His mother was a princess. Steffon knew this long before he knew what being a princess truly meant.
(A princess must wed for the good of the realm, not for the sake of her own wishes or desires, he understood later. A princess must pay for her brother's folly, must serve as coins to repay her father's debt of honor. A princess must leave her home, her family and everything she knew when she was a young girl still, to serve as a cupbearer to a lord who had lost all faith in the promise of any Targaryen, even a king, a lord who demanded that the princess betrothed to his heir must live under his roof and serve under his watchful gaze until she was old enough to marry.)
His mother knew Storm's End almost as well as his father did. Every nook, every cranny, every corner and every turn.
"Have you always lived here, Mother?"
"I have lived here since I was eight."
"But why didn't you live in the palace, with the king and the queen and the other princes and princesses?"
"I did, when I was younger."
"And then?"
"And then I came to live here, in Storm's End."
"With Father?"
"Your father already lived here. He was born here, in this very room. And you were born in this room too. And someday, your children will be born in this room, and your children's children."
"And my children's children's children."
"And your children's children's children's children."
"And my –"
(Little did they know that only two generations later, the Baratheon line would live or die on the strength of one little girl, a girl who was not even born in Storm's End but was born amidst the salt and smoke of Dragonstone instead, a girl who upon her father's death will be the last of the Baratheons.)
His father was a lord, not a prince.
"You are a lord, but Mother is a princess. So am I a lord, or am I a prince?" Little Steffon had asked his father.
"Neither. You are Steffon, and later when you have earned your spurs you will be knighted and become Ser Steffon, and later still, you will be Lord Baratheon."
"But you are Lord Baratheon, Father. We can't both be Lord Baratheon. Mother said I cannot name both of Florrie's kittens Steff, only one of them."
"What name did you choose for the other kitten?"
"Stanny. He's the bigger and cuddlier one."
(His father died when Steffon was still a squire, before he had earned his spurs. Gerold Hightower, the man who replaced Steffon's father as commander of the Westerosi force fighting against the Ninepenny Kings in the Stepstones, was the one who knighted Steffon at the conclusion of that war. Steffon was Lord Baratheon before he ever became Ser Steffon. His father had been wrong after all.
But then again, how was Ormund Baratheon to know that he was going to die when his son was only four-and-ten? How was he to know that he would not live to see his son become a father? How was he to know that his son, in turn, would not live to see his own sons become fathers? Or perhaps Ormund should have known. After all, Ormund's own father had not lived to see him become a father.)
Maester Cressen was as grave and as solemn as a man of sixty, but he was not even thirty. Steffon was the only one who could make the maester laugh. Well, sometimes he could, but only when they were alone, only when no one else was around.
"Why did the storm cross the sea, Maester?"
"Because the sea is in the storm's natural path. Take Shipbreaker Bay, for example –"
"No! Because it wants to get to the other side."
It took a while for the jape to sink in, but Cressen did laugh, finally.
("We have found the most splendid fool. Robert will be delighted with him, and perhaps in time he will even teach Stannis how to laugh," Steffon wrote to Maester Cressen, two weeks before the storm raging across Shipbreaker Bay sank his ship and drowned him and his lady wife. "And perhaps the fool will even make you laugh, Maester, as I used to," he added, in a postscript.)
Uncle Harbert could make Steffon's father laugh. He could also make Ormund weep, when he spoke of their dead sister.
Argella. Argella of the Stormlands with crushed, dead flowers in her hands, when she heard the news that she had been spurned, that the prince she was betrothed to had wed a wild witch girl, Jenny of Oldstones with flowers in her hair.
Argella had raged, Ormund had counseled patience, and Harbert was a boy too young still to understand the enormity of the situation. Their father swiftly renounced his allegiance to the Iron Throne and proclaimed himself the Storm King. The Baratheons carried the blood of the Durrandons, the blood of the Storm Kings of old through Argella Durrandon, lady wife of Orys Baratheon, Lyonel Baratheon declared. And now his Argella was humiliated and dishonored, the honor of his House was besmirched, and the Laughing Storm was not about to let that insult by the Targaryens stand.
("How did she really die, my aunt Argella?" Steffon would ask, later, when he was old enough to understand the whole wretched saga of broken betrothal and failed rebellion.
"She died of a broken heart," his father replied.
"She was thrown off her horse while hunting wild boars," his mother said.
"She should not have died at all," Uncle Harbert said.)
Steffon was taken to court for the first time when he was three months old, to be presented to his royal grandfather and grandmother.
"Was I put in a basket, like a gift to the king and queen?"
Ormund laughed. "No, you were in your mother's arms."
"And where were you, Father?"
"I was standing beside your mother."
"And then what happened?"
"Your grandmother kissed your forehead, tousled your hair and said, "His hair will grow to be as black as mine, I see. Shall we call him Black Steffon?""
"Is that where I got my black hair? From Grandmother?"
Ormund smiled. "All Baratheons have black hair."
"So I got it from you? But why is Grandmother's hair black and not silver, like Mother and Grandfather, if she is also a Targaryen?"
"She married a Targaryen, but she is a Blackwood by birth."
"And what did Grandfather say, when he saw me?"
"He held you in his arms, kissed both your cheeks and your brows, and then he raised you up and announced, "This child is the bond that will once again reunite the Targaryens and the Baratheons in close friendship and amity.""
"I thought we already did that, when we were wed. I thought our marriage was already sufficient to serve that purpose," Steffon's mother interjected. "But my father saw things differently, it seemed."
"Your father only meant it in the best possible way, I am sure," Steffon's father said.
"You think too highly of my father."
"You have cause to resent your father and your brother, I know, as you have ample cause to resent my father. But your father is my king, and I am a man whose own father once rose in a failed rebellion against that king. My loyalty must be seen to be absolute and unwavering, for all our sakes. There is no other choice, Rhaelle."
Steffon's second visit to King's Landing - the one he would actually remember in later years – was supposed to take place shortly after his fifth nameday. His mother began preparing him for that visit long beforehand.
"You have three uncles, an aunt, and two cousins. Do you remember their names?"
Steffon nodded. "Aunt Shaera, that is your older sister. She is married to Uncle Jaehaerys, and they have two children, Cousin Aerys and Cousin Rhaella." Steffon paused, before asking, "Is Cousin Rhaella named after you, Mother?"
Looking startled, his mother replied, "I don't know. I have never asked, in truth. Possibly not, the name is not exactly the same, after all."
"Rhaelle and Rhaella. I like your name better, Mother," Steffon declared.
Smiling, taking him into her embrace, his mother said, "Thank you, my sweet boy, But perhaps you should not tell Rhaella that, when you meet her. It might make her sad to hear it."
"Is she a princess too, like you?"
"Yes, she is. And Aerys is a prince."
"And their mother is a princess?"
"Of course. My sister is the daughter of a king, just like I am."
"Then why am I not a prince? My mother is a princess too."
"Aerys and Rhaella are a prince and a princess because their father is a prince, not because their mother is a princess. Your father is a lord, not a prince, so you cannot be a prince."
"Then why didn't you marry a prince, Mother, like your sister did?"
"Do you want to be a prince so badly? If you are a prince, then your father would not be your father. He cannot take you with him when he goes hawking, or teach you how to ride your pony, or read to you before you go to sleep, or –"
"I don't want to be a prince! I want to keep Father, always."
"Your father will be very glad to know that."
"Did you want to marry a prince, Mother?"
"No, never."
"Why not?"
"I loved my brothers, but I had no wish to marry any of them."
"Because you wanted to marry Father instead?" Steffon asked, bright-eyed and grinning.
There was a long pause while Rhaelle stared into the distance. "Yes," she finally said, but even a little boy knew a lie when he heard it.
Later, as his father was reading to him about giants and trolls, Steffon interrupted to ask, "Why didn't Uncle Harbert just marry Aunt Argella himself?"
"What?!" Astonished, Ormund set aside the book he had been reading aloud. "What do you mean?" He asked his son, gazing intently at the boy's face.
"Uncle Harbert said Aunt Argella was sad because the man she was going to marry married someone else instead. And Uncle Harbert said that he loved his sister very, very much. So why didn't he marry her, to make her less sad?"
"Well, he could not do that. They are brother and sister."
"Uncle Jaehaerys married Aunt Shaera, and they arebrother and sister too."
"It's … well, it's not the same."
"Why not?"
"Jaehaerys and Shaera are Targaryens. The Targaryens are allowed to wed brothers and sisters."
"But no one else is allowed?"
Ormund nodded.
Frowning, Steffon said, "But you said … you said that the rules must apply equally, the same way, to everyone. You told me that when you struck my hands for taking the peaches from the kitchen without the cook's permission. I remember that, Father. You said if the butcher's son is to be punished, then the lord's son must be punished too, equally, for the same offense."
"And that is still true," Ormund insisted. "But there are certain circumstances ... there are times when … well … there are …" Ormund sighed, heavily. His hands cupping his son's face, he said, "The world is not always the way we wish it to be, Steffon. The way we know it should be. Do you understand?"
Steffon shook his head.
"You will, one day. I promise," Ormund said, but unlike other promises he had made to his little boy in the past, his voice sounded unaccountably sad and mournful.
Trying to make his father less sad, Steffon smiled brightly and said, "I'm glad Mother did not have to marry one of her brothers, that she got to marry you instead."
That did not bring a smile to his father's face, as Steffon was hoping. "I don't want anyone else to be my father," Steffon continued.
This time, his father did smile.
"Not even if it would make you a prince?" Ormund asked.
Steffon shook his head, vigorously.
"Or a king?"
"Not even for that," Steffon replied. A thought struck him. "Will Cousin Aerys be king?" He asked.
"He will, one day, but that is still far, far in the future."
A/N:
There is no confirmation in canon that the great-uncle Harbert who was the castellan of Storm's End that Stannis mentioned in A Clash of Kings was actually a Baratheon. (He could have been an Estermont, for example. Stannis made his wife's uncle Axell Florent the castellan of Dragonstone; it's not inconceivable that Steffon could have appointed Cassana's uncle to be castellan of Storm's End.) But for the purpose of this fic, let's assume that Stannis' great-uncle Harbert was the younger brother of Ormund Baratheon.
Likewise, there is no indication in canon when Maester Cressen actually started serving as a maester at Storm's End. Cressen is said to be "not far from his eightieth nameday" in A Clash of Kings, and Steffon was born in 246 AC, which would make Cressen in his twenties when Steffon was born. Judging from the example of Maester Pylos who was "no more than five-and-twenty" when he started serving as a maester in Dragonstone, it's not impossible that Cressen would have already been around in Storm's End during Steffon's childhood. I like the continuity of Cressen being there from the beginning, so that's what I'm going with in this fic.