Robert 8 293 AC

It had been three days since his forces split with Ned's, a large portion of the royal fleet breaking off to carry the men from the Reach and North up to Braavos. He missed him already. He had taken Joffrey with him too. Robert thought the campaign had been good for the boy, he'd been less of a little shite the longer it had progressed, though part of that was just him being quieter, and not having his mother to hide behind.

And that was one conversation Robert was not looking forward too. It was part of why he had suggested to Stannis that they stop to visit his Nephew's new "kingdom" in the Stepstones.

'Not much of a kingdom so far, it seems.' Robert chuckled through the pain to himself.

It was the worst thing about his wounds, the pain, he could move perfectly fine with them, though his right arm was a bit sore all the time, but the pain had never really died down, and in the month since the battle, the skin had hardly healed at all. The Maesters didn't know what to do about it. The useless sots said magic was beyond their study.

If he had to have magical wounds he was damn well going to find a maester who had studied magic.

It was around sunset two days before the New Year when they finally reached Grey Gallows. In the Orange glow of the setting sun it seemed to him to be a big chunk of red rock, rising up out of the ocean with sheer cliff faces, but Robert had seen his maps, he knew that it evened out further up to a degree, and that some sparse settlements sat atop the cliffs at points, especially in the places where rivers cut trenches in that impregnable wall.

Such was their destination, revealed in the horizon by the silhouettes of fortresses placed on top of the cliffs. As they approached, he noted that odd beacons atop their towers seemed to serve the role of a lighthouse, great shafts of focused lights sweeping over the waters ahead of the royal fleet, guiding them in towards the "Gates" of the port, where the cliff face split, flanked on either side by his Nephew's fortresses.

Robert turned back across the deck, looking for his brother, who he found on the quarterdeck, directing his onion knight.

"Say, Stannis, what's making those lights?"

"Hmmm?" His brother turned, before looking up at the fortresses. "Oh, probably some work of my son's or the Wisdom Frey. They have some manner of harnessing lightning. He had mentioned having them put in at Dragonstone as well."

"Lightning you say? Then where's the thunder?"

"Cannons I suppose? I don't know, you'd have to ask him."

Robert nodded, it seemed like a silly use for lightning. If he could harness lightning he'd toss it at his enemies, not use it as a makeshift bonfire.

Though as they entered the port, it became evident that it was not solely being used on the walls. While most of the town could be made out only as a silhouette in the dark, as per usual outside of feast days. The town center and docks seemed to have more flickering white-green lights set up along their length.

It seemed helpful to navigate into a portion clearly left open for some of the royal ships along the deeper part of it. Arthur knew they were coming then.

That made sense, Stannis had said that he had sent word ahead.

This was further confirmed by the delegation that met them on the docks.

Arthur was much taller than the last time he had seen him, a short man's height now, though he was still a child, and his greyscale scarring was gone, leaving him with a stern but not entirely ugly face, much like his father's. He certainly didn't look to be dressing in a particularly kingly manner, but then with the queen way his brother's family had chosen to start dressing a few years back it was hard to tell.

Still, it seemed rather plain with only a white buttoned jacket that held a short cape around his shoulders.

Still, he hadn't named himself king yet had he?

'Maybe he wants to pledge fealty to me first, see if I'll take it.'

Robert honestly hadn't given the Kingdom of the Stepstones much thought at all with all else that had been going on.

With Renly dead he had half been planning to give the Stormlands to Stannis if only to silence his ceaseless bitching at court, but he doubted Jon would like it much if he handed his Brother's family two kingdoms without consulting him first.

But then if Arthur pressed him on it tonight what was he supposed to do.

As the gang-plank dropped he wanted to groan internally. 'Maybe I should have thought this out ahead of time.'

Still, he put on his most boisterous smile as he stepped up onto the gangplank, even managing to avoid wincing as his flank flared with pain.

"Greetings Nephew, I see that you are well? You've grown a great deal since I last saw you."

"Indeed Uncle, Father, I welcome you both to Storm Sky, formerly known as Grey Gallows, and I must congratulate you on your victory, they're calling you Robert Dragonslayer now I hear. As good a title as any I've heard."

"True, true," Robert chuckled, "but what of you Nephew, going out and conquering a kingdom for yourself, and younger than I was when I did it too, though you don't have quite as many of them. Why don't you show your father and I around the place on the morrow, though I profess that I'm a tad starved at the moment. Food aboard ships always sets my stomach a'rolling I find."

Robert smiled as that elicited a cheerful laugh from the youth, almost a mirror of his own though still a tad higher pitched. "I'm sure I can find you, something Uncle, though I'll warn you it likely won't match the chefs in your fancy palace, as mine still hasn't had the foundations laid yet." The boy smiled right back at him. "I hope you aren't too averse to tavern food?"

Robert couldn't help himself, chuckling aloud. The King of Westeros landed on his shores and the first thing his nephew did was invite him to a tavern.

Why, he was liking him better already.