Chapter 59: The Departure of the Wolf

On his final morning in King’s Landing, the sun broke over the waters of Blackwater Bay in a vast, golden sunrise.

At the royal docks, the atmosphere was far removed from the usual cold, venomous posturing of the Red Keep. A sweet, quiet farewell had gathered around The Blade of Winter, where Robin Flint stood in simple grey wool, preparing to take his leave of the capital.

Seven-year-old Myrcella and eight-year-old Tommen clung to his tunic, their faces tear-streaked as Robin knelt before them on the damp timber wharf.

"You promised, Robin!" Tommen sniffled, holding his small wooden sword tightly. "You promised you'd bring back a real Braavosi wooden ship with paper sails!"

"And stories!" Myrcella added, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "About the big marble bank and the Titan that stands over the sea!"

Robin offered them a soft, genuine smile—the rare, radiant warmth that always melted the tension around him.

"I give you my word," Robin said gently, his clear grey eyes soft as he patted Tommen’s shoulder and smoothed Myrcella’s golden hair. "I will return with gifts from across the Narrow Sea, and stories to fill an entire winter's night."

Rising smoothly, Robin turned to the royal family and court standing nearby.

He stepped toward Ser Jaime Lannister first. Without a word of formal courtly protocol, Robin wrapped his arms around the Golden Lion in a firm, warm embrace. Jaime froze for a brief second in sheer shock—unaccustomed to anyone embracing him without suspicion or disdain—before laughing warmly and clapping Robin's back.

"Keep your guard up across the sea, wolf cub," Jaime smirked softly. "Braavosi water-dancers are quick, but don't let them trick your footwork."

Robin then embraced Stannis Baratheon, whose stoic, severe jaw tightened as he offered Robin a firm, approving pat on the shoulder. Even Lord Tywin Lannister, standing tall and imposing in his dark red velvet, received a respectful embrace from the young lord. The Old Lion did not pull away; he merely inclined his head with profound, quiet respect for the boy who held the intellect of a century in his young mind.

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Robin turned to Queen Cersei, offering her a flawless, courtly bow. Cersei inclined her head, her green eyes soft with genuine maternal warmth as she watched him treat her children like cherished siblings.

Finally, Robin faced King Robert. The giant monarch wrapped Robin in a booming, heavy hug that shook the dust from the dock boards.

"Fair winds, lad!" Robert bellowed, grinning through his dark beard. "Go see the fog-singers! Eat their fine food, sing your songs, and don't let any iron-banker tell you what a copper is worth!"

"Thank you, Uncle Robert," Robin said softly, stepping back and turning toward the gangplank of his copper-clad flagship.

Shadows on the Water

The heavy iron mooring chains clattered into the bay. The lateen sails of The Blade of Winter unfurled like massive dark wings, catching the morning breeze as the vessel glided smoothly away from the docks of King's Landing, bow pointed eastward toward the open Narrow Sea.

On the stone pier, King Robert and Lord Stannis stood side by side, watching the copper hull shrink against the shimmering horizon.

Robert let out a long, heavy sigh, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he rested his large hands on his belt. The boisterous, laughing king vanished, replaced for a brief moment by a tired, worried uncle.

"I'm worried about him, Stannis," Robert muttered softly, his deep voice carrying a rare, somber weight. "I look at that boy, and I see Ned's eyes... but there's a cold quiet in him now. I'm worried those damn Northern lords broke the poor lad with their treason. He gave them everything, and they spat in his face."

Stannis stood unmoving as a granite cliff, his dark eyes fixed on the retreating ship. He ground his teeth once, his voice flat, steady, and absolutely certain.

"Our nephew is not so weak that a bunch of Northmen could break him, Robert," Stannis stated plainly.

Robert looked over at his brother, frowning slightly.

"He did not retreat from the North out of weakness," Stannis continued, his tone carrying the cold, unyielding weight of absolute logic. "He left to spare them his wrath. He fought fifty of their best men bare-handed so he would not have to kill them. He feeds their children while they curse his name. That is not a broken spirit, brother. That is a strength the lords of the realm are far too foolish to understand."

Robert looked back out toward the Narrow Sea, watching The Blade of Winter catch the full force of the wind, carving through the waves with effortless, majestic speed.

A slow, proud grin broke through Robert's dark beard.

"Aye," Robert grunted softly, turning back toward the Red Keep. "You're right about that, Stannis. God help the Iron Bank when that boy walks through their gates."