Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and I make no profit writing fanfics about it.

(AN): This one goes out to Joshandthat for reminding me just where I wanted to go with this fic.


Robb IV


The belt of King Robert's drunken laughter cracked through the smoky hall, and Robb pressed his palms against his eyes in an effort to stop the room from spinning around him.

"Stark!"

Robb's entire body felt warm and lethargic from the wine, and based on the way Grey Wind was whining piteously at his feet, his wolf felt the same way. If he ever found out who thought it would be a great prank to get a direwolf drunk, he'd string them up by their shorthairs.

"Stark!"

At least his father had retired a few candlemarks past and wouldn't know just how drunk he'd truly gotten. The stoic Lord of the North didn't scold his children for drinking too much ale back home, but there was a difference between Winterfell and King's Landing. Robb didn't want to have to suffer through a lecture on propriety in the morn right before his father left for Winterfell. If they had to part, at least they'd part on good terms.

"Stark! Get your arse up here!"

"Piss off!" Robb shouted back, only to look up when the hall went abruptly quiet. Pale and shocked faces stared back, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach Robb turned his gaze to look eyes with the King.

Thick dark brows were arched high, crowning a disbelieving expression. Very slowly, the flabby beard covered skin of Robert's face and neck mottled red. "Is that how you speak to your King?" he asked very gravely.

Then before Robb could even babble out an apology the King started hammering his fist on the polished dining table. "Hahahahaha!" The tension swiftly bled out of the room like the rush of a river downstream, and soon enough other nervous giggles were echoing Robert's own mirth. "You've got stones, Stark! That's the funniest thing that's happened around here in a long time. Now, get up here! All these arselickers are making me sick."

Lurching to his feet, Robb instinctively reached for his half-empty goblet of Arbor red before thinking better of it. "Come on boy." He muttered to Grey Wind, wincing when the giant wolf heaved up a little puddle of sick before staggering after him.

Robb could feel the eyes burning into him as he made it to the head of the table and threw himself into the empty seat at King Robert's right hand. The sudden weight against his thigh told him that Grey Wind had plopped down right next to him and leaned in.

"Good lad." Robert growled approvingly before bellowing at one of the servants to bring them more wine.

In short order Robb found a brand new gold and ruby encrusted goblet shoved into his hands, filled to the brim with Dornish sour. The room was spinning too much for him to want to drink more of his own accord, but he'd probably tempted fate a bit too much already, so when King Robert toasted the vintage Robb took a hearty gulp.

Leering at the barely concealed teats one of the wenches dancing about the hall sported, Robert waved his offhand at the wineskin that had been left in front of the pair. "They don't make them like that in the North, boy."

"No they don't, Your Grace." Robb agreed staidly, one hand dropping to scratch behind Grey Wind's ear.

"Bah! Don't start that now, Stark." Abandoning his perusal of a particularly buxom blonde, Robert favoured his best friend's son with one gimlet eye. "I have enough lickspittles crawling around here looking to kiss my stones for a bit of favour, don't you join them. Unfreeze that frozen face of yours and call me Uncle Rob, or Robert, or even Baratheon for the fuck's sake. Now drink up, your King commands it."

Robb found demanding informality and abusing the royal prerogative in the same breath to be hypocritical, but he kept such thoughts to himself and took a small sip of his wine. "Very well… Robert." He agreed cautiously, relaxing when the King grunted in approval.

"Ned's leaving tomorrow." The melancholy note was heavy in the King's voice, and when he went to drink he ended up downing the entire goblet and thumping for another. Then he burped, the foul stench make Robb want to wrinkle his nose, before turning to consider the Northern heir. "There's to be a tourney at Highgarden for the Tyrell girls fifteenth nameday in a few moons, you plan to join the lists?"

"Aye." Robb agreed recklessly, emboldened by the drink and the knowledge that once his father left the only one that might gainsay him for doing so was the King and Queen themselves, and perhaps Jon Arryn as the Hand. His father would think it Southron foolishness but at least once in his life Robb wanted to be garbed in glory with the smallfolk screaming his name. "I haven't decided whether to ride in the jousts or fight in the melee."

Clapping a hand to Robb's shoulder with bruising force, Robert grinned. "Good man, Stark. I have half a mind to join myself. A word of advice lad, do one or the other, or you'll be so sore and bruised by the end of the tourney you won't even have the energy to sit on the privy by yourself. Believe me, I've been there."

Snorting into his drink at the thought, Robb shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, good. More wine you spineless shites!" Robert suddenly roared, shaking the empty wineskin in emphasis. "You have one benighted job! Now lad." The King dropped his voice again. "You'll need to practice hard. You don't have to win, but don't get knocked on your arse in the first tilt. And find your way down to the Street of Steel and get some decent armor made up for yourself. Don't worry about the coin, just think of it as making up for fourteen days of missed namedays."

Robb fumbled his goblet with numbed fingers, spilling wine down his front. "That's generous of you, Uncle Rob." The familial title was odd on his tongue, but the twinkling in the King's eyes was practically giddy once Robb named the man as such.

"You think that's generous? I'll do you one better, lad, and make sure Barristan's got a few hours here and there to give you some pointers. I'll even lend you the Kingslayer if you think you can stomach the ponce."


(AN): And here's another. I wanted to take a bit of a different approach with Robert than we usually see in fics. Usually he's written as this disinterested off-screen character, and I think that fits most of the time. But I also think that only shows his despair. It doesn't show his ability to make friends or his careless generosity, qualities that enabled him to hold the Kingdom together after deposing the Targaryens.

It also doesn't show his obsession with the Starks and longing for the past. Not only is Robert making friends with the new guy on the block (which he does thoughtlessly and which has created a system of informal debts stabilizing his reign), he's also substituting Robb as friend/brother/son (the Stark he has) for Ned (the Stark he wants).