After the meeting with King Viserys, Robert Stronghammer returned to the modest quarters he had been given within the brothel. He couldn't help but replay the king's words in his mind: a suggestion to travel to Storm's End and meet with Lord Boremund Baratheon to clear the air between them. While the king had framed it as a simple request, Robert knew there was an underlying expectation that he would comply. Ignoring the king's wishes was out of the question, especially now that he had gained some measure of fame in the capital.
That night, Robert sat by the narrow window of his chamber, gazing out over the city of King's Landing. It was a chaotic, sprawling place—its crowded streets filled with merchants, nobles, and beggars, all jostling for space and survival. As he watched the lights flickering across the city below, his thoughts drifted to the journey ahead.
Robert's thoughts turned to the rumors that had led to this situation in the first place. It seemed that everyone in King's Landing had taken one look at him and decided he must be Boremund Baratheon's bastard. He couldn't entirely blame them—he had heard enough stories about Lord Boremund's indiscretions to know that the man had never been faithful to his wife, and Robert always knew that he bore a striking resemblance to the Baratheons, with their strong features and dark hair. But he was not expecting people to think that he is Boremund's son, and it certainly didn't make him eager to meet the man.
The thought of traveling by sea crossed his mind, but Robert quickly dismissed it. He had no desire to set foot on a ship to Storm's End, not after what had happened to his parents. It wasn't just the memory of their deaths that haunted him—it was the unpredictability of the sea itself, the way it could turn from calm to deadly in an instant. He had seen ships dashed against the rocks near Storm's End, torn apart by waves that seemed to rise out of nowhere. It was as if the sea had a mind of its own, and Robert had no intention of tempting its wrath.
The land journey would be slower, yes, but it would also give him time to think. Time to prepare himself for whatever awaited him at Storm's End. He would have to be cautious, especially if he wanted to avoid attracting too much attention. The roads could be dangerous, and there were always those who would be eager to take advantage of a lone traveler with a heavy purse. But Robert was no stranger to danger, and he welcomed the chance to test his skills once more.
The idea of facing dangers on the road was not what unsettled him most. No, what truly troubled Robert was the thought of what might happen if Boremund decided to accept him—if the lord chose to acknowledge him as his son. How would Robert fit into a life of a Lord's bastard? How would he reconcile the warrior he had become with the taint of being a bastad of Boremund Baratheon?
For a man who had always prided himself on his independence, the idea of belonging to something greater was both exhilarating and terrifying.
By morning, Robert had made up his mind. He would begin his preparations for the journey, but he would not rush. He needed to gather supplies, choose a reliable horse, and map out the safest route. It would be a long journey, and he would need to be ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Robert had never imagined that his newfound fame would draw so much attention from the noble families of Westeros. As soon as word spread that the hero of the Stepstones was back in King's Landing, the brothels and taverns he frequented became a revolving door for ambitious lords hoping to gain favor with him. They came in droves, each with a polite introduction, a compliment, and then the inevitable proposition: "Ser Robert, it would be an honor if my son could serve as your squire."
It was always the same conversation. The lords, both minor and major, from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, sought to place their sons under his tutelage. From the Reach to the Riverlands, from the Stormlands to the Vale, fathers paraded their boys before him, eager for them to gain the skill and reputation that came with serving under a famous knight.
Robert listened patiently each time, his expression polite but guarded. He knew the game they were playing. The Stepstones had made him a legend overnight, and with rumors swirling about his possible connection to the Baratheon bloodline, it was no surprise that they wanted to attach themselves to him. After all, if Robert was truly the bastard of Lord Boremund Baratheon, then his future prospects could be promising. A keep, a title, perhaps even a seat on some council—these were things lords valued, and they were willing to gamble their sons' futures on the chance that Robert's star would continue to rise.
One night in particular stood out to him. He was seated in a dimly lit corner of the tavern, a half-empty mug of ale in his hand, when Lord Rykker of Duskendale approached him. Lord Rykker was a seasoned man, his hair gray but his eyes sharp as any blade. He introduced himself with all the flourish expected of a nobleman and then presented his son, a boy of perhaps twelve years with a wide, eager grin.
"Ser Robert," Lord Rykker began, "my son Willem here is eager to learn the ways of knighthood. And who better to teach him than the hero who brought an end to the Triarchy at the Stepstones?"
Robert took a sip of his ale, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before he answered. "I'm honored by your offer, my lord. But I must be honest—I'm not looking for a squire at this time."
Lord Rykker's expression faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Surely, you understand the opportunity this presents for both of us. A knight as renowned as yourself could benefit greatly from having a squire of noble birth. And Willem is a quick learner. He'll serve you well."
Robert leaned back in his chair, studying the boy, who stood straight and proud beside his father, as if already imagining the day he'd ride into battle at Robert's side. "I'm sure he would," Robert said, his tone measured, "but my path is uncertain right now. I have business in Storm's End, and until I sort that out, I'm not in a position to take on such responsibility."
Lord Rykker's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Business with the Lord of Storm's End, you say? Well, all the more reason to have a squire, don't you think? A knight traveling with a squire speaks to his status and reputation."
Robert chuckled, shaking his head. "I've no need to prove myself to anyone, my lord. When the time is right, I'll find a squire. But that time isn't now."
And with that, Lord Rykker bowed out, gracefully as he could manage, and led his son away, whispering reassurances to the disappointed boy. It wasn't the first time Robert had turned down such an offer, and it wouldn't be the last.
Another time, it was Lord Blackwood from Raventree Hall, who went as far as suggesting that his heir could serve Robert as a squire. It was unheard of—an heir from an old and noble family serving under a knight with no known lineage. It spoke volumes of how far these lords were willing to go, gambling on the possibility that Robert's rumored connection to the Baratheon line would one day lead to something more substantial.
"I am honored, my lord," Robert had replied, repeating the words that had become a mantra, "but I must decline. I'm not yet the man to teach a boy the ways of knighthood. There's still much I need to learn myself."
These refusals didn't go unnoticed. As Robert turned down offer after offer, whispers spread among the nobles. Some speculated that he was playing a long game, waiting for a more advantageous proposition. Others thought he was just being humble, unwilling to take on the mantle of a teacher so soon after earning his fame.
But the truth was far simpler: Robert didn't want to be burdened by anyone else's expectations. He didn't want to be tied down to another person's ambitions, not when his own path was still so unclear. He had always been a man who moved to his own rhythm, and he wasn't about to change that now.
In his heart, he knew the journey to Storm's End would answer many questions about his past, and perhaps even his future. Until he stood before Boremund Baratheon and spoke his peace, he had no desire to take on the responsibility of a young noble's future. As he rejected each lord, he kept reminding himself that he wasn't just some knight looking to make a name for himself—he was a man with a past to uncover and a future yet to be written.
And so, as the last lord departed the brothel, leaving behind promises of wealth and alliances, Robert remained resolute in his decision. For now, he would walk his path alone, just as he always had. He had no intention of being anyone's stepping stone, no matter how grand their title or how noble their blood.
In the days that followed, Robert made his way through King's Landing, gathering what he needed for the trip. He visited the armorers in Flea Bottom, where he had his armor adjusted and sharpened, and the merchants in the Street of Silk, where he purchased provisions and supplies. He kept his head down and avoided unnecessary attention, but he could feel the eyes of the city on him. The whispers followed him wherever he went, and he knew that every step he took was being watched.
After securing provisions for his journey from King's Landing, Robert knew he needed a good horse, one that would carry him swiftly and reliably through the rough terrain toward Storm's End. He wandered through the bustling markets and stables, carefully examining each steed offered to him. He had learned how to judge a horse's strength and temperament during his time in the Vale, where Lord Arryn himself had taught him the skills necessary to become an expert horseman.
After nearly an hour of searching, he found her—a sleek black mare with a glossy coat and bright, intelligent eyes. There was something about this horse that stood out to him; she was strong but graceful, spirited but calm, a perfect balance of power and poise. Robert took his time running his hands along her flank, checking her muscles, her legs, and her teeth. Every sign spoke of a well-bred and finely trained animal, one that could withstand the challenges of the journey ahead.
"This one," he said to the stablemaster. "How much?"
They haggled for a while, but in the end, Robert was willing to pay a fair price for her. As he led the mare out of the stables, he couldn't help but feel a connection to her—a bond that ran deeper than he could fully understand.
He decided to name her Mya, after the daughter he had loved and lost in his past life—a daughter who had been his joy and the light of his days, even when his own world had grown dark. Mya, who had laughed with him, who had followed him around the courtyard as a toddler, and whom he had promised to ride with her when she grew older. He had sworn to protect her, even if he ever had trueborn children, and he had failed her because of the twists and turns of fate.
For Robert, naming the horse Mya wasn't just a tribute—it was a reminder of everything he had promised himself in this second chance at life. He would carve out a better future, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. He would face the challenges ahead with the strength and determination that had carried him through countless battles.
As he mounted the mare, she whinnied softly, as if acknowledging the name he had given her. He stroked her neck, feeling the warmth of her coat beneath his fingers. "We're in this together now," he murmured, "just like before."
With a gentle nudge, he guided Mya toward the road that would lead them out of King's Landing, her hooves echoing on the cobblestones as they began their journey. The city's noise slowly faded behind him, replaced by the rhythmic sound of hooves and the whispering wind.
And as Robert rode on, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He didn't know what awaited him at Storm's End, but he was ready to face it, just as he'd faced every other challenge that life had thrown his way. With Mya carrying him forward, he felt as if he was finally moving toward something—something that might give him the answers he'd been searching for, or at the very least, a chance to confront the past he had left behind.
Robert remembered the journey well, even though it had been many years ago. He had been just a boy then, riding alongside his father and mother as they made their way from Storm's End to King's Landing. It was a trip filled with excitement and danger, one that had left a lasting impression on him. His father, a man of stern demeanor and a loyal friend of King Aerys at the time, had insisted on taking the route through the dense Kingswood.
"The Kingswood is the quickest path," his father had explained, though Robert knew even then that it was also the most treacherous. Bandits and wild animals roamed the forest, and the canopy of twisted branches made it easy to lose one's way. But his father was a proud man, a Baratheon who feared nothing, and he was confident in his ability to protect his family from any threat that might emerge from the darkness of the woods.
Robert could still recall the way the thick trees loomed over them as they traveled, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to ensnare unwary travelers. The forest had been alive with the sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves, and every so often, Robert had caught glimpses of shadowy figures darting through the undergrowth. He had clung to his mother's side during those moments, the reassuring warmth of her presence calming his nerves.
His father, however, had been unflinching, riding at the head of their party with his sword always within reach. Robert admired him then, not just as a boy looks up to his father but as someone who wanted to be just as strong, just as unyielding. It was during that journey that Robert had first learned what it meant to face danger head-on, to never waver even when the odds were against you.
And then, there was King Aerys. Robert's father had been one of the few men who could make the king smile, and the bond they shared was one of genuine friendship. When they arrived at the Red Keep, King Aerys had welcomed them with open arms, and Robert remembered the way the king had tousled his hair, calling him "the young Baratheon cub." It was a different time then, before the madness began to consume Aerys, and before everything had changed.
That journey from Storm's End to King's Landing had taught Robert many things: the value of courage, the importance of loyalty, and the dangers that lay hidden in even the most beautiful places. And now, as he prepared to travel the same route once more, he couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with the weight of everything that had happened since then.
He had grown into a man since that journey, a warrior who had faced countless battles and dangers far greater than anything the Kingswood could offer. But still, he respected the forest, and he knew that it demanded caution from anyone who dared to pass through its shadows. This time, he would not be a boy clinging to his mother's side or looking up to his father for guidance. He was the one who would face whatever dangers lay ahead, and he was ready.
As he adjusted the saddle on Mya's back and secured his provisions, he glanced toward the dark line of trees that marked the beginning of the Kingswood in the distance. "I have done this before," he muttered, patting Mya's neck. "And I'll do it again."
And with that, he set off, ready to face the journey to Storm's End, just as he had all those years ago, but this time with the strength, experience, and resolve that only years of hardship and battle could forge.
Author Note:
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