The journey through Westeros had been a cautionary tale. One that had warned Robbie of the dangers of war, the division of his family, and the lives that would be lost on his uncle's pursuit for the Iron Throne. Yet, they had failed to mutter one crucial detail that left Robbie's stomach twisted in knots: the city reeked of shit and squalor. The stench had caught them on the King's Road, where the thick trunks of the King's Woods trees began to thin and the great walls that protected the city from the siege, in the gentle breeze that swayed heavy branches.

Not the salt of the sea could cleanse the air he breathed, the stench making the odor that had built on their own bodies after a 14-day ride bearable. The ride had not come without discomfort. Dirt had built up under his fingernails, bags hung heavily beneath his eyes, and his clothes had become worn and torn. Robbie had feared that it would have gotten them turned away from the city, but as they grew closer to the manned gates with each stride of his horse calm began to take him.

The people of King's Landing were dirty, and the guards were dirty too. If he had taken to King's Landing the Prince he had thought he needed to be, they would have been turned away at the gates - and they still might.

"Put your hood up," came the order of Ser Andrew Estermont, who looked more like a farmer than a night with his beard growing unruly and soiled clothes loosened around his hips and waist to hang ill-fitting on his frame. "Don't want them getting a good look at you, look too much like your father."

Robbie dropped his head low, his hands reaching back for the heavy hood of his woollen cloak. He drew it up high, casting a dark shadow over the angles of his face, and slouched his shoulders in an attempt to look small. It wasn't an easy task as Robbie towered over all in his company. His stature was eye-catching, even with his face concealed, and it left his stomach in knots. There was too much at stake not to be allowed into the city, and he was not the only one worried about reaching the city gates. He could see the dread on each and every one of their faces.

Not a single one of them wanted to be walking beside him as they approached the gates. Not even his dearest friend, Donoros, who had no motivations beyond his friendship to be fighting in this war had lost the excitement Robbie had once seen in his eyes. The travel had taken a toll on them all, and the risks were high, because of him.

The thought hit him hard as if he had run into the wall surrounding the city of King's Landing. Peering up from behind his heavy hood, Robbie looked at each man in his company. Donoros was an adept sailor, one that would have been of better use on the water as the fleet took to Blackwater Bay, and walked beside him. Andrew and Ronnet were both knights, seasoned in battle, both fit to serve and fight and die for their King. Then, there was Devon, just a boy that would be forged into a man at the wrath of war's hand - but he wasn't just any boy. He was the son of the future Hand of the King, Davos' boy. Each one of them had value to his uncle, yet, he had sent every one of them to King's Landing alongside him-

Robbie's face fell into a frown, dark curls falling into his face as he looked to the dirt road beneath his feet. Their loyalty had been called into question the moment they had joined him by the fire a fortnight ago. Travelling into King's Landing, and the hardships they would face during the siege, was their punishment.

Large hands gripped into fists at Robbie's sides as he moved to the cart's end where Devan sat, his legs dangling over its edge. "We're almost to the city," Robbie spoke slowly, his voice low. He was met by a look of excitement, his face alight with innocence only youth could bring. Unlike the rest of them, the kid still had hope. "Once we are there, there is no telling what will happen Devan. They could kill us at the gate-" his words caught in Robbie's throat.

"This is the last chance you have to decide if you want no part in this," Robbie raised his voice just enough for his companions to hear, "it's the last chance we all have. There is no knowing what will happen when we reach that gate. We could be welcomed with no issue, or met by force. I know that this journey was not one of choice for many of you, but it is one I must make, even if it must be one I take alone. I will not stop you if you wish to travel further down the road, to the next inn or the cities beyond until this war is over."

"That's desertion!" Devan's face contorted into a scowl.

"No!" Robbie cut in, his voice strong, booming, "It's a choice. A choice I'm giving you, as your Prince. You are all here, because of me. Our fates were decided the moment we sat around the fire together. Together we have walked for a fortnight, and I can't help but fear that it has been a walk to our graves and I cannot ask for you to give your lives for me, or for Stannis. You can walk away, to your families, or live new lives but no word of desertion will leave me."

A silence took them, the gaze of each man dropping to the ground before rising to their prince and dropping again. Each was thinking, contemplating, Robbie was sure. It was not an easy decision to make, and if someone did decide to take him up on his offer and leave he was sure they would not be eager to be the first to voice it.

It would only take one to unleash the voices of them all, and it was the voice of Donoros; "When we left Braavos, there was no knowing what we were to face across the Narrow Sea. We knew only two things, who your father was and that there was a war waged in his name. I followed you than with blindness, and I will follow you still, today."

Robbie's smile was concealed by the shadow of his hood, his arm reaching out to clasp his dear friend on his shoulder, "Thank you, Donoros," he smiled, drawing him in for but a moment to embrace the man who was more of a brother than a friend, "really, there is not enough gold in worlds to repay you for this-"

"Aye," Donoros laughed, patting Robbie's back with a strong hand, "your mother would kill me if I hadn't."

"Abagal's not the mother you should be worried about," Robbie sighed, "because the Queen, she still just might-"

"She won't get the chance," Andrew's voice was filled with confidence, his smile heard in his voice while it was hidden by his thick beard, "her guards as sure to take us before we can take the throne room." His words were a laugh, but Robbie knew all too well his words may be true. They were but five men marching on the city, and if they could not convince the smolfolk to march alongside them, they would be but five men marching in the castle gate. They would be quick work for even the greenest of archers.

Stepping forward, Andrew fell in stride beside Robbie, his hand reaching out to nudge at his arm. "I will fight and die for my king if I must."

"As will I," Ronnet nodded, bringing it down to one.

Devan sat silently on the back of the cart, his face gazing down at the dirt beneath the cart as it passed. Robbie could see the frustration on his face. The conflict between doing his duty and fighting or leaving left him deep in thought and looking well beyond his years. Before his eyes, Robbie watched as his squire, a young boy, became a man. Soft youthful features hardened, and browns furrowed heavily over eyes that darkened to the deepest of browns. "I want to fight," he told them all firmly, "My father will fight, my brother will fight. I will do my duty and fight for my king."

Robbie wore a crooked smile as he approached where his squire sat at the end of the cart. For days he had watched the boy struggle on the road. Devan hadn't complained once, not even when his feet had grown sore, nor did he question why Stannis had sent them towards the city - but his smile quickly faded and his loyalty wavered. Devan no longer swore his fealty to Stannis, but, much like Ronnet and Andrew, to Robbie instead. He should have chastised them for it, and declared Stannis the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms - but what was the point? They were all going to die anyway.

"Then get your ass up off the cart and let your King sit," Robbie spoke, his tone more joking than demanding.

Devan left the spot at the end of the cart, joining Andrew, Ronnet and Donoros as they walked along the final stretch of the King's Road. Robbie hoisted himself up onto the cart and while it carried heavy grains, worn metals and dulled weapons, it still shifted under his weight and earned a disapproving huff from his horse.

"Easy Nessy," Robbie cooed, "almost there. It's almost over," he assured and let his shoulders slouch and hood hang low over his face.

He kept his head down, watching nothing but the dirt as the cart stilled at the gates. He did not dare raise his eyes as words were exchanged between the guards and his men. He could not risk the sunlight catching his face as the guards circled the cart to examine the wears they can come to offer the false king, his brother, King Joffrey Baratheron.

"We have come to fight for the true King!"

The guard's mail jingled with each step, his gold cloak swaying around the ankles of his boots with each step. The man's large strides lingered, and circled the cart like downed prey, sending Robbie's heartbeat up into his ears. The longer the guard lingers, and the louder the clamor of chainmail became in his ears, the closer Robbie came to vomiting. Had the guard just grown closer, or had more guards come to join him at the gates?

Sweat dripped down the angles of his neck, soaking into the rough and dirty clothes that seemed to constrict around his chest. Bright eyes peered through the dark shadow of his hood as the guard in gold dragged gloved fingers over the wears in the cart. Robbie's heart stilled as the guard gripped the hilt of one of the many blades. It was one of the nicest of the blades, it would have caught anyone's eye, with its pommel encrusted with gold and its blade dull but free of tarnish. Robbie was sure, with the proper care, the sword was fit for a King, and it was in the hands of the enemy.

The guard admired it, holding it out a little too close for far too long for Robbie's comfort. Taking in a slow breath, Robbie's hand reached for the closest blade, his thick fingers wrapping around the hilt of a dagger, and prepared to strike.

The moment did not come, as the guard tucked the gold-encrusted blade into his belt, beneath his billowing gold cape, and welcomed Robbie and his men and their offerings to King Joffrey into the city.

Robbie remained seated on the cart, his body jerking as Ness led the way through the city gates. They closed with a thunderous thud in their wake, blocking the sun from the dirt and preventing them from returning to the King's Road. They would be confined to the King's Landing until victory, or until death.

Leaving the gates behind them, Robbie and his men became lost in the crowds. Drawing back his hood, Robbie took in the sights of the buildings that lined the streets and the bodies that swarmed the alleyways. "Welcome home, your grace," came the voice of Andrew as he lingered close to the cart, but the words were lost on Robbie as his bright eyes widened and his stomach grew tight at the sight of them. The people lived in squaller, with their clothes hanging off limbs like rags and their bones protruding against flesh. They were starving and dirty and the street below them was not any better. Cobblestone pathways were riddled with upturned stones leaving the wagon creaking and turbulent, and rivers of piss and shit ran along them.

"This is King's Landing?" Robbie raised a brow, his jaw slacked.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Devan spoke up, his features filled with childish delight as he pushed past bodies so as not to be left behind, "it's just like how father described it!"

"Just as he described it?" Robbie could hear Donoros mutter under his breath, "I've seen slaves more well off than this-"

Devan remained enthralled by wonder, pushing ahead of the group, and luring Robbie from his seat on the back of the cart. He followed behind his squire as he pushed past a young woman with more kids than she could possibly care for.

"There can you see it?" Devan was pointing out into the sky, past the rooftops, and to a grand building of stone in the distance, "that's the Great Sept of Baelor and if we go this way, that's where the Dragon Pit is! And there, Robbie look!" The boy's words were rushed, almost stuttered with his excitement, "there, that's the Red Keep!"

A large hand stroked dark curls from his eyes, the sun near blinding as he looked out over the city's stout skyline and to the castle that towered over it all. "Whoa," Robbie muttered, standing still in the streets, the chaos of the city forgotten as it raged around him.

Upon the stony shores that overlooked the Narrow Sea, inside those great red walls, was his birthright, the Iron Throne. Somewhere in one of the countless rooms, he was sure it had, was his mother, Cersei Lannister. Robbie's hands balled into fists at his sides at the thought of her. He needed her to see him, to see the man that he had become, and she needed to give him answers. Only when he knew why she had cast him away could he ease the rage that burned inside him since the very moment Melisandre had told him Abagal wasn't his true mother.

A large hand clasped down on his shoulder, drawing his eyes from the Red Keep, and back to the reality that surrounded him. Robbie may have been born the Prince of Seven Kingdoms, but he had been raised simply like the smallfolk his father served over. He stood among them as his friends beckoned to him, his name an echo in his ears, and it was only Donoros who could truly reach him.

"We will take the castle soon enough," Donoros squeezed Robbie's shoulder as he spoke, "until then, we should rest, there's a pub in Flea Bottom, no one will bother us there." Robbie could only nod in response and let Donoros lead him through the home he had never had the luxury of knowing.

A/N you guys are getting this before AO3 because I'm struggling to finish the full chapter and need some motivation.