The first rays of sunlight break through the heavy curtains, illuminating the goblets scattered around the room, the remains of the feast, and the servants lying in a heap. The air is saturated with the smell of spilled wine, sweat, and tobacco. On a wide bed with a luxurious canopy lies King Robert , motionless as if made of stone. His loud snores echo throughout the room, but suddenly stop. Robert wakes up, his eyes wide open, as if from a sudden nightmare. For a few seconds he lies there, staring at the ceiling, and then slowly sits up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his huge palm.

"Damn it... my head is splitting," he says dully, grabbing a bottle standing nearby on the floor. It is empty.

The king groans and, getting to his feet, heads for the window. His broad shoulders, although covered in fat, still reveal his former strength. Robert throws open the curtains, and bright light floods the room. He looks at King's Landing, living its own life, with its bazaars, ships, and the noise of the streets. But his gaze is hazy, his thoughts clearly somewhere far away - not here, in this tower of stone and gold.

"Why the hell did I even become king..." he muttered under his breath, and in his voice there is a mixture of irritation and longing. "Gods, give me at least one battle. One real battle, to feel alive again.