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 Ten
Though she had dined with the Martells every night since they arrived, this was the first in such a formal setting and Daenerys felt incredibly small in the gathering of such people. There was, of course, her brother, Viserys, who had been stewing in his anger for the better part of two days since not being allowed at the initial meeting with Prince Doran. Though Daenerys also felt slighted, as she was a Targaryen as well, she understood that the meeting was between their nephew, Aegon, and his supporters. Neither herself nor her brother were a part of his council. There was no reason for them to attend. Still, it didn't stop Viserys from feeling that the son of the brother he adored was trying to remove him from the discussion to better ensure Aegon's ascension to the throne.
Aegon, himself, was seated stiffly next to his intended bride, Arianne. Arianne's charms were having the intended effect as Aegon, who from what Daenerys understood hadn't been raised around many women, looked much younger than his nine and ten years as he blushed furiously everytime the Martell girl did so much as brush against his arm. Though, to his credit, he tried his best to keep his regal posture. It was a valiant effort, but one that anyone around the table could see through and explained the frown that seemed etched in stone on Lord Connington's face.
Sitting to the other side of Aegon was their host, Prince Doran. Though he was their host, he had graciously allowed Aegon to sit at the head of the table as was his right as the king. As usual, his brother, Oberyn, and sons, Quentyn and Tristane, were present as well. The young Tristane was a pleasant boy who went out of his way to be nice to everyone. His older brother, however, was solemn and didn't speak much. Plain faced as he was, he hadn't been able to say more than three words to Daenerys without stuttering.
Joining them for the night were the enigmatic Lord Varys, their former host Illyrio Mopatis, and a large, swarthy man that Daenerys had never seen before. He was hairy and balding, but still strong and muscular. It was obvious that he had little money from the threadbare clothes he wore, but it was also clear that he had been at least trained in the courtly niceties. He wore simple wool, dyed green with a large standing bear emblazoned on the front, and a pair of rough skin breeches. Occasionally, his eyes would wander over to her and he would offer a small smile. He was sat next to Ser Rolly Duckfield whose own eyes scanned the room warily.
As the meal finished, and a sour wine was poured, the conversation turned to their plans for attack. Viserys, who had been sullen and silent during the dinner itself, leaned forward in his chair in excitement.
"We have much to discuss tonight. Shall we begin, Your Grace?" Lord Connington asked.
When he received a nod from his charge, the Hand of the King continued. "The first matter is your Small Council. As per your decision, I will be the Hand of the King. And as per our discussion, Prince Doran will serve as Master of Laws. Lord Varys will keep his post as Master of Whispers. Ser Rolly Duckfield will serve as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Our esteemed guest, Illyrio Mopatis, will be the Master of Coin. The Grand Maester will, of course, be determined by the Citadel after we have taken the Iron Throne. The final two positions, Master of Ships and Master of War, will be determined at a later date, probably as appointments from one of the houses that declare for us."
Aegon nodded. "That is fine by me, Lord Hand."
"Very well," answered Lord Connington with a smile at his foster son. "Our next order of business is the matter of succession. Prince Viserys will be the heir apparent to the Iron Throne and, thusly, will be named Prince of Dragonstone until an heir is born to the king."
There was an angry glint in Viserys' eyes, but he nodded nonetheless. Daenerys was shocked that her brother, brought up to believe he was a king, would acquiesce so easily, but she reasoned that they had something to pacify his eccentricities.
"As Prince of Dragonstone, he will also need a suitable wife. After we regain the throne, we shall pick from our loyal houses and find a most suitable bride. We also have agreed with Prince Viserys to engage Princess Daenerys to Prince Quentyn."
Daenerys was confused. She hadn't consented to any match between herself and Quentyn. She barely knew him.
Before she could speak up, Viserys barked across the table at her. "You will marry Prince Quentyn, Daenerys. Don't anger me!"
An awkward silence fell over the room following Viserys' outburst, and Daenerys felt suitably abashed, but no one would dare speak about it.
Prince Doran cleared his throat and made the first move to move the conversation forward. "Quentyn, I hope you will treat Princess Daenerys with the respect she deserves."
Quentyn, who Daenerys just noticed was staring unblinkingly at her, tore his eyes away and nodded at his father. "Y-yes, Father."
"Finally," Lord Connington continued. "We have decided that, for your protection, Princess Daenerys is in need of a sworn sword. We are confident that Prince Viserys can handle himself in a fight, but we understand that Daenerys will need protecting. On the word of our Master of Whispers, I present Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island."
The swarthy man at the end of the table, who had yet to speak, stood and placed his blade on the table. His voice was harsh and low, but not unpleasant. "Princess, I pledge to protect you to the best of my abilities."
Daenerys was stunned, but smiled at the old man. "Thank you, Ser."
"If the court matters are settled," Varys interrupted. "I have some news that may be of use in the war effort."
"Please, continue Lord Varys," Jon Connington replied.
"Robert Baratheon has called for a tournament to be held in honor of Eddard Stark agreeing to become Hand of the King and Steffon Baratheon's engagement to Margaery Tyrell. All of the major lords of the kingdoms will be there, including a host from the north."
"What of it?" Viserys cut in with an impatient snarl.
"What I believe the Spider is saying is that there may be a chance to further our cause during the tournament," Oberyn nodded.
"How so?" inquired Aegon.
"During the chaos, we could potentially eliminate Steffon Baratheon or even his father if we wished. Disrupt the Usurper's army and their morale before they even understand there is a threat. I have kept the movements of Your Grace's forces from Robert Baratheon, but the fact remains that we cannot defeat the Stag forces in open combat. Even one such as I understands that war usually favors the side with the larger numbers."
"But, if we kill the Usurper and present a Dragon for the people to rally behind, we may be able to secure the loyalty of some of the major houses and mayhaps make the battle more even," Oberyn finished for the Master of Whispers. "Bold, I like it."
"Is it too bold, though," Doran mused. "I would caution restraint. This plan could see our enemies galvanized around whichever Baratheon we fail to kill."
"It is true that Robert Baratheon has an almost inhuman ability to unite people behind his cause. And no cause would be stronger than a father grieving for a lost son," Varys answered. "Steffon, however, has always been more reserved than his father and sheltered besides. I doubt very much he would be able to inspire an army like his father could."
"But that still leaves Ned Stark, Tywin Lannister, Mace Tyrell, and a slew of other leaders," Jon Connington replied.
"Yes, but these men only have the faith of their own lands, if that. Not one of them is capable of inspiring the entire realm to stay together. Furthermore, even if one of them does manage to untie the realm behind Steffon Baratheon, it would still take time for an army to be raised. We could overrun King's Landing. A Targaryean sitting on the Iron Throne may give some pause on whether to continue fighting," Oberyn countered.
"Enough," Aegon said, ending the discussion. "Even with the risks involved, our best bet is still the plan that Lord Varys suggested. We will bring our army to King's Landing. We will kill the Usurper and I will ascend to my throne."
Despite the misgivings of his advisors, Aegon seemed resolute in his final decision. There was a fire in his eyes that Daenerys had neve seen before. But, she had heard of it. It was the same fire that her ancestors possessed. And, if she was being truthful to herself, it was the same fire that she felt in her own mind at times.
"One more thing, Your Grace," Varys said. "I have reason to believe that only the Crown Prince is the legitimate child of Robert Baratheon."
"The Queen has been opening her legs, has she?" Oberyn smirked. "And who was the lucky guy that squirted her three other children into her?"
"Her brother, Ser Jaime," Varys responded without emotion. "The princes Joffrey and Tommen and the princess Myrcella are all bastards born of incest. If we succeed and they try and stake their claim, this is our insurance."
"We will convene in the morning to finalize our plans. Now, I believe our business is complete," Said Doran as he wheeled himself from the table. "Your Grace, good night."
…...
"I believe it to be your uncle, Ser Jaime."
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, and filled with disbelief. They were noxious and toxic and Steffon could hardly believe them. Infidelity was one thing. It was, unfortunately, common in the nobility of the realm. The politics of marriage within the nobility hardly left hardly any room for love. Marriage was to secure a family's future or alliances or to stop an enemy from causing trouble. The most one could hope for was a good match and a kind spouse.
Naturally, these marriages were filled with more indiscretions than anyone was comfortable with admitting. Steffon's own half-siblings Edric, Mya in the Vale, and Gendry at Tobho Mott's were proof. Even the ever honorable Lord Stark had a natural son now at the Wall.
But incest was an entirely different matter. Outside of the Targaryeans, incest was looked upon, rightly, with disgust amongst the population.
As much as Steffon's mind was reeling from the information, he forced himself to speak. "And me, Lord Stark? Is my parentage in question?"
Lord Stark shook his head and gifted the prince with a small smile. "No, Steffon. Your coloring is Baratheon and you look too much like your father and uncle Renly to be the son of any other family."
Steffon nodded relieved. He had expected that answer, but it was good to hear it said regardless. Still, that left other questions that he needed to answer. Joff looked like a miniature version of Uncle Jaime. The same with Myrcella and their mother. Tommen's features were still too soft, but nothing in them was Baratheon in look.
"But my younger siblings?"
Lord Stark only nodded.
Sighing, Steffon rose from seat and paced around the solar for a moment. He needed a plan. Myrcella and Tommen were innocent children. They didn't deserve the fate that would befall them. Joffrey, while cruel and sadistic, utterly adored the king. All three would be killed and spiked on the walls of the Red Keep with their mother and Uncle Jaime. The rage of Steffon's father was legendary and this slight was too great for him to ignore. There was no doubt in Steffon's mind that putting all of them to the sword was the only recourse that would soothe Robert Baratheon.
Lord Tywin would respond by raising his army and declaring war on the crown. While Steffon was in awe of his grandfather's abilities, he doubted that man could face down at least three of the other kingdoms in open war. But the man was as cunning as any alive and with his wealth could find any number of allies amongst the nobility in the realm. There were men in every corner of the kingdom that would be willing to capitalize on such a conflict to increase their own power and standing. There were men in the Red Keep itself who would see the destabilization of the realm as their ticket to power and glory. Not to mention, their enemies abroad would look at this as a potential chance to remove Westeros from the larger "Game of Thrones" the queen was so fond of discussing. A war like this and for this reason would be devastating for the entire world.
Was this the great calamity that Orys had warned Steffon was coming?
And there was another nagging feeling in the back of Steffon's mind. He had always known his mother preferred his younger siblings. She doted on Myrcella and Tommen and Joffrey could do no wrong in her eyes. Steffon remembered when she would treat him that way. But since Joffrey, their relationship had been strained at best. Was it because Steffon was a product of a relationship she didn't want? Did she hate Steffon simply because his father was Robert and not her own brother?
In recent weeks, he had defended his mother to himself more often than not. She was his mother and whatever she felt toward him, he loved her. But those moments when she sneered in his direction or took Joffrey's side in a fight the younger boy instigated, they were bathed in a new light. And it made Steffon angry. More than that, there was a growing anger in the pit of his stomach that threatened to engulf him whole.
Steffon sighed and ran a hand down his face in frustration, taking a moment to take a deep breath and calm himself. Right now, he couldn't afford his emotions to make his decisions. He needed a coller head. He needed to think like Tywin Lannister, not Robert Baratheon. Because, he noted with increasing worry, he felt he would need to outthink Tywin Lannister before this mess was over.
Sitting back down, he looked at Lord Stark. "What do you propose we do?"
Lord Stark leveled his gaze at Steffon for a moment. "We must tell your father, but I will not have the blood of children on my hands. They are innocent of their birth. So, I will give your mother time to leave the city and head to Casterly Rock. She and her children will be safe from Robert's wrath."
Privately, Steffon didn't believe that anywhere would be safe from his father's wrath, but there were more pressing issues with Lord Stark's plan. "And Uncle Jaime?"
Lord Stark's tone was even and firm. "He will be put to the sword or take the black. His crime must be punished."
Steffon was silent for a moment as the ramifications of Lord Stark's plan washed over him. Was it the right course of action? Yes. His idea was honorable and would cause the least amount of bloodshed… that is, if the rest of the parties were as honorable as he.
"It won't work, Lord Stark. That plan will only end in ruin. My grandfather will not allow you to take his heir away."
"His second son, Lord Tyrion, is his heir. Ser Jaime lost his rights when he became a sworn brother of the Kingsguard."
Steffon leveled his own gaze at Lord Stark. "Do you truly believe my grandfather cares? Uncle Tyrion will never be allowed the Rock and my grandfather is still under the belief that he can persuade Uncle Jaime to return home. Or, persuade my father to relieve Uncle Jaime of his duties. And there is another problem we have to take into account."
"That is?"
"My mother will not leave the city," Steffon answered with conviction. "She wants nothing more than the power she feels she is owed. And she has half the city paid off. To give her warning of your plan will only result in your death, if not the death of my father as well. She may even kill me if it means she can control the realm through Joffrey. Now, we could try and buy off the city before we do this. Mayhaps through Varys or even Littlefinger, but I doubt such a plan would appeal to your honor, Lord Stark."
The man in question didn't say anything, but Steffon could tell from the sour look on the face of the Hand of the King that politicking like that sat ill with the man.
"And," Steffon continued. "I wouldn't trust either not to stab us in the back the moment it suited their interests."
There was a simple truth that hung in the air around both men. All three potential parties that could deal with were better at playing politics than either Steffon or Lord Stark. And they had access to resources beyond what the Hand of the King or the Crown Prince were capable of pulling together.
Lord Stark sighed, long and hard. He had always seemed older than his years, but to Steffon in that moment he seemed ancient. "Then, what would you have us do Steffon?"
Steffon drummed his fingers against his chair as he thought, his left hand rising to his chin in concentration. If they were planning to take on his mother, they needed allies. These allies needed to be rich, without scruples, and want power. And, if it came to it, these allies needed to be ready for war. These allies needed to be able to raise an army quickly and counter any threat from the Westerlands while the northern forces and the forces from the Riverlands marshaled.
For the first time in the conversation, Steffon smiled. Maybe fate had given him a gift after all.
"The Tyrells," Steffon smirked. "We use the Tyrells."
Lord Stark raised an eyebrow, but motioned for Steffon to continue.
The plan was beginning to come together in Steffon's mind. "The tournament in our honor is only days away. At it, I will approach you and my father about my growing love for the lady Margaery and request we move the date of the wedding forward. Mace Tyrell is fool enough to believe his daughter's looks alone would cause me to be smitten and should agree because it secures his power. Furthermore, the Reach will be bound to the Crown through blood. That will guarantee they raise up arms if the worst shall happen. And, it will give us the added benefit of having your son in the city. Should we anger my grandfather greatly enough that we end up with a rebellion from the Westerlands, you can send Robb home straight away and he can lead the Northern army back down and join up with the Riverlands. We will have the Westerlands outnumbered and contained."
"I am not willing to use my sin like that. He is still just a boy," Lord Stark spat out through gritted teeth. "Perhaps Jon Umber can lead the army, but not Robb.
"He won't be a boy forever, Lord Stark. If you raised him to be the man you are, then he will feel duty bound to lead the Northern forces. They wouldn't respect him otherwise."
"And, what of you, Steffon. Are you willing to sacrifice your own happiness in such a manner?"
Steffon nodded. "I never had a choice in who I would marry. While I would prefer the original plan for the engagement, my duty to the realm comes first."
"You understand the Tyrells are looking to use you for their own political power? Mace Tyrell has never been subtle about his ambitions and his mother is a schemer on par with any in the realm. Be careful to not let yourself be used in the process."
"In this case, Lord Stark, I prefer their machinations. As long as we know Mace Tyrell only wishes to increase the power of his family, I'll happily allow it to happen. They don't represent a threat to the stability of the realm."
"As long as you're sure."
"I have one final question, Lord Stark. Who else knows what you've told me?"
"I put together the pieces after being led to Tobho Mott by Petyr Baelish. I don't know if he knows the entire truth, but he knows something is amiss. And I wouldn't put it past Varys to know either."
"And I would think it was Baelish who led you to believe that Uncle Tyrion tried to kill your son, correct?"
Lord Stark nodded. "He was a childhood companion of my wife. I doubt he would do anything to harm her."
Steffon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. While it was true that he didn't know LAdy Catelyn well, he doubted that she alone would be the one person Littlefinger wouldn't harm if it meant he would gain a higher position in life. It was far more likely that Littlefinger was aiming to use Lady Catelyn in a way to elevate himself and possibly claim her as well.
"I wouldn't trust Littlefinger, Lord Stark. The man would set the world on fire if it meant he could be king of ashes. Either way, this is a complication we cannot afford. Whatever we do from here on out, we must keep between ourselves. If those two were to learn of our plan, it could all come crumbling down."
"We still need you protected, Steffon. If our plan goes wrong, your life will be in danger. Is there anyone you trust?"
Steffon's mind whirled with the people in his life. For obvious reasons his father was out. Uncle Stannis was duty bound, but much too straight forward for this sort of plan. Uncle Renly was too much involved with the Tyrells. Uncle Tyrion was still a Lannister. Only one person came to mind.
Steffon nodded and stood up, opening the door to the solar. "Ser Bonifer, would you join us please?"
The older knight, who had been stock still against the wall, looked confused, but stood straight and followed his charge.
Lord Stark was already pouring the older knight a drink and motioning for him to sit down.
The knight took the proffered seat, but refused the drink with a polite wave of his hand. "It would dishonor my vows to drink while I am on duty, Lord Stark."
"Very well."
Steffon, who had been standing since letting Ser Bonifer into the room, turned to face the man who had been his protector for the better part of the last four years. "Ser Bonifer, you have been by my side every day for years now and there is no man I trust more than you."
"I'm honored you think so, My Prince. But, I must admit, I am curious as to why you summoned me in here."
"Ser, do your vows extend to protecting my secrets?"
"I made a vow to the Father above that I would do all in my power to keep you from harm. If that includes protecting your secrets, then so be it."
For the first time that night, Steffon smiled warmly. "Good. What we are about to tell you, Ser Bonifer, cannot be shared with anyone outside of this room."
End Of Chapter Ten
Author's Note: Again, my apologies for the long wait. Life has a way of sneaking up on you. I hope this chapter was worth it, however. The plot is finally beginning to move. If you would like, please leave a review.