Robert 10 294 AC

He woke up with a skull-splitting headache. A rare event for him, given his metabolism, but then, his nephew had been bringing out Arbor Red.

What type of idiot would turn down Arbor Red?

So he had drunk a bit more than he probably should have, given that he would be departing in the morning, though he was perhaps, the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could hold the royal fleet up over a hangover, he was also pretty good at fighting through the headache, given that it was less of a damper than the wound in his side, which still hurt whenever he moved his arm about too much.

He clambered out of bed and began dressing himself for the day. It had become a habit on campaign. He preferred it, especially when he had lost most of his weight as well. It made him feel young again like he was still leading the rebellion.

Of course, most would say he had done better for himself at the Red Plains than the trident, but there was still nostalgia for those heady days of his youth before he put on the blasted crown.

Like so many other things, it was another reason not to go back to King's landing.

And yet he had to do it anyway.

That thought was worse than the headache because it spoke of headaches to come, ones that wouldn't be solved by drinking a jug of water and resting a little while.

As he dragged his boots up onto his feet he could find no way to avoid that inescapable fact. He was still the King of Westeros, whether he wanted it or not. The crown was still his, and unlike the one, his nephew was so busy forging it came with all the baggage of five thousand years of politicking.

He wouldn't admit it aloud, for it was fairly silly, but he was jealous of his nephew, Forging a realm yourself seemed much better than being with saddled with one already extant. 'Maybe that was what made the Dragon's such monsters in the end.' he chuckled, but no, Aegon was a monster from the moment he took the place, else he wouldn't have built the damn throne.

Still, there had to be some reason to justify him leaving the capital. A good excuse to keep him away from that den of vipers.

'What was it Renly called it? Touring? Yes…' He could do that, not all the time of course, but it could keep him away from the worst of it if he brought the court on the move, toured the realms as it were. He could see it now. It couldn't be permanent of course, he would need to go back to his capital on occasion, but he could outrun most of the snakes if he kept on the move.

Well, he hoped he could anyway. They hadn't followed him to war at the very least.

A new plan in mind, he left his bedroom, heading downstairs into the tavern, where he could smell food being prepared. The simple fare hear was pretty poor in flavor, but his nephew was at least trying to make up for it with quality, and flank-bacon was flank bacon, in King's landing or the Stepstones both.

Strangely, his nephew didn't seem to be at breakfast when he got down there, with only his Brother and the Lady Mellario's bodyguard, Ario or something like that, eating. Seeing him come down, Stannis raised an eyebrow, probably having expected him to sleep in further. He knew how little Stannis thought of him. A good chunk of it was probably deserved even.

"Is Arthur not planning to see us off?" he asked, sitting down beside his dour brother and starting to dig into the offered food, mostly meat it seemed, probably to make up for the poor standard of cooking.

"No, he's taking care of his affairs at the moment, I went to see him when I woke. He will be down to see us off."

"Ah, that's good then." Robert rubbed at his brow, "If I recall right the Lady Mellario said something about staying here?"

"You can remember last night to that extent?" Stannis smirked for a moment, an odd expression when put on his typically grim face before it returned to its normal half-scowl. "Yes, my son has decided to take in her refugee bands, she'll be staying here to organize their transfer with him, then going with him to Sunspear, before coming up to King's landing in two months to take his oaths and formalize everything publicly." Stannis' eyes hardened. "You've already received them all directly though yes?"

"Yes, yours and his both," Robert smirked. "You don't have to worry, you can move into Storm's End whenever you like, a public proclamation can come afterward."

"Good," Stannis said simply. Before continuing to eat his food, and they fell into an easy silence for a while the two continued to eat.

"Thank you."

Robert felt his eyebrows shoot up as he turned to stare at his brother. 'Did…'

It was unthinkable. Impossible! All Stannis knew how to do was grumble.

'Well, he did mostly grumble about the Stormlands, but still…'

His brother didn't seem to want to say anything else, apparently focused utterly and intensely on his food. Cutting it into very small pieces before biting it as if he was fearing that anything thicker than his pinky finger would kill him.

It was almost ridiculous, save for the context, as Robert sat back into his chair.

Perhaps his brother had been changed by the war as well…

Or perhaps he had just never given his brother anything worth thanking him for before.

He wasn't quite sure, in fact, he hadn't really thought about it before, just presumed Stannis was entirely humorless in all things ever since their father had died.

'Maybe I should start bringing Stannis gifts every time I see him…' Robert chuckled to himself.

It'd be interesting to see if he could elicit the same response twice.