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Chapter Text

Author Note:  I don’t own Game of Thrones or any of its characters. I only own the plot and a few of its characters, which are my own.

Summary:   How would the Game change if Jon was born a Baratheon, the son of Robert and Lyanna, not a Targaryen? Would the realm still bleed from a civil war between the Baratheons, Lannisters, and Starks? 

Chapter 1

The Tower of Joy, the Prince’s Pass Dorne

281 AC.

Word came to them on the day of Robert’s wedding to Cersei Lannister and his coronation as King, despite his new bride and Jon Arryn’s protests. Robert rode south with Ned and his men looking for Lyanna.

There had been conflicting reports that she was dead, but the news gave them hope that Lyanna was possibly alive in Dorne. Robert felt he had betrayed her a little by marrying Cersei Lannister. 

But there had been no news of Lyanna since the Rebellion began. Robert was unsure how credible this information about Lyanna's location was, but Robert would not give up on Lyanna.

The eight of them rode hard for Dorne, almost killing their horses in the meantime. The Tower was deserted when they rode up. The Tower of Joy indeed, Robert thought grimly. 

“No one’s been here in many moons, your Grace.” Lord Howland Reed commented.

“Search the Tower anyway; there must be some trace or evidence of where they’ve gone, ”Ned sighed, wiping the back of his neck. The heat and humidity of Dorne were perhaps what the Faith of the Seven told of what Seven Hells was.

“Lord Stark, your Grace. We found a letter hidden in a chest hidden beneath the floor on the ground floor". Lord Willam Dustin came forth with a scroll that bore no seal.

“Thank you, Lord Dustin.” Ned took the scroll, untying the leather cord that held the scroll tight.

‘To Lord Eddard Stark.

Your sister is well and unharmed. Myself and my two companions had no idea what Prince Rheagar was planning when he said we were going to Riverrun. We had no idea that he would kidnap your Lady sister.

By the time we reached Dorne, the Rebellion was already in full swing. We stayed on the Prince’s orders. He left and marched back North a week ago. 

We are taking Lady Lyanna to Starfall for her protection. We can no longer serve a mad and cruel King and his equally unstable son and heir. Perhaps that makes us cowards and traitors for abandoning our duties as Kingsguard.

But we all swore a vow as Knights to protect the innocent, including women and children. Thus, our duties as knights outweigh our duties and oaths as Kingsguard.

Yours faithfully, Ser Arthur Dayne.’

“Lord Stark, where is Lady Lyanna?” Ethan Glover questioned.

“My sister is in Starfall. We're riding for Starfall. Mount up,” Ned ordered, placing the letter in his saddlebags.

“She better still be alive, ”Robert remarked darkly as he mounted his horse.

Ned said a silent prayer that Lyanna was still alive and unharmed.

Starfall, Dorne

281 AC.

Arthur felt no remorse for turning his back on the vows he’d sworn to years earlier as a Kingsguard. The King he served was a madman, as was his son, who was just as unhinged and insane as his lord Father.

The man Arthur had once called a friend had died long ago. Rhaegar did not heed Arthur, Oswell, or Gerold’s pleas not to take Lord Stark’s daughter that day. She was promised to Robert Baratheon. Kidnapping the daughter of a Warden would bring trouble. And trouble it did bring. Thousands died for Prince Rhaegar's foolish actions. 

But Rhaegar wouldn’t listen to reason. Taking Lyanna against her will and dragging her to Dorne, via the Isle of Faces, for a farcical wedding. There was little Arthur nor his companions could do. 

Killing the Crown Prince was out of the question. Though the thought did cross Arthur’s mind a lot in those days.

Once Rhaegar marched North, it was safe to do so. Arthur, Oswell, and Lord Commander Hightower wrote and left a note and headed south to Starfall.

The three knights were surprised to hear the news that Lady Lyanna was already with child before she was taken from Riverrun. That only left one possibility for the identity of the unborn babe’s father. Robert Baratheon.

Arthur felt no sadness when word came of Rhaegar's death and defeat at the Battle of the Trident. He was sick to his stomach when he heard what happened during the sacking of King’s Landing.

The Mad King died at Jaime Lannister’s hands. Perhaps Lannister had his reasons for killing the Mad King. Princess Elia and her children were slain by whom? It was unclear and unknown to Arthur.

Robert Baratheon had been crowned King and was to marry Cersei Lannister. Was the final news Arthur had heard from the Capital. The newly crowned King already had a son.

Jon Sands. The boy had been unlucky to be born out of wedlock. If Rhaegar hadn’t kidnapped Lyanna. The boy would be heir to Storm’s End. But the gods and fate had different plans.

Lyanna died on the birthing bed, the day Jon was born. Arthur had known death and the smell of death all too well. But that day the smell of blood and death was overwhelming.

The babe had been too big; Lyanna was only a small-framed woman. Still, Maester Bander did his best to save Lyanna. But there was just too much damage and blood loss for Maester Bander to save Lyanna.

Wylla, a local woman from the village, was the lad’s wetnurse. Babes, it seemed, were in the air in Starfall. Ashara gave birth to a healthy daughter. Allyria Dayne. There was no mistake who her father was. She had a strong resemblance to her Lord Father, Eddard Stark.

Allyria, like Jon, would bear the social stigma of being a bastard. The Gods could be fickle cunts, alright. 

“My Lord, riders have been spotted approaching Starfall.”

“How many men?” Arthru's older brother and Lord of Starfall, Vorian Dayne, questioned.

“Eight, my Lord. Coming from the direction of the Prince’s Pass”

“Open the gates, ”Vorian ordered.

“Yes, my Lord.”

It had been another long, hot, dusty ride from the Tower of Joy to Starfall. The Lord of Starfall, Vorian Dayne, was there to greet them, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower. 

“Lord Stark, King Robert, welcome to Starfall.” Vorion bowed.

“Where’s Lyanna Lord Dayne? ”Ned asked.

“We will speak more about your sister inside. There is much to be discussed," Vorian answered cryptically. 

Vorian called for the steward of Starfall to have rooms made up for their guests.

Lord Vorian had the Great Hall emptied and ordered not to be disturbed. Vorian sat with his brother, Ser Arthur Dayne, on his left. Ser Oswell Whent stood to back somewhere. The Northern Lords that had accompanied Robert and Ned south to Dorne sat in various places around the table.

“Lord Vorian, you said you would explain where my sister is,” Ned began.

“When my brother, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower arrived from Starfall. Your lady sister was well with child then. About five moons along. Prince Rhaegar had been gone for three moons by then. So he can’t be the father of her son. Your sister Lady Lyanna died on the birthing bed. The day after her son Jon was born.

There is no mistaking the man who fathered him. With his black-like night hair and grey-blue eyes. He has the look of his mother, but he favours his father most heavily.

For he has his father's nose, mouth, and chin.” Lord Vorian gave a pointed look to Robert.

“A son.” He and Lyanna shared a bed twice at Harrenhal. They were to marry a moon after Brandon Stark was to wed Catelyn Tully.

“Where is Leanna's body?” Ned asked.

“Her body has been prepared for you to bury in your family’s crypt in Winterfell. The boy has been well cared for, Lord Stark. As his cousin. Your daughter as well, Vorian explained further.

“A daughter. Ashara is she well”

“She is well. She’s in the nursery with your daughter Allyria and your nephew Jon. If you wish to see them,” Ned said. He was taken aback; he had a son and daughter, one born of love and the other of duty.

Ser Gerold Hightower stood guard outside the nursery when Robert, Arthur, Vorian, and Ned approached.

“Lord Stark, my King.” The knight they called The White Bull nodded to the Lord of Winterfell and the newly crowned King.

“Ne…… Lord Stark, my King” Ashara stammered slightly at the sight of Ned Stark, the man who had captured her heart and broken it at the same time. Not that it was Ned’s fault. That fucking rebellion.

“Lady Dayne,” Ned awkwardly addressed the woman he loved but could not marry.

“Come meet your daughter and nephew, my Lord.” Ned stepped into the nursery with Robert.

Two cribs lay side by side. Ashara approached the first crib. Taking her daughter into her arms. Her purple and grey eyes meet her father's grey eyes. There was no mistaking that Allyria was of his blood. She had her mother's chin. She had Ned's nose, eyes and Stark dark hair. 

“How many moons old is she?”

“She’s the same age as Jon,” Ned remembered the tournament at Harrenhall; it was hard to believe it had been fifteen months since the tournament at Harrenhall.

She was smaller than her cousin. There was no denying that Jon was a Baratheon. But there was still a lot of Stark in him. 

“As soon as we get back to King’s Landing, I’m legitimizing him as my heir.” Robert teared up as he held his son for the first time. Robert had fathered other bastards before now. Mya and a few others during the Rebellion.

But this boy was half Lyanna and half his. Those two times they shared a bed had resulted in his son. The boy would need a proper Baratheon name. The babe opened his eyes.

They were a mix of grey-blue and a hint of purple, perhaps a throwback to his Targaryen grandmother, Rhaella. Robert mussed as he held his son for the first time. Lyanna had left a part of herself here for them. 

The Red Keep, King’s Landing—the Crownlands.

Several weeks later, 281 AC.

Ned had argued on the ride back to King’s Landing. To take his nephew back North with him. But Robert had refused Jon, now called Steffon, who was his son. And would be raised at court with his father.

Robert contemplated what to do with his son. Stannis was now Lord of Dragonstone, and Renly was to take up the Lordship of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands when he came of age. Perhaps. He could give the lands and titles to his and Lyanna’s son.

Jon Arryn met them in the courtyard of the Red Keep when they returned. His new wife, Cersei, was not present.

“My King, Lord Stark. Lady Lyanna,” the Lord Hand questioned.

“She died some moons before the Rebellion ended, Jon,” Robert grimly replied as he dismounted his horse.

A babe cried from the arms of the only woman in the group.

“The babe”

“Mine and Lyanna’s son. Steffon ‘Jon’ Sands. I will legitimize him as Steffon Baratheon. He will be Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands when he comes of age.”Robert answered.

“The marriage between you and Cersei Lannister needs to be”

“Consummated, I know, Jon. It will be in the meantime. I wish to set up things for my son. He may have been born a bastard, but he was made out of love.” At least on Robert’s side, how Lyanna felt for Robert he did not know.

“And the former member of Aery’s Kingsguard, my King. Have they bent the knee and sworn allegiance to you?

“They have sworn to protect my son as they have done since the day Steffon was born. They and Ned will accompany Steffon to Storm’s End. I will ask for Stannis to rule in his stead till Renly comes of age, then he will take up his position as Lord of Dragonstone.” Robert explained further.

“I will have a decree written up at once.”

“Robert, would it be possible for Jon, sorry, Steffon, to come to foster with us in Winterfell when he’s ten name days?” Ned asked.

“He's not one name day old yet, Ned. The boy will need to learn his Northern roots. Perhaps he can stay in Winterfell till he is ten, then come south to foster and squire for a knight or a lord, earn his spurs, and take up his lordship when he comes of age.” Robert thought of Ned’s proposal.

Robert discussed it at length with Stannis and Ned about what to do with Steffon. He was torn between allowing Stannis to raise him in Storm’s End or Ned in Winterfell. 

Robert couldn’t help but feel that Steffon was best kept as far away from his stepmother as possible. Robert had not missed the flare of Cersei’s temper when she learned of Steffon. Robert’s natural-born son with Lyanna Stark.

Robert came up with a plan for Steffon. Steffon would stay in Winterfell till he was 10 name days, then he would come south and foster and squire with Stannis or another Lord till he earned his spurs or he came of age, becoming Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Winterfell, the North 

281 AC.

The war had ended some moons before, yet her husband had not yet returned. Her good brother Benjen had travelled to Riverrun to escort her and her son Robb back to Winterfell.

Word finally reached them a moon and a half ago. Ned was finally returning to the North; he was sailing to White Harbour and then travelling on to Winterfell.

“Lord Stark’s party has been spotted on the road to Winterfell, my Lady. They are only a few miles away." Maester Luwin appeared.

“Has Benjen been told?”

“Ser Rodrik has gone to look for him and inform Lord Benjen,” Maester Luwin answered the Lady of Winterfell.

Ned had returned to Winterfell with Martyn Cassell. Ser Rodrik’s brother. A woman carrying something wrapped tightly in a bundle of furs was with the small party as well. The other was the sight of three former Kingsguards. Catelyn recognized them as Ser Arthur Dayne, also known as the Sword of the Morning, and Ser Oswell Whent, a distant cousin of Catelyn’s lady mother.

And Ser Gerold Hightower, former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for the Mad King. Why had they come North with Ned?

“Winterfell is yours, my lord.” Benjen bowed his head.

“Thank you, little brother.”

“Welcome home, my Lord ”Catelyn bowed her head.

“Lady Stark”

“Lyanna’s tomb’s ready,” Benjen cut in. 

A babe cried from the bundle of the woman who had returned to Winterfell. “Whose babe is that?”

“My nephew. Lyanna and Robert’s son. Steffon Baratheon, future Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.” Ned answered.

Catelyn had feared for a few moments that Ned would say the boy was his. Her fears were misplaced. The babe was her nephew. “Why bring him to Winterfell? Surely the King would want his son to remain at court with him or at Storm’s End.”

“Robert felt the boy would be safer here. His lady wife didn’t take the news of Steffon well. Who knows what she may do to him? He will remain here with us till he is ten name days, then he will go south to Foster and Squire; he earns his spurs or comes of age,” Ned answered.

Catelyn remembers her house words: Family, Duty, Honor. Steffon may be a bastard: a royal bastard who had been legitimized by his lord father, the king. But still, the stigma of being a bastard would follow him all the days of his life.

The boy had no mother. His dying before he drew his first breaths. Perhaps she could be his mother. He was an innocent babe, her nephew. Family had always been important to Catelyn. And this young babe, a few moons or more older than Robb, was her blood, and she would protect and love him as if he were her own.

Young Robert Baratheon:, Ser Arthur Dayne: , Ser Oswell Whent & Ser Gerold Hightower , : Ser Steffon Baratheon II, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands: Eldest son of King Robert I of House Baratheon: Natural born son with Lyanna Stark born 280/281AC Starfall. Known as the Storm Wolf.  

Chapter Text

Just a quick note on changes made to the pairings. This is not a Harem story. Jon/Steffon will have one or two wives depends how you look at it. His main wife or wives would be Margaery and Daenerys. The others will be lovers/concubines etc. Some other pairings have changed.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Winterfell, the North 

286 AC.

Five years had passed since the Rebellion ended. The people of Westeros had rebuilt their lives after the Rebellion tore the Seven Kingdoms in two. Those who supported the Rebels and those who supported House Targaryen reluctantly.

There had been intermittent news over the years about Queen Rhealla’s two surviving children. They were somewhere in the Essos—Pentos or Braavos, perhaps. Ned didn’t recall the name of the place where they had been hiding since their House was disposed of from the Iron Throne.

Robert’s rule had been mostly peaceful. There had been little trouble save for the Iron Born, who was a thorn in the side of those who lived on the West Coast of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ned had a Castle/Fortress and Port built at Sea-Dragon Point. Benjen was given the lands and titles of Sea Dragon Point. The Stark brothers worked hard to improve the North both militarily and financially for the North. 

Furs and timber were the biggest trading commodities the North had. Ned struck deals with other parts of the Southern Kingdoms of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Ned had appealed to Robert for money and men to help build a fleet of Naval and Mercent ships for the North. Taking in skilled tradesmen and such from the poorer parts of King’s Landing, offered them a chance at a better life.

House Stark had grown in numbers as well. A year after the Rebellion ended. Benjen wed Dacey Mormont. Niece of the current Lord of Bear Island, Jeor Mormont.

Benjen and Dacey had three children: Cregan, born in 283. Lyarra 284 and another son, Dorren, were born five moons ago. Ned and Catelyn had been blessed with a daughter, Sansa, born nine moons ago.

Benjen and Dacey stayed on Bear Island till Sea-Dragon Point was completed a few years ago. Ned had two other castles he was restoring for his future sons. Queen’s Crow in the Gift and Moat Calin near the Neck.

Ned paused in his duties as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to take a short break. His duties lead to long days and sometimes long nights.

Both Robb and Steffon had begun their lesson in the training yard under Ser Rodrik; they had begun their lessons with Maester Luwin a few years earlier.

“Well, watch your footwork, Robb.” Ser Rodrik instructed the heir of Winterfell and his cousin, the Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Steffon was big for his age. Perhaps he had inherited his father’s tallness. Robert was an imposing figure of 6 and a half feet tall; his younger brother Stannis was by no means small himself, standing 6’5.

Ned was taken back to his childhood when he would spar with his brother Brandon or Benjen. Lyanna would sneak away from lessons to spar with her brothers in the training yard.

Steffon was a natural with a sword. While Robert preferred a War Hammer as his main weapon of choice. The new King had not been half bad with a sword ever.

Both Robb and Steffon would learn from the best, not just Ser Rodrik. But Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning; Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat; and Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, were all fine swordsmen in their own right.

Ned did not need to worry for his nephew’s safety with the three infamous former members of the Kingsguard to watch over him. “Good, Steffon, keep your shield up.”

Steffon got the better of Robb, forcing his younger cousin to make a fatal mistake that ended with Robb on his back. The tip of Steffon’s blunt tourney sword was at his throat.

“Do you yield, cousin?”

“I yield,” Robb yielded. Steffon smiled with his mother’s smile. Many a time, Ned saw the same cheeky grin on Lyanna’s face. Steffon offered a hand to Robb, helping him to his feet.

“Lord Robb, watch your footwork; don’t be so predictable. Again” Steffon and Robb began to spar once more.

Ned went back to his study to continue his many duties as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North; there was a mountain of paperwork waiting for him on his desk.

Winterfell, the North 

A Moon Later: 286 AC.

Sickness had been running rampant through Winterfell and Wintertown. Many had come down with sickness and had died from it. Ned's heart lurched when Maester Luwin informed him that his nephew Steffon had the same sickness.

“He has a bad fever, my Lord. If the fever doesn’t break, then it would be impossible for him to survive, my lord. It may be best if you write to his father and inform him of his son’s condition.” Maester Luwin was not hopeful for the Lord of Winterfell’s nephew to recover and pull through.

The fever was not getting better or coming down. 

“He’s a strong lad, my Lord. But if that fever doesn’t break, then I fear he will not survive.”

Ned numbly nodded. Robb and Sansa were kept well away. Catelyn refused to leave Steffon’s side. Steffon was more than their nephew. He was like a son to them.

Robert needed to be told of Steffon’s condition. Ned wrote to Robert every month with letters on how Steffon was faring—every year on his name day. Robert sent a gift for his eldest son and an allowance for his upkeep.

The Red Keep, King’s Landing, the Crownlands 

286 AC.

It was rare for Robert to attend Small Council Meetings most of the time. The actual ruling of the Seven Kingdoms fell to his former foster father, Jon Arryn.

Robert preferred to spend his days hunting, drinking, and whoring his way to an early grave. Robert may have been a crappy King and husband to his wife, Queen Consort Cersei.

Robert tried to be a good father to his oldest son, Steffon. While Steffon was not his true-born son. Steffon was more his son than his own true-born son, Joffrey.

The boy had no Baratheon or very little in him. Taking more after his mother’s side, the Lannisters, than his Lord Father. The boy was spoiled and hid behind his mother’s skirts most of the time. Robert had little time for Steffon.

They were in the midst of a Small Council Meeting when a servant came in. He whispered something in Jon Arryn’s ear, handing the Lord Hand a scroll.

“Perhaps we can call an end to the meeting for today. There is something I must discuss with His Grace in private.”

The Small Council filed out of the room. Leaving only Robert, Jon Arryn, and Ser Barristan Selmy present.

“What’s the trouble, Jon?” Robert questioned, pouring himself a goblet of wine.

“Raven from Winterfell from Ned. There have been reports of a sickness spreading rapidly through Winterfell and Wintertown.”Jon Arryn handed the scroll to Robert.

Robert broke the seal and unscrolled the letter Ned had sent him. Robert, deep down in his stomach, had a bad feeling as to the contents of the letter from Ned.

Robert 

It is not happy news that I am writing to you. A sickness is running rampant throughout Winterfell and Wintertown. Maester Luwin is doing all he can to help cure those who can be cured and bring comfort to those who cannot be cured.

Steffon has taken ill with the same sickness that is running rampant throughout Winterfell and Wintertown. He is strong, but Maester Luwin is worried if his fever does not break, then Steffon may survive.

I will keep you updated on the situation.

Yours faithfully. Lord Eddard Stark: Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

Robert cursed the gods. In his anger and rage, he threw the goblet of wine across the room. Spilling the wine onto the stone floor, the goblet clanged loudly as it bounced off the stone floor twice before landing on its side some distance away.

“Robert.”

“Steffon’s taken ill. The Maester doesn’t think he’ll survive. He will survive; I have already lost his mother. I will not lose him as well. Barristan is getting packed. Where are we going? Winterfell.” Robert stood to his full height.

“Robert, while I sympathize with you about Steffon taking ill. You cannot just abandon your duties here. You are the king; you cannot abandon your duties on a whim.”

“Fuck the Crown and fuck the Iron Throne. That boy is all that matters to me, Jon. The only part I have left of the woman I loved and I lost. The Crown, my lady wife, nor my true-born son matters as much as that boy does.” Robert raged.

“Your Grace You should take some men with you. Fifteen or so. It will be rough on the Kingsroad.”

“The Kingsroad will take too long. We’ll sail to White Harbour and ride from there to Winterfell. Pray to the fucking gods he survives. ”Robert walked off, and Ser Barristan Selmy followed behind him.

A ship was ready to leave King’s Landing within half a day. Robert departed King’s Landing, not bothering to speak with his lady wife. Cersei was not Robert’s concern now.

His son in the North, fighting for his life, was Robert’s main concern. 

Winterfell, the North 

286 AC.

It had been almost three weeks since Steffon had fallen ill. His fever had still not broken. He was not getting any better or any worse. He was holding his own. 

Ned had sent word to Robert informing him of Steffon’s condition. He was surprised a few days later when a raven arrived from Jon Arryn. Robert was sailing to White Harbour and then travelling to Winterfell.

Ned had not expected Robert to drop everything the moment he heard Steffon was sick. But Steffon was Robert’s son; natural born or true born, it didn’t matter.

Catelyn refused to leave Steffon's side throughout his illness. She thankfully hadn’t caught whatever sickness that had been running rampant through Winterfell. 

Steffon’s dreams.

Steffon ran through the Godswood. He has been here many times. In his dreams and in reality. Was he dead now? He paused when he came to the Heart Tree. Many times he had seen his Uncle Ned with Ice beneath the Heart Tree.

There was another man there now. An older version of his uncle. His grandfather, Rickard, perhaps.

“Grandfather,” Steffon approached the older man cautiously.

“Grandson, what are you doing here? It’s not yet your time, grandson.” Rickard offered him a kind smile.

“I fell ill, grandfather. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?” Steffon questioned.

“No Grandson You are not dead, but aye, this is the afterlife. Come meet the rest of your family. ”Rickard stood from his seat beneath the Heart Tree. Taking Steffon’s hand.

They walked through the Godswoods for a time. Till they came to a clearing. Steffon recognized his Uncle Brandon from the portraits that hung in Winterfell Keep, along with his Lady Grandmother. Lyarra Flint Stark.

“Grandson, let me look at you. You have the look of your father, but there is still plenty of Wolf in you too.” Lyarra kissed Steffon’s cheek sloppily. 

“Grandmother,” Steffon whined.

“I will not apologise for loving you, grandson. I can’t do this to you in the mortal world, and I can do it in dreams.”

“Little Wolf, let me look at you.” Steffon had seen his mother in his dreams. Now this was the first time he could touch her and she him.

“Mother!” Steffon cried as he hugged his mother tight to him.

“It’s not your time, little Wolf. You have to go back.”

“I love you, Mother.”Steffon hugged her tighter.

“And I you, Little Wolf.”

Steffon’s condition grew worse the day Robert arrived with Ser Barristan and the ten guards he brought with him. Maester Luwin delivered the grim news to them.

“If he survives the night and the fever breaks, then he will live.”

“If not,” Ned dared not to ask.

“If his fever does not break come morning, then perhaps it is too late for him, my Lord”

Ned that night spent the night in the Godswood praying to whatever gods would hear him to spare Steffon and make him better. Robert didn’t touch a drop of wine that night. He sat by his son’s bedside with Catelyn as they waited and prayed for the Gods to spare Steffon and make him better.

Robert was not the praying kind, nor did he really believe in the Gods, old or new.

The three of them did not sleep that night. Waiting and hoping that their prayers to the gods were answered and Steffon survived the night. Ned made his way back to the Keep the next morning. 

Not knowing whether his nephew had survived or had he succumbed to the fever he had been battling for almost a moon now.

“Lord Stark. Maester Luwin is looking for you.” Jory Cassell appeared.

“Where is he, Jory?”

“Lord Steffon’s room,” the nephew of the Master of Arms of Winterfell replied.

Ned jogged along the corridors and halls of the castle, heading for his nephew's rooms in the Family Wing. Ned almost fell over when he burst through the door.

“Maester Luwin, Steffon is he?”

“He will be fine. Lord Stark. The fever broke during the night. He will make a full recovery. He will be back on his feet after a few weeks of bed rest to regain his strength.” Maester Luwin explained.

“Thank the Gods.” Ned smiled happily.

Steffon awoke a short time later. “Father,” Steffon noticed Robert sat beside his bedside. While Steffon and Robert had never formally met since Steffon was a babe.

He’d know how his father looked from his dreams.

“Rest son. I’m here; I won’t be going anywhere for a while.” Robert kissed the top of Steffon’s head.

The Red Keep, King’s Landing—the Crownlands.

286 AC.

“So the bastard survived,” Jaime’s twin sister, Queen and lover, fumed in her chambers. 

“So Jon Arryn said. The boy was sick with a fever for almost a moon. Yet he survived. Perhaps he is tougher than most.”

“The poison should have worked. That bastard is a threat to our Joff. He will be King, not that bastard whelp my buffoon husband had with the She-Wolf Whore,” Cersei raged.

“The boy is five name days, Cersei. He hasn’t yet reached manhood yet. He could still die at any time. Lots of ways for a boy of that age or older to perish. He is no threat. Joffrey will be king. Robert made his bastard Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, not Crown Prince.

It would be wise not to go after the boy. You know how your husband feels about him. It would not be wise to make an enemy out of Robert. This is the man who toppled a three-hundred-year dynasty.

What do you think he will do when he discovers you tried to kill his favourite son? He will kill you, me, and Joffrey.” Jaime cautioned.

“Father will not let him.”

“Father is hundreds of miles away. Our heads would be on spikes before the Ravens could fly to Casterly Rock. Leave the boy alone; he is no threat to us, Cersei. Joffrey will be King when Robert finally dies.” Jaime, perhaps for the hundredth time, wondered what he had gotten himself into.

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Chapter 3

Winterfell, the North 

286 AC.

Robert remained in Winterfell with Steffon for another moon before he would return to King’s Landing. Steffon recovered well over the next moon. Father and son spent a lot of time together.

Robert and his men would depart for Whiteharbour that morning. Ned, Robert, and Steffon stood in the crypts before Lyanna’s tomb. 

“It looks nothing like her.” Robert held Steffon in his arms.

“Aye fails to capture her beauty,” Ned agreed.

Ned placed a Winter Rose in the stone hand of Lyanna’s statue. Robert handed Steffon to Ned before he lit a candle. Taking Steffon back in his arms.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood not far from the King, Warden of the North and future Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

The three remained standing before Lyanna’s tomb as the candle burned down. “Do you think there is an afterlife, Father?” Steffon asked his father.

“I don’t know, son. Perhaps there is. I do know one thing, son: your mother is watching over you and me, son.” Robert kissed his eldest son’s head.

Robert’s men were ready to leave. They were waiting for the King and Ser Barristan before they rode for White Harbour.

After a while, Steffon, Ser Barristan, Robert, and Ned emerged from the crypts. Steffon didn’t want his father to leave. But his father had another life in the Captial. 

He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms. As King, he had an important job. Steffon had learned some of this from Maester Lewin. 

“Godspeed on the road, Robert,” Ned said his goodbyes to his old friend.

“Look after that pretty wife of yours. That daughter of yours will be a real beauty if she inherits your wife’s looks.”

“Father, I ummmm.”

“We will see each other again, Steffon. Be mindful of your Aunt and Uncle, Son. I will write to each moon. You be a good lad for them. Write to me every moon, and I will write back. I promise.” Robert held Steffon close to him. Gods he had his mother’s eyes alright. 

“I love you, Father.”

“And I love you, my little wolf.” Robert hugged Steffon, picking him up in his arms.

Steffon hugged his father tight to him, not wanting to let him go. Robert reluctantly put Steffon down on the ground. Walking towards his waiting horse. Ser Barristan was already mounted on his horse.

“Will I see him again, Uncle Ned?” Steffon questioned his uncle.

“Aye, you will see your father again before you know it. And perhaps met your brother and other siblings in a few years, Steffon.” Ned squeezed his nephew’s shoulder.

Winterfell, the North 

287 AC.

Not a year after the King departed to return to King’s Landing. Tragedy struck, and the Stranger came knocking for a soul to take. Steffon’s youngest cousin, William.

The babe was born a few weeks too early. Maester Luwin had tried everything to save the babe’s life. But it was no use. The babe died only a day after he was born.

Steffon had never seen his uncle cry before that day when William died. Robb and he were old enough to understand death now. Sansa was only two-name days old. She didn’t understand why her father locked himself away in his study.

Why would her mother not stop crying and feeling sad? Steffon did not know why the Gods had seen fit to take his cousin from his Aunt and Uncle. The boy had only been in this world for a day before the Gods took him to the afterlife.

“Why are Mama and Papa so sad?” Sansa looked at Steffon for an answer with those puppy dog blue eyes of hers.

“Aunt Catelyn’s upset and misses William.” Steffon tried to explain death gently to a two-name-day-old girl.

“But why did the gods take him?”

“Perhaps it was just the will of the Gods to take him, Sans. Only the gods know what this life holds in store for us. From our first breath to our very last, ”Steffon ruffled Sansa’s hair.

Steffon followed both the Old Gods and the Seven. He found it easier at least to talk to the Old Gods rather than the Seven. Steffon, after the day's lessons had finished, went to the Godswood to pray.

Steffon knelt before the Heart Tree, praying in the Old Tongue. ”Ek, pray fyrir wisdom ok megin fran minn ancestors ok godsrinn.  Heyr minn prayers ok gefmikr megin. Fylgjagð oss um þessi tough times. Fylgjagð minn föðursystir ok fǫðurbróðir um griefinn ór Vilhjálmr's andlát. Watch yfir oss ok leið oss til ritinn path”(I pray for wisdom and strength from my ancestors and the Gods. Hear my prayers and give me strength. Help us through these tough times. Help my aunt and uncle through the grief of William's death. Watch over us and guide us to the right path.)

Steffon stayed in the Godswood for a few more hours praying. It was starting to get dark by the time Steffon returned to the Keep.

“Nephew, where have you been? I was just about to send Jory to look for you.

“I was praying beneath the heart tree, Uncle. I must have lost track of time, ”Steffon answered his uncle.

“Come, let’s eat.” Ned placed a hand on Steffon’s shoulder as they made their way to the Great Hall to eat their supper. Once again Aunt Catelyn was not there to eat with them.

Aunt Catelyn locked herself away in her rooms over the grief of William’s death. She barely ate whatever food the servant brought for her. Ned was worried for his wife. Steffon was concerned for his aunt.

Locking herself away from the world would not solve anything. But we all grieve in our ways, it seems.

Steffon sometimes went to the Crypts to talk with his mother. Steffon was big for his age. Perhaps he would reach his father’s height or be a little bit taller than Robert. Who stood 6’6. 

Steffon was tall enough to place a Winter Rose in his mother’s stone hand and light a candle.

“I miss you, Mother. Aunt Catelyn is still no better. She is still grieving the loss of William. I know he is in good hands with you, Grandfather Rickard, Grandmother Lyarra, and Uncle Brandon.” Steffon heard footsteps walking through the Cyrpts.

In the torchlight of the crypt, Steffon saw his Aunt Catelyn make her way towards where his cousin William was buried. Something told Steffon that she shouldn’t be alone.

Catelyn now understood how her mother had felt. Her two older brothers Tommen and Emannar. They had been both stillborn or died in infancy. 

Steffon said nothing as he joined his aunt at his cousin William’s grave. Sometimes no words needed to be said.

“The gods can be cruel. Why they took my mother before I drew my first breath or why they took William after he lived less than a day, I don’t know. I do know one thing. 

They may not be with us physically, but that does not mean they are not with us every day in our hearts and our dreams. And perhaps the gods take them to watch over us and guide us in this life.

Till we meet them again in the afterlife.”

“Do you really believe there is an afterlife, Steffon?” Catelyn, since the loss of William, questioned her faith in the Seven and the Gods.

“I believe there is Aunt Catelyn. I saw Uncle Brandon, Grandfather Rickard, Grandmother Lyarra, and my mother when I was deathly ill with that fever over a year ago, Steffon answered.

“You are wise far beyond your years, nephew.”

“Aye, perhaps I am," Steffon mused.

Winterfell, the North 

288 AC.

Steffon became a big brother once more. His stepmother, the Queen gave birth to a daughter. Steffon's half-sister Myrcella. His Aunt Catelyn and Uncle Ned were blessed with twins. Arya and Brandon, also known as Bran.

Uncle Benjen and Aunt Dacey welcomed their fourth child, a son, Torrhen. Sansa had begun her lessons with Septa Mordane. The Septa, at least to Steffon, was an old witch, or was it an old windbag he called her?

Steffon and Septa did not see eye to eye on anything. She hated him for the fact he was born out of wedlock. A no-good bastard. A sinful, lustful creature that must be kept away from Sansa. For he might corrupt her.

Steffon had another growth spurt, standing now 4’6. Much to Robb's annoyance, Steffon was still taller than him. There was a healthy, friendly rivalry between the heir to Winterfell and the Lord of Storm’s End. 

Steffon’s skill with the blade seems to shine more and more each year. While Robb was slightly better at jousting and archery than Steffon. But Steffon was, some argued, half horse and had a way with a horse. Much the same as Lyanna had done.

Steffon rode Winter, Lyanna’s mare, for a time. Robert, as a name day gift, had sent his best stallion from the Royal Stables to Winterfell to cover Winter and whatever other mares Ned wanted to be covered. 

The foal, hopefully, a colt, would serve Steffon well when he finally went South to foster and squire before he became Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Pyke, Iron Islands.

289 AC

The Drowned Gods had been blessed with omens for war. Balon stood to address his men. "Today we, the men of Iron Island, rise again; the Kingdom of Iron Island will rise. We do bow; we do not sow; we bring war." The men seemed to like his speech as they cheered loudly.

"To war, we go." The ships were under the command of Victarion, Aeron, and his sons, Rodrik and Maron.

The plan was simple. Victarion would take his ships to Lannisport, burning the Lannister Fleet; Aeron would attack Seagrad; and Rodrik and Maron would attack Seadragon Point. They all had a fourth of the fleet under their command.

Seadragon Point, the North

289 AC

It was a calm day in the port. Benjen was down at the docks to check on the progress of the ships being built. Dacey and the children had gone to Bear Island a week ago to visit Dacey’s family.

"Lord Stark, Ironborn ships have been spotted on the horizon."

"How many?" Benjen asked.

"Forty maybe fifty." Fuck, this wasn't a raiding party; it was an invasion.

"Have the garrison stand by. Man, the battlements Have our ships moved into reserve? Have the chains raised that should rip them to shreds, rain down on them with arrows, and catapult. Then we hit them from behind with our ships.

Have a raven sent to Bear Island and Winterfell. Those Ironborn scum may attack Bear Island. Send word to my brother informing him of what has happened," Benjen relayed his orders.

"Yes, Lord Stark." The young lad bowed, running off to relay Benjen's orders.

Benjen had several towers constructed with heavy chains laid between them in case the Ironborn or anyone else tried to invade them. The chains could be raised between the towers. It was supposed to rip the ships to pieces. That was the idea.

Benjen made his way to the battlements. Hot barrels of pitch had been brought up to the battlements. Arrows were dripping in pitch.

“Wait till the ships are close enough, then send the signal to the tower,” Benjen ordered.

The ships drew closer. "Now. The archer sent up the signal arrow. The chains were raised from the seabed.

“Send those squid fuckers back to their drowned god. No quarter is to be given,” Benjen gave the order.

The archers and catapults rained hell down on the Iron Born ships. The chains worked, ripping the Iron Born ships to shreds. The heavy chains ripped through the ships like a hot knife through butter.

The naval ships cut off any retreat. Rodrik Greyjoy would meet his end here, as would his brother Maron. Their prized ship, The Reaper, was ripped to shreds by the chains. Those that got off the ship were peppered with arrows from the battlement.

There would be no Greyjoy victory here today, just a slaughter. The fire arrows set the ships, not ripped apart by the chains, ablaze. The battle seemed to last what felt like hours but could have been mere minutes.

No Ironborn made it ashore that day. Those at Seadragon Point that day had won a crushing victory over the Iron Born. Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy, along with their fifty ships, ended up at the bottom of Sea Dragon Point Harbour.

The battle of Sea Dragon Point would be just the first of the battles to happen that day. Seagrad and Lannisport were all attacked as well. A third of the Lannister fleet was burned.

War had come to Westeros once again. 

Winterfell, the North 

289 AC.

It was a perfectly normal day in Winterfell while the Ironborn had attacked Sea-Dragon Point, Seagrade, and Lannisport all on the same day. Ned was taking a break from duties as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell.

He stood to one side of the training yard as he watched Robb and Steffon train under the watchful tutelage of Ser Rodrik. Ser Oswell Whent stood not far away.

Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower were training in one of the other training yards. Putting the newest recruits for the Household Guard through their paces.

“Lord Stark. Raven from Sea-Dragon Point, my Lord.” A runner came with a seal bearing the sigil of Sea Dragon Point.

“Thank you.” Ned took the scroll from the boy, who ran off back towards the Keep.

Ned.

I’ll keep this note short but brief. Troubles brewing and war with it. Forty to Fifty Ironborn have been spotted on the horizon. Have sent word to Bear Island in case they try to attack there.

This is no raiding part. It’s an invasion. There may have been other attacks along the West Coast. I will send you word once the situation is under control. Perhaps send word to the King informing him that the Ironborn is in Open Rebellion.

Lord Benjen Stark: Lord of Sea-Dragon Point and Lord Captain of the Northern Naval Fleet.

Seven fucking hells. Ned cursed silently to himself. “Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, Ser Rodrik, and Jory. A word in my solar, it’s urgent,” Ned barked across the training yard.

The four knights and Captain of the Household Guard joined the Lord of Winterfell in his solar.

“Lord Stark, what is so urgent?” Ser Rodrik questioned.

“This came from Sea-Dragon Point not ten minutes ago.” Ned handed the raven from Benjen to the Master at Arms of Winterfell.

“If the Ironborn are in open rebellion, the King will have no choice but to call the banners.”

“I will call the banners, and we will march for Sea-Dragon Point and sail from there. First I will inform the King of what has happened in Sea Dragon Point. They may have attacked Seagrad and Lannisport as well. Ned sat back in his chair. “Ser Rodrik, you, Jory, and Ser Oswell will join me on the march to Sea-Dragon Point.

Ser Arthur and Ser Martyn Cassell will remain behind as attacking Masters at Arms and Captains of the Household Guard.

Pyke, Iron Islands.

289 AC

Word came from King’s Landing about the attacks by the Iron Islands. Balon Greyjoy was in open rebellion against the Crown, dubbing himself the King of the Iron Islands.

Robert’s answer was swift. The Westerlands, Reach, Riverlands, and the North answered the call. Benjen deployed his fleet from Sea Dragon Point in pursuit of the Ironborn Fleet. The Lannisters, Redwyns, and Hightowers, along with the Royal Fleet, came from the south. 

What remained of the Ironborn ships was destroyed during the Battle of the Fair Isles. Euron Greyjoy met his end by Benjen Stark’s sword. The Wolf Pup earned a new nickname that day. The Sea Wolf and Iron Reaper, they dubbed him.

With the Rebel fleet destroyed, their attention turned to the Iron Islands. Retribution was swift. The Armies of the Reach, the Riverlands, the North, the Westerlands, and the Baratheon Army swept across the island like a plague of locusts through a field of ripened wheat.

What remained of the rebellion, Ironborn was holed up at Pyke. For what was supposed to be a quick siege. It was anything but. A moon passed, and then three passed. 

Siege engines and catapults took time to build. It was a war of attrition between the Rebellion Iron Islanders and the Armies of the Reach, Riverland, the North, the Westerlands, and the Royal Army.

The Ironborn made one last-ditch effort to defeat the besieging forces of the Royal Army, Westerlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the North. Balon Greyjoy died during the ill-fated attack.

Only four members of House Greyjoy remained. Balon’s brother Aeron, a priest of the Drowned Gods; Balon’s two surviving children, Theon and Asha; and Victarion, Balon’s other surviving brother.

The Ironborn Houses who had rebelled alongside House Greyjoy, Houses Blacktyde, Botley, and Harlaw, were punished by paying reparation for the damage and suffering caused by the Rebellion.

They were lucky to not lose their lands and titles. House Greyjoy, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Balon’s sole surviving son. Theon would be sent to Winterfell to Ned’s ward. He would not inherit any titles, nor would his sister Asha. Asha Greyjoy would be a ward of Lord Benjen Stark’s. She would wed Benjen's firstborn son Cregan when they came of age. 

House Greyjoy’s land and titles were given to House Drumm of Old Wyk. The Valyrian Great Sword of House Greyjoy, Kraken's Fury, was taken by Robert as spoils of war. The Valyrian Steel Great Sword would go to his eldest son Steffon when he was big enough to wield the sword. House Baratheon/Durrandon had a Valyrian Sword many years before, it had been lost sometime before the Conquest or was it after when they lost the sword?.

Chapter Text

Any ideas as to who Steffon could Squire for. I have some ideas but can't really narrow it down. There was Stannis, Ser Barristan Semly, House Swann or House Dondarrion in the Stormlands or perhaps House Tyrell, House Tarly or House Hightower in the Reach 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Winterfell, the North 

289 AC.

It took them several weeks to march from Sea-Dragon Point to Winterfell. The Northern Lords returned to their own keeps as the army marched for Winterfell. Both Victarion and Aeron Greyjoy were sentenced to take the Black.

A short trial was held at Sea-Dragon Point over two days after they landed at Sea-Dragon Point. Many others were handed similar sentences to take the Black. The Night’s Watch had been crying out for men for years. Now, they would have a steady supply of men for a while.

Ned was eager to return home. It had been several moons since he’d seen his family. Robert was eager to see his eldest son, Steffon, for the first time in roughly three years.

Jory Cassell earned himself a knighthood during the Siege of Pyke. Rodrik Cassell survived the Siege of Pyke, but he did not come out unscathed. During the final battle, the Master of Arms of Winterfell was hit by two arrows. 

One in the shoulder, the other in his lower right leg. Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower proved their worth and held their own during the brief but bloodied Greyjoy Rebellion.

Arthur was in the training yard with Robb Stark and Steffon Baratheon, who put the young lords through their paces. Lord Stark was due home soon. Word had arrived via Raven a week ago as to their progress on the march from Sea-Dragon Point to Winterfell.

“Ser Arthur”, A Stark soldier came running. 

“What is it? ”the Sword of the Morning questioned.

“Lord Stark and the King’s parties have been spotted. They’re five miles from Wintertown and Winterfell.” The boy said, a little out of breath.

“Go inform Lady Stark.”

“Yes, Ser Arthur.” The boy ran towards the keep to inform Lady Stark that her husband and the king’s parties were close.

“Are my father and the king close, Ser Arthur?” The heir to Winterfell questioned.

“Yes, Lord Robb, he is. Come, let’s clean up and be ready for when your father and the King arrive.” Arthur dismissed them.

Ned smiled a little to himself as they rode through Wintertown, heading for Winterfell. Many lined the road as they rode past, heading for the Keep.

Catelyn, Robb, Steffon, Sansa, Arya, and Brandon waited for him when they entered the courtyard. Ser Arthur Dayne stood stoically behind Steffon. 

“Lord Stark, your Grace, Winterfell is yours.” They all bowed to the Warden of the North and King Robert.

Robert searched the crowd for Steffon. By the gods, he had certainly grown in the last three years. He stood perhaps almost 5 feet tall or a little under that.

Steffon may heavily favour the Baratheon side by the Gods, but other times, when he looked at Steffon, all he could see was Lyanna. Our son will be a man before too long, Lyanna. Robert thought wistfully to himself. 

Steffon's grey-blue eyes locked with Robert’s blue eyes. Father and son had a conversation between themselves without uttering a word. 

It had been a long time since Jon Arryn had seen Robert’s eldest son. The boy seemed to look more and more like Robert with each passing day, though he also possessed much of his lady mother's.

Jon thought Winterfell was an impressive castle in its own right. It did not hold a candle to the Eyrie or the Red Keep, but it was nice enough.

Stannis hated the fucking cold and the endless snow. It was worse than Dragonstone. Though Stannis did not begrudge his nephew inheriting the titles of Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

He was Robert’s first-born son. If things had been different and Lyanna had survived. Cersei Lannister would have been set aside. And Steffon would be heir to the Iron Throne.

Stark spoke with the Castle Steward about something or other. Stannis wasn’t close enough to hear.

His brother’s good father and brother had joined them on the march to Winterfell. Three members of the Kingsguard had accompanied Robert during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Ser Jaime ‘the Kingslayer’ Lannister, Lord Commander Ser Barristan ‘the Bold’ Semly, and Ser Mandon Moore.

The other remaining members of the Kingsguard remained in King’s Landing, protecting Queen Consort Cersei Lannister-Baratheon and the Royal Children.

“Let me look at you, son. What have they been feeding you? Robert hugged his son.

“It's possible more muscle than anything, Father. Ser Arthur is tough but a fair teacher. Having raw skill and strength is nothing without proper footwork and stamina to go with it.”

“Ha, ha. Come, let’s go pay our respects to your mother.”Ser Barristan Selmy followed the King and the Lord of Storm’s End. Arthur Dayne followed closely behind them.

Father and Son stood silently as they placed a Winter Rose in Lyanna’s stone hand and lit a candle. No words were needed as they watched the candle wick burn down.

Robert only spoke again after he and Steffon left the Winterfell Crypts. “I have a gift for you, son. You’ll receive it soon enough.”

“A gift, Father. What sort of gift?” Steffon wondered.

“All will be revealed in good time, son.”

Winterfell, the North 

289 AC.

Two days after the King and his party arrived in Winterfell. Steffon, Robb, and Theon Greyjoy were in the training yard being put through their paces by Ser Arthur Dayne. Ser Rodrik Cassell was still recovering from his wounds suffered during the Siege of Pyke a few moons earlier.

The three boys were being watched by King Robert, Lord Hand Jon Arryn, Lord of Dragonstone, and Lord Regret of Storm’s End, Stannis Baratheon. The King was guarded by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Mandon Moore.

Jaime Lannister was in the Training Yard also, standing with his Lord Father and uncle, watching the three boys train.

“Theon, you and Steffon next.” The former heir to Pyke was considerably taller than the Lord of Storm’s End and five-name days older.

The former heir to Pyke and the Lord of Storm’s End circled each other. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Greyjoy slashed the Steffon from the left.

The Lord of Storm’s End easily parried Greyjoy’s sword stroke. Quickly replying with a riposte of his own. The two traded various blows. Greyjoy was barely breaking through Steffon’s defence.

“Ha, ha. Show him how a Baratheon fights, son.” The King drunkenly laughed as he watched his eldest son face off against the former heir to Pyke. 

Ser Barristan watched the eldest son of the King. The lad was good; the best Barristan had seen a boy of Steffon Baratheon’s age. Arthur had taught the Lord of Storm’s End well, as had the Master of Arms of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik Cassell.

“There’s been some grumbling among the Stormland Lords,” Stannis grunted.

“What are they grumbling about now? ”Robert took a long sip of his goblet of wine.

“Steffon. He’s to be the Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands when he comes of age. He’s not set foot in the Stormlands.”Stannis explained.

“Let them bellyache.”

“Robert, perhaps it would be a good idea for Steffon to be a page or cupbearer for one of the Stormland houses and a squire in the Stormlands. That would pacify the Stormland Lords.”Jon Arryn advised.

“Stannis, would you be willing to take Steffon on as your cupbearer/page till he turns ten name days? When he becomes a squire?” Robert asked his younger brother.

Stannis merely shrugged his shoulders in an answer of yes. “The Maester has already been giving Steffon lessons on the Stormlands anyway.”Ned joined them.

“House Swann and House Dondarrion have expressed interest in taking Steffon on as a squire,” Stannis cut in once more.

“House Swann and House Donarrion had both served House Baratheon faithfully for many years, Robert. Lord Gulian Swann has a daughter around Lord Steffon’s age. His eldest son and heir, Donnell, was knighted in the last year. His other son, Balon, is a few years from earning his spurs,” Jon Arryn advised.

“A marriage between a Stormland lady and Steffon would pacify the lords some more.”

“Pah. Steffon will choose his own wife. He’s not even nine name days yet.” Robert downed the last of his wine. 

Tywin watched his good son with a sneer as Robert embraced his bastard son. 

“He cares more about that bastard boy of his than his own true-born son,” Tywin’s brother Kevan Lannister scoffed at the sight.

“He’s a legitimised bastard. He’s no threat to my grandson’s place as Crown Prince. He has lands and titles of his own. As Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands”

“What if Baratheon decided to make the bastard his heir over Joffrey?”

“If he does, it will be war. Robert may be a drunken spendthrift and whoremonger. But he’s not stupid.” Tywin rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

Winterfell, the North 

289 AC.

A week after the King and his party arrived in Winterfell, a feast was held in his honour, along with a contest of arms, a mini-tournament without prize money. 

It's just a show of skill and ability. There was archery, team and individual melee, and jousting. Ser Arthur Dayne was favoured to win the Individual Melee. 

Ser Brynden ‘Blackfish’Tully was favoured to win the archery. It was hard to pick who would win the Joust. Many good knights were good with a lance.

Northerners didn’t often participate in tournaments. The Contest of Arms was hotly competed by everyone who competed. It was the Sword of the Morning, unsurprisingly, who won the Individual Melee. 

The archery was won by Ser Brynden ‘Blackfish’ Tully. The team that won the Grand Melee consisted of Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Jory Cassell. 

The Joust Final came down between Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan ‘the Bold’ Semly. Jaime Lannister came forth; Ser Arthur Dayne unhorsed him. Ser Barristan unhorsed the newly knighted Ser Jorah Mormont. The now Lord Commander of the Kingsguard unseated the infamous Sword of the Morning. 

The day after the Contest of Arms finished, Ned and Robert sat in Ned’s study along with Stannis and Ser Barristan Selmy.

“Steffon will be going back South with us, Ned. Stannis will take him on as his cupbearer/page till he turns ten. Then he’ll go squire for a Stormlands House,” Robert explained.

Ned knew the day would come that Steffon would leave to go South. He didn’t think it would come this quickly. Gods, where had the years gone? He’d been a babe one day, and the next, he would be leaving to be a page/cupbearer for his uncle.

Ned made a silent prayer to the Old Gods to watch over his nephew. Steffon may only be his nephew, but to Ned, he was like a son to him. To Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, he was more like a brother than a cousin. His wife felt the same way about Steffon as Ned felt.

Winterfell, the North 

289/290 AC.

Steffon felt mixed emotions as he prepared to depart the only home he had ever known. He was to go south with his Uncle Stannis. To be a page/cupbearer for his lord uncle. 

His sworn shields, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower, would accompany him south as his sworn shields. When he was ten name days, he would go and squire for a Stormlands House. 

He would miss the North, Winterfell, and his family. He would see them again one day. His uncle Stannis had a daughter, Shireen. She was born between Sansa, Arya, and Bran in 287 AC.

“Steffon, I have something for you. It was your mother’s, and this was your Lord Grandfather’s; he’d want you to have this.” His Uncle Ned presented him with a wolf pendant and a signet ring with House Stark’s sigil. It was inscribed with something written in the Old Tongue: Lonerinn vargr deyr en packinn survives. (The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.)

“Thank you, Uncle Ned.”

“You may not have my name, but you have my blood. Your mother would be proud of you, Steffon, Ned said as he hugged his nephew one last time.

“Farewell Baratheon”

“And you, Stark.” Robb and Steffon shared a brotherly hug. They may be cousins by name. But they were brothers by blood. Each shares the same scar on their left palm. 

Sansa cried and pleaded with him not to leave. Steffon wiped her tears. Stating they would see each other again one day. Steffon would write every week. 

Steffon mounted his mare Winter. Winter’s colt by the Royal Stallion Fury would be Steffon’s horse one day. The colt was a pretty thing with a striking black coat, the same colouring as his sire Fury. With a blaze on his face, his right front and back legs both had socks, while his back left leg had ¾ quarter stockings.

Storm’s End, the Stormlands 

289/290 AC.

It was several weeks before they arrived at Storm’s End. It rained and stormed for two weeks of their journey to Storm’s End. The Stormlands weren’t called the Stormlands for nothing.

Steffon got to know his Uncle Stannis a little better during the journey. He was a stoic man of honour and duty. He had been married twice. He married his first wife, Lady Selyse Florent, daughter of Lord Ryam Florent, aunt of Steffon’s bastard brother Edric Storm, in 282, a year after the Rebellion ended.

His uncle and his first wife, Lady Selyse Florent, suffered three stillborn sons. Twins Petyr and Tommard in 283 AC, they lost their next son, Boremund, two years later in 285 AC.

Overcome with the grief of their three stillborn sons. Lady Selyse threw herself from the cliffs of Storm’s End into Shipbreaker Bay. Stannis remarried a year later to his cousin, Lady Lilliyan Estermont, daughter of his uncle, Ser Eldon Estermont, the now Lord of Greenstone.

Lord Eldon Estermont’s father, Steffon’s great-grandfather Lord Ivarn Estermont, died last year in 288, aged eighty-two name days.

It was drizzling with rain when they rode into the courtyard of Storm’s End. His uncle Stannis’s second wife, Lady Lilliyan Baratheon, was there along with his uncle Renly, who was seven-name days older than Steffon.

“Welcome home, my Lord. Storm’s End is yours.” Lady Lilliyan was a beautiful woman of twenty-six-name days. 

“Thank you, my lady. Have rooms been prepared for my nephew Steffon and his sworn shields? ”Stannis asked, dismounting his horse.

“Yes, my Lord, they have, ”Lilliyan answered her husband.

Dragonstone, the Crownlands 

290/291 AC.

Steffon only stayed in Storm’s End with his Uncle Stannis and Aunt Lilliyan for several moons. Once Steffon’s Uncle Renly turned ten and six, he took over as Lord Regret of Storm’s End until Steffon came of age.

Stannis finally took up his position as Lord of Dragonstone nine years later. His uncle finally had an heir. Steffon’s Aunt Lilliyan gave birth to twins a few moons ago.

A boy, Ormund, and another daughter. Rhaella. Named for Steffon’s great-grandmother. It seemed the Targaryen genes had come through with Rhaella; she was born with silver hair but had her father’s blue eyes. At the same time, Ormund had his father’s black hair and his mother's green with a hint of purple.

Steffon liked to explore Dragonstone. Especially the many caves and secret passages on the island, much to Ser Arthur’s annoyance. Steffon would be leaving Dragonstone and his family.

He was going back to the Stormlands to foster and squire for House Swann. He would be squiring for Lord Gulian Swann’s eldest son, Ser Donnel Swann, till Steffon either earned his spurs or Steffon came of age and was knighted then.

Stonehelm, the Stormlands

291 AC.

A week after his tenth name day. Steffon arrived at Stonehelm with his three sworn shields. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower. 

Steffon had another growth spurt in the last few moons. Steffon now stood 5’3 at just ten name days. He had been wielding the Valyrian Great Sword his Lord Father gifted to him on his ninth name day for a year now.

The Valyrian Great Sword was named Stormcaller. Winter’s Colt out of Fury: Jelmāzma's vēdros (Storm’s Fury), or simply Storm, was now broken to ride. He was a one-person horse, preferring Steffon over anyone else.

Storm stood roughly 18 hands tall. Steffon somehow managed to clamber up onto the back of the big stallion. 

Lord Gulian Swann met them in the courtyard of Stonehelm with his eldest son, Ser Donnel Swann. Lord Swann’s Lady Wife: Lady Riyana Swann, nee Caron. Lady Riyana was the elder sister of the Lord of Nightsong. Lord Bryen Caron III.

His second son, Balon, had only recently earned his spurs. Knighted after squiring for his uncle, Lord Bryen Caron. Lord Swann’s three daughters, Jeyna, Lelani, and Jaeda, stood with Lord and Lady Swann and their older brother, Donnell.

“Lord Baratheon, welcome to Stonehelm.” Lord Gulian Swann welcomed them.

“Thank you, Lord Swann,” Steffon noted that Ser Donnel Swann had the ancestral Valyrian Bastard Sword of House Swann, amply named Swann-Song, strapped to his hip.

“Your rooms have been prepared. Once you have settled in, we will meet in the training yard.” It was Ser Donnel who spoke.

“Yes, my Lord.” Steffon and his three sworn shields were shown to their rooms. 

Stonehelm seemed like a nice enough place. A part of Steffon still missed the North, Winterfell, and his cousins on his mother’s side. He would write to them once he had a spare moment.

He would not have many spare moments while tending to his duties as Squire for Ser Donnel Swann. Steffon wondered what the days, weeks, moons, and possible years ahead had in store for him.

His trials, tribulations, and lessons as a squire would shape him into the man he would become in later years.

Steffon's horse Storm's Fury. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Stonehelm, the Stormlands

291 AC.

Steffon quickly settled into life at Stonehelm and his duties as squire for Ser Donnel Swann. Lord and Lady Swann had been most welcoming. Their second son, Ser Balon Swann, returned to Stonehelm a week ago with his new squire.

Steffon’s half-brother Edric Storm was to be his squire when he turned ten name days. At eight name days, Edric was two years younger than Steffon. He was to be a page/cupbearer for Lord Swann and then a squire for Ser Balon when he turned ten name days.

The Master of Arms of Stonehelm, Lord Swann’s younger brother, Ser Byron Swann, put Edric and Steffon through their paces. Ser Donnell oversaw their training. 

They would be travelling to King’s Landing in a few moons. The King was hosting a tournament on Crown Prince Joffrey’s name day. They would leave in another turn of the moon. This would be Steffon’s first test competing. He had been trained by the best swordsmen of their time. 

The day's lessons and his duties are done for the day. Steffon made his way to his chambers. A small pile of scrolls sat on his desk. 

Steffon poured water into the bowl before he cleaned up. Washing some of the dirt and grime away from a hard day in the training yard and his duties as squire for Ser Donnel.

Most of the scrolls bore the seal of House Stark. Steffon wrote to his cousins like clockwork each week. And they wrote back to him in much the same fashion.

Steffon broke the seal on the first scroll and unrolled it. The handwriting was Robb’s by the look of it.

Cousin 

I hope this letter finds you well. Life in Winterfell is boring without you, my blood brother. But life goes on. A few days ago, my mother gave birth, and I have another brother. 

Mother and Father named him after Grandfather Rickard but called him Rickon for short. Arya is becoming more and more of a handful. Bran too. He taught himself to climb. 

Much to Mother’s horror. She almost had heart failure when he was caught climbing onto the stable roof. 

Steffon chuckled as he read of Bran’s adventures climbing the walls and many buildings of Winterfell. Steffon continued to read Robb’s letter.

Uncle Benjen and Aunt Dacey and our many cousins are coming from Sea-Dragon Point to visit in a moon or two, Father said.

Yours faithfully, your cousin and blood brother, Robb Stark.

Steffon had another cousin. He had gained two more after he left Winterfell two years ago. His Aunt Dacey and Uncle Benjen had another daughter, Sarra, born 290 AC, and now Rickon. 

Steffon moved on to the other letters from his cousins.

Highgarden—the Reach 

291 AC.

The Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Tyrell, sat with her eldest granddaughter, Margaery, and good daughter, Alerie Tyrell, nee Hightower. Mace her fat-headed buffoon of a son was somewhere.

Her eldest grandsons, Willas and Garlan, were sparring or mocking sparring in the gardens. Mace’s youngest son, Loras, was squiring in Storm’s End for Renly Baratheon. 

“Grandmother, do you think the prince would like me?” Margaery asked her grandmother. 

“I'm sure he will be, my dear. He is a fool if he does not.” Olenna would see her granddaughter on the throne as Queen. The Crown Prince was still betrothed at age eight name days.

“Will Loras be there, do you think, Grandmother?” There was less than a named day between Loras and Margaery. 

“Perhaps he will be, my dear. The King is Lord Renly’s brother, and the Crown Prince is his nephew.”

King’s Landing, the Crownlands 

291 AC.

It was the first time Steffon had set foot in the capital since he was a babe. King’s Landing was decked out in all the pomp and ceremony for the forthcoming name tournament for Crown Prince Joffrey, Steffon’s younger half-brother.

Knights and lords had come from every corner of Westeros and some from beyond Westeros. Steffon recalled nearly every banner and sigle he saw. The Street of Steel was alive with a roaring trade thanks to the tournament that was to begin in a few days.

Steffon would compete in the Squires Joust and Melee. Steffon wanted to explore the Street of Steel. He was accompanied by his three sworn shields. The noise was deafening in the Street of Steel. 

The hammering of hammers and traders yelling over one another, selling their goods and such. 

Ser Arthur led them to the best armour in the city. Master Tobho Mott. Steffon’s Lord Father paid an allowance for Steffon during his time squiring for Ser Donnel.

His father had armour made for him the year before. But he had outgrown it. Ser Donnell required a new jousting shield.

“Ah, my lords, what can I do for you on this fine day?” Tobho Mott wiped his blackened hands on his apron.

“My lord Ser Donnell Swann requires a new jousting shield. Master. For myself, I will need a new set of armours for Jousting and Melee.”Steffon answered.

“Right, my Lord. I will take the measurement.”

Steffon paid for the armour and shield before leaving Street of Steel. The Marketplace at King’s Landing was just as bustling with traders and merchants as the Street of Steel.

“Gerold, isn’t that your niece?” Oswell slapped Gerold on the shoulder. 

“My niece, yes. Gods, I haven’t seen her since she wed Mace Tyrell.” Seven fucking hells, had it been that long since he’d seen his niece? Almost twenty years, fucking seven hells; he felt old at forty and eight name days.

“Go see your family, Gerold. We’ll escort Lord Steffon back to camp.”

Gerold nodded his thanks and went on his way to find his niece. The Tyrells had a manse in King’s Landing. Gerold racked his brain to remember the exact location. 

Gerold, after some time, found the Tyrell Manse up on Viseyna’s Hill. “Halt! State your business.”

“I wish to speak with Lady Alerie Tyrell, formerly Lady Alerie Hightower,” Gerold answered.

“Who’s asking for Lady Tyrell?”

“Her uncle, you fool. Ser Gerold Hightower,” Gerold barked at the guard.

“My Lord. Landar, go inform Lady Tyrell her uncle, Ser Gerold Hightower, is here to see her."

“Yes, Sargent.” The boy, Landar, ran off.

“Ser Gerold” The sergeant stepped aside, allowing Gerold inside.

Alerie had been surprised to hear her Uncle Gerold was here to see her. It had been almost twenty years since she had seen her uncle. Not since the day she and Mace were wed in Highgarden. Gods, had it been that long? 

“My lady. Ser Gerold Hightower” 

Her uncle had not changed much over the years; he had a few more grey hairs and some scars, but he was unchanged.

“My Lady,” Gerold bowed his head.

“Why so formal, Uncle?”

“Well, you are the Lady of Highgarden, are you not? And me, a humble knight with no titles or lands,” Gerold playfully japed as he embraced his niece for the first time in years.

“Uncle, I have missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you, my niece.”Gerold had always been her favourite uncle.

“You look well, Uncle.”

“For a man who is almost fifty name days, you mean. How is your Lord Father?” Gerold asked.

“Father is well. As are my brothers and sisters. Father will be eager to see you, Uncle. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other.

“Yes, the tournament at Harrenhall,” Gerold remembered the last time he saw his older brother Leyton.

“Come, I’d like you to meet your great nephews and niece.” Alerie took her uncle’s arm in hers and led him into the manse. 

“Garlan, where is your brother?” Alerie spotted her second son.

“He’s out in the stable, Mother. Is he… Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“Yes, Garlan, This is your great uncle. Ser Gerold Hightower, also known as the White Bull.” Alerie answered Garlan’s question.

“I will go and get Willas.” Garlan ran off towards the stables.

“How many children do you and Mace have?”

“Three sons and a daughter. Willas is our oldest, then Garla,n who you just t, Loras is our youngest son he’s squiring for Renly Baratheon, and Margaery is our youngest and only daughter.”Alerie explained.

His great-nephews peppered him with endless questions about Ser Arthur Dayne, among other things. Gerold promised his great nephews to spar with them tomorrow. The tournament did not begin for a few more days yet.

The Red Keep, King’s Landing—the Crownlands

291 AC.

A lavish feast was being held in the Red Keep the day before Crown Prince Joffrey’s Name Day Tournament. Steffon was surprised when he, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell were invited to sit at the Reach Table with House Tyrell. 

Ser Gerold’s niece was Lord Mace Tyrell’s wife. Perhaps that was why the invitation was extended to him, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell.

 Mace Tyrell was a heavy-set man but was nowhere near as large as Steffon’s father, the King. Steffon could feel eyes boring into him from the Royal Table. Namely, his stepmother and half-brother Joffrey, whom he had never met nor laid eyes on either of them before tonight.

His younger half-brother was the Crown Prince and would inherit the throne when their Lord Father died. Steffon had his own lands and titles; he had no interest in usurping his younger brother.

The Queen of Thorns lived up to her reputation with her sharp tongue and the remarks that went with it. “God's boy, that’s enough; we're not in a tavern.” She chastised the servant as he poured a goblet of wine for the Queen of Thorns.

Ser Willas and Ser Garlan Tyrell were roughly, by Steffon's estimate, seven and five name days older than he was. Both would be competing tomorrow in the melee and the joust.

Steffon struck up an easy conversation with Lord Tyrell’s daughter Margarey; they were both the same age. Perhaps, give or take a few moons difference.

Olenna watched her granddaughter and the future Lord of Storm’s End with interest. The boy was interesting. If not,t the Crown Prince for her beloved granddaughter to marry. Lord Paramount had equal worthiness, and an alliance between House Baratheon and House Tyrell could benefit both houses.

The boy may have his father’s looks. But from what little Olenna had observed, he was different from his father. He had perhaps the makings of a good king.

Gods knew the King was not. Even Olenna had heard of Robert’s spending habits. The Crown, at least according to her sources, was in debt up to its eyeballs with both the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister.

Time would tell what would become of the boy. What sort of man would he become? If he would end like his father or he would forge his own path to manhood, that and only the gods truly knew what the future held.

King’s Landing, the Crownlands 

The following day: 291 AC.

Ser Donnell, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold Hightower were all competing in the Joust and Melee. Ser Arthur Dayne was the hotly tipped favourite to win the melee. 

Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister were two names thrown around as potential winners.

The Melee and Archery were the first two events, while the Joust would be held last. 

Steffon did well in the first three rounds of the Squire Melee, winning quite comfortably with scores of 6/0, 10/3, and 8/2.

Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Gerold Hightower, and Ser Donnell Swann all advanced easily in the Open Melee. Ser Donnell was unfortunate to be drawn against Ser Arthur Dayne in the very next round.

The heir to Stonehelm fought valiantly but was outmatched by the Sword of the Morning. He lost the match with a score of 2/8. 

Ser Oswell Whent made quick work of Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun, in his next bout. Ser Gerold Hightower was eliminated by Ser Barristan Selmy with a close fight and scores of 6/9.

Barristan next faced Ser Jaime Lannister, Steffon’s step-uncle. The Kingslayer, as many people called the former heir to Casterly Rock. It was Ser Barristan who advanced to the final. 

Arthur defeated Ser Oswell Whent in his last match before the final. There was no need to guess who the winner would be. It was Ser Arthur Dayne who was named the victor of the Open Melee, winning the purse worth 5,000 Gold Stags.

Steffon also made the final of the Melee for the Squires Tournament. His opponent was Horas Redwyne, eldest son of Lord Paxton Redwyne. 

Horas went on the attack early. Scoring a point before Steffon replied with three quick strikes of his own.

The heir to Arbor form was sloppy. Steffon was running rings around the younger boy. Steffon remembered the lessons Ser Rodrik and Arthur had drummed into him. Stamina, a clear head, and patience are the keys to a sword fight.

Horas swung his sword downwards towards the future Lord of Storm’s End. Steffon parried the sword stroke of Horas with his shield. He kicked the heir to Arbour's back. 

He blocked another sword swing. Striking Horas with his shield. There was a sickening crack as the heir to Arbour’s nose was broken.

“That’s how a real Baratheon fights. Take note of your older brother,” Robert laughed, ribbing his son.

Joffrey gawked from his seat. His bastard half-brother was showing him up on his name day. The bastard would pay. Joffrey fumed to himself.

Robert cheered loudly as the heir to Arbour yielded. “The winner of the Squire Melee is Lord Steffon Baratheon”

The Joust began the next day. The opening rounds for the Open Joust began first. 

Steffon sat in the stands with Ser Gerold Hightower. Ser Donnell Swann was not competing he had been injured during the Melee. So Steffon did not need to squire for him. 

“Who’s that?” Steffon questioned. Noticing the mountain of a Man sitting on a black horse, he had a scowl on his face as he glared at his opponent.

“Ser Gregor Clegane, also known as the Mountain who rides. Appropriate under the circumstances. One of my father’s most trusted bannermen,” Steffon turned to see the Queen’s brother Tyrion Lannister, his step-uncle, sometimes referred to as the Imp.

“And his opponent.”

“His brother Ser Sandor Clegane is known as the Hound. There is no love lost between the Clegane brothers. A hatred that goes back to their childhood. It’s said it was Gregor who gave his brother the scar he now bears." Tyrion referred to the horrendous burn on Sandor Clegane’s face.

“Your Tyrion Lannister, the Queen’s brother.”

“My greatest accomplishment. You are Steffon Baratheon, my step-nephew, my good brother’s eldest son, the future Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands,” Tyrion countered.

"Aye, I am Steffon Baratheon.”

“You grew up in the North with your mother’s family. Tell me, Lord Baratheon, have you ever seen the Wall?" Tyrion made conversation with Brynden.

"No, I’ve never been to the Wall, Lord Tyrion,” Steffon answered as Sandor Clegane unhorsed his brother. The mountain was enraged, calling for his sword. The situation quickly got out of hand, with the Clegane brothers in a deadly duel to the death.

“STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING,” Steffon’s father, King Robert, bellowed, standing up from his seat.

"Shame, I hope one day to see it. And to piss off the edge of the world,” Tyrion drank from his flask before leaving the stands. 

Tyrion Lannister was a strange man indeed. Three more jousting bouts took place before the Squires Joust began.

Steffon was the fourth one into the lists. He was facing a Frey Squire. Steffon unhorsed the Frey boy with one lance. “Rides like his father and jousts like him too,” Robert boasted as Steffon unhorsed his next three opponents.

The open and Squire Jousts continued till it came to the finals. Arthur took great delight in unhorsing Jaime Lannister. Ser Barristan Selmy made it to the finals. 

It would be Ser Barristan Selmy against Ser Arthur Dayne. The knights broke several lances between them, but it was Ser Barristan Selmy who came out the victor.

Steffon was to face Robert Brax, second son of Andros Brax, Lord of Hornvale. Steffon and Robert Brax rode to the Royal Box, bowing to the King and Queen. 

The queen glared at him with green eyes filled with anger, contempt, and hatred. Steffon was no threat to her son. He had lands and titles of his own anyway.

Steffon and Robert Brax rode to their ends of the lists. “Start the fucking joust before I piss myself.”

Steffon lowered his visor as Ser Oswell handed him his lance. The flag dropped. Steffon dug his spurs into Storm’s side; the stallion reared and charged down the list.

Both Steffon and Robert Brax broke their lances on the other shields. Scoring a point each. Steffon took his second lance. Charing down the lists once again.

Steffon moved slightly to the right. Robert Brax’s lance skimmed past Steffon’s shield. At the same time, Steffon’s lance broke heavily on Robert Brax’s shield.

Brax stayed in his seat just barely. The force of the lance hitting his shield almost unhorsed him. The second son of Lord Andros Brax regained his seat and took his third lance.

Steffon and Robert Brax broke another three lances between them, taking the scores to five to four on the sixth and possible final pass. Steffon’s lance struck Robert Brax’s breastplate heavily, unhorsing the lad.

Robert drunkenly chuckled and cheered at his son’s resounding victory. Cersei just scowled in annoyance. The bastard was outshining her, Joffrey, on his name-day tournament.

The bastard is too much of a threat to her, Joff. He favours his father too heavily, a voice whispered in her head. All three of her children favoured the Lannister rather than the Baratheon. She had to get rid of the bastard, but how? 

Steffon's Sigle.