A/N: Butterflies begin getting stomped on. Again.

"-. 278 AC .-"

Today was the day.

Not the whole day though. Ned had finally finished the latest chapter in 'A Game of Thrones' and there was no victory to be had there for anybody. It made him guiltily relieved, not that he'd tell anyone that. Robert's favorite character had gotten himself murdered by a pig half-way through the book, so it was a nice change to see everyone else getting kicked in the teeth, if not quite in the same way. He still cursed himself, though, for getting invested in a story he couldn't skim all the way to the end first to see how it ended (who ever heard of publishing a book chapter by chapter? Madness!). He should've known not to expect anything good out of someone with such a stupid name too. What kind of name even was Bastian Cornpile anyway? And he had the balls to claim he was just 'editing' what all was written by some lout named Raymond something. Why would whatshisname try to distance himself from his own handiwork? Even he knew the story was shit, that's why!

Curse Ned for getting him invested, he was the worst friend ever!

Though considering his own favorite character got crippled, imprisoned and then unlawfully executed by an incest-born bastard pretender, and because it only happened because his wife browbeat him into taking a post he didn't want, and because said wife then went behind his back to confide in their worst enemy – thus forcing him into the worst and dumbest collaboration ever – AND because she then went against all his orders and started a five-way war to the knife that got her husband killed for the high crime of trying to keep the peace, Robert was going to forgive him.

Still, he sometimes wished he'd never heard of this 'newspaper' thing, at least on those days when it didn't make the Septon or Maester burst a blood vessel. It was a pipedream of course, now that the North was selling it all over the place.

The Winds of Winter.

Ha! It sure went and broke some mighty stinking winds, he'd give it that.

"Well this is a fine mess to end a dynasty on, isn't it?" Jon said blandly as he leaned back in his chair at the game table. "What have we learned from this?"

Denys scoffed as he knocked over his cyvasse pieces. "Don't listen to your crazy wife when she tells you to hand the treasury over to her even crazier childhood sweetheart?"

"Quite." Jon said dryly, looking around the table. "Anyone else?"

As if you won't put all of us through the wringer anyway, Robert thought with a grunt as he finished his last squat and put the barbell back onto its rack.

"What's the point?" Elbert groused. He was still grumpy over the second of the king's brothers bravely running away like the first. "The good guys lost."

"I suppose you could look at it that way."

"We need a timeline," Elys said.

"Here you go." Ned produced and unfolded a large sheet of paper, because of course he did.

Robert finished wiping himself of sweat, let his towel hang over his neck and took a seat opposite Alyssa. She wrinkled her nose at him despite being the farthest away from him out of everyone. She always did pretend to hate the smell of man when he was there. She'd never forgiven him for getting her spirited away to Old Anchor, even though she came out of it with some of her best life experiences, a whole bunch of connections, and a lifelong friend. Robert waited for her to meet his eyes, smirked at her, and then dismissed her as insolently as he could in favour of the 'timeline.' Her glare soothed the dark pit of spite gnawing at his soul that he was still an hour or two from finally filling with vindication.

And then some.

A Game of Thrones, by Raymond Richard

edited by Bastien Cornpile

"-. Timeline of Major Events .-"

(compiled by Eddard Stark)

John Griffin is murdered by his wife Eloise Mudd at the bidding of Peter Shell, Lord of the Fingers, and he also directs her to send a raven to her sister, Cathryn Stark, suggesting that the Casterlys did it;

Brandon Stark (Bran the Younger) is pushed out a window (by Semaj Casterly);

A catspaw attempts to kill Bran after his fall leads to a severe head injury and long sleep;

Cathryn Mudd Stark travels to Highgarden with the dagger the catspaw used in the attack on Bran, to find out who was behind the attempt on her son's life;

Peter Shell convinces her that the dagger belongs to Lann Casterly;

Cathryn seizes Lann with the help of Riverlands men praying at High Heart on her way back north, and takes him to the Griffin King's palace in the Vale of the Moon, where her widowed sister now sat the Crescent Chair on behalf of her young son;

In response to a Casterly being seized, Corlos Casterly sends Reigo Giantskin and his army of Skinchngers to raid the Trident, to draw Brandon Stark out of the Reach. At the same time, Semaj Casterly has a fight with Brandon Stark in Highgarden, which results in Brandon's leg breaking due to mysterious outside interference – he can't go out to war where he can be killed in battle or assassinated out of sight of the Oakenseat. Brandon sends Brice Dondarrion and his men out to battle Reigo Giantskin instead;

Word comes from across the sea that Garth Greenhand has died in the Corpse City of Stygai beneath the Shadow. Prince Garth II ascends to the Throne of the First Men, but dies days later in a hunt against the legendary golden boar whose tusks he wanted to carve into bands for his wife's crown. Lann the Younger takes the Oakenseat. Brandon is arrested and imprisoned on orders of the new Queen Regent, Serice Casterly.

Durran Godsgrief, Garth Greenhand's goodson, rebels and declares himself Storm King, denouncing Lann the Younger and his siblings as illegitimate bastards. John the Oak, Garth Greenhand's son, also declares himself King, believing he is the only one that can restore honor and chivalry to the realm after such a disgrace;

Lann the Elder denies the accusations Cathryn makes about sending a catspaw after Bran. He challenges anyone to make him eat his words, but there is no one brave enough to do so. The sisters sentence him to death anyway, by banishment into the Mountains of the Moon to die as prey to the direbears, griffins and other beasts that nest there. He survives, impresses a skinchanger by leveraging his giant size and strength to wrestle his bear skin into submission, recruits all the clans who reject the right of a foreigner to sit the Griffin Throne, and leaves the Vale.

Cregan Stark, Brandon's eldest son, calls his armies and comes south to fight the Casterlys as a result of Brandon's arrest.

Urras Greyiron returns to the Iron Islands as an envoy of Cregan, just in time to witness his father, the Grey King, walk back into the sea to return to the right hand of his Father. Urras is elected High King of the Iron Islands and begins making plans to reclaim supremacy of the Five Seas, starting with the entire west coast of Westeros;

The Splintering of the First Men begins.

"-. .-"

"So…" Jon said after everyone had time to digest the utter butchery that whatshisname dared make of the Age of Heroes. Ned's inexplicable indulgence towards the book and its mysterious author notwithstanding. "At which point did the war actually start?"

Robert scowled when Jon's eyes lingered more on him than everyone else. Jon always made a big lesson every time a new chapter was added to this travesty. It was like he didn't think Robert was well enough read on any other stories or something. Did he miss all the reading aloud Ned had done over the years? The Maester must have been speaking calumny against him again. Vengeance would be his! With eggs soaked in vinegar!

Thank you Elbert for that particular trick.

Or Jon was just hounding Robert because Ned had long since gone in the other extreme of debating things.

"I can't even decide at this point," said Alyssa with a huff that she really didn't need to put so much effort into seeming dainty. It's not like people could look past those plump breasts to appreciate it any. "Eloise is a complete nutter, but nobody actually found out what she did. Cathryn, though, somehow decided that arresting Lann the Clever in the middle of a crowded inn was a good idea."

On the one hand, that sounded like it made sense, especially if her theory about that particular Lann being the Lann ended up being true. Eventually. Years from now. Maybe. Would be a good twist to the obvious giant heritage that couldn't have come from either of his Casterly parents. On the other hand, it went to show that even the most earnest interest in 'the talk of you menfolk' wasn't substitute for ability. And Alyssa's interest had never actually been earnest, so much as a spiteful demand from her father to 'make it up to her' for going along with Robert's 'evil' plan.

"Robert?" Shit, Jon noticed! "Any thoughts on that?"

"Plenty," Robert grunted, stretching his arms over his head until his bones popped. Alyssa pretended not to stare, that randy lassie. "But I'd not want to rob anyone else of the chance to shine."

"Your glibness does you no credit."

No, but it did maintain his image as scatter-brained oaf until the proper time, which would be soon so Jon would just have to keep his breeches on.

Jon sighed. "Ned?"

Ned started. He was always distracted these days. Not for much longer though, Robert vowed all over again. "… The high lords have the rights of pit and gallows and are responsible for enforcing the law. Cathryn was acting as Lady of the Barrows and the daughter and envoy of the Lord of the Trident. Seizing Lann on suspicion of having arranged the assassination of Bran was within her authority and not an act of war."

No, it was just foolish and treasonous to her husband and his holdings because it went in direct opposition to the orders he gave her to go back to Barrow Hall, man Moat Cailin, and tell their son to call the banners from the very start. She also didn't tell their son to keep Greyiron close until after her many bad decisions destroyed his trust in her and he refused on principle.

"Brandon sending Brice Dondarrion and his men to police the violence along the Trident wasn't an act of war either." Elbert said. Unprompted. Jumping to defend Ned's chosen favorite so he wouldn't look biased while doing it himself, the loyal lad. Good boy! "He expressly charged Brice and the other men with the mission to protect the smallfolk, stop the violence and bring the Rivers and Hills to order. This is simply policing the King's Peace once it has been broken."

Jon smiled and nodded. Elbert tried and failed not to preen. Silly boy, if he deserved to feel proud, he should feel proud!

"It has to do with the offense of Breach of the Peace," Jon lectured. "Or more precisely, its origin. Breach of the Peace is one of the oldest offences in Westerosi law. As Maester Frederick has detailed in his book 'The King's Peace', it can be traced back to the regard in First Man law for the sanctity of the homestead. Every man was entitled to peace in his own house. If his peace was disturbed – by brawling, fighting, or even name-calling and other incivilities – the offender would owe him special amends. If the peace of the King's home was breached, this was of course more serious than for the common man, and the offender risked being slain. The King's peace was eventually extended from his home and roads to the whole kingdom. Whosoever breached the peace breached the King's peace and risked doom. So, considering this, at which point did the war actually start?"

"So we blame it all on Casterly after all?" Alyssa frowned. "And here I thought that was too easy."

Aly tended to overthink things until she got tired and decided with her heart instead of her head. It was why she'd taken it as a personal insult that Robert 'beat' her in 'her' area of expertise and decided she wanted to return the favour in his. So far, she hadn't come close. Not that Robert was going to say so, the faces she made every time he 'got his own back' were too funny.

A tumble would probably solve the whole thing right and proper, but Jon would be upset even if Elys wasn't, and Aly still hadn't earned that honor. Besides, she was betrothed.

"So it was Casterly then," Alyssa muttered. "He deliberately breached the king's peace to draw out Brandon Stark and pressure him through military force into releasing Lann. Corlos assumed that Cathryn acted on Brandon's orders, because of course she couldn't have an idea of her own."

"And Brandon gave the same lie to Semaj in their confrontation to protect Cathryn – and her father, in whose name she also acted – from further repercussions if Casterly's words got to either Garth's ears," Elbert mused, emboldened. "But the method Corlos used was far over and above the reasonable options open to him. He could have sued for Lann's return in front the Prince during court, embarrassing Brandon and undermining his authority as Hand, while forcing Garth to choose between his brother and the law."

"But he didn't," Elbert continued after a glance to Ned showed him what Robert had already seen – Ned was distracted. Or, rather, he was thinking deeply about other things to come now that he'd made his contribution to the discussion. "He went straight to war. He decided, again, that Corlos Casterly was above the law and could do as he pleased. So he did. News trickled into Highgarden as representatives of attacked areas came to tell the Prince – or his Hand, as the Prince was off hunting and drinking – what is happening."

And then Stark was stuck trying to figure out how to retaliate against Corlos Casterly without looking like it was a Stark/Mudd versus Casterly fight. Then there was the First Men's way where the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, which Brandon couldn't do because of his shattered leg. So he sent out Brice and his men. And that was the start of the Shattering of the First Men into different kingdoms.

"There is one critical factor I want you all to take from this," Jon continued. "For all the atrocities committed by and against such ones as the Vulture Kings or the Wyl of Wyl, we men of Westeros are not the Dothraki savages, or whatever slaving scum rules Essos this year or what have you. We hold ourselves apart by dint of honour, if nothing else. We have rules for war. How else could you make peace with enemies, if not at least some barebone rules of engagement? That is what guest right grew to be. That is how chivalry came to be." And wasn't that a wildfire keg just waiting to blow up and drive Ned to another late night of muttering terrible curses and condemnations from that mysterious notebook of mystery. "And the idea of the Rules of War is to try and make war less awful than it is, while recognising that it is still a barbarity. That means limitations: there must be distinction between military and non-military personnel and infrastructure. There must be proportionality in attacks. Attacks should only be made for military necessity. And the attacks must not cause unnecessary suffering."

Tell that to the Dornish and Tywin Lannister. And a lot of people in certain people's history that Robert would have a grand old time throwing in certain faces before long.

"That's not even all he did to break the rules of armed conflict really," Denys said. "The Bloody Mummers led by Reigo Giantskin were not raiding under Casterly banners. They passed themselves as rogue brigands bringing misery. This was a tactic of Corlos – a dirty one. Soldiers don't wear identifiable uniforms just so they can tell their allies from the enemy, they're also there so that their enemies know who to target – this is the principle of distinction. If you commit acts of war without an identifiable uniform or emblem that marks you as a member of an armed force in the armed conflict, you are not entitled to protected status as a member of an armed force. Only soldiers get to go home after stealing cattle, raiding villages and sacking a city after a siege and claim asset denial. If you're not a soldier, you're just a brigand and deserve to be treated with the entire weight of the law."

"But…" Elbert frowned. "That sounds like…"

Denys looked at Elbert sympathetically and gave voice to what he couldn't. "It means the Rules of War aren't just a way to make war less monstrous. They're also a scaffolding that permits actions that would otherwise be unlawful."

"… That sounds backwards."

"That is the nature of war," Jon said.

Denys nodded. "On the flip side, though, if you don't play by the rules, you don't get to ask the rules to apply to you later."

That made Robert wonder about spies. The rules of War didn't sound like they forbid them. Which made sense because they were used in peace time all the time too. On the other hand, spies broke the principle of distinction, so did that mean they weren't protected like civilians or prisoners? Priests? Camp followers?

The thought didn't linger long because the steward knocked to let Jon know they'd reached the end of their family time.

Talk about spies would probably have started a tangent lasting hours, Robert decided, but fortunately there was still a while until Ned and the Septon's great debate. The last one, because Jon had reached the end of his patience after how badly the last dozen had gone. Robert was only surprised Jon was still up for playing arbiter after the first and last time he tried, but he supposed the man was serious when he said this would be the last one or else.

Robert honestly couldn't blame him, seeing as even the Maester had finally given up and refused to arbitrate anymore last month. When even the most learned man in the castle – and possibly the kingdom – can't find references for even a third of your arguments without a day's research, it's probably a sign you've gone too far and are never going to agree anyway. Robert lost count of how many times he daydreamed about punching faces and knocking heads together. He didn't know how Jon handled it, but the man barely had to slam his hand on the tabletop to make sure they waited for the other to have his turn speaking.

And Robert once thought he and the Maester were at odds. Ha! Now the man was all smiles with him because Robert saw to his own books and reading without bothering him. It never occurred to the man that Robert had an ulterior motive. Which hey, rude, but that was what Robert wanted all along. He wasn't about to bemoan his own success!

Not that Ned or the Septon even cared about that anymore, it seemed like. It was why Robert was going behind both their backs – he'd reached the end of his patience too. He was tired of Ned never doing anything besides read and take notes and mutter darkly next to the candle every night. He wanted Ned to stop having to stop himself from punching Robert in the face for ragging on him for being obsessed, like he did when Robert went through his things that one time. He wanted Ned to stop begging off and forgetting about their plans together and having to apologise later. And he wanted Ned to stop always looking so angry and so freaking resigned!

He wanted his friend back. He'd get him back if it's the last thing he did!

And nothing and nobody was gonna stop him. Not maesters, not priests, not Jon, not the entirety of written history, not even you bunch, you hear that gods?

Alright then.

But first, some time to himself! His foe may be worn down by years of skirmishes with his only declared foe in the Vale, but he was still determined, and his ability to ramble on and on until you forgot the original point you were making remained undiminished. Robert couldn't go in there half-cocked, he had to rally the little hammer men that lived in his head and kept his brain in tip-top shape. Fortunately, the Eyrie made that easy. Nothing like climbing to the top of the Moon Tower to make you feel like you were on top of the world. So that's what he did – climbed up from Jon's solar instead of down like the rest. He had to pass through Jon's chambers to reach the highest balcony, but Jon didn't mind so the guards on his door didn't either.

Robert emerged on top of the world just as the sun slipped behind the sharp roof behind him, allowing him to enjoy the wind and the view without problems. They were closer to the solstice than the equinox now, so the days were getting shorter. The falcons were still flying high near the castle though. His fingers itched for his bow, but they weren't why he was there today no matter how tasty they looked.

The Eyrie was the smallest of the great castles in Westeros, made of a cluster of seven slim, white towers bunched tightly together. That was about how much space the builders could eke out of the top of the Giant's Lance where it was built. For all that, though, the Eyrie also had barracks and stables carved directly into the mountain, a massively oversized granary – comparable to the one in Winterfell according to Ned, if you didn't count the People's Store – and stood several thousand feet above the valley below, making it capable of comfortably surviving extended sieges and remain practically impregnable. If you didn't have dragons anyway. Or those giant falcons that Artys Arryn (the first one) supposedly used that didn't seem to exist anywhere else in history or myth. Neither before nor after the story about him overthrowing the Griffin King way back when.

It was a very pretty place too, even if Robert thought Roland Arryn could have survived without whatever vanity crisis made him import stone all the way from Tarth. From the lowest slab of the sept's floor to the top of the tallest tower, the castle was made of white marble with blue veins in the stone walls, the same hue as the sky-blue cloaks of the household guard. The Maester said people still debated which came first to this day (the stone, obviously).

Robert leaned over the railing and breathed slowly in and out like Ned taught him, just watching everything below. Listening too. The cries of the hawks. The whistling of the winds. When his belly was full and his breath stalled, he could even hear the echoes of Alyssa's Tears, the waterfall on the western side of the Giant's Lance, whose water never reached the floor of the valley below. Legend said it got its name from an ancient She-Arryn who saw her family butchered before her and never shed a tear. Which Alyssa and which House Arryn, Robert didn't know. The place had made for some nice japes at Aly's expense though, when they finally met again after she 'suffered' the 'torment' of Robert's 'evil' plan. Complete nonsense of course, almost as big as the legend itself. There was no way that water was made of tears.

Not enough salt.

Not even after Aly tried to get into his pants after he pretended obliviousness one too many times. The tearful sobs she wailed at him for refusing were only outmatched by the tearful admonitions she spat in his face when he caught her wrist instead of letting her slap him like some ninny. Honestly, just because he wouldn't tumble with her didn't automatically mean he thought she was lower than the whores!

Elys had pretended relief after, Jon had been proud of his restraint, and Ned was to this day atrociously mistaken that Robert had at any point thought about so and so's outrageous impeachment that Robert couldn't keep it in his pants, but fuck Brandon Stark anyway.

Robert decided it was time to distract himself before he misaimed his, er, enthusiasm in the upcoming war.

Looking down, he spied the doors to the Crescent Chamber, the Eyrie's reception hall where guests were given refreshments and warmed by the fire after making the climb up the Giant's Lance. The memory of Septon Urizen eating bread and salt while Ned counted his bites still made Robert smile, even if it had taken Robert days to understand why Ned had been so upset.

Going back inside, he descended back to Jon's solar, smiled winningly at the maids that paused in cleaning the Myrish carpet to swoon back, helped them move the trestle table on the way out – those oak-and-leather chairs were heavy– and exited onto the ramparts instead of continuing on down. Took the flight of steep marble stairs down to the Crescent Chamber, past the Eyrie's undercrofts and dungeons, so-called. He'd have to leave word with the head maid that the murder holes were collecting mold again. The portcullis atop the stairs could do with some oiling too. It creaked as he passed into the arcade.

The arcade itself was freshly dusted though, and the tapestries as vibrant as ever. Robert scowled at them. Almost half of them were gifts from the Faith that Urizen had presented to Jon. Or to his nearby knights so they could then gift them to Jon. They were fancy things that depicted glorious scenes from House Arryn's past. There had been one of the Seven too, in the style of the stained glass that all but the poorest septs had along the top. But Jon had 'graciously' gifted it back to the Septon to hang inside the parsonage instead, because 'he'd never dare to make first claim on the Seven when that right is exclusive to their earthly representatives.' Robert remembered it being fancier than all the others, but what he really wanted to know was why the Warrior had a weirwood in the background. Robert still hadn't gotten an answer. Even Ned didn't have one despite sleeping on it for a week, though he believed it had something to do with how Ronald Arryn and all the others who worked on the Eyrie spent decades trying to grow a weirwood up there. Despite the Faith of the Seven preaching an even more genocidal persuasion towards the Children of the Forest and the Old Gods than the First Men ever did.

The weirwood never took. Even after all the soil brought up again and again from the valley below. They ended up turning the planned godswood into a garden instead. Robert passed through it on the way to the High Hall, glancing up to Jon's apartments when he heard noises – maids shaking out the carpets. There were some nice shrubs though. He grabbed some currants as he passed by, though what he was really looking forward was the gooseberries, since they at least had some meat on them. Soon, my pretties, soon.

He ignored the statue of the weeping woman at the center. Whoever figured it made for a good time out in the sun was an idiot. Robert couldn't think of many things that were more un-arousing. He'd tried.

He bypassed the Lower Hall too. That would come later, when he and Elbert would corral Ned there for food and wine. Had Ned even broken his fast that day? Robert didn't see him go in or out of the Morning Hall, and Elbert had another one of his early cravings and he swore up and down Ned hadn't been to the kitchens either.

He stopped briefly before entering the High Hall, doing the northern breathing again. The sentries had been amused at first, but now they took it as a cue to do it too. Nothing like becoming impervious to the high chill to turn people around. That it helped pass the time and soothed aching feet helped too. Robert grinned knowingly at them both before going in. His good mood soured as quickly as always though. Not because of the room itself, that was fine. The High Hall was long and sober, made of the same blue-veined white marble, with the weirwood throne of the Arryns at the far end, flanked on both sides by arched narrow windows and torches held in sconces made of silver and iron. The issue was the other thing.

The Moon Door. A narrow weirwood door that stood between two slender pillars in the High Hall. A crescent moon was carved into the door, which opened inward, and was barred by heavy bronze. The door opened into the sky. Robert had witnessed many an execution done through that door. They always screamed as they fell the six hundred foot drop to the stones of the valley below. A lot.

The Eyrie was conceived as a pleasure palace, and nowhere was that more obvious than in the issues an acting Lord presided over during court. Or rather, the issues he didn't. One thing Robert hadn't considered properly until it smacked him in the face was that the Eyrie was built on top of a mountain. The very hazardous, steep and tallest peak of the mountain. Where only the foolish, crazy or desperate climbed even on their best day. Even without accounting for the raids by the mountain clans, which were always a matter of when. Even the people with valid grievances didn't make the journey. Too difficult, too dangerous, too much time to go up and down, the reasons were as many as they were good.

It made for exceedingly few petitioners even on crowded days, especially compared to court days at the Gates of the Moon. Besides forcing Jon to travel down to the Gates of the Moon every two weeks (at least, and he was an exception), it meant that the majority of issues presided over in the High Hall were by people who were forced to be there. Or dragged there. In chains.

Robert had very few memories of the place where he didn't have to watch an execution. Not for the first time, he wondered what Ned thought about it. Probably nothing good. The most he could ever get out of him was, well, the one big point that ever stressed the relationship between Ned and Jon.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

The High Hall was Robert's least favorite place.

The only thing that came close was the Sky Cells. Imprisoning people in shelves on the side of the mountain's sheer cliffs, left open to the cold sky, with slightly sloping floors really said something about Jon's ancestors. How many prisoners were driven mad by the cold and howling wind and commited suicide rather than remain imprisoned? Ned said they were a very convenient way to get rid of troublesome innocents. Troublesome nobles perhaps? If you have a naysayer or ten and that just happened to be accused of this or that, the lord would naturally have them detained. If they just happened to jump out, then surely it must have been their guilt catching up to them?

Ned was a real sourpuss sometimes. Obviously that happened in the past, but Jon wasn't like that! Wasn't that enough? If there was one thing that Robert found troublesome about Ned was how hung up northmen got about the past. Usually without getting hung up on preposterous stuff in their own past, like how Ned sometimed decided that a good way to end his first week in the Eyrie was sleepwalking right into one of those cells one night. Without anyone stopping or seeing him. Somehow.

Robert's skin crawled at the memory even now, years later. If Robert hadn't been woken up by that blasted raven and gone looking for him, who knows what would have happened? Certainly worse than Jon bringing the Gods' own wrath down on the watchmen. And everyone else who might have been in a place to beguile or enchant or poison him or what have you.

Robert left the High Hall the way he came, went down to the kitchens to order food sent up to Jon's solar just in case, then went up there himself.

Today was the day.

The day he won Ned's war.

Then maybe the moron would finally sit down and listen to him that no, Ned, 'ravens are watching over me and my brother sent me this 'magic' pendant' still isn't reason good enough to let that go!