at the pits. At least not with the same fierceness…"
"Considering your reputation, then it's reasonable." The other person in the room, Chataya's beautiful daughter, Alayaya. An exotic Summer islander, tall, young, slender and gracious, with skin as dark as ebony and beautiful, sandalwood eyes. She's also an expensive prostitute at her mother's house, and a long time acquaintance of Robert. "Nobody wants to fight with the famed Young Stag, the one rumored to be strongest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms."
"The Whoremonger Stag, that is~" Bella teases, running her hand up the Prince's muscled chest. "The best lover in the Seven Kingdoms."
"I definitely am."
The beautiful Alayaya is also on her birthday clothes, and finds herself occupied with a large bruise on the warrior's left shoulder. "This bruise's ugly." The Summer Islander comments, rubbing a lotion of oil and herbs on the purple stain. "You need a new Maester, Robert. That old geezer is not good enough for you."
"Ya know Yaya, it wasn't Qyburn who treated this. It was that lil' man from Casterly Rock, Creylen, I believe."
"What about the Witch?" Bella inquires- a bit of envy dripping from her voice. "I'm sure she'd be able to treat you with her 'magic'."
"Gee, Bell…" Robert starts with a sigh, running his index over the coal-haired girl's spine. "I'm not asking Sera to treat somethin' small like a bruise. She's doin' important stuff for me all the time, I'm not bothering her."
"I'm done." Alayaya then stands up and goes for the nightstand, placing the pots with the herbs back into place. "This plaster should help relieve the pain, though you should be more careful, my Prince."
"My bad, ol' man Yohn Royce just landed a hella' good hit on me during that Melee in Lannisport." His hand then unconsciously makes its way to Bella's head, the girl immediately taking Alayaya's spot in between his legs to begin servicing him with her mouth. "That feels good, Bell."
"Are you truly half-siblings?" Alayaya inquires, as she grabs an orange Summer Islander dress from her wardrobe. "I know you're not the type of man to bend down to morals, Robert, but I never knew you were a Targaryen."
"My great-grandmother was one…"
"Mine too…"Is Bella's response, taking a break of her ministrations to lick at Robert's massive shaft. Before she could go back to pleasing him with her throat, though, the Prince places a strong hand onto her head.
"Unfortunately, Bella, I need to go to the Keep. I'm late, way too late." The Whoremonger Stag says with a sigh, standing from his seat. He accepts his clothes from Alayaya, who's already dressed and perfumed. Ready for another client, perhaps. "Mother may be irate as we speak, I'd rather not give her any more reasons …"
"But Rob…" The girl tried to argue back with a huff, bitter at being denied her pleasure, but was stopped when the Prince placed his hands onto her slender shoulders.
"Sister…"
At least that he learned well from Lord Tywin, the art of shutting people up with as few words as possible.
Few minutes later and the trio left the small, discreet building that was Chataya's Brothel through the back door, into a dark alleyway of the Street of Silk. The Prince was dressed in a silken, blood crimson tunic- which wrapped tightly around his large muscled arms- containing the roaring golden lion that was the Lannister sigil, completed by black cotton pants, and a short white cloak with the black, crowned stag of Baratheon.
"Thank you for your help, Yaya!" The young Baratheon says cheerfully, pecking the tanned woman on the lips. "My shoulder feels great now. Might as well fight a bear barehanded!"
"It was a pleasure, my Prince." The girl replies with a curtsy, before turning her eyes to Bella, who stands by her younger brother with a scowl on her pretty face. "I'll make sure to inform you of that certain clients you asked me about, should they come…"
"I appreciate it, Alayaya." Bella replies with a movement of her head, eyes fixed on the girl's back as she left. When the door was finally shut on their faces, the bastard then turns to her royal brother. "Now, then, my dear brother. Where is Ser Arys?"
"I'll be honest to you, I've got no idea…"
"I'm right here, Your Grace." A voice answers from the dark, as a man steps out of the shadows of the building into the feeble light. "Ser Arys Oakheart, of the Kingsguard, ready for duty."
A renowned member of the Kingsguard and the Crown Prince's sworn shield, Ser Arys Oakheart is a muscled Reachman, with light brown hair and a comely face. Though he's not a giant like the Prince he's supposed to protect- who stands slightly over 7 feet tall- Ser Arys has an average height, and wears a scale mail white armor with his House's crest- three oak leaves- formed by emerald scales on his chest plate. Pinned to his shoulders by a golden leaf, the white mantle of the Kingsguard is proudly hanged on his right shoulder.
"There ya are, Ser Arys." The Stormlander casually greets, adjusting his heavy war hammer to his hips. The trio swiftly leaves the dark lane onto the main street, which is paved…and crowded with clients from the many brothels in the neighborhood. Wealthy merchant or poor peasant, every man from King's Landing who sought to sate his basic needs knew the Street of Silk was the place to go. "Where's mah' boy Tyrek? Is he with you?"
"I'm here, Your Grace." The blonde haired Lannister squire replies, as he walks towards the trio accompanied by 10 armed guards- all bearing the crest of House Lannister onto their chests. None of them had horses, those had been left at one of his friends' stables to rest from the long ride from the Rock. "We were waiting at the Crossed Swords, as His Grace ordered."
Crossed Swords was a rather shady inn at a neighboring street. Though the food tasted horribly, their beer was unique in its color- which was of an intense black- and flavor. The owner, who was a fat, laughing Stormlander woman, personally prepared it by roasting the malt from the Reach, before the fermentation. It was Robert's favorite drink, even more than wine.
"Good, good, now then, let's go!" The big Stormlander warrior says with an enthusiastic smile. Though he did enjoy the time he spent at Chataya's, Robert Baratheon had to admit he was eager to meet his younger siblings, after such a long time.
"The last time you've seen them was last year, they couldn't have changed so much, Rob." Bella casually states, low enough so that only he could hear it, as if she could read his mind. Shrewd woman she is. "Normal children don't grow like you, my Prince."
With the Lannister guardsmen protecting them from both sides, and Ser Arys opening the way to the front, the Prince's small entourage steadily makes their way through the Street of the Sisters, right in between the hills of Rhaenys and Visenya- with the Great Sept of Baelor coming to view at distance. The passing people look at him in awe, some were seeing their future King for the first time.
"It's not my fault if I'm big and strong." The Young Stag replies with a grin, waving back at a group of septas who looked at him in…inappropriate ways. May the Seven forgive them, for the handsome Whoremonger Prince wouldn't. "Besides, one year is a damn long time. They surely changed a bit."
The Prince's father, the King Robert Baratheon- after whom he was named- had four legitimate children from his wife, Queen Cersei- three boys, and one girl: Robert, who is the heir, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. Each of them were quite different from each other, both in looks, and in personalities.
Brave, impulsive, gregarious, headstrong and impatient, the fifteen namedays old Robert- also known as the Young Stag or Whoremonger Prince- is the eldest of the four royal children and the current heir to the coveted Iron Throne. Not particularly intelligent, though certainly not stupid, he is- of the four- the most likely to get into fights if only for the fun of it. He was born in Storm's End, and retains a particularly strong Stormlander accent despite his time at the Rock.
'I'm also the one who looks the most like father.' He muses, as he runs his eyes over the queer black structure that is the Guildhall of the Alchemists. 'That's where Sera is, working on somethin' she's yet to tell me about.'
Following on the line, is the second Prince, Joffrey Baratheon. Much like his older brother, Joff has a…wild nature, most of the time. During their childhood, when Joffrey was a toddler, he used to be quite close, and even clingy, to Robert- though their relationship began to grow a bit distant after the latter accompanied their uncle- Lord Stannis Baratheon, of Dragonstone-in the Royal Fleet during Greyjoy's Rebellion. From Robert's perspective, Joffrey is a weird, gentle… but spoiled, complex and a bit obsessive child…who loves and hates him at the same time, and who had some strong fits of violence. 'His temper is like mom's, though wilder.'
'Maybe mother did spoil him rotten.' The black-haired Baratheon thought with a sigh. Even he couldn't understand Joffrey sometimes, though he was sure he loved him a lot. Maybe things would have turned out different, had he taken Joff with him to the Rock? 'No, mom would've never allowed it…'
Queen Cersei could be way too protective of her children sometimes.
As immense silhouette of the Red Keep came closer and closer, Robert's thoughts drifted to his one and only true sister: the sweet, intelligent and beautiful Myrcella. Though Robert was away at the Iron Islands- accompanying his father in a military campaign- when she was born, his younger sister immediately clung to him once he returned. When he visited from the Rock- which happened about once or twice a year- a toddler Myrcella would often sneak her way onto his bed, to sleep with him; she is what Joff used to be when he was younger, though she continues to openly express her affection towards him. 'Too much affection, in fact.' The Baratheon couldn't help but grimace, when he remembered that day…when mother caught her sleeping with him. 'I hope she's changed, I'd rather not be scolded again.'
Then, of course, there was Tommen. The youngest of the royal children was a sweet, innocent boy- who admired Robert like the hero he certainly wasn't. Tommen enjoys reading, and keeps various pets- though Joffrey once killed and skinned his pet fawn, an act that shocked even the usually carefree Robert.
"By the way, Bella…"
"Yes, my Prince." The woman replies, her tall, gracious figure mixing with the darkness of the Shadowblack Lane. The gates of the majestic Red Keep finally come to view, though one can see an abnormal amount of Gold Cloaks at distance.
"Have ya seen Qyburn?" The old former Maester was nowhere to be seen ever since they entered the city, having disappeared into one of the many dark and narrow lands of the capital. "He said he was goin' to buy some stuff from a Braavosi friend of his, but he's takin' just damn long."
"Honestly, Robert…" Bella replies lowly, as they step into the light of Aegon's Hill. The gate is just a few steps away, and at least a hundred Gold Cloaks are standing by it. "I don't know why you trust the Bloody Maester so much."
"He's loyal. And smart." Is the Prince's brief response, as his eyes shift towards the commotion at the Lower Gates of the Red Keep. A slender, blonde haired boy yells cholerically at the soldiers. "And ruthless."
"How come you didn't find him?!" The boy says, the men lowering their heads in shame at the scolding. A peculiar sight, indeed, considering most of them had the double of his age. "You're the city guard! You're supposed to know EVERY CORNER of this city! So how come…you didn't find him?! Answer me!"
Suddenly, Robert's eyes glow in recognition, but before he can announce his presence, an old, broad-shouldered, blue eyed man- dressed in a blue robe, and proudly wearing a necklace of linked hands- comes into the scene. "My Prince, I believe it not wise to…"
"Old man Jon! Ya still alive, I see!" The Baratheon cheerfully greets, swiftly making his way across the surprised Gold Cloaks- who dare not block his passage- to give the man a bone crushing hug. "It's been a long time!"
"Your Grace! So there you are!" The old man, who's no one than Lord Jon Arryn- Warden of the East and Hand of the King- greets, recognizing him merely by the thunderous voice. Seeing that the Prince they were looking for was there already, the Golden Cloaks quietly disbanded- still grimacing over the scolding they've just received. "You don't stop growing, don't you? My boy…"
"Brother…"
"Joffrey…"
Robert's younger brother, Prince Joffrey Baratheon, is a young man of two and ten namedays old. Slightly younger than the Young Stag's squire, Joff- however- is a little bit taller than Tyrek, being about 59 inches tall, and had long, golden, curly hair that fell down under his shoulders. His eyes are of a strong green color, similar to Rob's greenish blue ones, and a handsome face.
"Brother!" The laughing Crown Prince can only chuckle as his younger brother nearly jumps upon him in a tight hug. "Where were you? You took so long, I was worried…"
"I was busy, Joff." Robert replies with a grin, patting his brother's back with affection. Of course he wouldn't tell his little brother the true reason why he was late. "You've grown a bit taller since last year, lil' man. Are ya ready to be my squire?"
"*ahem*You do have a squire already, Your Grace." Tyrek reminded with a cough. The clever Lannister boy he was, he'd already ordered for accommodations to be provided to the guards that escorted them- leaving only Ser Arys and Bella with them. "Though I'm sure His Grace doesn't need to me reminded of that. I'm sure His Grace would never forget I am his squire…"
"Yeah, yeah, you say that again, cousin, and I'm sending ya back to Lannisport, walking."
"Your Grace, I'm sorry to interrupt your…reencounter between siblings." Lord Jon starts, patting the Prince's shoulders with a strong, callous hand. "But there are matters of importance that you must attent to…the King…"
"Wants to see me, I know." Robert cuts him short, already knowing how things would end. Of course, his father would want to see him. He was the one who insisted on his participation at the tournament, after all. "Shall we go, Joff?"
"It's been a long time, brother…" The younger prince cheerfully says, as they walk through the courtyard towards the Great Hall. "Many things happened while you were staying at the Rock…"
"Such as…?" Robert inquires with a raised eyebrow, much like his grandfather, Tywin.
And so he heard his little brother vent off, about the recent events at the Red Keep. He heard about the new crossbow their uncle- Lord Renly- had bought for him, about how Tommen began to learn the complex Ghiscari language, about how Myrcella greatly improved her sewing skills. The words came, and went by, what mattered to Robert was that his younger brother was happy to see him.
'Though it's getting harder and harder to see this side of Joff…' The Prince thinks with an internal sigh. If merely half of what he had been told by Bella was true, then his brother- his precious little brother- of only eleven namedays of age was turning more and more into a cruel and sadistic beast. "Say, Joff…"
"Yes, Big Bro?" The younger prince asks, clear excitement glowing on his eyes. They pass through empty armors, and hanged tapestries of the corridors of Aegon's Bastion- the part of the Red Keep where the Great Hall is located.
"Your 12th nameday is coming in a few days, what would you like as a gift? A steed? A sword? A dog?"
"Hmm…coming from you, I think anything will be great, Big Bro!" The younger boy replies with a sheepish smile, making Robert ruffle his blonde curls playfully. "Though I do have a Hound already…"
"Very well, lil' man, I'll make sure to impress you then!" Robert already had some ideas for a good gift for Joffrey. He'd have to talk to Lord Stannis later, though, since he was the one with knowledge in the area. "Though it might only be ready later than you expect. So ya'd better have patience. Don't be a bad boy!"
"I won't, Big Bro!"
The group now stands by the doors of the Great Hall- magnificent, colossal wooden doors with dragons carved all over its surface. "No guards?" The Prince inquires, turning back to Lord Jon with a questioning glance.
"The King knew you were coming today, my Prince, so he dismissed his Kingsguard for the morning…"the old man replied, in the same serious tone as always. Despite his advanced age, Jon Arryn's voice was still as powerful as it was 30 years before.
"I see, well then…" the Prince then turns to his companions "The King wants to see me, and me alone, so…"
"Understood, Your Grace." Both Tyrek and Bella reply with polite bows, before immediately turning on their heels to leave. Their steps echo in the silent corridors, becoming more and more distant until all that remains is silence.
"I shall take my leave as well…" Lord Arryn says with a bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my Prince."
The Hand also walks away, leaving only Joffrey with the prince. Robert turns to his younger brother, who looks at him eagerly. "Joff…"
"I understand it, Big Bro." The boy replies with a smile that could light up the world. If only he were like this to everyone… "I'll be on my way then."
The older Baratheon's eyes accompany the boy as he leaves, until Joffrey disappears from view into one of the many alleys of the Red Keep. "*sigh* Let's get this over with, I want to give Bella a good tumble before lunch…and then maybe, I'll go and see her…"
The heavy doors of the Great Hall are pushed open quite easily by the strong Prince, and- as he passes by hanged tapestries from past hunts- his eyes fall onto the monstrous hunk of steel that is the Iron Throne…and also, on the man sitting upon it.
Sitting on a massive, queer throne made of molten swords, the immense figure of King Robert Baratheon, the first of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm is indeed, that of a warlord. Once known as The Demon of the Trident, Prince Robert's father- now known as Robert 'the Older'- is a man of incredible strength and height, possessing more than 6 feet of height. His hair is black like a raven's feathers, as is his beard, and his eyes are of an intense blue, unlike his son's greenish blue orbs.
Robert couldn't help but smile at the sight of the man known as the Whoremonger King.
"You've grown fat, ol' man." The boy greets cheerfully, his Stormlander accent stronger than ever now.
"Robert! My son, it's been damn long!" The King replies with a chuckle, descending from his seat with impressive speed for such an obese individual. Soon, the young prince found himself wrapped in a crushing bear hug by his father. "Just look at you! A grown man, my boy!"
"Still growing, though." Rob replies with a chuckle. Merely two years before, his father still towered over him like a muscled, fat giant…now, though, it is the Young Stag that stands at least a head taller than the King. "I don't know what Jenny puts on my food, but it sure as hell makes me grow fast!"
"Your mother keeps telling me about your victories at Lannisport. I'm proud of you, son." The King says, tapping Robert's shoulder in approval. His blue eyes glint with pride. "Unhorsing Ser Stafford, and beating ol' Royce at the Melee. Now that was a feat!"
The Prince could still remember it as if it were yesterday. The commoners of Lannisport cheered his name, as he broke spears against Ser Stafford Lannister in the finals of his nameday's tournament. The older Uncle Dolt tired under the weight of his heavy plate armor, while the jovial Stormlander he'd trained was not nearly as winded.
"Ser Stafford had knighted me just days before the jousts. He'd better be proud, having trained the strongest in the Seven Kingdoms."
"After me, ya cocky boy!" The King replies with a chuckle. "You've still got a long way fore' ya can defeat me!"
It was a common practice they've had for some years now. Every time prince Robert came to King's Landing for a visit, he'd spar with his old man. Like Stags clashing with their antlers, both Baratheons fought to see who was the strongest- no weapons, no armor, just pure, crude strength, fury and stubbornness.
"We'll see this at the melee, ol' man!" Robert teases with a smirk, accepting a flagon full of strong ale from a servant girl. His father winks, and slaps the girl's generous arse. "You're fighting, aren't ya?"
"I can't, the men won't want to fight their King, my boy. Unfortunately…"
"I see…" The Prince says, contemplating the Iron Throne. The ugly, asymmetric monstrosity- full of jagged edges and cutting blades- was aid to have been made by the legendary Aegon 'the Conqueror', with the swords of his enemies- melted by a dragon's fire, and hammered for fifty-nine days to take its current shape. The horrible chair was the object of desire for nearly all of the Westerosi lords, yet it exerted little fascination upon Rob. 'It's just a fucking chair.'
"You're thinking about that whore, right?" His father asks somberly, the man's bearded face beginning to turn red in anger. It is then that the Prince notices the strong reek of alcohol, wrapping around the King like a cloud. 'Damn it.' Robert needed to be careful now, Baratheons were not known for their patience, after all. "I'm not letting that hoe out! Her place is at the Maidenvault, and she'll be there till the day I die!"
"Ol' man, don't you talk abou-"
"You dare tell me what to do boy?!" Faster than he could even react, the Prince found himself pushed back against the crimson walls of the Red Keep. With a strong grip, the King lifted him up as if he were lighter than a feather. "I am YOUR KING!"
"Let…me…go!" Never one to let his pride be scratched like this, Robert was quick to push his father away with the strength of a bull. "What the hell are you thinking old man?!"
For a moment, the two Baratheons merely glared at each other- fists clenched, as if they were about to latch onto each other in a brutal fight. Both were strong, stronger than most men in the Seven Kingdoms could ever hope to be- and their pride was even bigger. And just then…
Both Stormlanders began to chuckle, the sounds of their loud laughing filling the empty Hall like the sounds of a storm.
"That was damn fun, old man! I thought we would actually wrestle here for a second!"
"You've gotten really strong, mah' boy, to push your fat old man like this!" The King replies, breaking his laughter to take a generous gulp from his strong ale. "Seems like you won't give up on that girl...so let's make it like this…"
"A bet?" The Prince inquires, helping himself for some more of the drink.
"Your brother, Joffrey, is having is 12th nameday in a few days. There will be a tournament in his honor, as you already know…" The King starts, placing a strong hand onto his heir's shoulder. "I'll let you take that fucking Dragonspawn out of that damned tower once- and only ONCE- if you win at the jousts."
"Was planning to do so anyways." Rob replies nonchalantly. "I accept your conditions then, old man."
"But I forbid you of wearing her favor! I'll not have my son fight with that colors!"
"I never intended to, old man." The boy merely replies with a chuckle. Tapping his old man's shoulder playfully. "There will be many ladies in the city, I'll make sure to find another favor."
With the matter solved, Robert proceeded to accompany his father out of the throne room, talking, jesting and laughing on their way back to Maegor's Holdfast. Lunchtime was close, and both Baratheons were starting to get hungry. 'I'll make sure to enjoy the stay here at the Red Keep…' he thought with a grin, running his eyes over the beautiful maids that passed by. 'Thoroughly.'
It is, indeed, good to be the Crown Prince of Seven Kingdoms.
A/N: So hey! Did you enjoy this first chapter? Don't forget to smack that follow/fav button, and express your feelings in the comment section! Feel free to PM me too, I like chatting with my readers.
Oh yeah, next chapter's coming on March 27th, exactly one month from now. I like to set days for the launching, so that I actually have the time and discipline to write.
Listening to: Battle Beast- Band of the Hawk.
Doing: Drinking iced tea and studying for Med School, again.
Status: Sleepy. John Wick is the best movie ever.
Papa Wildfurion's out.