First Bobby chapter after he awakens...

What will he do?

Robert

One... two... and three!

Robert Baratheon, first of his name, lifted the big rock, hugging it tightly against his torso. He descended, nearly touching the ground, then came back up. The Baratheon repeated the exercise multiple times until he couldn't hold the weight anymore.

He dropped the rock, nearly crushing Lumpy's feet. The lad fell on his arse, almost dropping the wineskin he was carrying. Braver or not, in the end, Lumpy was still Lumpy.

The King was sweating like a pig, and by the Gods, it felt great. It hurt everywhere, but it was good pain. This reminded him of his youth, when he and Ned trained themselves till exhaustion, carrying rocks up and down the Eyrie.

The Gods blessed Robert with his might. His father always said that Elenei's blood was strong in him, similar to many of his ancestors. That stubborn fool of Stannis had some, while the tart that is Renly wasn't even spared a drop. His younger brother was only good with quipping and fucking stableboys. And people say that he's 'The young Robert come again'... PAH! Witless idiots them all.

And Stannis... the only man in existence who's able to make Robert seethe like his brotherfucking wife. A criminal on a chopping block was more humorous than that fusspot, and his teeth... one could sharpen a sword with those. Robert could be deaf and still hear the bloody grinding. Gods, how he wished Ned was his brother by blood! At least he was capable of smiling.

Then, he left when Robert needed him the most. His King was surrounded by Lannisters and had a dagger on his back, and the stick-in-the-mud fled to the island of the dragon shaggers. Stannis could've helped him mend the realm alongside Ned, and he chose to hide... cowards and simpletons, all of his kin!

But not Ned, not his brother by choice. Not even Jon Arryn could humble Robert as his friend could. He truly hoped the dour Northman was safe. If only Lyanna had survived... she would've been a fine queen, and given him many little babies with blue eyes and dark hair. Ned could've been his brother in blood. That was all Robert ever wanted, second to his once betrothed. If only she hadn't died of fever...

Robert still remembered every curve of her face. She had been cold initially, probably due to Robert's southern mannerisms. But when he dropped the good lord's mask... they found mutual agreement. It was apparent Lyanna didn't want to marry, but Robert was convinced that, with time, things would've changed. He would've given her time. Three and ten was a young age to be wed. Once Lya made up her mind, Robert would've brought her to Storm's End, and she could've been free to do as she liked.

It took only one dragon and two lions to break that dream. Rhaegar was undoubtedly burning in the deepest pit of the Seven Hells, but the Kingslayer and his cunt were still loose. Robert had to rectify that, no matter the cost.

And screw Tywin Lannister too. Robert was sure his good-father knew something, but didn't act due to his dear family legacy. Unfortunately for him, his line would end before the tip of Robert's bloodied warhammer.

At least that's what Robert thought, until he remembered sweet Tommen and Myrcella. He was a shit father, that's for sure, but the two didn't deserve to die. They were sweet like cinnamon, unlike Joffrey. His "firstborn" was mad as Aerys. Robert was a fool for thinking he could be corrected. The incest addled his mind; reasoning with him would be like talking to a bloody wall.

And the bitch surely crowned him in his absence. The Baratheon cringed, thinking of what his subjects would suffer under the kid's rule. Hold on a while longer... I will come back. I failed my kingdom once, and won't do it again.

"Your Grace...?"

It was Lancel, offering him his wineskin, "Do you wish for some ale?"

Ah, he must've been brooding, "Thank you, Lumpy."

Robert took a deep swing, savouring the nectar of the Gods flowing down his throat. By the Seven, bless the man who discovered brewing.

"So Lumpy," the King clapped the boy's shoulder, "When do you plan to collect some news?"

"Very soon, your Grace. Tomorrow morning should be a good day to depart," Lancel blushed a little, "Wenda offered her horse for my journey. She was very kind."

That got laughter out of him, "Gods, Lumpy! A blind beggar could see the bulge in your breeches from a mile away!"

"I'm not-"

"Fucking bed her already, man! Or must I lock you two in a barge this night? I bet she would gladly spread her legs for your noble cock!"

Gods, the boy was such an embarrassment sometimes. He was young and healthy, who was stopping him from finding a hole to put his sword in? He needed some practice before the marriage bed, or the poor sod would be devoured by the fat arse of his future spouse.

Even good old Ned had to, and the result was the birth of that bastard of his'. He was a good boy, for what Robert remembered from his Winterfell visit. The King once thought he was seeing double for how much wine he had drunk, but no... the kid was just the split image of a young and stern Ned, always accompanied by a white ball of fur that was his direwolf.

Fascinating creatures they were, but dangerous ones. Robert didn't wish to order the execution of young Sansa's, but the Whore would not shut up...

Wait...

Thinking about it... why had Robert yielded? He could've let her screech and squawk all the time she liked. He was the King, and his word is law. Had Robert been so drunk not to care about it? When did he stoop so low...?

"Your Grace...?"

Gods, he was brooding once again. Robert cleared his throat, "Lancel, be careful out there. You've never seen war before, it drives people to do horrible things. A farmer's daughter would be very willing to stab you in your sleep for two coppers, or just enough to last another day with a loaf of bread. Do not trust anyone, even less those that you wouldn't normally. And by the Gods, if you find yourself in some bloody skirmish, flee as fast as you can. I can't afford to lose you for a stray arrow shot by a peasant who doesn't know how to hold his bow. Am I clear, boy?"

Lancel looked at his feet, but raised his gaze to meet Robert in the eyes, "As you order, your Grace."

Robert chuckled, "Well, this is an arduous task, and you may not survive." The King smiled, "For that reason, I, Robert Baratheon, first of his name... order you to bed that girl!"

Lancel flushed red, "W-What!? You-"

"Don't you dare break the oath you took a week ago, Lancel Lannister! Or are you like the Kingslayer, who doesn't give two shits about honour!?" Robert bellowed in mock rage, "Well, then unsheathe your chaste cock. Make me proud by doing the eight!"

"DISMISSED!"

The squire straightened up and messily started to gather his belongings. He then darted off to the village, passing by a very confused Caster.

The boy certainly didn't know the King had paid the lass to give him a good tumble. She was smitten by his Lannister looks and wasn't too shy to do her service for a coin or two. Lancel deserved to get laid at least one time in his life. Mayhaps that will help boost his confidence.

"Caster! Have you brought the bludgeons?" Robert asked the incoming man.

"Aye, your Grace!" He answered, "They're a bit old, but will do the trick."

Old was an understatement. The bloody things were near rotten. It was a miracle Robert's didn't pulverise on touch. Still, better than fighting with sticks, he supposed.

Caster took advantage of Robert's need for a sparring partner to learn the basics of combat. The man was enormous, nearly tall as Robert, and had the strength of an ox. He wouldn't be a refined warrior, but who cares about theatrics when you can crush your opponent's head with your bare hands?

"Raise your guard!" Robert ordered. Caster's posture wasn't perfect, but still decent enough.

"Today we'll do footwork," Robert explained, "If you can't stand on your feet, you'll die on your back. A solid stance is mandatory if you wish to succeed in a duel. Your feet must be shoulder-width apart, and most of your weight should fall on your toes. Bring your dominant leg forward, and you have a good bearing."

Poor Caster was overwhelmed by the information and reluctantly nodded. Robert waved his hand, "Explanation aside, practice is the best teacher. Let's do a spar or two."

And so the two began their training. Robert was still highly weakened, and Caster hadn't the experience to fight decently. But the peasant's overwhelming might made him a problematic opponent. Thankfully, Robert's muscle memory hadn't deteriorated during his years of debauchery. Hells, at least his coma cut down all of the excessive fat. Thus, the King managed to keep the giant at bay.

Robert saw many openings that could've been exploited, but for the sake of the exercise, he ignored them. Caster's lumbering strikes were too broad and slow to pose a genuine threat, but against an inexperienced fighter... the sod would piss his breeches and get his skull crushed.

Robert sidestepped an overhead swing and countered by slamming his bludgeon against Caster's stomach. The man flinched a bit, but shrugged it off without issues.

"Alright, that's enough!" Robert sighed, "Gods... years ago I would've demolished a breastplate with a blow like that. Decent work, nonetheless. Your form and strikes need some adjusting, but with time you'll improve."

Caster fell on his arse, breathing heavily, "Bloody Hells... I can't feel me' lungs..."

Robert pointed his finger, "That's what I mean, Caster. Swinging your weapon aimlessly will only help you hit a damn barn. A skilled knight in a true battle would've gutted you on the spot. Probe your enemy's defence, but don't overextend yourself." The King gulped the rest of his ale. Gods, it was good.

"How's a real battle?" Caster asked, "Pa' sometimes told me of his adventures as a sellsword, but died when I was very young."

The King smiled, "They're a nasty thing, Caster, but if you have the right mindset... MY mindset, you'll never find greater satisfaction than crushing a man's ribcage with a good warhammer."

"There was this one... the battle of the Bells. It happened at Stoney Sept, during my rebellion. I retreated from Ashford to join my friend, Eddard Stark, and his Northmen army. I was injured, so we had to stay in the town for some time, where some friends of house Tully tended to me. But Jon Connigton, mad Aery's Hand of the King, reached us sometime later. The bastard searched for me everywhere: houses, brothels, even the damned sewers. But I was moved from house to house, and Connington couldn't find me. Thankfully, Ned and Hoster Tully arrived in time and engaged the Royalists. When the bells started ringing, I came out of the Peach, the brothel I was hidden in, clad only with shirt and breeches, hammer in hand. I slew fifteen soldiers, including that spineless twat of Myles Mooton. Jon Connington fled like a coward the moment he saw me, and the battle was won. Gods, those were the days!"

Days of glory... days where people had the decency of not backstabbing each other. If you disagreed with something, it had to be settled in battle... Gods damn Tywin Lannister, he's the reason it all went to the mud.

Robert remembered two little bodies wrapped in a red cloak.

Robert repressed this memory.

A hand shook him, "Your Grace...?"

That snapped him from his thoughts, thankfully. "Ah, yes... training for today is over. Go help your mother. The more time you pass with her, the less probable she breaks her back."

Caster nodded in understanding and left Robert alone with his thoughts.

Too many doubts plagued his mind. The Bitch and the Kingslayer... every plot happened under his nose. How could Robert have been so blind to it all? Were there other traitors with their own agenda? Robert believed his reign to be stable, but the enfolding mess made him think otherwise. He knew he was a shit King, but this? Gods be good.

The sun was setting. It was getting late. Robert made his way back, more aware than ever before.

Lancel

Lancel checked the remaining saddlebags. Yes, everything is in its place.

Gold, food and supplies. The scouting won't be long, but it's better to be over-prepared than sorry. Carrot was an extraordinarily obedient horse, albeit too witty for his own good. It will undoubtedly prove to be a worthy companion, that's for sure.

Lancel smelt a foul odour, which he later concluded was his'. Understandable, as Sherra had charged him with much of the weightlifting today. Caster was busy sparring with the King, leaving Lancel with double the work he would typically do. The cargo didn't help, either. It was fertiliser for the crop fields, and manure wasn't exactly luscious.

Lancel decided to take a bath. The nearby lake provided an excellent place to clean himself, and the silence relaxed him. There were few locations like this one nearby Casterly Rock or King's Landing, so it was a new experience for the Lannister.

He arrived by the shore and started undressing himself. The lake was surrounded by trees and wildlife, it wasn't an odd sight to see an animal squelching its thirst during his baths. Lancel slowly submerged himself. The water was fresh but not too cold. He felt his muscles relax, the soreness of the past two days abandoning him. Gods, he felt like a king.

The Lannister floated for a while. He felt serene, as if there wasn't anything to worry about, just how it was when he was a child. Father wasn't as strict as Uncle Tywin, so Lancel and his brothers always had plenty of free time. He wondered how Willem, Martyn and little Janei were doing. Hopefully they were safe.

Willem was probably fighting the Starks, he always wanted to prove himself in battle. Lancel feared his inexperience would prove fatal, but with a strong guardian, everything should go well.

A strange sensation broke his train of thoughts. Was someone... touching him?

Lancel opened his eyes and saw a familiar visage: Wenda. She was dangerously near. He could feel her hot breath on his face.

The boy flushed, "W-W-W-WENDA?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Wenda was completely naked, just like the day she was born. Her curvy figure was mesmerising, with round tits and wide hips.

"Lancel..." she muttered. Gods be good, I can feel her lust from here! Was King Robert right?

Before he could say anything, her lips were interlocked with his'. Lancel cursed himself as his cock hardened. Yet... it felt good. Great, even.

He embraced the girl and let the bliss take over.

Lancel slowly opened his eyelids...

He was laid out, face down on the muddy ground. Covered in shit, the Lannister rose.

Besides him, there was the sleeping figure of Wenda in his same conditions. Lancel then became self-conscious of what he did.

Gods! I fucked a girl!

It was so sudden he had no say in it. Was he a whoremonger now? Seven Hells, what was he thinking? Bedding a girl before his wedding night! Father will kill him for this!

And what of the Faith? Will he be cast in the Seven Hells for deflowering a girl when not engaged?

It was too much. Lancel has to escape the scene, or rumours will start to spread! Thankfully, no one would believe a lone peasant's girl ramblings, but if another villager saw him...

Lancel hastily washed away the mud and put on his clothes. After collecting his belongings, he made a run for it. But he stopped in his tracks.

Wenda...

Lancel cursed himself. No knight would abandon a woman like that. He backtracked, picked and dressed her up, and returned to the village discreetly. She wasn't heavy as he thought, but his weightlifting may be paying off.

It was late at night, and most of the village was sleeping. The main street was utterly deserted. Not a soul roamed at this hour, save for troublemakers. Wenda's cottage had a small garden with a hammock, where Lancel decided to deposit her. The nights were still hot, she would find no complications in sleeping outside.

Lancel then went to Sherra's house, hoping the old woman wasn't awake. He gently opened the door and noticed the candles were snuffed out. Excellent.

The Lannister made his way upstairs, trying not to make the floorboards creek. Slowly but surely, he reached his room. Lancel opened the door...

"Took your time, didn't you... Lumpy?"

King Robert was seated on his bed, grinning. Lancel paled. Did the King know?

"You truly outdid yourself, I see. The lass must be delighted, har!"

Gods dammit.

Now it all made sense. It was Robert who sent Wenda!

Lancel flushed, "Your Grace... why?!"

"The girl was smitten," he lazily answered, "And I would've never allowed her if you weren't too. You're a young lad, Lancel. I fathered my first bastard at your age!"

"Her name is Mya, and I loved her with all my heart. I tried to bring her to King's Landing, but that bitch of your cousin threatened to kill her. Now I know the reason... Gods damn her!"

Cersei went that far? Does the woman have a shred of dignity!?

The King rose, "Well, Lancel, it's best you sleep now. Won't do any good if you're exhausted tomorrow morning, heh." He bade the Lannister goodnight and stepped out of the room, making as much noise as possible. King or not, Sherra won't like to be awakened by the noise.

Lancel sighed as he threw himself on the bed. Tonight would be a miracle even to sleep two bloody hours.

He slid under the blankets and closed his eyes. Yet, at every attempt to sleep, a familiar face would make his cock hard.

Gods damn it!

Oh boy, Lancel is smitten! Wonder how that will end...

Thanks for the comments y'all! Always nice to see some interactions there.