287 AC
King's landing
(Robert Baratheon POV)
Meagor's Holdfast always smelled of wine, steel, and secrets. Tonight, the stench of wine was winning.
Robert Baratheon slammed his cup down so hard that Thoros of Myr jumped, sloshing red firewine onto his own robes.
"HA! Drink, priest!" Robert roared, cheeks flushed, beard glistening with spilled ale. "If you can charge into battle with your flaming sword, you can handle a bloody cup!"
Thoros coughed, half-laughing, half-dying.
"I… khm— I do handle it, Your Grace, but your cups are oceans."
Robert slapped Thoros' back, nearly sending him flying off the bench.
Across the table, Stannis Baratheon glared like someone had served him a plate of raw treason.
"You're a disgrace," Stannis muttered, not touching his drink.
"And you," Robert said, pointing, "are a gods-damned buzzkill."
Thoros nodded vigorously. "Aye, he is."
Stannis glared at both of them.
Robert leaned back, boots on the table. "Come on, little brother. One drink. Just one."
"No."
"ONE!"
"No."
Robert groaned loudly. "Seven hells. No wonder the Small Council is miserable. They're stuck with you."
But Stannis didn't rise to the bait. His jaw tightened. He stared at the fire as if it had personally betrayed him.
"News from Pyke," he said finally. "Balon Greyjoy grows bold. Too bold."
Tension crept into the room. Even Thoros sobered slightly.
Robert snorted. "Greyjoy rebellion? Again? I beat the dragonlords, Stannis. I'll smash a few barnacle-covered pirates with one hand."
Stannis' voice was low, blunt as iron.
"They're building ships. Many. And Balon speaks of 'Old Ways.' That means reaving. That means crowns."
Thoros stroked his burned beard. "If the Ironborn rise, the seas will bleed. They are stubborn people."
"And stupid," Robert added. "But damn persistent."
Stannis folded his arms. "If they rebel, we'll need the fleets prepared. The lords warned. Men drilled."
Robert waved him off with a grin. "If Balon wants rebellion, I'll give him a lesson. First, I'll take his ships. Then his pride. Then his bloody chair of driftwood."
Thoros smirked. "Remind me never to rebel."
"You?" Robert raised a brow. "You'd die tripping on your own flaming sword."
Thoros shrugged. "Probably."
Robert roared with laughter—deep, shaking the table.
But the laughter faded as fatigue finally caught him. He pushed himself up, groaning.
"Bah. Enough doom talk. I'm tired. I'll go kiss the queen, argue with her, then collapse on the bed."
"You spend more time arguing than kissing," Stannis noted.
"That's marriage, brother," Robert grinned. "Be happy you're miserable alone."
Thoros laughed again.
---
Robert left the hall, boots echoing through the holdfast. The corridors dimmed, torches flickering.
Suddenly
"Your Grace!"
Varys appeared like a pale ghost, robes flowing, breathing hard.
Robert stopped. "If this is about coin or spies, save it for"
"Your Grace," Varys repeated, voice urgent.
"The queen is in labor."
Robert froze.
"What?"
"It began not long ago. She calls for you."
Robert didn't wait. "Lead me. NOW."
Varys turned, gliding through the halls with surprising speed. Robert's longer legs thundered behind him.
---
When Robert stepped into the royal chambers, the heat hit him first thick, suffocating, heavy with incense and sweat.
Grand Maester Pycelle hovered near the bed, wiping his brow dramatically. Midwives crowded around Cersei Lannister, who lay propped on pillows, her hair damp, her face twisted in pain and fury.
"ROBERT!" she snapped the moment she saw him.
"As if the gods themselves waited for you!"
Robert stepped closer, trying to soften his voice. "I'm here now."
"You were drinking, weren't you?" she hissed.
"Doing kingly matters," he lied.
A loud groan from Cersei cut off the argument. The room shifted into chaos midwives shouting instructions, Pycelle mumbling nonsense prayers, servants scurrying.
Robert moved to Cersei's side anyway.
She gripped his wrist so hard he nearly flinched.
Time blurred as the labor went on
pain, shouting, commands, Cersei cursing the gods, the maesters, and Robert equally.
Then
A cry.
A loud, strong cry that filled the entire chamber.
The midwife wrapped the child quickly in soft cloth, turning to Robert with a smile.
"It's a son, Your Grace."
Robert's booming laughter exploded across the room.
"HAHAHAHA! A SON! A SECOND SON FOR THE THRONE!"
Even the midwives jumped.
Robert approached the child, still laughing and then stopped when he truly saw him.
---
"By the gods…"
The baby was big. Bigger than Joffrey had ever been. Already strong in appearance, gripping the midwife's finger with shocking force.
Robert leaned closer.
"Another blond?" he muttered. "Why are they all blond? I'm starting to think the gods find it funny."
But then he saw the eyes.
The baby blinked up at him
And Robert's breath caught.
His eyes were deep, pitch blue, almost darker than the sea in a storm…
but the irises glowed faintly, streaked with a cold, luminous white like carved ice.
Majestic. Unnatural. Beautiful.
"Seven Hells…" Robert whispered. "He has my size but those eyes… those ARE Baratheon eyes, but something more."
He grinned wide, pride swelling like a wave.
"HAHAHAHA! I finally have a son I can train! A real Baratheon!"
---
Cersei weakly turned her head. "Keep your voice down. You'll wake Joffrey."
"Joffrey cries because air exists," Robert said bluntly.
Cersei glared. "He is delicate."
"He's a lion cub," Robert countered. "This one" he nodded to the newborn, "this is a stag. A warrior. He'll grow strong."
Cersei scowled. "Not every problem is solved with swords and shouting."
Robert smirked. "Maybe if Joffrey had a bit of shouting, he'd toughen up."
Cersei narrowed her eyes. "If you speak one ill word about my firstborn again"
Robert raised his hands. "Fine, fine. No need to bare your claws, lioness."
She turned away, irritated, but exhausted.
Robert looked at the newborn again blond hair gleaming under torchlight, strange blue white eyes watching everything, unusually calm.
"A prince," Robert whispered. "A true prince."
He lifted the child gently, holding him high for a moment, as if presenting him to the gods.
(Cercei Lanister POV)