The Black Stag: A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfiction
Summary: Robert and Cersei were able to conceive a son, Steffon, heir to the Iron Throne. Rated M.
Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire nor Game of Thrones
Chapter Eight
The looming form of Casterly Rock jutted out from the cliffside and towered over him and the rest of his small party. Jutting out of a mountainside, it stood as a testament to the will of its liege, Lord Tywin, and the legacy of the richest, most powerful family in the realm. Steffon had never truly felt any connection to his mother's family. His siblings all had the classic Lannister looks, but he was very much a Baratheon. This castle and it's lord and it's legacy were locked away from him due to how his father's seed had interacted with his mother on the night of his conception.
Despite this, it wasn't Joffey who had been summoned to the legendary Rock. Nor was it Myrcella or Tommen. His grandfather had asked specifically for Steffon to visit and his mother had been quite eager to see that her eldest child learn at the feat of the man she respected more than anyone alive. And even if his father found the idea preposterous, neither he nor Jon Arryn were willing to consider slighting Lord Tywin.
Still, Steffon wasn't sure how much he could learn in only a month. His grandfather wasn't offering to foster him, after all. His father would never allow that or would only allow that if Steffon was sent north to learn under Lord Stark.
Joining Steffon on this pilgrimage was his uncle, Tyrion, who sat grim faced in the saddle of his pony. Lord Tywin had summoned him home from the capital and Uncle Tyrion was clearly seething at being ordered around like a child.
Behind the two sat an older man, solemn and withered, who seemed to only talk when it was praising the Seven. Ser Bonifer, a loyal knight of the Stormlands, who came highly recommended by Uncle Renly and, shockingly, Uncle Stannis. Any knight that could get the recommendation of his stern uncle wasn't a knight that Steffon wished to cross. Both of his father's brothers noted that Ser Bonifer was one of the better combatants and had unwavering dedication. His father apparently agreed, because he nodded his consent and planned to make Ser Bonifer Steffon's sworn sword if they faced no trouble between now and their return.
Steffon wasn't quite sure he needed a protector beyond what the Kingsguard and Baratheon soldiers provided, but Joff had been assigned a sworn sword already, some towering, scarred second son from House Clegane.
No more than ten Lannister guards scattered themselves around the perimeter of the three men watching for danger, though Steffon found it ridiculous that anyone would attempt to harm them this close to Casterly Rock. His grandfather's wrath was legendary and so was his pride. If the Crown Prince was hurt, or worse, on his watch Lord Tywin would probably burn the entirety of the Westerlands to save face. And what was left would be taken out by his father. Ours is the Fury, after all.
Steffon and his party were greeted at the gates of Casterly Rock by a large man, broad across the chest and waist, balding, but with a close-cropped beard and piercing green eyes. Though they had never met, Steffon immediately knew this man to be Kevan Lannister, his great-uncle. Though not as pretty, he still held the same Lannister looks as his niece, Steffon's mother. If that wasn't enough, Uncle Tyrion's greeting of "Uncle" confirmed Steffon's deduction.
Flanking Ser Kevan were two soldiers and a man decked in grey, the maester assigned to the Rock. All four bowed low as Steffon approached.
"My Prince," Ser Kevan said in a commanding baritone. "Casterly Rock is yours. Your grandfather is in his solar and awaiting your arrival. Ser Benedict and Vylarr will escort you. While here, Creylen will be your tutor."
Both soldiers moved away from Ser Kevan and Steffon made to follow, shocked by Ser Bonifer stepping in behind him.
"Ser," Ser Kevan began. "We have rooms prepared for you if you want to take a rest. I promise, Prince Steffon will be perfectly safe with our guards."
Though the words were polite enough, Steffon sensed an undercurrent of anger in Ser Kevan's voice as if Ser Bonifer doing his duty was an affront to Casterly Rock itself.
Ser Bonifer merely returned Ser Kevan's gaze with one of his own. "No offense meant, Ser. I swore an oath to both the king and the Father Above that I would protect the Crown Prince. Where he goes, I go."
Ser Kevan set his jaw, but didn't respond. Merely turning to his nephew and nodding before stalking sway.
Steffon and Ser Bonifer followed the two soldiers through the castle, larger it seemed than the Red Keep, and up through the highest tower in the castle. They stopped outside an ornately carved lion on the face of a door and took posts on either side. Ser Bonifer, in return, placed himself on a wall directly facing the door. The moment Steffon was ready, the two soldiers pushed the door open and allowed Steffon entrance.
The room was bedecked in gold finery and crimson banners depicting the Lannister lion and their words Hear Me Roar. Along the wall was a shelf containing large tomes and books of various sizes. And Steffon noticed a plush crimson rug under his feat.
Sitting at a desk as fine as any Steffon had seen was a man he assumed to be his grandfather. He was bald, but wore golden sideburns, and his green eyes were flecked with gold that seemed to bounce off the words of the missive he was reading. Steffon was finding it hard to describe the look on his grandfather's face as anything other than stony and impassive. Once Steffon entered, his grandfather looked up. The look on his face did not change.
"Steffon," he greeted. Not My Prince or even Prince Steffon. Just his name in a foreboding baritone that spoke volumes of how the two would be interacting. Steffon was the prince, but Lord Tywin was in charge. Lord Tywin was in charge of the entire world.
"Your mother wished you to foster here and learn how to rule, but your father was against it," His grandfather began. "We only have a month. Let us start with the concept of risk."
Steffon was jerked out of his memory by the sound of feet running down the corridor toward the Small Council chambers. He had learned a lot in that month with his grandfather. But, even more than the lessons, he learned what an imposing figure his grandfather could be. And that made him wary.
The meeting wasn't supposed to begin for another hour, but Steffon was feeling restless and decided he would meander outside of the room instead of potentially dealing with his family or the Tyrells. His mother had been held up in the chambers provided to his grandfather since he arrived and he assumed that even Uncle Jaime was with them, as he hadn't seen the knight in his usual post outside of his father's chambers when he passed this morning. Joff was probably with them as well. Their mother had seemed beyond willing to make sure Lord Tywin had a complete understanding of her second son. Steffon didn;t know which one of the two he pitied more.
Though the rest of the Tyrell party had left the city, both Margaery and Lady Olenna were still in the keep. With Steffon so focused on why his grandfather had shown up in the first place, he didn't feel that he had the wherewithal to even attempt to play games with the Queen of Thrones.
The feet in question belonged to a page who was out of breath as he paused in front of Steffon and attempted to bow while also catching his breath.
Steffon took pity on the boy, who barely seemed a year older than he was, and motioned for him to rise. "Take you time. What has you in such a rush?"
"A letter," the page wheezed. "Grand Maester Pycelle sent me with it. For Lord Stark. From the Eyrie."
"The Eyrie," Steffon contemplated. "What reason would Lysa Arryn have to write Lord Stark? The man was married to her sister, sure, but that never gave Lysa a reason to write while Jon Arryan was alive and they were living in the city. Whatever this is could become a problem."
"Give it to me," Steffon said, not unkindly. "The Small Council will be meeting soon and I'll make sure Lord Stark receives it."
"Thank you, My Prince," the boy bowed low and was off in the same direction from which he came.
Steffon stared down at the note with a frown, lost in his musings, until a voice brought him back once again. Another mystery to potentially solve when he hadn't even begun to fathom the first one. Hopefully it was nothing, but Steffon knew that was the best case scenario. Likely, whatever the reason for the letter would be damaging for the entire realm.
"My Prince, you're early," Lord Stark noted walking forward holding a large tome in his hands. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Families of the Seven Kingdoms was scrawled across the front.
"Please, Lord Stark," Steffon replied with a smile. "While we're alone call me Steffon. My father trusts no man more than you and I, too, would like to seek your aid from time to time and I don't want my title to stop you from speaking the truth to me."
Lord Stark nodded, an impressed look in his eye. "Very well then, Steffon. The rest of the council will not be here for another hour. Why don't you come back then and we'll begin?"
Without waiting for a reply, Lord Stark moved past Steffon and into the chamber, closing the door behind him.
Steffon was about to leave when he remembered the letter he was holding. Sighing, Steffon knocked on the door and entered. Lord Stark was staring down at the book he was reading in rapt concentration, a frown etched on his face.
"Apologies, Lord Stark, but I forgot to give you this letter. It's from Lady Arryn in the Vale."
Lord Stark looked up and the frown on his face deepened. "Lysa is writing me?"
Steffon shrugged in response, but walked over and handed the letter to Lord Stark. In passing, he glanced down at the book. Orys Baratheon- Black of hair, blue eyes. Steffon Baratheon- Black of hair, blue eyes. Robert Baratheon- black of hair, blue eyes.
The book continued to list the members of Steffon's family until they reached Steffon and his siblings. Steffon Baratheon- Black of hair, blue eyes. Joffrey Baratheon- Golden haired, green eyes.
"Interested in genealogy, My Lord?" Steffon asked with a chuckle pointing down the book.
Lord Stark stared at him for a moment with an artful gaze as if he was trying to figure out some great puzzle. "Merely curiosity, Steffon. Jon Arryn had been reading it before he died."
Steffon was confused. Why would Jon Arryn be looking through a book on genealogy before he died? "Anything of note, Lord Stark?"
Lord Stark shook his head and put the book down. "It's probably a folly, but I was curious about Jon's passing. Grand Maester Pycelle gave me this book when we spoke of Jon's death. If you don't mind, Steffon, could you tell me what you remember?"
Steffon nodded. "Whatever it was, My Lord, it burned right through him. The day before, he agreed to allow me to begin attending Small Council meetings and he was in perfect health for a man his age. The next morning, he was gone. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"Nothing to be sorry for, my boy," Lord Stark responded. "Your father told me how close you and Jon were. I'm sorry for your loss."
"You as well, Lord Stark. Jon may have been a mentor to me, but my father says he was a father to both of you during your youth."
"Aye, he was. Even though I was set to inherit nothing more than a small keep in the North, Jon made sure I was prepared to rule. And when the Mad King called for my head, Jon was the first to raise his banners in rebellion."
"He was a great man."
"Aye."
"And, Lord Stark, I believe he would want nothing more than for you to be his successor. When we spoke of my father, Lord Arryn praised his abilities as a warrior. When we spoke of you, he praised your judgement and your integrity."
Lord Stark gave Steffon a small smile and Steffon took that as his cue to leave.
Steffon left the room, deciding to get a quick meal while he had a moment and was still by himself. He barely made it ten feet down the hall when his father stormed forward, irritation written all over his features.
"Steffon, have you seen Ned?" he asked in an angry tone, stopping in front of Steffon.
"He's in the Small Council chamber, Father," Steffon answered. "Is everything alright?"
"No," his father claimed. "His foolish wife took the Imp. She's blaming him for the attack on their boy."
…...
Steffon found himself sitting at his father's right in the rooms assigned to Lord Tywin. His mother sat to the king's left and looked positively irate. Across from the king, Steffon's grandfather frowned deeply. Lord Stark was also present, standing behind Steffon's father and his face betrayed no emotion, directly opposed to Uncle Jaime who looked ready to put the Hand of the King on a spike himself.
"Lady Stark is blaming Uncle Tyrion for the attack on their son?" Steffon thought incredulously. "That's absurd. For what reason would he attack a boy? There was no purpose behind it."
Steffon could understand the grief of a parent when confronted with any sort of trouble pertaining to their children. He could fathom why Lady Stark would act irrationally. But, he was certain that Uncle Tyrion would never stoop as low as to harm a child.
"Alright, let's get on with this. What does the blasted letter say?" The king growled, looking more than put out at the notion of dealing with this issue. Steffon's father would prefer not to rule and now he had to come to a decision that would stop his two most powerful supporters from engaging in all out war with each other. Steffon didn't envy him.
"My wife says that the Valyrian steel dagger used in the attempt on my son's life belonged to Lord Tyrion. I would say the evidence is clear, Your Grace. Allow me leave to ride to the Eyrie and I will return Lord Tyrion to the capital where he can stand trial."
"While it is true that Valyrian steel is too rare for a common catspaw to possess, I question what idiot would arm their hired sword with a blade that would give them away," Lord Tywin interjected, his voice cool and barely betraying the fury in his eyes. "Not even my stunted son is that foolish."
"Uncle Tyrion is many things," Steffon responded, annoyed that his grandfather felt the need to insult his own son in that manner. "But he has never been an idiot. Whatever way that catspaw came to possess that weapon, I doubt it was through Uncle Tyrion."
"Still, the blade was Lord Tyrion's and it was found with the assassin. That cannot be a coincidence," continued Lord Stark.
"You continue to allow this friend of yours to insult the family of your queen and your heir," Cersei sneered at her husband, motioning between herself and Steffon. "Pathetic."
Steffon rolled his eyes. He was sure he wasn't the only one in the room to know that his mother truly didn't care if her younger brother lived to see the morning. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have killed him off herself long ago. However, the opportunity to shame the king and elevate her standing in the eyes of her father was too good for his mother to pass up.
"Quiet, woman," Robert snapped back. "If you've nothing of value to contribute then you'll keep your mouth shut otherwise I'll shut it for you."
If Lord Tywin was offended by the way the king spoke to his daughter, it wasn't portrayed on his face. The same couldn't be said for Uncle Jaime, who looked like he would charge the king full stop if he made good on his promise.
"I wonder, what sort of honorable king would need to make threats to a woman. His queen no less," Jaime jumped in, ignoring the glare his father sent him.
"You wish to talk to me about honor, Kingslayer?" Robert roared, standing from the table in a fury.
"We're arguing in circles," Steffon pressed. "And I think we'd all rather see this resolved before we descend into petty arguing."
"He speaks sense, Your Grace," Lord Tywin commented and even Lord Stark nodded in agreement.
There had to be a way to disavow Lord Stark of this thought before he lost his title and the West and North were at war. Seven hells, at this rate King Robert and Ser Jaime would be at war within the hour. Maybe if Lord Stark were willing to give up how he received this information in the first place?
"Lord Stark," Steffon pressed, turning his attention fully to the man. Hopefully, he could settle this matter down to a point where the talks could continue. "Mayhaps you could tell us who gave you this information? If we know the source of the rumor then we could ascertain its truth."
"I cannot," responded the older man. "But I will say that the source is someone who has the trust of my wife. And I trust my wife."
"See," Cersei scoffed. "He isn't even willing to give us the source of this lie. If there was a source to begin with, which I doubt. Clearly Lord Stark was looking for a way to drive a wedge between the Crown and the Lannisters."
"I said quiet, woman!" Robert yelled. The force of his voice somehow stopped Cersei from continuing, but couldn't remove the pout from her lips.
The king stood from the table and drained his wine goblet. "Ned, command your wife to return that shit of an imp to King's Landing. Bloody hell, I have seven kingdoms to run and I can't do that with the Starks and the Lannisters at war. She will return Lord Tyrion and no action will be taken by either family."
He turned to look at Lord Stark. "Let's go. We have more important things to discuss. Steffon, Ned, the Small Council will meet in an hour."
Lord Stark bowed, looking angry, but followed the king of the room. Uncle Jaime and Steffon's mother followed suit, both wearing scowls, but for what Steffon was sure were vastly different reasons, leaving Steffon alone with his grandfather.
"Steffon, sit," his grandfather commanded.
Steffon sat down in the chair to the right of the man. Both were silent for a moment, as Lord Tywin poured him a glass of wine.
"You seem quite adamant that my son had no hand in the attempt on the Stark boy's life," Lord Tywin observed.
Steffon sighed. Of course he was adamant. There was positively no reason for Uncle Tyrion to make an attempt on Bran's life, even the dagger held a signed confession from the man himself. The dagger alone was not real evidence. Without whoever provided Lord Stark with that information, they would have no definitive answers.
"It seems obvious, Grandfather. I can't think of any reason Uncle Tyrion would harm Bran Stark. The dagger alone doesn't convince me of anything and without Lord Stark's source there is simply not enough proof to act."
"Indeed," responded his grandfather. "Continue."
"The only way we will find any truth in this manner is to find out how truthful this source is. Or, more importantly, why Lord Stark would risk a war with you. I understand the desire to protect his son, but it seems a big gamble on the word of someone he won't admit."
"Ned Stark is like his father," Lord Tywin commented. "Honor to them is the most important quality of a man. There is a certain admirability to that. As long as Ned Stark believes he is protecting his wife and his family, we will never divulge the secret of his source from him. So, we must act as though it won't happen and plan accordingly."
"Plan what, Grandfather?"
Tywin leveled a gaze at Steffon that made him feel very small. And when he spoke again, it was with a tone one would use when speaking to a child. "If Catelyn Stark refuses to return my son, we will go to war. And your father's friendship won't save them. Whatever else he is, Tyrion is a Lannister."
With that, Tywin rose from the table and left Steffon sitting there contemplating his words.
If there was one thing Tywin Lannister was known for it was protecting his family. And Steffon doubted even the gods could protect the realm from the bloodshed that would follow.
…
The atmosphere in the Small Council was intense to say the least and only exacerbated by the presence of Steffon's father. Steffon hadn't seen his father attend a Small Council meeting since coming back from Winterfell and hadn't heard of his attending one in the years before. Judging by the looks on the other members, they hadn't expected it either. The only absence was Uncle Stannis who had been recalled to Dragonstone in the night for some important business.
The room was as silent as a crypt. Normally, Lord Stark would be the one to open the meetings, but with Steffon's father there it would be his decision how and when to open their discussion.
"Now," Robert began. "Tell me about the tournament. How are the preparations coming?"
"Robert," Lord Stark interjected. "We have done as you requested. Forty-thousand for the winner of the joust, twenty for the melee, twenty for the archery. However, I must still protest. With the Crown in so much debt, I feel that this tournament is a luxury we cannot afford."
"Nonsense, Ned," Robert laughed. "The tournament is for a good cause. Not only are we celebrating Steffon's engagement, but also that we got you down from that frozen wasteland you call a home. Baelish has already found the gold, correct?"
"Yes, Your Grace," responded Littlefigner, looking up from his books. "I spoke to Lord Tywin upon his arrival and he agreed to loan the gold to the Crown. Plus, the revenue from the tournament should help many of the businesses in the city prosper."
"And how many of those businesses are yours, Littlefinger?" Uncle Renly smirked.
"What of it?" The king replied with a yawn."If the man finds a way to fill his pockets, let him. It's no crime."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Baelish nodded in deference, the smirk never leaving his face.
"Steffon, you will be competing in the tournament," Robert directed. "As it is in your honor, it will be expected of you."
Steffon nearly scoffed, but held back. "Father, I'm hardly a jouster. I wouldn't make it past the first tilt. Regardless, I doubt there is a man alive who would risk injuring the Crown Prince. There is no glory in winning unopposed."
Robert scowled, frustration on his face. "The worst thing about this damn crown is that I've limited the glory me and my own can seek. A hunt, then, to prove your manhood. You too Renly. We need to get you away from those balls you love to throw so much. By the time we return, both of you will have bagged at least a stag and I can sleep knowing that the virility of my father's house has not gone the way of the dragons!"
"Robert," Renly's smile faltered for a minute as he stared at his older brother. "Surely, you don't need me on something like that. Wouldn't it be better to take Steffon and Joffrey?"
Robert chuckled. "Nonsense. I doubt Joffrey will be allowed out of his mother's sight for that long. I like to hunt with company. I'm the king, I get what I want. Ned, you will run the court in our stead."
Lord Stark sighed. "Of course, Your Grace."
"That's settled, then. Steffon, Renly, we leave in two hours. We'll bring Barristan and Bonifer with us."
He rose from the table without delay and the rest of the council scrambled to follow. Steffon chanced a glance back at Uncle Renly and was pleased to see he wore the same look of utter bewilderment that he did.
…
The decision to leave the Golden Company in Pentos was made so that the parties needed to treat Prince Martell could do so without drawing suspicion. It wouldn't do for the Usurper or his lackeys to find out what they were planning before they were ready. Even with the Master of Whispers for the Usurper firmly in the true king's camp, Jon wasn't willing to take any chances. He had waited too long to avenge Rhaegar and he wouldn't lose due to some folly.
For years, he had raised Rhaegar's son as his own and taught him everything he knew his true father would have taught the boy. He had made him almost into a copy of his Silver Prince.
There were differences, of course. Aegon wasn't as naturally gifted as his father had been. Rhaegar seemed to have an almost inhuman ability to learn any skill he put his mind to with ease. Aegon was also more martially inclined that his father had been. Like everything, Rhaegar had trained with a blade as was befitting his station. But he never found joy in it. Aegon lived for the sword. It was his main passion.
There were other differences as well. There was a melancholy beauty to Rhaegar. Every action was accompanied by the unsettling feeling that the weight of the world was held on Rhaegar's shoulders. And he enjoyed his solitude to contemplate the troubles that often plagued him. Only Jon himself, or Ser Arthur, could pull the prince from his musings if pressed.
Aegon was never melancholic. His stress manifested often in anger. It wasn't like his grandfather, but it was still concerning and Jon would need to work to control the young man's temper and pride before they became a problem.
Still, it was only one problem against all the good that Aegon would be capable of. Jon had raised the perfect prince and he would see him returned to the throne. When Aegon staked his claim and the people were treated to the sight of a true Targaryan king, they would flock back.
Again, to stop from arousing suspicion, Jon, Aegon, Duck, and Arianne Martell, were ferried into Sunspear under the cover of Darkness. Though he was told that Doran Martell spent more time at the Water Gardens these days, the importance of the meeting dictated they meet in the capital.
Their arrival at the castle was met by Varys and a figure that Jon had not met before, but knew on sight. The fabled Red Viper of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, eyed the incoming party with a critical glance. Jon noted with concern that Prince Oberyn's eyes raked over Aegon with appreciation and he smirked at the younger man. Jon scowled and moved in front of Aegon, staring down Prince Oberyn with a warning glare. The other man merely smirked.
Varys, probably sensing the hostility, hastily stepped forward and made the introductions. "Your Grace, may I present Prince Oberyn Martell, brother to Prince Doran."
Aegon stepped around Jon and nodded his head in polite greeting. "My Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your niece speaks highly of your martial abilities and your counsel. I am grateful to have you on my side."
"Likewise, Your Grace. Your mother's death is still remembered here in Dorne and will be avenged," The Red Viper responded.
"And this is Jon Connington, the former Lord of Griffin's Roost," Varys supplied, motiong for Jon to step forward.
"And Hand of the King," Aegon interjected and Jon smiled.
"Well met, Lord Connington."
"You as well, Prince Oberyn."
"Finally," continued Varys with a flourish. "We have Ser Rolly Duckfield."
"Duckfield?" Prince Oberyn noted with an amused smirk. "I've never heard of your house, ser."
"I chose the name myself. When I was knighted, it was in a field of ducks."
Prince Oberyn barked out a laugh. "As good of a reason as any, I suppose. I like this one. We will have rooms prepared for all of you. Now, let us go talk to my brother and we can finally begin avenge Elia's murder."
Prince Oberyn and Varys led them through the halls of the castle, Aegon and Arianne staying a few feet behind as the girl linked her arms through Aegon's and pointed out her favorite decorations throughout the castle.
Jon couldn't help but dislike his king's intended bride. She was much too forward with her affections. Jon understood the need for this alliance, but he wished the girl were more passive. Truthfully, he never liked Elia much either. Neither woman was right for the heirs to the Iron Throne.
They arrived at the solar of Prince Doran, a large figure blocking the door. Noting the arrival, he moved to the side to let the group pass, but put a large hand on Ser Rolly to stop his progress.
"This one is armed," the giant, Areo Hotah, said in a deep baritone. "He will not pass."
Aegon bristled from the doorway. "He is my sworn sword. You would have the rightful king without a guard?"
Jon stepped in between the two and puit a hand on Aegon's shoulder. "Peace, Your Grace. Ser Rolly can stand guard outside. I doubt our hosts would allow any harm to befall you in their home."
The remaining members of the party entered the room to find Doran sitting behind a large, ornate desk. In front of the man were maps of Westeros spread out and figures depicting the various sigils of the Great Houses placed in camps to signify their alliances. He looked up from the desk and nodded in greeting. "Forgive me for not bowing, Your Grace, but my legs no longer serve me as they used to. The gout, the maesters say."
"I have no use for your legs, My Prince," Aegon said. "Merely your support in reclaiming my crown."
End of Chapter Eight
Author's Note: Here is the newest chapter. Sorry for the lack of action so far, but I promise the plot will be picking up in the next couple chapters. I just needed to set the scene and introduce all the players.