Author's Note: I've decided to give a go at writing a Baratheon OC! I've noticed that most Baratheon OCs are Robert's children, but my OC Lyonel is his brother. Lyonel was born in 267 and is the young brother of Robert and Stannis and the older brother of Renly. Basically the plot is that Daenerys will not escape to Essos and will become Lyonel's ward. In case anyone hasn't noticed, Lyonel is a lot older than Daenerys (around 13,14 years) and if that makes anyone uncomfortable then this story isn't for you. So, without further ado, the first part of the prologue!

PROLOGUE I

278AL

Lyonel would remember that night forever. He would remember standing at a window, with his three brothers beside him – tall, proud Robert; stern, grumpy Stannis and lovable Renly – and bouncing with excitement as he watched his father's ship approach the shore. They had still some distance to travel until they reached land, but Lyonel (his father's namesake and favourite, he would argue) was as excited as little Renly. He wanted his parents. He had missed them. But Mother and Father had to find a wife for the crown prince so he would have to be a big boy for a few weeks, that was what Mother had told him. Lyonel had been a big boy. He never cried and he took care of Renly, comforting whenever he started wailing for his mother. Lyonel wanted to wail for her too, but he had to act like a grown up.

He had just reached one-and-ten namedays. In the Stormlands, boys learned about the dangers of a strong tide when the weather was bad. Lyonel noticed that it was extra windy that night. The sea was wild, the waves were crashing violently against the shore and the wind was howling and whistling. But Lyonel had never thought in a million years that something so terrible could happen to his parents. His parents seemed untouchable.

Until they weren't.

Lyonel would remember how, with one tall wave, his father's entire ship was engulfed in water, never to be seen again. It was so sudden. One minute he could see the ship and the next he could not. It took him a few minutes to truly understand what he saw and what it meant. With that ship, his mother and father had been taken by the sea as well. Robert was roaring with tears streaming down his cheeks and throwing the books off Father's work-table and Stannis was crying quietly, but Lyonel could only stare at the sea, his mouth agape, his eyes wide, and his heart slowly breaking.

Renly was tugging at his sleeve. "Why are Stanny and Wobert acting sad, Leo?" It was when Lyonel looked down at his brother, staring up at him with wide, innocent, unknowing eyes, that his heart truly broke in half. Tears gathered in his eyes.

"You saw what happened to that ship, didn't you, Renly?" Lyonel said softly. Someone would have to explain to Renly, and it surely was not going to be his big brothers.

He nodded vehemently in response, pointing to the sea. "The sea took it."

"Mother and F-Father were on that sh-ship," Lyonel sobbed. The tears were flowing freely down his cheeks now. He winced as Robert tossed something heavy onto the ground that made a loud thump as it collided with the floor.

His little brother was still bewildered. "So? Mama and Papa can swim," he replied, as if that was the simplest answer.

"They're dead, you dunce!" Robert bellowed, only now deciding to direct his attention to Renly. The three year old had began to cry and was shaking with fright. Robert was terrifying when angered. "They're both dead! Drowned!"

"But when will they be home?" Renly asked innocently. Lyonel placed a hand on his brother's small shoulder. Of course he wouldn't understand what death was just yet. He was still so young. And now he has no parents. What are we to do?

Robert barked a harsh laugh before he choked on a sob. "They're not coming home! They're dead!"

"Enough!" Lyonel yelled, standing between Robert and Renly. Robert looked at his brother with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Lyonel had never spoken up against Robert before. He was afraid of his eldest brother, too afraid to ever stand up against him. Lyonel had surprised himself, but he straightened his back and glared at Robert. "He's three, Robert! He doesn't understand! Leave him be!" He turned to Renly, his face as red as a tomato, and offered the three-year-old his hand. "Come, Renly. Let's find your wet nurse."

After he gave Renly to Pally, Lyonel ran to his chambers and locked the door. As the bells knelled for his parents, Lyonel crawled under the covers of his bed and sobbed for the rest of the day.

280AL

"War?" Lyonel repeated, as though the word was foreign to him.

Robert rolled his eyes in frustration. "Yes, war. Against that bastard Rhaegar and the Mad King. The son took my Lyanna and the father burned Ned's father alive and choked Brandon to death! We deserve justice." The lords attending the war meeting cheered. Lyonel noticed how Ned Stark bristled at Robert's words. Tactful as ever, Robert, Lyonel thought wryly.

"Who fights with us?" Stannis asked. While Robert was more skilled at fighting and stronger, it was Stannis who excelled at battle strategy. Without Stannis, Robert had no hope of winning.

"Tully, Arryn, Stark and Baratheon," Robert answered. "Our houses will be bound together by marriage. Hoster's daughter Lysa will marry Jon and Ned will marry the other daughter Catelyn in two months."

"Houses Martell and Tyrell have declared for the crown." It was Jon Arryn who spoke, not liking the talk of marriage. Lyonel knew the man fairly well. He had always been kind to him. Kinder than Robert had ever been. "The Tyrells have 60,000 men, the Martells 20,000. They may outnumber us in men, but the Tyrells have very few cavalry and trained soldiers. They put swords in the hands of farmers. That is our advantage."

"How many men do we have?" Stannis inquired.

"Roughly 50,000," Jon admitted.

"Combined?"

"Combined," Jon confirmed, nodding solemnly. "But we have more knights and trained men. Mace Tyrell might not be able to support such a large army. I heard that their harvest last summer was poor."

"By the Reach's standard," Stannis argued. "They have more than enough food to feed their own people, but not enough to export."

"Which means that they have less gold to spend on supplies like armour and weapons." Lord Arryn spoke to Stannis like he was an old maester educating a child. Not for the first time, Lyonel envied Robert for being fostered by this man.

"I see," was all Stannis said in response, and gave an approving nod. Even though he was only a little older than Lyonel, Stannis often acted like a man well into his thirties. It was comical at times, and sometimes scary too.

"We march first thing tomorrow!" Robert rose from his seat, cup of ale in his hand. He was shaky on his feat from drinking too much, but his voice was firm and powerful as he spoke to his bannermen. "Ned has rallied the North and Jon has rallied the Knights of the Vale to our cause! Grandison, Cafferen and Fell have betrayed their liege lord by fighting for the Mad King, but tomorrow I will slay the fuckers at Summerhall lest they bend the knee!" The lords cheered and raised their cups. "And then we march towards King's Landing, to give the Mad King his due! Perhaps we will have him burned at the stake while his son watches! After I chop off Rhaegar's cock for what he did to Lyanna!"

Lyonel flinched at the harsh language being used while Robert's bannermen cheered and roared and yelled words of encouragement – "Slay the fuckers!" and "Fuck the dragons!" were two Lyonel heard being yelled.

When the lords cleared out of the hall and returned to their chambers – all drunk and stumbling – Lyonel rose from his seat, being one of the last to leave. Stannis had lectured him earlier about being respectful towards Robert's bannermen. A member of the host family wasn't supposed to leave until everyone else had cleared the hall unless he was very sick. So Lyonel stayed, even when the men got so drunk they started groping the kitchen wenches. Even that nice serving girl, Frida, had to suffer Lord Lonmouth's hand on her bum. Lyonel hated to see the female members of his household – many of whom he'd known his whole life! – being groped and fondled. Usually he only saw that behaviour with Robert.

As soon as he stood up, however, Robert barked at him, "Sit down." His speech was slurred – he was very drunk – but Lyonel obeyed nonetheless. Only Stannis, Robert and Lyonel remained in the Great Hall, except for the serving girls who were cleaning. Robert began to speak again. "Have you decided which horse you're going to bring?"

"Which horse?" Lyonel blinked at his brother in confusion.

"The horse you're going to ride to Summerhall."

"To Summerhall?" Surely, he didn't mean...

"You didn't think I was going to leave you at home, did you? You're an able-bodied soldier and we need all the men we can get, so have your horse and armour ready for tomorrow. We leave at sunrise," Robert commanded. Lyonel's heart stopped. He wasn't prepared for this. To go to war? He wasn't ready!

"Robert, he's not ready. Lyonel's only three-and-ten," Stannis reminded his brother, a bemused expression on his face at Robert's antics. Lyonel was relieved that he had at least one person on his side. This was madness! He had never participated in a battle – he had never wielded real steel before!

"He can't stay green forever," Robert barked. "Now, fuck off to bed, Lyonel. You too, Stannis. I have whores to fuck."

Lyonel bristled, but complied. He rose from his seat and scurried out of the hall as fast as he could. Stannis caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. For once, Lyonel was surprised to see that Stannis' eyes were somewhat kind.

"You'll take my sword. It should be the right weight for you," Stannis informed. "You have armour?" Lyonel nodded mutely. "Good. Robert wants you to squire for Jon Arryn. It's likely that Lord Arryn will excuse you from fighting, given your age. He's a reasonable man. More reasonable than Robert, anyway."

"I'm scared," Lyonel admitted, his voice shaking.

Stannis' expression hardened, though his eyes still hadn't become the cold pools of ice Lyonel was so used to looking into. "You can't be. You're a Baratheon of Storm's End. You must be brave. Or at least, pretend to be. You cannot disgrace our house. Do you understand?" Again, Lyonel nodded without saying anything in response. Stannis removed his hand from his brother's shoulder. "Good. Now, go to bed. You'll be rising early tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Stannis." His voice still shook, much to his loathing.

Stannis gave his brother a curt nod. "Goodnight, brother."

281AL

Since he was old enough to understand anything, Lyonel was lectured on the glory and honour of battle. Warriors were strong and fearless, afraid of nothing but dishonouring themselves and their houses.

But then, if warriors truly weren't afraid of anything, why did they shit themselves when they died?

The stench of shit and blood almost made him wretch again. Lyonel swallowed down the vomit and quickened his pace. He had been in his tent vomiting when Robert sent a man to summon him. His brother had only woken. Robert was still recovering from his fight with the dragon prince. Rhaegar had been defeated and killed at the Trident by Robert. Lyonel would never hear the end of it – how Robert defeated the vile, dishonourable Rhaegar.

Lyonel had no love for battle, he discovered. Robert would loath to hear it. His brother lived by his warhammer, to hear that a relation of – his brother, no less – did not relish in the savagery of war as he did would surely anger him.

He entered Robert's tent, a horrible smell accosting him. Lyonel almost wretched again.

"Lyonel!" he heard his brother shout. Lyonel jumped slightly at the startling noise. Like a trained animal, Lyonel found that his feet began to walk towards Robert without him noticing.

"Brother." Lyonel bowed his head slightly in respect. Robert was his superior. Robert was king now, what with the majority of the Targaryen forces scattered or dead. If the world was right, no man such as Robert would be in charge of anything, Lyonel found himself thinking.

"You fought well," Robert remarked, with a look of rare approval. Lyonel beamed at the praise. "Jon should have let you fight more often. You're a true Baratheon."

Lord Arryn had ordered him to stay inside his tent during the battles. He believed Lyonel was too young to be fighting in a war and chastised Robert whenever he tried to command Lyonel to fight. Lyonel would be forever grateful, considering that he likely would have died if he had to fight every battle. He wasn't a brilliant swordsman, and it was only in the few months that he began to develop muscles.

"What happens now?" Lyonel found himself asking.

Robert sighed, the grin falling from his face. "We take King's Landing, kill the Mad King and I become king."

He already knew that. What he meant was, when could he go home? He missed Storm's End. He missed home and everyone in it. "What do you want me to do?" Lyonel asked. His voice sounded tired, even though he didn't want it to.

"You'll come with me to King's Landing, once I've regained my strength," Robert explained. "Stannis is rebuilding our fleet as we speak. In a few months, he'll be able to assault Dragonstone with it and wipe out the rest of House Targaryen. You'll go with him."

"Very well." This time, Lyonel didn't care that he sounded tired. He was so sick of war and death and blood. He had seen things that he wished he had never seen. He had watched a man die. He had killed someone! I want to go home. I want to close the door to my chamber and never open it again. But Robert had commanded that he play the part of the soldier, and Robert was king now. Nobody refused a king.

"You look changed," Robert noticed, his eyes narrowed as he stared at his brother. "You killed a man, didn't you?"

Tears welled in his eyes. Lyonel could only nod. "Aye."

Much to his surprise, Robert didn't shout at him for being so weak, or glare at him with disgust. His brother merely nodded. "It gets easier. Soon enough you won't even feel guilty. In battle, it's either you or them. If you have half a brain, you'll choose yourself every time."

Lyonel hated himself for agreeing.