STEFFON
"Fucking Seven hells…" The words blurted out on pure feeling, not once a brushing thought, before they left his mouth. There was an ache that ebbed in the back of his skull, flowing like a cold tide. Nausea came in tempestuous waves to add to his misery, forcing him to be completely still. He would've stuck to staying where he was, just to gather himself for a moment, but his dehydration was much too obvious to ignore. The flagon of water was on the other side of the room, which left him to wonder just how many steps it would take before his stomach would lurch, until he so much as touched the flagon's handle.
Raising his heavy eyelids halfway, he made them fall shut for a few minutes before opening them again. His vision was beginning to clear, the sleepy haze fading, but when he moved to sit up, he felt as if that had been a terrible mistake. The world began to swirl and so he had to wait—rather impatiently, too—for the room to become stationary again. Fully sitting up now, he combed his mussed hair back away from his face and let out a sigh that was full of aggravation. He deserved this for drinking so much. He drunk past his limit and he's usually so meticulous about drinking, seeing how much of a drunkard his father was, and still is.
Loreon, who should've been resting on his personal pillow, laid on his side at the end of the featherbed with a deep rumbling snore. If he was sleeping now, Steffon shouldn't expect for him to be awake until late in the evening, which was somewhat disappointing considering the hunt today. No doubt the lion was bored after being locked up all evening because neither lion nor direwolf were allowed to attend the reception in the Great Hall or the wedding itself. He wondered if he could ask Joanna if he could bring Calla along, surely the huntress of the species would love the freedom and the thrill of a fresh kill. Only seconds before Steffon could bother to stretch his arm and lean forward to rub the Hrakkar's back, he heard flapping wings. His blue eyes slew left, seeing that on the sill of the window was a messenger raven.
Quickly, Steffon eased himself out of the bed, only to have waves of nausea make him utterly miserable. It hadn't stopped him from moving forward, even if his footfalls were sluggish. Once he was close enough towards the window, the bird flew in and perched itself on Steffon's outstretched arm. Gently, he took the letter bound to its leg, making sure it wasn't tampered with first before unrolling it. Seeing its job was done, the raven flapped its wings, squawked, and went right out the window to fly its way back South.
Steffon hoped this was the letter he had been eagerly expecting for the past two months. It was already dangerous and reckless on his part, for having anything concerning his dealings back home be flown out here. What other choice did he have? He had not expected for his stay in Winterfell to be this long and considering how important this was, he had to know right away, if one of the many things he planted had borne fruit.
Issa gaomagon, (It is done)
Laehossa elekossā aōhyzy (signed, your eyes and ears)
Had it not been for the Maester of House Penrose, Steffon would've never been able to learn High Valyrian. A language that was so useful for secrets and to strengthen him as a proper ruler when he sat the Iron Throne. It was impossible to learn it in King's Landing, especially in the Red Keep. If Steffon dared to stand before his father and ask be to taught it, he would've been called mad and the language would be damned from earth to high heavens. It would've incensed Robert to know his son wanted to learn the language that used to roll off the silver tongues of the Targaryens. Not once would his king father consider how Valyrian was still a strong, prominent language across the seas and knowing only one kind of tongue was a fool's choice. Steffon loved his father immensely, but he also knew that anger made fools of many men.
Having processed the letter and feeling rather satisfied by the results, Steffon tossed the parchment into the fireplace to let the orange and yellow flames consume it. Not one soul could know what he was up to, not even his twin. His mother had many eyes, Varys and Baelish did too, but little had they known that Steffon had more than just eyes at his command.
JOANNA
Joanna rolled her eyes open, unveiling green hues glazed with remnants of a dreamless sleep. The haze, that temporarily made her unable to see clearly, didn't really reveal much when it finally disappeared. She can hardly think that morning is upon her. Just like the stone walls of Winterfell, the room was lacking of bright colors; just plain, grey, and dim. Sunlight couldn't pour in, and bathe her and the bedchamber with its warm, sweet glow to give a little taste of heat on her skin. The cause of such a dark atmosphere were the clouds that were already dominating the morning sky, only leaving small patches of blue. She's so used to brightness and sun that a morning like this doesn't bring her any pleasure. It doesn't make her want her to rouse from out of the bed to prepare for the day as a proper lady should. It only serves to make her weary. Weary enough that all she wants to do is lie down and sleep it all away.
Lazily, she rolled onto her other side only to find an eyeful of her husband's sleeping face. He's even handsome as he sleeps and it doesn't surprise her much. As if her hand had a mind of its own, Joanna inched a finger towards Robb's face, the slender digit slowly traced the curve of his jaw, feeling the stubble that's been growing since his face was shaved clean for the wedding. It went from the curve of his strong jaw and down his chin, which began to jut from under her touch. In an instant, she quickly withdrew her hand as if he were fire itself. And right then, blue eyes began to open. He knows, she fearfully thought. He knows I touched him.
"You're awake…" Because his voice is laced with sleep, making it soft and whisper-like, it's somewhat difficult for her to understand what exactly it is that he said. Honestly, it might've been the fact that her heart was pumping so loud and fast that she was having trouble hearing much of anything. And because she didn't want to make it known that she hadn't understood, Joanna settled for a simple nod.
As if he was clueless to what she had done, he rolled onto his back and blinked a few times before rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He wasn't going to question what she did? Nor was he going to say a word about it? Did he not feel strange or annoyed that she laid so much as a finger on him while he slept? "We should eat breakfast together," Robb suddenly suggested while sitting up, throwing her deeper into her groundless pit of confusion. "Or would you rather bathe first?"
Still dumbfounded, all Joanna could manage to do was stare at him as if he were speaking some foreign tongue. "I…" Joanna tried to scramble up some words to say and failing each minute that passed. Is he messing with my head? she asked herself, wondering if she was thinking too much. "…I want to bathe first." Any idea to confront him about what happened minutes ago completely went up in smoke.
Robb climbed out of the bed to slip on a pair of loose trousers to make himself presentable, seeing as he was eager to move around. She did her best not to linger on his form although her eyes kept trying to put her peripherals to use. Joanna sat herself up, blankets clutched to her chest as she drew her knees in close. It felt voyeuristic to even think to watch him despite the glaring obvious that he was now her husband and she saw him without clothes last night. The night was dark, however. Dim as it was this morning, she could see more of him now than she did at night.
"What was it that you were doing?" Robb came to question, picking up his tunic while she sat there frozen. "When you were touching my face, I mean."
If she could scream without alarming him and all of Winterfell, Joanna would have. It was pure willpower that kept her mouth shut tight. Her eyes, however, were doing all the screaming she couldn't in her right mind give voice to. Squeezing her eyelids shut, she turned her head opposite of where he stood and inwardly prayed to the Seven, that this was all some strange dream she was surely going to wake up from in a matter of minutes. That wasn't going to happen. She sorely realized that when Robb let out a snort of a laugh once he soaked in the look on her face.
Feeling scorched with embarrassment, Joanna tried to spike up some courage to open her eyes and meet his. Robb's bright blues were crinkled at their corners as his mouth fixed itself into a lopsided grin. "You had something on your face." The words flew out of her mouth without thought. It didn't sound… bad. In fact, Joanna believed she could work well with this lie.
"Really?" His hand went towards his face, the tip of his finger tracing from his jaw and to chin in the same likeness as hers had. "From here to here I had something on my face?"
He was mocking her. Essentially calling her bluff. He wanted her to just oust herself and she couldn't comprehend why she suddenly felt bull-headed. "Are you calling me a liar, Robb Stark?" she questioned, her brow arched. It was childish of her to continue with this lie. He knew the truth. Robb was no fool. What was she aiming to accomplish anyway?
There was something predator-like with the way he approached the bed and it made her utterly nervous. He sat at his end but leaned close so that their faces were mere inches apart. She flushed, brightly, by his actions but for once, she decided not to instantly cower back and keep her eyes fixated on him. "And if I am, Joanna Stark?" Her heart hammered and then it suddenly, achingly breaks.
Joanna Stark.
How queer it sounded. It makes her want to tear almost. She found herself wanting to cry because such a strange name belonged to her now and that small sense of self she had built felt squandered into a little corner. Joanna Stark is Robb Stark's wife and Joanna Baratheon, she's… she's gone. She knew that. She knew that last night and it wasn't like Joanna Baratheon was much of a real person anyway. Since when had she ever felt like a true Baratheon? It's the Lannister name that beckoned her and it's the Lannister name she'll never have. It's in her blood but never her name.
Her courage faltered within an instant and her shoulders slowly drooped. Her eyes tore themselves away from Robb to look towards the window, having dismissed herself from their fun to childishly mope. "Joanna, are you alright?" Robb pursued and she could hear the concern embedded in his voice.
"I'm fine." The corners of her lips lift to conjure up a taut smile. She could only hope that he had not picked up on the struggle in her voice. "I was just… thinking about the hunt is all." It's a lie, a little white one. She hadn't thought about the hunt at all. It was the furthest thing from her mind in truth.
He kept a hard stare as he gazed at her and she wondered if he could see the deception on her face. Her smile was a clear giveaway, but she could only hope he'd be kind and not think much of it. "The hunt? What about it?" Of course, why would a person like her think about some silly hunt? Joanna would just have to make do with this excuse.
"It's just that I'm not surprised that my father wants to go hunting just a day after our wedding. It was only a week before my mother gave birth to Steffon and I that my father had went hunting for a stag. He claimed to have thought my mother was only having a boy and its good fortune if you hunt a stag in a time of celebration." Robb listened intently, eyes never averting and for some reason, she hadn't felt nervous anymore.
"He killed two during that hunt and said he hadn't realized that it was the Seven telling him that he was going to have not one child but two." Joanna still had the pelt back in King's Landing. She kept it in one of her armoires, untouched and tucked neatly where she could always find it. If only she had known to have brought it with her… "If I am to be honest, I think he was just bored with waiting for our birth and he's bored right now, that's why he called for this hunt."
She had not noticed the smile that came across his face. Her eyes were too trained on fiddling with her fingers as she could almost hear her father's hearty laugh as he told her that tale. "You know him well."
"I know him very well," Joanna replied with a half-smile.
Before Robb could utter another word, their conversation was interrupted by a knock at their door. It must've been the servants, ready to collect the bloodied sheets to prove the marriage had been consummated. "You should put something on," he said. It wasn't what he was going to tell her minutes ago, but Joanna knew that their conversation could be continued when he came back from the hunt.
With a quiet nod, Joanna eased from out of the bed and picked up her slip and slid it on. Robb turned his head to check if she was dressed before he opened the door to let the servants flock in. "Do you require anything, My Lord and Lady?" One servant asked while the other three were gathering the old sheets to replace them with new ones.
"A bath and tray of breakfast will be all," Joanna answered for them, seeing as Robb looked to entertained by Aleyth and Emeline, her friends and handmaidens, that were peering through the sides of the fully open door. She wanted to laugh, but she felt thoroughly embarrassed by their actions. They must've been so eager to ask what the wedding night was like that they couldn't hold back their excitement. Sometimes they could be so troublesome…
Crossing his arms, Robb slightly canted his head. "Are you two going to peek through the door or come in?" he asked, his voice calm with a playful hint.
Covering her mouth with her hand, Joanna watched them become wide-eyed and turn their direction to their half-dressed lord and shyly shake their heads. "W-We can wait, My Lord." And just like that, they scurried down the hall and Joanna could hear their giggling along with their scurrying feet.
ARYA
It's time to make her way to the Great Hall for the morning meal and she's eager than she usually is. It isn't her hunger that has the thrill in her thrumming, but the possibilities of more stories she wants to force out of the Crown Prince until he has nothing left to tell. Until late into the night, Steffon told them about the Vale and the Stormlands; adventures, sights, and the people he has met and old stories he was told. He regaled on his travels with such fondness that she felt like she could breathe in the stormy air of the Stormlands and envision herself standing before the Mountains of the Moon. She'll never get to see any of those things, she already knows that much, it's just all in good fun to simply pretend.
As soon as she had cut the corner, her eyes caught sight of Prince Steffon's back as he neared the end of the hall, just a step away from entering the stairway. Her eyes lit up and her feet had her charging forward. "You're awake!" Arya shouted. He slowed his steps to a halt and halfway turned to look at her and wait, standing in that one spot until she's at his side. It almost amused her—actually a little more than almost if she's more truthful about it—that he doesn't mind walking alongside her to the Great Hall. Surely boys his age don't like being seen with little girls, she suspected.
"I'm awake," he said rather teasingly. There's something off about him, though. Arya can't quite put her finger on it, she can only faintly sense it. "And apparently so are you."
Within a second, she puts the pieces together. The corners of her mouth had begun to lift into a knowing smile. "You have it, don't you? That ache you get in the head when you drink too much wine. I know because Theon and Robb used to be sick in the morn whenever they drink too much."
There's a flash that comes across his eyes, like he's a little shocked that she guessed right. People underestimated her far too much. They think because she's young that she doesn't know certain things but Arya knows. She knows plenty. "I don't have an ache in the head." He's lying through his teeth. He has no reason to lie unless he wants to do as Robb calls it 'save his face' or 'save face', whichever it is.
"Liar," Arya bluntly spat, not at all feeling the need to be mindful of her words.
"Alright," he gave in, chuckling as he did. "I have an ache in the head as you call it." The Prince raised a hand, two fingers began massaging his right temple to further prove how right she was. She feels sorry for him, just a little bit. Although it's mostly his fault for drinking so much, he must've gotten too wrapped up in the festivities to keep himself from drinking until he's ill.
"Tell Gage and he'll fix you something to make you feel better. He makes some kind of stew that Theon and Robb like to eat when they have aching heads," Arya advised. "We can tell him together, if you'd like, that is."
He contemplated it for a moment before giving her a slow nod. "Lead the way, Lady Arya." In an instant, her face instantly scrunched up with displeasure for being called a lady. He's teasing her, she knew that much, especially having previously gotten a mouthful when she told him she hadn't liked it yesterday.
"There's going to be a hunt today," Steffon suddenly brought up, as he opened the door that led to the stairway, allowing her first entry before following close behind. Arya heard the King announce it last night but hadn't put too much thought to it. No matter how much she could beg to be brought along, her father would never allow it. "If Gage rids me of this ache in my head, I'll fetch you an animal of your choosing."
Surprised as well as confused, Arya lifted her brows. "What? Why would you do that for me?" She would've rather hunt the animal herself. Her curiosity, however, cannot helped to be stroked as she tried to figure out why Steffon would go out of his way over a simple suggestion.
"Because I know how much you would rather be out there yourself." She fought the smile that was trying to take over her face. The corner of her lips kept twitching and she bashfully averted her eyes. "I don't think I can exactly convince your lord father to let you go and so I thought getting you what you would've liked to hunt was the next best thing." He was thoughtful and sympathetic, and Arya knew not what to make of it. She was thankful but came to find herself much too hesitant—shy is a word she'd never accept—to say so. "I remember when I was seven and I wanted to go hunting with my father. He almost let me until my mother strictly forbade it."
It wasn't exactly the same. She couldn't go because she is a girl, but he couldn't go that one time because he was young. Eventually he got to hunt alongside his father and have all the fun she can only assume to be had during a hunt. She would never be given the chance. It wasn't fair. Never was anything fair as far as she was concerned. "What was it like? Your first time hunting."
"Terrible," he answered rather wistfully, eyes looking unfocused as he recalled the memory. "I didn't kill a single thing and Ser Barristan had let me believe I caught myself a rabbit with my amateur traps." Arya snickered, unable to control the laugh that was bubbling within. He eyed her with false annoyance before the corner of his mouth lifted up to make a small smile. "It took me a few more failures until I was able to kill a few rabbits on my own and help take down a wild boar."
"You helped? You didn't kill it yourself?"
"It was nearly dead when I killed it. I climbed a tree and waited for it then I jumped down when it was right where I wanted it to be. Trust me when I say that was the stupidest thing I've ever done and I've done plenty of stupid things as a boy." He then placed a hand just inches above the left side of his waist. "Right here is the scar I have from fighting that beast. If it weren't already on its last leg from my father's spear, it might've killed me."
"You really are stupid." He laughed, not at all taking offense by her jest. "But how did you kill it?"
"Stabbed it in its neck until it wouldn't stop moving." Brutal, she thought. "My father has its head hung up on a wall in the Great Hall back in the Red Keep. He even put the dagger I used next to it along with his spear." Arya hoped that when she went south that she would be able to see it for herself.
"Are you boring the poor lady with a story?" The both of them went down the last step before turning around to see Sansa, Jeyne Poole, and the young woman she heard to be Isolde Prester. The three of them looked like such dignified ladies as they descended down the stairs. It made Arya look down at her own dress, seeing how underwhelmed she appeared compared to the three of them. Her grey eyes peered up at Steffon, who didn't look all that enthused as he gazed at them. He seemed more annoyed, if anything, at Lady Prestor.
With an indignant sniff, Steffon rose a brow. "You don't find my stories all that boring when I'm telling them to you. Jealous, are we?"
"Of Arya?" Jeyne scoffed, almost as if she took offense for Isolde.
Isolde glanced at Jeyne's direction, almost as if she hadn't expected such an outburst. It was then that Arya caught on that Steffon and Isolde were merely teasing one another, not at all serious. Jeyne, however, took it plainly.
"Aye," Steffon thinned his eyes as he spoke, "of Arya. I find the lady to be good company. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" His friendly and approachable persona quickly dove left. It was almost frightening, as well as amusing, to see all at once. With a smirk, Arya wondered how Jeyne was going to try talk herself out of this one. The Poole girl had always been mean since Arya could remember, mostly ever since she became closer to Sansa over the years. She had called Arya many names, yet none of them stung like Arya Horseface. All the attacks were always based on her not so lady-like looks and ways. It was all in efforts to higher Sansa's place on the pedestal that their very own mother and septa already placed her on.
Having come to realize that Steffon was not fond of the remark she made, Jeyne flushed brightly. "B-By all means necessary, My Prince, I mean no offense."
As quickly as his expression darkened, it brightened. His narrowed eyes soon softened and his frown was replaced with a slight smile. Arya had never seen someone change faces so fast and she was sure that he bested Sansa in that regard. "Please forgive, Jeyne, My Prince. Sometimes she utters nonsense when nervous." Giving her friend a pointed look, Sansa soon smiled pleasantly at Steffon in hopes to make amends. Sansa could charm her way out of anything, especially out of trouble. Arya almost wanted to add a little salt to the wound until she begrudgingly realized that it might make her look bad.
"All is forgiven," Steffon quickly dismissed the matter before fixating his gaze down at Arya's. "Let's continue our way to the Great Hall with no further delay, Lady Arya."
With a grin, Arya walked alongside the prince with a little spring to her step. That'll show you, Jeyne Poole.
CATELYN
Before her was the Seven Who Are One, carved onto the wall above unadorned alters. Catelyn had come to love this sept, small and homespun as it was, because it still brought her hope that all the faces were present as she spoke her prayers. Not only that, her love for it grew immensely over the very fact that Ned had it built just for her. He could've coerced her to convert to the religion of the Old Gods, to make her settle for the heart tree, but he hadn't. Not once. He held no love, only duty for her at that time when we had done this sweet gesture and that's what made it all the more meaningful. Ned didn't need to love her to understand her and that's what made the love that did bloom between them twice as strong. Twice as sweet.
With a small smile, Catelyn aimed to gather the candles and put them in their proper places, but the door had suddenly opened. Light from the hallway came in, flooding the room with dull light and allowing her to see Joanna clearly. The young girl was surprised by the sight of her but soon that surprise morphed into something apologetic. It didn't take a second for an apology to spill from the girl's lips. "Forgive me, good-mother, I hadn't known you were here."
"Have you come to pray?" Catelyn softly asked, not at all bothered by her presence. Joanna didn't voice her answer, she simply gave a shy smile and a nod. With a wave of her hand, she urged the young girl to come in further and with resolute steps, Joanna left the doorway and fully entered the sept. She came to kneel beside Catelyn, hands nervously laced together atop of her thighs as she looked up at the carvings. "It's small, isn't it?"
The Royal Sept in the Red Keep was said to be beautiful. She heard that they had statues made of white marble of the Seven, all of them posed in ways that suited them. The sept Catelyn grew up with in Riverrun had paintings on marble, no statues; a rainbow of light would fill the entire sandstone building, bathing all who stepped in it with its colors. "I rather like how small this sept is," said Joanna. "It feels… home-like." Intrigued, Catelyn kept her eyes on her good-daughter as she spoke; "Like they can truly hear you here."
"I feel the same." Catelyn looked up at the Mother, having felt a full sense of peace. Was it Her that led Joanna here? Did she think the two of them should start molding their now newly forged bond? Or had the Crone wanted Catelyn to give the girl guidance? After all, she was freshly married and would soon be without the family she had known since birth. This girl was her good-daughter now and it only made sense for Catelyn to be the one to lead her by the hand until Joanna could walk upright on her own. "Would you like to light the candles with me?" It was childish how eager Joanna was to do so, but Catelyn found her excitement endearing.
Seven candles rested on the flagstones, ready to be placed on the altars. Though one never truly prays to the Stranger, the Stranger should never be forgotten. Joanna had taken three and Catelyn took the remaining four, the both of them quietly and piously during their duty. Once they met up for the last candle, they merged their flames at the end of their wooden light stick to light a flame on the visible string. The young girl smiled, brightly, overjoyed by a simple gesture and it reminded Catelyn of the time spent with Sansa when she enjoyed praying at her side until she had prayers of her own she wanted to ask alone or with Jeyne.
When the sticks were put out, Joanna and Catelyn knelt down before the altars. Prayer could not come to Catelyn, however. Instead, she found herself distracted by the girl kneeling at her side, who did not pray either. Joanna only stared at the faces of the Seven, her eyes more concentrated on the Crone more than the others. "You're a woman-grown now in all the ways it matters." Catelyn glanced at the Crone herself, having fully understood why She was the one that Joanna sought. "I suppose you are looking for guidance as a wife, as a lady, and as a young woman who has given up plenty. I once looked for the Crone as you are now, feeling just as lost as you must be."
Joanna lowered her gaze, pressing a thumb into the palm of her left hand out of distraction. "My House words were 'Family. Duty. Honor.' and I had to forsake them for 'Winter is Coming'. What had I known about Winter or the merciless ways of the North as I hailed from the Riverlands? I knew not one thing and yet I had try to learn and understand all on my own. It was difficult to even think of giving up all my values as a Tully for the values of the Starks. I still keep my values, honor them, and teach them to my children. Marriage doesn't mean you forget yourself, it means you grow."
Relief was sewn in her sigh. It was soft in sound yet heavy, like a burden or weight had been lessened. Her shoulders began to lose their tension and she raised her head. "I needed to hear that," Joanna admitted. "Thank you."
"Surely my words are no better than what the Crone can tell you." Tearing her eyes away from Joanna, she focused on the small flames that swayed. "I can only tell you from what I've experienced and should you need to hear more or require advice then I am here."
CERSEI
It never sat well with her whenever Steffon and Joffrey were at odds with each other. Their bickering became more frequent over the years and she knew well enough that Joffrey was to blame for most of their disputes. But she could never find herself admonishing Joffrey. Joffrey needed her more, way more than Steffon ever did, and that's why she forced him to be able to not rely on her. You must be kinder to your brother, Steffon. Cersei would tell him, her words feeling as hollow as the looks he gives her now. You are the elder, the heir apparent, and will be king. You will lead where others must follow. You must never treat Joffrey badly, or others will find him weak. Back then, back when Steffon was so much easier to tame with soothing words, he would always apologize and kiss her cheek. He would always be the first to offer his hand to make amends with Joffrey without hesitation. Now? Now she could hardly keep him in the same room with her alone.
There was not one time that it didn't amaze her how completely different her sons are. She carried them both inside her womb, but the seeds are why their differences are so great. All that she had hoped for in a son by Jaime was all in the son Robert had given her. Steffon, as a child, was charming, humorous, and was always full of joy that knew no restraint. He used to laugh at everything, always had a smile for those born high and low. Everyone in the Red Keep loved him and adored him, and they still do now. He has changed, matured as Cersei would like to think. His smiles are reserved and his eyes are always observing, his mind never full as he always hungers for knowledge.
Joffrey, as a child, had troublesome curiosity. It would always start out innocent and then twist itself into something terrible. He used to smile quite often and his smiles would have no deeper intentions behind them other than happiness, but now? Cersei closed her eyes and shook her head, as the chalice of wine remained in her hand. I think of you too often, Joff. It's not fair to Steffon. It never was fair. Because she's so consumed by him, Steffon keeps his distance from her now. He still loves her, Cersei knows and feels his love for her, but he loves her from afar now. She could never keep a Baratheon man close, not her own husband and now her son.
"Are you sure it's wise for Joffrey to attend the hunt?" Jaime stood by the window, his arms crossed as he could see the entire courtyard from here. "It will already be suspicious that I'm not going, not that I want to anyway."
"I want you here and nobody will dare to question what it is that I want." Placing the chalice down on the nearest table, she met him by the window and looked down to see Joffrey waiting for his horse to be saddled by a stable-boy. "Steffon won't allow anything to happen to him. He'll be fine."
"It's not Joff that I'm worried about." Her golden hair whipped across her face as she spun to face her brother. What was he insinuating? That Joffrey would lay harm to Steffon during the hunt? "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if Joffrey—"
"Don't! Don't say another word." He will not say it. She'll never allow him to speak such awful paranoia into existence. Her children will not harm and most definitely not kill one another. She would do any and everything in her power to prevent it. Never mind that the words of the Woods Witch would come to mind, echoing and whispering like a shadow's song; a horrendous lullaby that she is never meant to forget.
Jaime fixed a look at her, completely showing his thoughts clear as day. It wouldn't be the first time he claimed that she was purposely being blind to the faults of her children. "That isn't why I asked you to stay, Jaime." Wanting to put aside this conversation, she walked away from the window and laced her fingers. "There are other worries to be discussed and we can't speak of them here."
"Is that your way of telling me to find a nice, quiet place to talk in Ned Stark's gloomy castle?" His sarcasm is unwanted right now, but she still loves him for it.
"It is," she replied, "and you best be quick about it."
STEFFON
"That's one fine Destrier if I ever saw one… Even if she is a biter," said Hullen, the Master of Horse of Winterfell. He tried to calm Steffon's mare after Hodor, who Steffon only recently learned to be a stable-boy, seemed to have given up after nearly being bitten four times.
"Forgive me," Steffon quickly apologized. "I should've warned beforehand that she likes to bite strangers." Every stable-boy Steffon hired to take care of the horse eventually got themselves wounded. It would seem she didn't like the Northmen just as much as she didn't like the Southern ones. "I'll ready her saddle myself." Hullen nodded understandingly before ordering Hodor to ready another horse.
"She's beautiful," commented Arya, who followed him out to the stables after the morning meal. Every man fit to hunt was out here, readying themselves to prepare for the wolfswood but she could not be bothered with the likes of them. After listening to several stories she tried to squeeze out of him, Arya seemed to have other reasons for wanting to stay in his company. Steffon didn't mind, though. Not in the slightest. He rather enjoyed Arya and her viewpoints of the world.
The mare she came to admire was Shadow Runner; a Destrier mare and one that was never supposed to be Steffon's in the first place. His Uncle Renly bought it years ago, but the horse just wouldn't stay with him. As a yearling, she was wild, not wanting to be locked inside the stables of Storm's End. She broke free, ran off into the countryside of the Reach with no attempts of ever coming back. It was Steffon that looked for her and returned her back to his uncle, taming it well enough that the mare allowed him to ride her back. Seeing as the horse didn't want to part with him after all the trouble he went through to find her, Renly had let him keep her and since then, Steffon was never without her.
She was swift and powerful with strong, long legs that were heavily muscled due to vigorous training and time spent wandering off when Steffon allowed her. That was the only way to keep the horse happy; she had to know that she still had the freedom to go wherever she please, even if she must come back to him when he called her name or when the day was done.
People claimed she could run so quick that she hardly casted a shadow during her sprint, which was why she given the name Shadow Runner out of all the pretty or legendary names he could've gave her. Not to mention, he was ten when he named her and so it had a childish quality whenever he thinks about it. Despite her name, prowess and speed, most people were fascinated by the black flame-shaped birthmark on her forehead that contrasted from her white coat and peeked out from until her platinum blond mane. It gave her some strange fierceness than her height and muscles ever could.
But Arya could not be put off by it. With careful steps, the Stark girl inched close to the mare with purpose. She was clearly absolved from any fear that usually comes forward in people when in Shadow Runner's presence, but what did he really expect? Direwolves and lions put no fear in her heart, after all. Once close enough, she placed a hand on the horse's neck, fingers pressed together as she glided across Shadow's mane in gentle strokes. "She likes you," Steffon commented, noticing Arya's smug smile that grew from his words. "Want to take her for a ride?"
Whipping her head to face him, she looked up at him with hope on the edge of disbelief. "Can I? I mean… not now, but… soon?"
"Whenever," answered Steffon as he slipped on his rider's gloves. "You'll be coming with us to King's Landing, won't you?" Her smile was broad and bright, like a beaming star before she looked back at the horse she had been carefully petting.
"But what if my father won't let me? He still makes me ride ponies." Her smile quickly fell into a frown as she realized that she may have been too young for a much older and experienced horse.
"I think he'll be more than willing to let you if I promise your safety." He couldn't exactly promise her that. Lord Stark might still see the danger of allowing Arya to ride a Destrier, even if she was under supervision. "Have you chosen the animal you want me to hunt in your place?"
Turning away from Shadow Runner, Arya took on a look of thought. "I want you to hunt a boar and this time, you'll kill it yourself like I would have." An insult and a challenge. Arya Stark was truly something else.
"Boar it is then." In light of Hodor's unsuccessful attempt at saddling her, he managed to brush her well. All Steffon needed to do was brush the saddle blanket and then she would be ready for the black leather saddle and her reins. Without a fight or a fuss, she allowed Arya to continuously pet her while he harnessed and saddled her. It may have been luck on his side that Arya stuck close or he would've had to bribe the mare with food just to keep her completely still.
Once finished, Steffon clutched the saddle horn and promptly mounted, both feet in the stirrups until he was upright and could take grasp of the reins. "Is my sister giving you a hard time, Steffon?" said Robb, already a-horse and making his way towards them in a steady gait.
"Not at all," Steffon replied as Arya looked at her brother with a frown. "Where's Jon Snow?" Robb and Arya shared a look with one another, but she's the first to look away. Steffon already gathered the reason without having them to explain.
"He said he's going to stay behind," Robb tried to put it lightly, possibly not wanting to call-out the glaring obvious of why Jon would rather stay in Winterfell than go to the wolfwoods. Whether or not Jon was a bastard, Steffon wasn't going to let his next course of action deter him.
"Lady Arya, tell Jon Snow that I command that he join us in the hunt. If he refuses, he'll deal with the consequences of disobeying a royal command." The Stark girl quickly grinned, knowing that he meant no malicious intent. After giving him a hurried nod, she sprinted off in the direction that Steffon could tell led to the godswood. Only Arya would know where her half-brother would go to brood.
Robb snickered, watching his sister run and squeeze through the crowd with ease. "He'll hate you for this." The Crown Prince knew Robb's assessment to be true. Jon certainly would have no kind words for him by forcing his hand on joining this hunt. If Steffon cared about who would get mad at him for helping them for their own good, he'd be a brooding mess himself. "There's something I want to ask."
Curious, Steffon gave Robb his full attention. "Hopefully this has nothing to do with my sis—" Before he could utter it, Robb gave him a look that answered his suspicions. "I would rather you keep me out of your relationship."
"It's nothing serious, I promise you. Even I don't have the confidence to confide in you about our marital life." Relieved, Steffon gave him a nod to continue with what he was going to ask. "Is it true that hunting a stag during a time of celebration is a sign of good fortune?"
"If you believe in tradition and superstitions then yes." Steffon could recall the time his father told him about the stags he hunted during the time they were born. He hardly believed that good fortune would follow maiming an animal, making a pelt out of it, and using its meat for venison-based foods. How is that supposed to signify any luck? If anything, it just meant the animal had the poorest luck of them all. "Why? Did my sister tell you about it?" he asked, already coming to the conclusion that she must have, otherwise how would Robb know about Baratheon traditions? Still, it had never hurt to ask.
"She did and I…" Clearing his throat, the Stark heir looked a little troubled. "I thought it would only be right if I have a cloak made out of its fur for her."
He knew his sister would be happy about a gift like that. "Since you're so set on it, I assure you that she'll be pleased."
Confident with his decision, Robb gave a stern nod before turning his head to see Arya was making her return with a sour-faced Jon Snow falling in step behind her. "I bet you ten copper pennies that he'll say that he's a bastard at least five times," Steffon offered the bet.
"How about twenty, and I bet he'll say it ten times," Robb challenged.
"You're on." With a smirk, Steffon prepared to hear the story of how it was wrong, for a bastard to be joining the hunt with a Royal Party.
A/N: It was not my intention to update so late, but this chapter was gonna be super long and so I decided to cut it in half.
I bet all of you are like "Who sent him that letter?" "Steffon knows Valyrian?" "What the heck is he up to?" c: This prince is quite sneaky. In some ways, he is very much a Lannister despite how much he doesn't like to acknowledge it. It just gives you all something to look forward to when the royal family is back into their nest of lies.
Also, does Jaime have to rightfully worry about Joffrey? Or should he be more concerned about himself?
Sparky She-Demon: I had read it and I hoped you would update! I hope you get over your writer's block soon. Ohhh, I can't say. That's a secret. c:
RandalNubs: I should probably put an M in the chapter names, just so you expect for some sex scene or gore. Lol. It'll never be random, I promise. I'm glad Steffon is relatable enough that you can you see yourself in him, though. I love hearing that. #lovethat
Wombat8: Ahhh, thank you. I assure you that Joanna grows, and there'll be more sides of her personality that come out in the North. She's very fierce about her family, and that'll come out very soon. Aunt Genna is basically my favorite female Lannister, and I wish she was on the show but I do understand that she doesn't play a very vital role for her to have any sort of appearance. Although, they could always have her see Cersei become queen. I doubt I would ever get that. But yes, she has taught Joanna plenty of things her advice will be very much apart of some of Joanna's choices. She's basically like a grandmother to her. I'm glad you think that. Ned and Cat are fun to right, especially Cat in regards to her good-daughter. Jon will disapprove most things concerning Steffon and Theon, and I proved that again this chapter. Lol. He's like that stiff brother you gotta drag by the hand to go out and live a little. It was hard because that was my first ever awkward "I don't love you and I could do without this but I'm attracted to you?" sex scene. I can't really imagine how these people survived arranged marriages because I would probably run away. Lmao. I'm a chicken. Most definitely, but although he was honest about it, he still stands by what he did half the time. So he's a regretful hypocrite... a lot. I hope you stick around to see what I'll do because I have so much planned.
WhatsGoinOn: Prepare for more awkwardness. On Joanna's side, of course.
Guest: Thank you! And I'm sorry I took so long to update. Lol. Don't hate me.
Pikapyon: I would bow, if it could be seen. I did my very best. Maybe this chapter proved she liked it, just a little. And don't worry. There's nothing to fear. c: Robb and Joanna will get over this awkward hill.
Otherworlder81: I'm eager for the day where love turn into, "I'm hurting from this so much"
The Mikaelson Cupcake: I see it's the fluff you want, but the fluff will only last for so long.
Rhyming With Oranges: I have snagged you into this story! Lol. I'm glad you love them and like this story. He will end up with someone. c: I can't say much though because his love life is going to be interesting. Sansa? That's a first. I know most people grow tired with OC!Baratheon x Sansa, but I know everyone wants Sansa happy and loved. She'll find love and happiness, but probably not with Steffon. I just want to give Robb a different kind of romance and I'm glad some people like that. I want it fun for a while because fun never lasts. Lmao. If you thought Aza was an adventure wait until you see the mess Joanna will go through. c:
The King in White: Top Tier? My goal is made.
