Robert

Winter is coming - to Robert, the words always felt like a bloody threat.

Disaster loomed on the horizon with every frosty breath they knew all too well that waging war in winter was akin to courting the Stranger.

The ferry through Quiet Isle had been smoother than he'd dared hope, and the road to the Bloody Gate was nearly deserted. Rumours swirled of frost and snow engulfing the high passes. The Mountain Clans, they said, were now armed with castle-forged steel, and twice as deadly for it.

But there was no turning back - not after the chaos at the Eyrie. That damned floppy fish! The Others take her!

The Vale had remained unconquered, a testament to its strength and defences – until dragons had changed the rules of warfare.

Still, the Bloody Gate was as imposing as when Robert had first seen it. Hewn into the Mountains of the Moon, with numerous slits for archers and crossbowmen; any conventional assault would be bloodied ten times, and ten times over for every defender felled.

But where are the defenders? Robert noted the conspicuous lack of sentries - and any fortress might fall, without strong and steadfast men to hold it.

The man who held the gate flew an hourglass sigil - House Butler, if I recall right. A lesser house, by all accounts, but still ancient and proud. Robert, alongside Barristan and Beric, halted before the gate.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" Not old Jarmen Butler - must be his son, Donnel. Time Flies, Robert recalled their words. As true as the coming of Winter.

Barristan stepped forward, his white armour glittering in the sunlight. "Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, Lord Beric Dondarrion, and… Robert Baratheon, First of his name."

Even from down below, Robert could feel Donnel's eyebrows shoot up. "Your armour may benefit a great knight, ser, but Robert Baratheon? You'll need a more convincing tale than that!"

Aaargh - here we go again!

The armoury was… dusty.

Rows of pikes, halberds, and swords lined the walls, a silent army awaiting their call to arms. Donnel and Robert sat on footstools in a quiet corner, with Barristan standing a respectful distance away.

Donnel's gaze was intense, almost searching as he finally broke the silence. "I… I might've known," he conceded slowly. "You have her hair, her eyes..."

Robert, caught off guard, asked, "Who are you talking about?"

"Mya Stone," Donnel replied, a hint of respect in his tone. "I've seen her often enough to recognize the resemblance."

My girl... now a woman grown. Robert remembered the times he went to visit her with Ned, all those years ago. She should've been with me, he thought, if only…

"Where is she now?"

Donnel hesitated, then answered, "At the Gates of the Moon. Things have changed since you were last here." Donnel's expression turned grave.

A cold realization settled in Robert's mind. He could almost feel Jon Arryn's hands on his shoulders. I cannot let his legacy undo itself.

"Then we have much to discuss, Ser Donnel. The future of the Vale may well rest on what we do next. How's the current situation?"

"A fucking mess," Donnel grunted, "Lysa is making a mockery of the Paramounthip. She kept us neutral in the war, depleted all the countryside patrols and now she named Petyr Bloody Baelish as Regent. That gods-damned snake!"

"Him?!" Robert was speechless, "The money grubber?! How's that possible!?"

"He arrived not long ago, with an entourage of sellswords. He has been named Lord of Harrenhall and of the Trident after stamping the rebels during the Chaos of King's Landing, and now seeks the hand of Lady Arryn. These Lannisters... we were meant to ride against them, but now we're trapped in their web of lies. What a fucking disgrace..."

Robert's head was spinning. Lysa, marrying my Master of Coin? Crushing rebels? What game is the man playing?!

"What are the Valelords doing?" Robert's tone was demanding, "Seven Hells, where is Bronze Yohn?"

"Lord Yohn should be near the Gates of the Moon as of now. What he's planning, I know not; we knights of the Bloody Gate don't get involved with the affairs of the Eyrie."

Robert rubbed his temples, he felt as if someone was hammering his head. Redfort, Belmont and Waynwood would be with Royce. At least there are sane people in this continent still.

"Maiden's tits, it's worse than I've imagined," Robert sighed, "I will ride to the Gates and talk to Yohn. This is fucking ridiculous!"

Donnel nodded in understanding, "We're stretched thin as we are, else your Grace would merit an escort befitting the King. Worse, the road is perilous, the frost is starting to spread... be cautious, your Grace."

The High Road was nearly unusable. There had been some avalanches from the higher peaks, so much snow that the carts were unable to move at a decent pace.

Gods damn this winter, Robert cursed - it will probably be the worst in decades. We'll be freezing our cocks off before even fighting a real battle!

Doros, the Ibbenese, kept their spirits up with tales of battle against the savage Dothraki.

"Countless riders that day," he recounted. "Khal Bharbo sought to plunder Ibbish after the council refused to pay tribute. Fool he was, for an Ibbenese would rather choke on stale bread, than to give up what is his by right."

"The road was narrow, only four horsemen could stand side by side - but they had the numbers. They were tough, by Oros' beard they were tough." Doros had almost a bard-like quality about him.

"We lost countless souls that day, but our bravery won against all odds. I've personally chopped Bharbo's head, and mounted it on a spike. Drogo, his son, claimed his khalasar - and now he's dead."

Robert recognised the name. "And what of his wife?" He asked.

Doros seemed to ponder for a moment, before realisation struck him, "Daenerys Targaryen... last I heard was from this Pentoshi magister - Illyrio Mopatis, by name. He gave her three petrified eggs on her wedding day, which the girl apparently hatched."

Robert's jaw refused to work for a good minute. "Dragons! The last we need is for those lizards to come knocking on our door!" The Mad King's spawns already caused enough trouble - but true, living dragons? It would be a fucking catastrophe if the girl sets foot on Westeros.

Lumpy, who trotted his horse forward, seemed quite sceptical. "Are you sure these aren't just mere rumours, Lord Dorund?"

He answered with a nod, "Even if it were so, Mopatis had made it the talk of the city. And boy, if you ever call me Lord fucking Dorund again - it will be a clobberin'!"

Ahead of them, the Eyrie finally appeared.

It was his home just as Storm's End. Robert knew every wall and roof by heart - Jon Arryn demanded him to recall everything.

A Lord must know his castle to manage it properly. Every nook and cranny could hold weaknesses, and you must know how to counteract them.

Dammit, he missed the old man. Everything went downhill after he'd died. And Ned...

Gods, Ned...

Erwyn

Stannis Baratheon knew how to organise a siege, Erwyn had to admit.

The encampment was a testament to military precision and efficiency. Tents were in orderly rows with clear banners.

He scanned the camp, noting the weary faces of soldiers, the stern discipline that they practically seethed. This is Stannis' realm, a place where duty outweighed comfort.

The army had surrounded the city, while the fleet blockaded the port and ferried the soldiers across the Blackwater, for the Imp had burned all the bridges. The city was trapped and starving, alas, and were on the verge of riot.

Erwyn knew that the smallfolk's loyalty was fickle; the Lannisters, barely tolerated in times of plenty, were now loathed by all. They'll tear the lions apart, and fill their bellies with the offal.

And here he stood, Ser Erwyn Hall, leading the soldiers of Antlers and Middleton to join Kin- Lord Stannis, now that Robert had re-emerged. He shifted uncomfortably, his armour chafing against his body.

After an agonising wait, a figure emerged from the main tent. The man was missing fingers from his left hand - this had to be Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight.

"Ser Hall," Davos greeted with a bow, his voice gruff but respectful. "The King will see you now. Please, follow me."

The tent was big, but barely decorated. Erwyn could spot a bed, a desk and some chairs, among some other furniture essential for everyday's life. Stannis wore a crown similar to his brother's on his bald head, and was glaring at a piece of parchment.

"Another patrol gone." He could hear teeth grinding, "Foolish, young boys… more brave than wise. My brother never bothered to train his men properly."

His piercing gaze then fixed on Erwyn, scrutinising the snail on his tabard. At least he's too humourless to laugh. "Hall... a Riverlander, aren't you?"

Erwyn nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "Aye, my lord, though we swear fealty directly to the crown."

"And your King is before you," Stannis replied sharply. "Why do you command Buckler's men?" I'm not fit for this... Gods Benedict, I will have your hide!

"I-I was tasked to deliver you this..." Erwyn stammered, his hands trembling as he offered the sealed parchment. Take the bloody thing, I want no more of it.

Stannis took the letter, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the stag seal. He broke it and read.

His brows faintly twitched.

Davos, observing keenly, inquired, "Your Grace, what does it say?"

The answer came through gritted teeth, "It seems my royal brother still draws breath..."

"That's good news! If Lord Renl-"

"Not Renly," he cut off the man, "Robert."

The smuggler's jaw barely managed to work, "King Robert still lives!? Are you certain?"

Stannis grunted, a silent affirmation. "His handwriting is unmistakable, as untidy as a battlefield. The contents are... undeniable."

Removing his crown, Stannis looked even more stoic than before. "If Robert lives, I have no claim to this." He set the crown aside with a clatter.

"Long live King Robert," he all but spat. "May his reign continue to be wise and just."

Everyone, meet Ser Erwyn Hall: the poor irrevelant lordling that somehow finds himself thrusted into positions of great responsibility!

This is the first chapter where we actually see directly some of the ripples that Robert's suspicious disappereance caused. By the way, do you feel as if an important character is missing from Stannis' plotline?

As always, let me know in the comments what do you think of the general direction of the story!