2. Audience with the king

Stannon opened the door to find a tall young man, perhaps in his early twenties, dressed in simple yet tidy garments befitting a royal attendant.

The servant looked to be about 20 or 22 years old, with dark hair neatly combed back and a youthful face marked with a faint scar on his left cheek. His posture was respectful yet alert, a quality that Stannon's inherited memories immediately recognized.

This was Jory, the attendant assigned to him by Eddard Stark himself. Jory had been by Stannon's side for as long as he could remember—his unwavering shadow, protector, and confidant.

"Jory," Stannon said, his voice steady but kind. The young man blinked in surprise before bowing slightly.

"My prince," Jory replied, his tone laced with respect.

Stannon motioned for him to step inside. "Come in for a moment. I need a word with you."

Though curious, Jory obeyed, closing the door softly behind him. He stood at attention, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on Stannon.

The young prince approached him, trying to place his small hand on Jory's shoulder. But since he was just six years old, there was a noticeable difference in their heights. Jory understood what the prince was trying to do, so he quickly bent down to let Stannon place his hand on his shoulder.

"You've always been by my side," Stannon said, finally placing his hand on Jory's shoulder. "Even when I was too young to understand, you protected me. You've served me loyally, and for that, I'm grateful."

Jory's expression softened, and for a moment, a hint of pride crossed his face. "It is my duty and my honor, my prince."

Stannon nodded, then activated his system. The familiar black panel materialized before him, invisible to anyone else in the room. He focused on Jory, reaching out with his mind to trigger the system's Copy Abilities and Skills feature.

The panel shifted, golden text scrolling in front of him:

________________________________________

[Scanning Target...]

[Target: Jory Cassel]

[Generating skills and abilities...]

Skills Generated:

1. Knife Combat ★

2. Attendant ★★★★

3. Guardian ★★★★

4. Swordsmanship ★★★★

Abilities Generated:

None

________________________________________

Stannon knew that with his current system rank, he could only copy one skil. He frowned slightly, feeling a bit annoyed at the limit. Among Jory's skills, Knife Combat ★ stood out. It seemed like the only choice for someone like Stannon, who was still small and young. Learning it could help him defend himself in dangerous situations

As for why the ability slot of Jory was empty, Stannon had no idea.

Without wasting any time, he focused on the Knife Combat skill and gave the system a silent command: Copy Skill: Knife Combat.

The system responded quickly.

________________________________________

[Copying Skill: Knife Combat ★]

[Progress: 10%... 50%... 100%]

[Skill Successfully Copied!]

________________________________________

Suddenly, Stannon felt a rush of knowledge enter his mind. It was like a door had opened, letting in a flood of information. He saw images of knives, learned how to hold them, and understood how to use them in a fight. He could feel the weight of an imaginary blade, how to balance it, and the right ways to attack or defend. It wasn't just movements—it was also instincts, like when to strike and where to aim.

His small hand clenched into a fist as his head started to hurt a little. The sharp pain didn't last long, though. When it was over, Stannon felt like the knowledge was now part of him. The system faded from his view, but the skill it gave him stayed in his mind.

Stannon took a step back and stared at his hand, half expecting it to look different. Of course, it didn't, but something inside him felt stronger. He looked up at Jory, who was still bending down slightly. Jory studied him with a curious look but didn't say anything. Jory never asked too many questions, and Stannon liked that about him.

Stannon smiled, trying to hide how excited he felt. "Jory," he said calmly, "do you think I could learn to fight as well as you someday?"

Jory seemed surprised but quickly gave a serious answer. "My prince, with proper training and hard work, you could become a far more skilled fighter than me."

Stannon appreciated Jory's loyalty, but he knew it wasn't enough. The world was full of dangers, and even the most loyal protector couldn't stop them all.

Stannon let his hand fall from Jory's shoulder and stepped back, giving the man a small nod. "Rise, Jory. You may leave now."

Jory straightened, his sharp eyes briefly scanning Stannon's face. Though curiosity flickered in his gaze, he knew better than to ask questions. "As you command, my prince," he said with a short bow before stepping out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Stannon waited until he heard Jory's footsteps fade down the corridor. He turned toward the ornate mirror on the far wall and frowned. His clothes, though appropriate for his private chambers, would not do for the occasion. He quickly crossed the room, pulling open the wooden wardrobe that housed his more formal attire. After a moment's consideration, he selected a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver threads, a pair of well-fitted breeches, and a leather belt adorned with a small stag sigil—symbolic of House Baratheon.

The young prince struggled a little with the intricate fastenings but managed to dress himself without summoning any attendants. He adjusted the tunic, ensuring it was neat, and slid his feet into polished boots. Finally, he glanced in the mirror one last time, smoothing his dark hair back with his small hands. Satisfied with his appearance, Stannon took a deep breath and left his chambers, making his way to the grand hall where he was to meet his father.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional guard stationed at their posts. They stood to attention as Stannon passed, offering respectful nods. Though he was just six years old, there was a maturity in his step that seemed to command respect. His mind was racing as he approached the hall.

When the guard pushed open the heavy oak doors of the grand hall, he was greeted by an almost eerie silence. The vast chamber, usually bustling with courtiers, petitioners, and guards, was empty. The long tables were bare, the banners of House Baratheon hanging motionless in the still air. The only sound came from the faint crackle of a fire burning in the large hearth on the far side of the room.

At the center of it all stood King Robert Baratheon. The imposing figure of the king was clad in a simple black tunic, far removed from the grand armor or rich robes he wore during official court sessions. He stood near the hearth, his broad back turned to the door, staring blankly at the flames that danced over the logs.

Stannon hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. He knew instinctively that this was not a formal meeting. This was something more personal—a father wishing to speak to his son.

Stannon hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. "Father," he called softly.

Robert turned, his face breaking into a wide, genuine smile. "My boy," he said, his booming voice filling the hall. In a few strides, he reached Stannon, kneeling to place his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"You've grown so much," Robert said, pride evident in his tone. "You carry yourself like a true Baratheon, but I see your mother's calm wisdom in your eyes. I was never blessed with that."

Stannon met his father's gaze, sensing the weight behind his words. "Why did you summon me, Father?" he asked gently.

Robert chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Straight to the point, eh? Good. A prince should never waste words." He stood, motioning toward the hearth. "Come, stand with me."

Stannon approached the hearth, his mind only half-focused on the moment. The black panel of his system reappeared, invisible to anyone else. It displayed Robert Baratheon's skills and abilities, with each accompanied by a concise description. As Stannon read through them, he felt a deeper understanding of his father's greatness—and his flaws.

________________________________________

[Scanning Target...]

[Target: Robert Baratheon ]

[Generating skills and abilities....]

Skills Generated:

1. Battlefield Command ★★★★

Robert's unmatched ability to plan and execute military strategies, ensuring victory even in the most difficult battles by using terrain, timing, and psychological warfare against his enemies.

2. Warhammer Mastery ★★★★★★

An expert in wielding the warhammer, Robert's strength and precision with this heavy weapon turned him into a legend on the battlefield, capable of overpowering any foe.

3. Leadership ★★★

A natural charisma that drew others to follow him, Robert's leadership inspired loyalty in times of war, though less effective in maintaining peace and stability.

4. Alcohol Tolerance ★★★★★★

Robert could consume vast amounts of alcohol without succumbing to drunkenness, a reflection of both his resilience and his escapism from the burdens of rule.

5. Endurance ★★★

Once unparalleled, Robert's endurance has diminished over the years due to his indulgent lifestyle, though he remains strong enough to handle most physical challenges.

Abilities Generated:

1. Berserker Rage ★★★★★★★

A surge of uncontrollable anger granting incredible strength and resilience in combat, but often clouding judgment and leaving Robert vulnerable once the rage subsides.

2. Obsession ★★★★★★

An intense drive to achieve his desires, Robert's fixation often blinds him to the consequences of his actions, leading to both triumphs and irreparable losses.

________________________________________

Stannon closed the panel after carefully reading all the abilities and skills. He now understood Robert better—his unmatched strengths and the flaws that had cost him dearly.

"You've grown up here in the Red Keep," Robert began, his voice laced with seriousness. "You've spent your days learning from tutors, surrounded by courtiers, and living in the comforts of the capital. But there are things no tutor can teach, and no grand hall can prepare you for. A prince needs to know his people, understand the land, and learn about honor, loyalty, and strength. And to do that, you must leave this place."

"Leave?" Stannon asked, his tone calm and composed. "Where would I go, Father?"

Robert stepped closer, his presence commanding yet warm. "To Winterfell," he said firmly. "To your mother's family. To Eddard Stark."

"Uncle Ned?" Stannon clarified, as if confirming Robert's intent.

Robert nodded. "Yes, your uncle. Ned is the most honorable man and a loyal friend I've ever known. His home, Winterfell, is a place where real values are lived, not just spoken about. You'll spend the next few years there, learning what it means to be both a Baratheon and a Stark."

"For how long?" Stannon asked, his tone neutral but attentive, as though already planning for the next step.

Robert placed a firm hand on Stannon's shoulder, his voice softening slightly. "Long enough for you to become the man you're meant to be. This isn't a punishment, boy. It's a chance—a chance to grow into someone who can lead and protect when the time comes."

Stannon nodded, his posture straight and confident. "I understand, Father," he replied with clarity and resolve.

Robert smiled, pleased with his son's readiness. He ruffled Stannon's hair, a rare grin breaking across his face. "Good lad. The journey north won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. The blood of kings runs in your veins, and when you return, you'll have earned the respect of everyone who looks at you."

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