169. Stannis’ Wrath

If the king weren't his own brother, Stannis would have already shouted curses like a common fisherman, letting out the frustration that had been bottled up for years.

Yes, it was unfair—deeply unfair.

Robert shouldn't have treated him like this.

Stannis' anger and bitterness had been simmering long before he arrived at the Red Keep in King's Landing. Robert, who had summoned their good brother Eddard Stark to serve as Hand of the King, seemed oblivious to how much he had slighted Stannis over the years.

Not that Robert's awareness would have changed anything. In Robert's eyes, Stannis' rigid, unyielding personality was simply unsuited for the role of a prime minister. After all, in Robert's mind, being king for over a decade had taught him that the crown required a certain charm and flexibility—traits Stannis sorely lacked.

It didn't help that Stannis had left a bitter impression during his time as Master of Laws in King's Landing. Who could forget the controversial decree he'd once proposed, banning brothels across the Seven Kingdoms? The policy had caused an uproar among the noble lords, and the city's elite openly criticized him. Robert, caught between his brother's strict ideals and the outrage of the nobles, had no choice but to dismiss Stannis from the capital.

To save face, Robert assigned him to Dragonstone as the Lord of the island and head of the royal fleet. The underlying message was clear: Stannis' uncompromising ways were better suited to the sea than to the politics of the Red Keep.

Even Robert himself had found the decree ridiculous. "No brothels in Westeros?" he had scoffed. Life without brothels would be far less enjoyable, especially for someone like him. A small, nagging part of him wondered if Stannis had proposed the ban to make a point—perhaps as a silent protest against Robert's well-known indulgence in pleasure.

It wouldn't have been the first time. Years ago, Stannis had lectured him about abandoning his vices, urging him to focus on ruling with diligence. The memory still grated on Robert. Stannis' words had felt like an accusation, as if he were outright calling him a foolish king.

"Seven hells," Robert had thought at the time, "if he's so eager to lecture me on ruling, let him take his strict work ethic elsewhere!"

And so Stannis was sent to Dragonstone. If he wanted to dedicate himself to hard work, he could do so far from the capital, managing ships and fishing fleets. Let the rest of the Small Council handle the kingdom's affairs. If they failed, it wasn't Stannis' problem—or Robert's, for that matter.

Now, in the present, Robert sat atop a sturdy white horse, watching with growing irritation as his wife, Cersei, directed servants to load countless trunks and crates onto carriages. The queen's belongings alone required over twenty wagons, and their sluggish pace was testing his patience.

"Seven gods above," Robert muttered under his breath, "we're traveling to the North, not moving house. Why must women always bring so much?" He waved over Lancel Lannister, his young cupbearer and the queen's cousin. "Go tell Cersei to hurry it up. If she keeps dragging her feet, we'll still be here at midday!"

Lancel nodded nervously and rushed off toward the queen. Robert, meanwhile, allowed himself to fantasize about the journey ahead. He looked forward to the open road, where he could ride freely, enjoy the scenery, and maybe even take his men hunting.

Or, better yet, he could stop in some of the towns along the way to visit their brothels and sample the local women. The thought brought a grin to his face. The sooner they left, the better.

Cersei, however, was far from finished. She stood near her massive "palace on wheels," overseeing the servants as they carefully packed her velvet quilts. When Lancel arrived to relay Robert's impatience, her blue eyes flashed with fury.

"Who was it that drank himself senseless last night and couldn't wake up this morning?" she snapped. "If not for him, we'd already be on the road!"

Her anger only grew when she noticed two servants mishandling Tommen's favorite wooden horse toy. "Be careful with that, you idiots!" she shouted.

Lancel wisely chose not to argue further. He kept his mouth shut and simply waited for the queen to finish giving orders. Eventually, Robert's booming voice echoed through the Red Keep once more, prompting Cersei to hasten her preparations.

Finally, the royal procession began its slow march out of King's Landing. A column of fully armed knights and dozens of noble retainers escorted the king and queen. Their grand "palace on wheels" was followed by over twenty carriages laden with supplies. At the head of the procession, four cavalrymen carried the banners of House Baratheon—a crowned stag on a field of gold. Interspersed among the ranks were banners of House Lannister and the sigils of other accompanying nobles.

Tyrion Lannister rode near the middle of the group, perched on a small, docile mare. Beside him was his brother Jaime, clad in gleaming golden armor and seated on a tall destrier.

"Well, it's about time," Tyrion said with a smirk. "I thought we'd be stuck in the Red Keep for another day. It's a wonder we didn't have to sit through one more grand feast before departing."

Jaime chuckled, his handsome face lighting up with amusement. The women lining the streets of King's Landing ogled him shamelessly, some even waving and calling out in hopes of catching his attention. As the famed "Kingslayer," Jaime was as infamous as he was admired.

"You shouldn't be so quick to celebrate, dear brother," Jaime replied. "I can assure you this journey will be far less pleasant than you're imagining."

"Perhaps," Tyrion said with a shrug. "But no matter how tedious the road ahead, you can count on Robert to find his own brand of entertainment."

He gestured to the banners flapping in the wind. "Let's not forget—our good king insisted on traveling north in person to bring Eddard Stark to King's Landing. A raven would've done just fine, but no, this journey is clearly just an excuse for him to have some fun."

Jaime laughed again, shaking his head. "Fun, indeed," he said. "But I doubt the North will offer Robert the kind of pleasures he's used to."

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