King's Landing, the Red Keep.
The sunset streamed through stained glass, bathing a luxurious guest chamber in blood-and-honey gold.
The air was so thick with the stench of wine and sweat, it could almost catch fire.
King Robert Baratheon drained a cup of Arbor red wine. His heavy golden goblet slammed onto the oak table with a dull thud, splashing dark red wine everywhere.
His body, already growing somewhat plump, sank into the chair. His fine silk tunic stretched tight across his bulging belly.
King Robert drained the wine from the jug on the table, then gulped straight from its mouth. The drink ran down his unkempt black beard, soaking his half-open, fine robe:
"Seven Hells! That old codger Jon keeps telling me no! Over and over again!"
Across from him sat the Myrish priest Thoros, bleary-eyed and burly, his red robe askew and his tousled hair stained with wine.
"It's only that fool Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, making trouble at sea!"
"I want to lead the troops to Pyke myself! Rip his head off and hang it from my ship's prow!"
"And they won't let me!!!"
His thick arms waved through the air, as if he still clutched the warhammer that had once brought the whole kingdom to heel.
"He actually said the king shouldn't go charging off, that Stannis could handle it!"
"Stannis! He's a block of ice! He can't do it! I'm the only one who can!"
Robert's face had gone red with drink and fury.
"To hell with that damned octopus! Let me go myself! I'll see what the lions and fish have been up to! They haven't won a single damn thing yet!"
"If I'd gone, the war would've been over by now!!!"
At last, his angry tirade spent, he patted his belly