"Edward the Black Prince is one of the most popular figures in Westerosi history. The second son of Robert I, he was an accomplished soldier, able administrator, and viewed as one of the finest military commanders of the time, alongside his father, his uncle Lord Stannis, Lord Randyll Tarly, Ser Brynden Tully and King Robb Stark."

Excerpt from I Serve: The Curious Case of Edward Baratheon

THE BLACK PRINCE

Summerhall was a place of tragedy, Edward knew. It was here where Aegon the Unlikely had died, trying to fulfill the dreams of Targaryens lost past, to restore the dragons that had once ruled the skies, breathing fire and spreading death. It was here that Prince Rhaegar had been at his finest and saddest, singing songs of sadness and despair on his harp while watching the clouds.

But he was the Prince of Summerhall, the second son of Robert Baratheon. He had been here for three years, rebuilding the summer castle back to its original glory. Some said that the castle was magical, just like Dragonstone, something that both Edward and his uncle Stannis dismissed out of hand.

There's nothing magical about strong backs, Uncle Stannis had said to him when he had asked him about the magic of Dragonstone. He missed his humorless bore of an uncle though and wished that he was back on Dragonstone. But he was a man of five and ten and had to take his seat.

His black horse, named Storm because he was as unimaginative with names like his father, trodded along the dirt path towards the castle. His standard bearer and sworn shield, Ser Rolland Storm, carried his banner next to him, while three dozen Baratheon and Lannister guardsmen rode in a column behind them.

His banner was a black crowned stag on a golden field, much like his uncle Renly's who was the head of House Baratheon of Storm's End, but there was a golden lion that was underneath the stag on a red field. Unlike his father's banner, the stag was on top of the lion, to signify his Baratheon roots. His mother did not like it, but what can you do about it?

The wind was picking up, sweeping in from the sea. Summerhall was visible now, the ruined castle not being so ruined anymore despite it having the same reputation as Harrenhal. Here my father defeated three armies in a single day and made those he had beaten drink to their own fallen banners.

"We'll be at Summerhall within the hour, my prince," Ser Rolland informed him and Edward finally felt some relief. It had been a hard ride from the Tor to Summerhall, having to go through the Boneway and Wyl. The Dornishmen had no love for him nor his family and he half expected that he would be rotting in a carrion cage like Aemon the Dragonknight. The Wyls had been particularly threatening, but nothing would have stopped from visiting his betrothed in the Tor.

"Good. Those damn Dornishmen scare me if you don't mind me saying so," he said, earning a chuckle from the Bastard of Nightsong. "Still, when I visited Myria at the Tor, I couldn't help but recite the Dornishman's Wife…"

Ser Rolland gave another chuckle, his voice deep. "You're lucky that the Dornish don't view virginity the same as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. I've heard that the Princess Arianne Martell lost her virtue to a bastard."

"Do you mean to take my virtue?" Edward mockingly asked. "As a knight, you should be ashamed ser! You would dishonor me?"

The surrounding men gave a howl of laughter at Edward's joke. Only Ser Richard Horpe didn't laugh, the pockmarked and scarred warrior looking grim as usual. Just like Uncle Stannis. No wonder he made this man the captain of my household guard. The slayer.

Summerhall looked more like a palace than a castle and it had been built like it in order to be the summer residence of the Targaryen kings and their families, meant to be a place of relaxation and to forget the stress of ruling.

But now...now it was beginning to be the castle Edward wanted it to be. Summerhall had been built on a hill in order to survey all of its domain, the main keep blackened from the fires near forty years ago. A strong stone wall circled the main keep, emulating the fortifications of Storm's End, where the banners of House Baratheon floated upon. Men in Lannister lion crested half-helms, ringmail over leather, gauntlets, and greaves, with iron tipped spears in their hands, stood together with Baratheon men who wore studded jacks and half-helms.

Altogether, two hundred men guarded Summerhall and its surrounding lands. Summerhall sat on the border of the Reach, east of Ashford, and north of Blackhaven. His father had named him Prince of Summerhall when he had turned two and ten in order to get him away from the capital after an incident with his brother. He deserved it. He deserved it, he repeated to himself when he thought of it.

"Who approaches?" yelled one of the sentries. His men were on constant alert, a result of the constant drilling from Ser Cortnay Penrose. The man was a seasoned commander who had practically ran Storm's End when Uncle Renly was growing up, so when it was time for Edward to rule Summerhall, he had requested Ser Penrose become his castellan. The balding man had balked at first, but Uncle Renly had given his approval.

"The Prince of Summerhall and Lord of the Marches!" Ser Rolland roared back. Lord of the Marches was a title given to Edward when he had arrived in Summerhall, even though he had no formal control over the marcher lords. However, the marcher lords did like him, as he visited them often in order to get a better understanding of the lands that his uncle ruled over.

They're the most martial of the storm lords, Uncle Stannis had told him when had been growing up on Dragonstone. Renly never visits them because he likes to play at being lord instead of being lord, but when war has historically come, they are the often the first line of defense against the Reach and the Dornish.

"How do we know you aren't lying?" one of the sentries demanded and for a second Edward was about to yell at them when he spotted who had said it. It was his bastard half-brother, Edric, a bold and brash boy who had the prominent Florent ears. The twelve-year-old lad was a carbon copy of his older brother, with the characteristic cheekbones, jaw, hair, and eyes of their house. "I might be the Prince of Summerhall for all we know!"

"Little brother, open the damn gate or I'll storm this place!" Edward shouted up to him, earning a round of laughter from his men. "This was a summer palace, not a castle, and that's not going to change despite what I've been doing for the past three years."

Edric Storm roared with laughter, reminding Edward of their father, and the portcullis lifted open. Greeting them was Ser Cortnay Penrose and a gaggle of Baratheon men with woolen surcoats wearing his personal sigil. Edric was there as well, grinning like a madman.

The two approached each other. Edric had gotten taller and was built more solidly. He's getting stronger every day, Edward realized. He looks just like father.

"You're getting fat," Edward said to his bastard brother. "What are you feeding him, Ser Penrose?"

Ser Penrose, who many would not consider a jovial man, cracked a small grin before dashing it away. "Nothing more than what you ate when you were his age, my prince."

Edric gave a defiant gaze. "You're fat!"

Edward looked down and poked at Edric's stomach. It was a bit flabby, but he was getting better fit. "You've got a bit of flab there, brother. Maybe you should start running around the training yard in armor again."

Edric's eyes widened in horror. Those had not been pleasant days for the man. Ser Penrose raised a red eyebrow. "Maybe we should, my prince. He has been getting a bit lazy in these past few months that you've been away."

"You're torturing the poor boy," came another voice. It came behind them, as smooth as Myrish silk, as beautiful as the finest rose in Highgarden. Behind him, riding a Dornish sand steed with the colors of her house, was his betrothed, Myria. Of course. She was beautiful, though the stormlanders among them did not trust any Dornish, especially a woman. Six men accompanied her, including her sworn shield, her half-brother Ser Alleras Sand, who was a fierce swordsman.

The match had been made after Prince Doran had rejected an offer of marriage between his daughter, Princess Arianne, and Edward. Truth be told, Edward didn't mind. Myria Jordayne was slender, beautiful, and the heir to one of the more powerful houses in Dorne. The Tor controlled the vital trade route between Yronwood and Sunspear, allowing their coffers to be filled.

"My love!" he greeted excitedly, swinging off his horse. He had once disparaged at marrying a Dornish woman, especially considering that most Dornish would never forgive his family for allowing the murder of Princess Elia Martell and her children, but Myria had taken a liking to him for whatever reason. "I was not expecting you for another day."

"We Dornish don't need to stop for rest like you, my betrothed," Myria sang back, making Edward redden. She urged her mount forward before leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Though I know that you don't need a lot of rest either."

Now that...that had been a night. Myria was six and ten, black hair spilling over the riding clothes that she wore, as gorgeous in breeches and a tunic as she was in a dress. She knew how to press his buttons. My grandfather ruled Westeros for twenty years but my grandmother ruled him if the rumors are true.

His cock hardened. Damn you, you fucking traitor. Myria noticed as he began to help her from her steed and she discreetly squeezed him in between his breeches. His breath quickened as he brought his lips to her own ear.

"Keep doing that and you'll be screaming my name the entire night," he threatened her and she giggled. Damn that giggle.

"Is that a threat, my beloved?" she sultry asked. He reminded himself that they were being watched and he saw Ser Alleras glower at him. Nobody glowers like a Dornishman.

"If you two don't mind, I have a feast to plan for my nephew," an annoyed Lannister sighed. "As much as I would love to see you two make each other blush with whatever dirty words you are saying, please remember you are barely inside the gates and I do not want to write to Lord Jordayne or King Robert."

The two flushed as a small man approached them. Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf, mockingly called the Imp by half the realm, but he was the smartest man Edward knew. When he had been sent to Summerhall, Edward had requested that his uncle be sent with him to serve as his mentor and steward. While Ser Cortnay Penrose ran the castle, it was Tyrion who had been overseeing the construction efforts, teaching Edward how to rule, and giving him a general education.

Grandfather may not have a use for him, but he is my uncle and my blood. He only wished that Myrcella and Tommen could join them, but his mother had forbidden it.

But at least he had Summerhall. He had his uncle Tyrion. He had his future bride. And he had his bastard brother. My children will be Dornish and stormlanders, inherit Summerhall, and rule this land. As his uncle continued to admonish him about acting courteously in his own castle (a hypocrite considering that Tyrion pretty much was the driving force behind the local brothels in his lands), he felt content.

A few miles away, however, a raven was coming from King's Landing. Dark wings, dark words, the singers sang.

Edward didn't know it, but Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King for the past seventeen years, was dead.


AN: Hey everyone! It's been quite awhile since I've written anything and Game of Thrones has been on my mind since the finale. I've been reading a lot of 'Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister have one true-born son' and I've decided to add to that trope. But I've decided to change it up a bit, as every single one I've read has them falling in love with the Stark women, whether it is Sansa or Arya, or accompanying them to Winterfell. I've wanted to write something where he is not there but instead will be showing up in later stages.

Also, this second son is named and loosely based after Edward the Black Prince, the eldest son of King Edward III of England. Edward the Black Prince was the commander of the vanguard at the Battle of Crecy and won the Battle of Poitiers. Some of the battles will be heavily based on these two historical battles of the Hundred Years War.

Please tell me what you think! I love constructive criticism, feedback, and everything else in between. Send me flames, however, and I will give you to the flames.