Chapter 118: The King's Hunt
The Kingswood rang with the sounds of the royal hunt. Horns echoed between the ancient trees, hounds bayed, and the heavy beat of hooves churned the forest floor. King Robert Baratheon rode at the head of the party, his massive frame making the destrier beneath him look comically small.
"Seven hells," Robert growled, shifting in the saddle. "I swear these horses get smaller every year."
Ser Jaime Lannister, riding easily beside him in gleaming white armor, smirked. "Or perhaps Your Grace has grown… more majestic."
Robert barked a laugh that scattered birds from the branches overhead. "Careful, Kingslayer. I can still knock your pretty teeth out."
Jaime's grin only widened. "I live in terror, Your Grace."
Ser Barristan Selmy rode silently on Robert's other side, ever watchful. Behind them came Renly Baratheon and a dozen lords and guards, their cloaks bright against the green of the wood.
Despite his complaints, Robert's blood was up. There was nothing like the thrill of the hunt to remind him he was still alive. The wine, the whores, and the endless Small Council meetings all faded out here beneath the trees.
A horn sounded ahead. The master of the hunt shouted, "Boar! A big one!"
Robert's eyes lit up like a boy's. "There he is, the bastard!"
He spurred his horse forward, warhammer already in hand. The great boar burst from the undergrowth—a monstrous thing, scarred and furious, tusks like daggers. It charged straight at the king.
"Robert!" Barristan called in alarm.
But the king was already leaping from his saddle with surprising agility for a man of his size. He landed heavily, roared, and swung.
CRACK.
The warhammer connected with the boar's skull. Bone shattered. The beast collapsed mid-charge, dead before it hit the ground.
Robert stood over the corpse, breathing hard, blood splattered across his tunic. For a moment the years fell away. The Demon of the Trident was still in there.
Jaime whistled softly. "Still terrifying."
Barristan allowed himself a small smile. "His Grace always was."
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That night, the royal party made camp beside a clear stream. A great fire roared, and wine flowed freely. Robert sat on a fallen log, legs stretched toward the flames, a fresh wineskin in his fist.
The talk had turned north, as it so often did these days.
"Ned's bastard," Robert rumbled, shaking his head. "Built himself a kingdom beyond the Wall. Can you believe that shit?"
Renly laughed. "The stories grow wilder every week. Glowing cities. Iron beasts that move without horses. A ship the size of a mountain."
Robert took a long drink. "They call it Winter's Heaven. Ned's boy. A fucking Snow." He chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in it. "Never even met the lad properly. Only heard of him through ravens. Robb was born, then Sansa, Arya, the little ones… and somewhere in there, the bastard pup."
Jaime leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "The latest reports from White Harbor are… detailed. Lord Wyman sent copies to half the realm."
"Even Tywin asked for them," Renly added.
Robert's brow rose. "Tywin?"
Jaime nodded. "Father doesn't waste time on children's tales. If he's reading them, there's truth buried somewhere."
The fire crackled. Robert stared into the flames, his usual bluster fading.
"Lyanna would've laughed herself sick," he said quietly. "A Stark boy building wonders in the snow while the rest of us fight over the same old shit."
Barristan remained silent, ever the perfect knight. Jaime said nothing either, but his green eyes were sharp.
Robert sighed heavily. "Gods, I miss them. Lyanna. Ned. The old days."
For a long moment, only the fire spoke.
Then Robert suddenly laughed, loud and booming, breaking the melancholy.
"Maybe I should visit."
Renly nearly choked on his wine. "Visit Winter's Heaven? Beyond the Wall?"
"Why not?" Robert grinned, the old fire returning to his eyes. "I'm the king. I want to see these iron beasts. I want to see this Titan everyone keeps pissing themselves over. Hell, I'll ride to Winterfell first and drag Ned with me. Let him see what his bastard has built."
Jaime smiled despite himself. "The realm might collapse from shock, Your Grace."
Barristan's expression softened. "Lord Stark would welcome you. And the boy… Jon… he is still of Stark blood."
Robert raised his wineskin high.
"Then perhaps one day," he declared. "To Winter's Heaven!"
The lords echoed the toast, though many looked uneasy.
Later, when most of the camp had fallen asleep and only the night watch remained, Robert sat alone by the dying fire. The wine had dulled his mind but not his thoughts.
He stared northward, toward distant stars.
"Ned," he muttered. "What in the seven hells has your boy built?"
A cold wind stirred the trees, carrying the faint scent of snow.
Somewhere far beyond the Wall, in a kingdom of light and steel, Jon Snow continued shaping the future.
And King Robert Baratheon, for the first time in years, felt the stirrings of genuine curiosity.
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Author's Note:
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