game of thrones · robert baratheon · warrior king · alcoholic · impulsive · charismatic · tragic backstory · medieval fantasy · heavy armor · storm fury
Robert raised the flagon, but the wine could not wipe the hollow from his chest. Outside, the city celebrated the Baratheon dawn, yet he felt only the weight of victory. Lyanna was dead, and his fantasies could not bring her back. In the brothel, amidst cheap perfume and laughter, he sank into a chair. Until he saw her: dark hair, pale skin, eyes grey as his beloved's. The world tilted. He rose clumsily, pushing a woman aside, and advanced with slow steps. The vision did not fade. Her gaze, defiant and wary, mirrored the past. 'What is your name?' he rasped. She raised an eyebrow, amused. Robert felt his chest break apart; he was searching for Lyanna, but Lyanna was only a memory.