Disclaimer: I, in no shape or form, own ASOIAF/GoT and neither does HPuni101.
Author's Note: Hello everyone! I decided to remake this story with several different changes all because I like this idea better than the first one I had. I'm letting you all know that most of this will be somewhat of an AU because the trueborn arc would not fit with the direction I'm taking this story. That means Ned's story/ending will change, Jon Arryn is unaware of Cersei and Jaime's relationship and children, and Stannis never fled King's Landing! I am going to keep a lot of canon, but only in the way it'll fit into this AU.
"They're not mine." The golden-haired knight's words played both roles of question and answer. He knew the truth, he saw it staring at him in the face, but he just needed for it to be re-confirmed. Jaime simply needed to hear her say it or else he might believe that both children in these bassinets with the Stag insignia stitched with black thread in the hooded section are his. For a minute's time, Jaime wanted to believe that at least one—the one with the fair hair—might truly be his first born.
"They're not yours." Cersei's voice was akin to steel and Jaime felt like he had been pierced with the essence of a sword. His sister, his lover, had made promises that every child sired by Robert would never breathe life. She would not carry them, the seed would be decimated before it took root in her womb by the swallow of moon tea. Not only did she break this promise once, she broke it twice. She gave Robert twins, a boy and a girl; something just like them. The boy was strong, red, and healthy with a head full of hair that matched the color of Robert's. The girl, who he hoped was his, had Cersei's fair hair and was small and quiet.
As Jaime's green eyes gazed upon his sister, he could already tell that she had fallen in love with the newborn twins already. Whatever space that he occupied in her heart had lessened some. Both children had taken a part of her heart that children were meant to do. Even with as weak and tired Cersei was after given birth, she found the strength to gaze at her children as if she was the strongest woman to ever walk the earth.
"You love them." Bitter as he was, Jaime would not ruin her moment – at least not entirely. She was freshly a mother, hostile and protective as she naturally should be. Cersei was more like a lion than he ever was, and a mother lion protects her cubs as if that is the only thing they know how to do. Minding his words wasn't his specialty but he knew Cersei was fiercer now than how she usually is. "Have you thought to name them?"
"Robert has already given the boy his name," she replied almost like she wasn't at all happy. "He named him Steffon after his father." Jaime guiltily liked the spite that was in her voice. The angry and upset piece of him enjoyed that she would have to suffer for that. "And what of your twin? Not me, the girl. She looks like you."
Her lips formed a smile, her eyes lost their hardened look and took a more warm appearance. Cersei rarely ever looks so lovingly like that. Even when she gazes at him, she still has an intense aura about her. "She does not look like me," Cersei's voice was soft, her slender hand reaching to stroke the side of the girl's rosy and plump face, "she looks like mother."
"Even after all these years, you still remember her." Jaime's eyes peered down at the newborn girl, the one he desperately hoped for the briefest of moments to be his.
"I could never forget her." Quietly, Cersei's eyes glanced over to her son. "He may be Robert's but I refuse for him to grow to be like him. He is still every bit as mine as he is Robert's. He will not taint him. He will not ruin him just as he has ruined everything else."
STEFFON
"What of the Lady Desmera of House Redwyne?" Little would Jon Arryn know, Steffon was completely somewhere else in his mind. His hand was in a loose fist, pressed against his cheek as he leaned into the chair with his limb propped on the chair's arm. It was more than obvious that he wasn't at all interested in such things like marriage. Steffon would much rather be training, spending his time perfecting his archery since his skill with the sword was already impeccable. How could it not be with men like Ser Barristan the Bold and Jaime Lannister as teachers? His skill with the bow, however, was lacking and Steffon wished to see an end to that.
"My mother doesn't much care for the Redwynes," Steffon bristled, knowing very that no matter who his mother liked or didn't like, it would not sway how the marriage would go. She could voice her complaints as much as she liked, but if his father saw it fit then it would come to be. A queen did not have enough power to overthrow the demands that a king sets as much as his mother would like to believe she could. Her art of persuading a man like Robert Baratheon was like convincing a fish to stop swimming. You could not tame a Stag, you can only let it do as it will.
Jon Arryn let out a tired sigh, a slow shake of his head being done. The man had been sickly as of late and Steffon wasn't sure if it was because of his age or an illness was trying to claim him before his time. The Stranger, when he desires, comes for both sinners and saints, of that Steffon is very aware. "It matters not who your queen mother likes or no, although I am sure she will voice it either way." Jon Arryn shakily lowered the parchment of suitable ladies meant to be queen to Steffon and let his tired eyes lay on the Crown Prince. "You are seven-and-ten now, Prince Steffon. As much as you enjoy your solitude, you cannot remain unmarried. You will need a wife and she will give you heirs, a future king. Do you know how old your father was when he was meant to marry the Lady Lyanna Stark?"
"Twenty, My Lord." His voice lacked the enthusiasm, having heard the tale of his father's rebellion from all sides and from different mouths and minds; biased and unbiased. The more he heard it, the more annoyed he became.
"He would've married her sooner had the rebellion not be needed and Rhaegar Targaryen never took Lady Stark whilst in Harrenhal." If his mother would've heard Lyanna's name being spoken in these halls, she would've roared. Steffon wasn't allowed to say the woman's name and he never met Lady Lyanna, who died before he was even conceived. His twin, however, always romanticized their father's love and devotion despite it being completely for another woman. It was the only way their father had remained in such a bright light to her or else Steffon feared she would've become as jaded about him as Steffon had about both their parents actions.
"I am very much aware, Lord Arryn. I am not ready for a wife is all." Of that he would admit, despite how weak it sounded. Steffon was not like his father, able to charm a woman to break in the bed during his own brother's wedding. He was also not prudish like his Uncle Stannis neither. The Crown Prince only wanted someone who could make him comfortable and give good counsel, but he met no woman like that. He doubted he would find such a woman in an arranged marriage.
The Lord of the Vale and Hand of the King gave him the weakest of smiles. "I understand how you must feel, My Prince. Happiness, however, does not secure the future of the realm. Happiness does not make sure another Mad King sits on the Iron Throne again. You must be vigilant on what it means to be king, you know I strongly believe you care for the realm."
Just a flicker of hope and a small smile came across Steffon's face as he looked away from the man he looked at as a grandfather. "You say that as if I had any other choice."
"Now, will you at least entertain the idea of marrying one of these ladies? I have other duties as Hand that I must attend to." Steffon gave a firm nod before lifting himself from his seat. As soon as he turned to make his way out of the tower of the Hand, the door was opened. It was Ser Hugh of the Vale, squire of Jon Arryn. With him, in his hands, was a tray with a simple goblet that looked to be filled to the brim with wine.
Hugh's eyes immediately widened upon the sight of him before he bowed his head as low as he could. "My Prince." Respectful as he was, Steffon couldn't help but to feel so wary of him.
With a suspicious squint, he bowed his head before looking back at Lord Arryn. "If I am to be married, Lord Arryn," Steffon began, hand now resting on the handle of the door, "my sister will have to wed as well, wouldn't she?"
"Your father has lords in mind for Princess Joanna." He wondered just how his sister would feel about this news. As spirited as she was, Joanna was a girl that clung onto her freedom as if it was a physical thing. When she would learn that marriage would come to claim her soon, he knew that the lion side of her would soon overpower the fawn. "Do not tell her, My Prince. I'm sure you know your father plans to be the one to do so."
"I'm well aware." With a slight wave of his hand, Steffon Baratheon had left the tower to train on his archery as he wanted.
JOANNA
Lannister.
The infamous House with the sigil of a roaring lion. Lions represented courage, monarchy, and dignity, but most of all… Lions represented power. All the Lannisters before her held some mighty way about them. They stood proud and tall with an air about them that could bring you to your knees by sheer presence or make you stare in deep reverence. Lannister was of her blood, of her mother's side. Even with that knowledge, of having that Lannister blood, Joanna always felt like a house cat posing as a ferocious lion. Her brother was a Stag from head to toe, but she was a Lion. She knew it so from looks alone.
No matter how much she wanted to cloak herself with the golden skin of a lion with a wild mane, she couldn't help but feel so small and helpless. Even now, standing in the middle of her mother's chambers, she could not stop the shaking of her shoulders nor the downpour of her tears. Weak. She was weak, but she could not help it. She could not stop it. It wasn't in her to be strong. It never was.
"No more tears."
Those words were easier said than done, especially coming from her formidable mother. Joanna was not blessed with her strength ( nor her father's ) so she kept letting the droplets pour and her lips keep uttering out the sobs that quaked her small frame. The girl was in shambles; trembling with shakes of grief. How was she supposed to end her tears? How was she supposed to make herself calm? Jon Arryn was dead and it broke her heart.
The man was like another grandfather to her and a father to her very own. And here her mother was, trying to coo her to stop crying and it only made her want to cry even more. Everything her mother told her to do had always made her want to do the opposite. As if she could prove that she didn't need her mother's counsel. Maybe it had been the underlying fact that her mother wasn't exactly torn up about the Hand's death. In fact, she seemed as if she didn't care. A heart of stone did her mother have towards most men.
Steffon was not at her side for he decided to console their father. Consoling father meant drinking with him and letting him tell repeated tales of a life that was much grander and dearer to him; his past. Joanna could see how his eyes would glitter with warmth and merriment when he spoke of days of when he was young, the time before his rebellion. Her mind could also recall those memories when Steffon and herself were young, sitting around with Joffrey just a year younger in the middle of them. In a way, Joanna wanted to find him and comfort her father too, but her mother didn't want her around him while he was dousing his sadness with wine. It wasn't fair that she had let her twin go with no questions asked but she had stopped her.
"How can I not shed more tears?" Her eyes looked up at their mother, still swimming in pools of salty waters. They halfway closed upon the feel of her mother's hand, using a gentle brush of her thumb to wipe away one of the tears that fell.
"You know he would not want you to cry for him," she said, "he wouldn't want you nor your father to grieve in such a way. The best thing you can do, my little lioness, is to think of happy memories of him. He would want that from you instead." Joanna looked at her mother in thought before closing her eyes, thinking of what was told to her. There was something right about that and she could imagine Lord Jon Arryn telling her that he wouldn't want her to cry. In efforts to calm her heart, she sniffed and nodded with her mother's hand still cupping her face. "Plenty of people die. Will you shed tears for them all? All that will do is weigh down on you, sweetling."
Joanna would not cry for everyone but she'd cry about any death of the people she loved; her father, her mother, her brothers and sister, and her grandfather. If Uncle Jaime were to die, Joanna knew she'd shed tears for him too. Uncle Renly and even Uncle Stannis would have them as well. Some Lannisters, not all of them, would have a tear of hers. Now that she had thought about it, that was a lot of people, but was it so wrong to cry for them? To be sad that they were not of this world anymore? Maybe her mother had been right. Mother was always right.
Her will was weak for now and so she decided to agree with her queen mother. Her mother's smile was a warm one, but it was odd in some ways though. Maybe it was because Joanna had always gave into her while her brother was another story entirely. It was clear how much her mother loved them all, but the only one that was disobedient to an extremity was Steffon. He always fought with her, never accepting her words upon first listen. He always wanted proof or just didn't outright believe. Joanna could recall her mother saying "Steffon is a Baratheon to the bone. It worries me more than it angers me." Since her parents always argued with father halfheartedly listening, it was easy to believe why her brother inherited his recalcitrant ways.
The eldest Baratheon girl felt her body be pulled forward, face burying itself in her mother's shoulder with long and slender arms around her. There were warm strokes to her small back with love in each one. It always felt like a spell to her when her mother did this because she had a hard time remaining sad whenever her mother held her this way.
"Mother," Joanna spoke softly, pulling away from the embrace to gaze up at her mother's eyes.
"Yes?" With a smile, Cersei rubbed the side of her head, eyes scanning her daughter's own.
"May I go see father now?" It was one thing she was adamant about now. Joanna wanted to see her father and offer him words of consolation. She wanted him to smile because of her too. He might be drunk off his horse now but that still didn't bar her from wanting to help him. It should've been Steffon and her both making father happy in such a sad time for him. Her mother may have not loved her father and didn't care that he was hurting, but Joanna loved him. She loved him fierce just as much as she loved her mother and she wanted to be there for him.
With a sigh, one that seemed to let out all the air she had in her lungs, Cersei gave a rather stiff nod. "Go see him, but don't say I didn't warn you."
"Father is always drunk." That made her shoulders shrug and it made her mother's eyes narrow. When Joanna noticed how her mother was looking at her, she wondered if she shouldn't have said that. The sight of a small smile that came after that rather scary silence reassured her otherwise.
Giving her mother another embrace, Joanna hurried out of her mother's chambers to go look for her father. Her hands clung on tight to her skirts, her bottom lip being bitten as she was making her way to her father's study. The Red Keep wasn't large enough for one to get lost in entirely, but sometimes Joanna had been scattered-brained and forgotten certain ways. Joanna wasn't all that adept at learning the layout of her home. What reason would there be now at seventeen when she would soon be wed? She'd have to learn of that home for the rest of her life.
A few turns, down some steps, and through a dimly lit hall, she finally found her way to her father's studies to see her Uncle Jaime guarding the door. He noticed her as soon as she neared him and gave her a half smile when his eyes laid on her. "Little Cersei," Joanna never told him how much she hated to hear that. She had a feeling that he sort of knew but did it anyway for kicks, that is. "You've come to see your father?"
Her eyes looked down meekly as she gave the slightest of nods. "Yes, Uncle." Forcing herself to find the courage to look up at him, her eyes were big and filled with just a slice of regret. "Is he occupied? I could come back in an hour or more."
"That isn't necessary." His golden-haired shined in the sunlight from the window across them as he inclined his head towards the door. "He's able to see you." But before his hand reached for the handle, she blinked twice and gazed up at him since he had more to say. "Though he's a bit drunk, you sure you want to see him?"
"I'm sure." With a smile, she wrinkled her nose some at the thought of her father's belly filled with wine. He'd be quite a mess to talk to but she wanted to do it anyway. "Thank you for warning me, though. I assure you mother already did."
Not at all surprised, just a little more intrigued by her determination, he shrugged his shoulders and opened the door wide for her. "My King, your daughter requests an audience with you."
Peeking through the open door, she saw her father, the King, sitting at his desk with his thick, calloused hand wrapped around a chalice. It was being filled profusely by Lancel, her father's squire and her cousin. "Let her come in." She smiled at this, seeing as his eyes lit up upon the sight of her. "There's my little girl, though not so little anymore."
Once her uncle closed the door, she sauntered her way to the guest seat at her father's desk and smoothed down her skirts before she sat. Her father roughly waved Lancel away, making him flinch some and awkwardly take a few steps back with the wine bottle in his hand. "Father, I'm here to tell you that I give the deepest of condolences about Lord Arryn. He was like a father to you and like a grandfather to me." Joanna lowered her head, the sadness coming back to her in waves. "I'll miss him dearly."
Her father gazed at her rather somberly before flicking his eyes back to his full goblet. He tilted it towards her, spilling only a few drops in the process, in honest offering. "Do you want some? It helps wash away the pain."
"No," Joanna added a shake of her head to her refusal, smiling nonetheless. She couldn't handle her liquor and got drunk from one cup. It left her daft, woozy, and easily moved to tears. Joffrey would constantly make fun of her little tolerance for it and call her a baby despite her being older than him. He even gone as far to say that she might as well be Tommen's age due to her lack of self control from just a few sips.
"He adored you," her father said, eyes lost in nostalgia as if he was seeing the memory before him. "He said you were like a granddaughter to him." Her heart ached at these words. It should've made her happy to know it, but she would've preferred to have known that before he passed. Joanna could tell herself that she always knew he cared for her when he was still alive but it wasn't the same. It never would be. "Jon always thought you and Steffon had good heads on your shoulders, which I don't get, seein' as you have some terrible parents."
His laughter made her smile stay despite how empty it was. Was her father that deep in a world of self-pity? Maybe so. Her father never looked kindly about himself; he always talked about how he never listened to reason until it was a little too late. There were many of things she admired about him and many of things she didn't and his drinking habits was the first on the list. "I do not think he'd be happy about you drinking like this, Father, but I won't stop you."
She could tell her words did have some impact, the smile made it clear. She was sure her father grew tired of everyone's suggestions, such as for him to grieve in ways they deemed acceptable but not her. Joanna felt like her father would pull himself together in his own way. Although there was some things that needed to be rectified quickly, she was sure he would do right. Maybe during their trip of Winterfell, her father might make a sound decision.
"Are you excited about going to the North, little one?" After taking a large gulp of his wine, he bothered to ask her that. She didn't want to tell him her true answer, however. She really did not want to go; the North was cold and the South was warm. The people of the North were strangers to her and she already had to grow use to all these years of remembering faces and names of people she weren't particularly fond of in King's Landing. Steffon seemed more excited than she did and she never understood why. Steffon was more charismatic than her then he let on; adventurous too. He was probably tired of these familiar walls and the comfort of the South.
The North was governed by her father's best friend and so she knew that insulting the frigidness of the country as well as whining about it would only frustrate him. He never enjoyed when her mother nagged, so Joanna knew better than to do it. With a silent prayer to the Seven, she nibbled on her bottom lip before speaking, "I suppose." Her voice lacked emotion and she nearly cringed because of it.
"You suppose?" His brow raised in question and she wanted to kick herself. Lying was too much of a difficult task for her. Joanna constantly needed to work on it or else she'd be forced to be honest at all times.
"Well, I'm nervous more than anything." That much was true and she could give him that. "So many people to meet and it's cold."
Her father laughed, "It's just a bit nippy and Ned's family will be warm like ours." For some reason, she doubted that. No family could be like theirs. "Or are you more worried about impressin' Ned oldest boy?"
"What?" Her eyes widened some, making her resemble a doe in the evergreen forest. It was as if she heard the slightest sound and it made her completely quiet; rigid to the bone. "He has a son my age?"
The drunk blushing face of the King kept his silly grin, giving her a nod. "A boy named Robb. He named the boy after me." Taking another swig of his drink, he remembered Ned telling him the news of Robb's birth. That was during the time of the rebellion, around the same time Steffon and Joanna were born.
All she could recall was seeing Lord Eddard once and his long face with the tiniest smile as he called her "a pretty little thing". She was smaller back then, she knew, but she never seemed to forget that. He was young too at that time and that made her wonder what he must've looked like now. She had no idea he had a boy the same age as her and Steffon, though. Now she felt even more nervous.
"It is about time that you get married." Frozen. Joanna felt entirely frozen by the statement. It was the truth, she should've been given a husband when she first bled but her mother never liked all the men her father suggested. Now it was Robb, but she was sure her mother would deny it. She knew very well her mother did not like the Starks and was not a damn bit excited about this trip either.
"How about some more wine, Father? Your cup is almost empty." Maybe if her father drank until he blacked out, he would forget about arranging a marriage between herself and Robb Stark.
