"So…" Robert wondered aloud, growing a little impatient with his nephews poking and prodding, the pain making him occasionally wince.
"I'm pretty sure it's cursed, I can't say much more past that, I haven't seen anything like it. Definitely magical though." The boy laughed sadly. "I can't say much more than that though, the magic in it isn't Valyrian, even if it might have similar components, and it certainly isn't alchemy, no metal involved as far as I can tell."
"So what you're saying is that you're useless." Robert sighed, not expecting much else honestly. The boy had been honest about his own abilities at least. "I'll just have to live with the pain then."
"Well, not necessarily, there might well be cures, we just don't know them." The boy sighed. "I doubt you want to bathe in unicorn blood or something along those lines though."
"No," Robert said plainly, pulling his shirt back up to cover the still egregious burn. "But I'm no weakling, I can take a bit of pain."
He ignored the pointed look Stannia gave him as he got to his feet chuckling, even when it turned into a glare as he spoke. "Now, I saw those fine comely lasses you had waiting downstairs earlier nephew, and if I have your purpose right they'll be in my quarters waiting to be seen to. So I think I'll make my departure."
Robert almost laughed at the faint blush that crossed his Nephew's face but smiled when he regained his composure.
"Very well Uncle, shall I arrange for us to go riding in the morning then? A hunt perhaps? There's some fair-sized game in the forest here, and I don't think I've ever caught a stag myself before. Not much forest on Dragonstone."
Robert did actually laugh after that. Stannis never would have made such accommodations, but it seemed his nephew had ended up friendlier than his Brother.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure." Robert chuckled, making his way to his room. He wasn't actually surprised to find the whores weren't there yet, though he knew they would be soon enough.
Northern features too. He would wonder how his nephew knew if his tastes weren't known to half of King's landing.
He dropped his cloak, disrobing as he sat down on his feeling the confidence he had been projecting to his nephew and brother begin to slip a little bit. Especially as he pulled back his shirt to once again see his wound.
It was an ugly blackened thing, with scorched flesh around the edges, like meat plunged partially into a fire, which he supposed was accurate.
He had already known it was cursed, one way or another, but hearing it from his Nephew's mouth meant he couldn't keep denying in his head what his heart already knew.
And that meant that his fear was true.
He would have to carry this damned burn forever.
It wasn't a crippling blow by any means, it didn't render him immobile, or stop him from wielding a hammer.
But, it meant he would never be as strong again as he had been just a month ago.
Whatever he was, even if he had been the warrior incarnate as they called him, he would never be able to fight that way again, fearless, invincible.
Even if he refused to fall into the same sort of fugue that had followed him since Lyanna's death, what would it matter if he could never be himself again anyhow?
He sighed as the whores finally arrived, he didn't even catch their names as they introduced themselves, their features so like his dead love's, so like the anchor around his neck that he was trying to get away from.
It was too much, he needed to think. Needed to keep himself awake, not put the damped anchor back on.
"Leave." He told the women, "get out. Tell Arthur I to pay you, I don't care, but get out."
Even as the surprised and probably annoyed women left, he threw himself back down onto his bed, his wound aching.
'Fuck.'
It was like that fucking dragon was still around, taunting him, stealing his strength like it had stolen his love and his brother.
But he wasn't even there to just kill anymore, and how was he supposed to deal with a problem he couldn't just kill? Ask Jon about it? Bah, that was no solution.
He needed a drink, or maybe he needed to stay sober.
How the hell was he supposed to know?
He didn't even know how to deal with his damned warlock-king nephew who was probably going to ask for some sort of feudal agreement on the hunt tomorrow.
And his wound just kept fucking aching.
It was almost enough to make him miss his Lannister whores of a wife.
At least her blond cunt and venomous tongue took his mind off of other things.