Scene One.
ROBERT BARATHEON
Fair enough battle in the end, eh Ned? Foul bloody weather though.
EDDARD STARK
I'd rather a spot of rain than be one of the dead.
Wait- Do you see these women that approach us?
Have they come from the battlefield? M'ladies. Are you quite alright? It is not safe to be wandering so soon after a battle- let us escort you back to the village.
ROBERT
Ah those aren't real women Ned- look at the state of them, miserable old hags. Your courtesy is lost on them I'd say.
Are you not going to speak at all then, wenches? Speak.
FIRST WOMAN
All hail, Robert Baratheon, of Storm's End.
SECOND WOMAN
All hail, Robert Baratheon, the Usurper.
THIRD WOMAN
All hail, Robert Baratheon, future King of Westeros.
EDDARD
Robert, don't pay them any heed. Come on, let us return if they will not take our help.
FIRST WOMAN
You, Eddard Stark of Winterfell. A lesser than Robert, yet greater.
SECOND WOMAN
Not so happy, yet much happier.
THIRD WOMAN
Your son shall be King, though you will never be.
So all hail, Lords Robert and Eddard.
ROBERT
Wait- stay, wretched women, tell me how you have learnt this, or whether it is simply folly.
Women, I command you, speak.
EDDARD
You're going to have to work on that commanding tone Robert, the women seem to have taken our leave.
Hah, my sons, Kings! A likely tale.
ROBERT
You never know; you might usurp me Ned.
EDDARD
Sounds very unlikely. Come on, I'm starved.