Before turning The Blade of Winter toward the cold western seas, Robin set his course down the Narrow Sea to the volcanic fortress of Dragonstone.
The island rose from the dark water like a jagged shadow of black stone and carved gargoyles. Sitting in the cold, cavernous hall of the Painted Table, Lord Stannis Baratheon stared intently as Robin unrolled a set of detailed sea-charts.
"These are the primary pirate coves in the Stepstones," Robin explained, pointing out shallow inlets, hidden coral reefs, and trade lanes. "I mapped the current drifts during my patrols. If you place four swift galleys at these three choke points, no Lysene slaver will be able to cross into the Bite unnoticed."
Stannis leaned over the carved stone table, his jaw clenched as he examined the precise lines. "A sound tactical layout," Stannis admitted, his voice low and raspy. "However, the Crown's treasury is strained, Robin. The Blade of Winter is a marvel, but it is far too expensive to mass-produce. Solid copper plating, balanced double-rudders, and custom bronze mounts require silver that Lord Arryn does not have."
"A flagship should be unique, Lord Stannis," Robin agreed smoothly. "It is not practical to build an entire fleet to those specifications. That is why I drafted these alternative ship plans."
Robin unrolled a second parchment—a streamlined design for smaller, lighter patrol sloops.
"Standard oak framing," Robin detailed, "with copper strips applied only along the waterline to prevent rot, and simplified wooden swivels for standard scorpions. They cost less than a third of The Blade of Winter, require half the crew, and can be built in any timber yard in the South."
Stannis stared at the drawings, a rare glimmer of deep satisfaction settling into his stern eyes. He ground his teeth slightly, giving a firm nod. "Simple. Efficient. Economical. This is how a royal fleet ought to be built."
That afternoon, Robin spent time in the private chambers of House Baratheon.
Lady Selyse sat stiffly near the window, but three-year-old Shireen toddled across the stone floor, her big, sweet eyes looking up curiously at the young lord. Though the little girl was quiet and shy, Robin knelt on the cold stone, pulling a small piece of polished driftwood and a carving knife from his belt.
With gentle, steady cuts, he shaped the wood into a small, smooth dragon with rounded wings.
"Here, Lady Shireen," Robin said softly, handing her the toy with a warm smile. "A dragon for the castle of dragons."
Little Shireen gasped softly, clutching the wooden dragon to her chest before offering Robin a bright, toothy smile. She sat right beside his boot for the rest of the afternoon, happily babbling as Robin showed her how to make the wooden wings move.
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Standing by the doorway, Stannis watched the scene in complete silence. Though he was a man of few words, he viewed Robin not as a distant vassal, but as a nephew—a younger brother in spirit to his own family. Seeing the young Lord of Flint's Finger treat his daughter with such effortless, genuine kindness touched a quiet, fiercely protective corner of Stannis's heart.
From Dragonstone, The Blade of Winter sailed up the Blackwater Rush to King’s Landing.
The moment Robin’s flagship docked at the harbor, King Robert Baratheon himself rode down to the quays with a dozen Kingsguard and a hundred golden-armored guardsmen. Robert threw his massive arms around Robin, letting out a booming laugh that echoed off the city walls.
For two weeks, Robin remained at the Red Keep as a guest of the Crown.
Every morning at first light, Robin met Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister in the outer yard for practice. The steel rang out across the courtyard for hours. Barristan praised Robin’s flawless footwork and iron balance, while Jaime revelled in the challenge, delighting in how difficult it was to break through the young lord’s precise, impenetrable guard.
During the afternoons, Robin turned his attention to the royal children.
Six-year-old Joffrey was often stubborn and prone to fits of arrogance, but Robin handled him with steady, unyielding patience. Rather than scolding the boy, Robin directed Joffrey's endless energy into archery lessons, showing him how to hold a bow correctly and complimenting his good shots while calmly correcting his form. With four-year-old Myrcella and baby Tommen, Robin was endlessly gentle, sitting in the gardens for hours showing them wooden puzzle boxes and singing soft Northern tunes.
Even Queen Cersei found herself unable to cold-shoulder the young lord. At her private tea gatherings in the Maegor’s Holdfast, Robin was a polite, attentive guest. He spoke respectfully of House Lannister, brought sweet candied berries from Glass-Garth for her children, and never took part in court gossip.
"If only all Northern lords were as civilized and pleasant as you, Lord Robin," Cersei remarked one afternoon, sipping sweet Arbor tea while watching little Tommen laugh on Robin’s lap. "The realm would be far less exhausting."
Between morning sword practice and quiet afternoons with the children, Robin joined King Robert for hunts in the Kingswood. They rode hard through the autumn forests, Robert roaring with delight as Robin tracked wild boars through thick brush with eerie, flawless precision.
After a fortnight of bustling court life, feast halls, and political chatter, the time came for Robin to say his farewells.
Nearly three years had passed since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. In that time, Robin had secured the western seas, rebuilt Castle Black’s defenses, fortified White Harbor, and earned the deep, unshakeable respect of every major house from the Wall to Casterly Rock.
Standing on the docks of King’s Landing, King Robert clapped a heavy hand on Robin’s shoulder.
"Don't stay hidden in your cold castle forever, lad!" Robert bellowed, his eyes bright with affection. "The Red Keep is always open to you!"
"Thank you, Your Grace," Robin replied with a polite bow. "May the Seven Kingdoms remain peaceful."
Boarding The Blade of Winter, Robin stood on the quarterdeck as the heavy mooring lines were cast off. The copper-clad flagship glided out into the deep waters of the bay, her dark sails catching the crisp sea wind as she turned north-west.
Robin rested his hand on the smooth wooden railing, looking out over the open horizon.
He had fulfilled his duties to the realm, to his allies, and to the King. Now, as the autumn winds grew colder and the first hints of winter touched the air, his heart longed for only one thing: the quiet stone halls of Flint’s Finger, the laughter of his little sister Lyra, and the deep, peaceful comfort of his own home.