295 AC
Riding out from the Gates of the Moon left him with a feeling of bittersweetness. On one hand, Steffon was happy to know that he would soon be reunited with his family after so long; he longed to see his mother and father again, to hug his twin after several years apart, and to meet his youngest brother and sister for the first time. But on the other hand, he couldn't help the sadness he felt whenever he saw the banners of crowned stags, black-iron studs bordered with runes, a trio of ravens holding hearts, red castles, broken black wheels on fields of green, nine stars on a gold saltire and black field, six silver bells, and only the gods knew how many others. He knew that it would likely be a long time before he was able to return to Runestone, his haven and home for the last seven years, and now he was leaving it behind for some hellish viper pit on the whim of a man he hadn't seen since he was a sniveling child.
If only people would just leave me be, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed dejectedly, glancing outside towards the afternoon light gleaming through the porthole. At first light, their party had ridden to Gulltown, a bustling mercantile city where the prince had stumbled upon a skilled healer who he invited into his employ on the behest of Ondrew, the two were familiar with each other. In Gulltown, they were greeted by Rowen Arryn, patriarch to a lesser branch of House Arryn. Lord Rowen was a peculiar man in his opinion in the way that he seemed both young and old simultaneously, there was little conversation between their retinue and the welcoming party.
They had set sail on a ship hugging the eastern coast to avoid trouble with the Ironborn, whose longships flying sails of gold krakens with tentacles writhing and reaching against a black field were becoming an everyday sighting, a sign of the ironmen's growing boldness according to Lord Royce. The earlier hours they spent sailing down the Narrow Sea were filled with merriment with the crew and much to his amusement, Robar's seasickness which he believed to have been long gone had made a return. He still did not like the sea, and it seemed that it bore him no love either. Overall, the journey from Runestone to Gulltown had been disappointingly uneventful, the Black Prince had silently held out hope for a skirmish of some kind with the Hill Tribesmen, something to get his blood pumping a bit.
The Stag's party had paid several golden dragons to a Tyroshi captain named Moreo Tumitis for passage to the Crownlands where he supposed they would dock in a port such as Duskendale and finish their journey on horseback. From what Captain Tumitis had assured them, their coin had been well spent as the ship which they sailed, the Stormdancer, was the fastest ship in his fleet. Steffon didn't know if it was the man's duping smile or his outrageous green forked beard, but he doubted his words.
He sat up from his relatively comfortable bed and gazed out into the sea, and let loose another sigh. They were getting closer to the capital and his stomach was churning like the sea with each passing moment. Is this revenge for laughing at Robar's seasickness? His uncle's words had stayed with him for several nights like a lover willfully ignoring blatant signals and overstaying her welcome. A more naive part of himself wanted to dismiss it as nothing more than the cynical ravings of a bitter man jaded by life, but he knew that Tyrion's words held credence. The court was sure to stalk him like a shadowcat hunting a ram, in his bones he knew. Some would adjudicate him from a distance and others directly, but all would be testing him for malleability, feeling him out for the best way to turn Prince Steffon of the House Baratheon into their puppet.
Try as they might, I will be no one's puppet, I cut my strings long ago, he reassured himself. King's Landing would undoubtedly be the first of many proving grounds where many would heed his words and even more would be watchful of his actions. Steffon was sure the entire realm knew of his impending arrival by now and had all their little ducks in a row, eager to play another round in the Game of Thrones, in the pursuit of power and influence.
From what was already known to him, the least likely of all Great Houses to be present in the capital were the Martells and Greyjoys. Balon the Buffoon was likely sitting in the dimly-lit chambers of Pyke, licking his wounds and stewing over his poorly thought out rebellion which cost the lives of his eldest sons and the custody of his only remaining son who had since then been an unofficial hostage of Lord Eddard Stark in case the Lord Reaper began to entertain thoughts of independence and returning to the "Old Way" again.
The Martells were even less likely to show up to celebrate the eldest son and daughter belonging to House Baratheon of King's Landing, not with pure intentions at least. During what those south of Prince's Pass called the Usurper's War, Lord Tywin's pet monsters Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch had entered Maegor's Holdfast to execute the remaining royals as a sign to the new regime that House Lannister was in no way loyal to the Targaryens. Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys were murdered in a most gruesome fashion in front of their mother who was then raped by one of her children's murderers with the blood of her son still on his hands.
And I'm expected to inherit this damnable mess, humorless laughter echoed in his cabin. He was young, too young, maybe five when he overheard two servants quietly gossiping about it while he snuck around in the kitchens for sweets. In retrospect, that day was likely the anniversary of House Baratheon's rise to dominance over the Seven Kingdoms, excluding Dorne, yet people seemed to be comfortable ignoring that his House rose through war, rape, gruesome murder, and ill-advised marriage alliances but the great game oftentimes took dark turns without warning. Steffon massaged his temples and focused on the sea of nothingness that ebbed and flowed in his mind's eye. He thought of the boy he used to run around the Red Keep with from sunrise to sunset, Lord Denys Arryn's son, Artys. The prince remembered the little falcon as a smiling boy with canary yellow hair and pale blue eyes. He had practically grown up with Artys for eight years and wondered who he would see in the place of the boy he used to know. A lean figure too old to be a boy and yet, too young to be a man? An arrogant fool corrupted by the king's court and accustomed to receiving anything his heart desired? The Lord Hand's son and heir looking to return to the crown prince's good graces?
There are no true friends in King's Landing, Tyrion's words came to mind once more, thoroughly annoying him, only those who wish to ride your coat-tails as you rise or step over you as you fall.
Being in the admittedly comfortable, dare he say, the privileged position of heir to the Iron Throne and grandson to the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Steffon had come to accept the reality that nearly everyone outside of his immediate families and trusted sworn shield sang whatever tune they believed he wished to hear, ready to change it again if he looked the slightest bit displeased or uninterested. It was a jarring concept to internalize which gave way to his paranoia and growing cynicism, but that same paranoia, that same cynicism, was growing into shrewdness and pragmatism with the help of Maester Ondrew and many others. The maester had explained in his own convoluted way that the complex machinations drawn upon for the sake of garnering power were nothing more than a single piece amongst several in man's nature to be used for the sake of survival. And yet, no one ever forbade him from flipping such a dangerous trait on its head and turning it back against those who would try to use him and his for all their worth.
Prince Steffon turned to his bedside table for the journey and reached out for the familiar leather texture of one of his favorite books, Lives of Four Kings, which was supposedly a must-read for every lordling, princes more so. Grand Maester Kaeth provided a clear and detailed account of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. Four Targaryen Kings ruled chronologically, though it never mentioned the reign of Viserys the Second, a monarch who reigned for little more than a year. His reforms towards the royal household and its functions established a new royal mint, created efforts to increase trade across the Narrow Sea, and positive revisions to the already progressive code of laws established by Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Steffon believed that with enough time, Viserys could have been viewed in the present day in a similar light to the Old King if he hadn't died of a sudden illness in which he was then succeeded by Aegon the Unworthy during the summer of 172 AC.
While not the Jade Compendium or Engines of War, Lives of Four King was a good read though slightly overrated in his opinion. It gave a good grasp on ruling and the common pitfalls associated with the burden of kingship.
"My prince?" Ser Rolland's voice cut through his internal rambling like butter, and for the life of him, the young prince couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips after realizing he likely wouldn't be doing many activities during the voyage. "My prince, we're fast approaching Maidenpool."
"Am I allowed to have nothing in this life?" He wondered aloud, though the irony was not lost on him. Grumbling to himself, Steffon collected his belongings, stacking his scattered books on the bedside table. The cabin door swung open and with an acknowledging nod, the prince and his sworn shield marched through the lower deck and onto the docks where a stablehand had already prepared their horses. Their retinue rode hard through many towns and villages, and through the Antlers before stopping for lunch at the Dun Fort, a castle at the center of Duskendale which overlooked the port town. After the extinction of House Darklyn in 277 AC, lordship over the town had passed over to House Rykker and remained in their hands after the transition of power between Houses Targaryen and Baratheon.
After lunch, the prince changed his attire from what suited the temperate weather of the Vale in favor of something fitting the humid climate of the Crownlands. He chose a luxurious tunic imported from and dyed in Tyrosh in the colors of his House. Steffon rode at the head of the column with his fostered family, casually chatting with Robar with Ser Rolland not far behind as they came upon a hill overlooking the river and city. Robar's mouth fell open like a fish out of water, speechless at the sight. The massive city of King's Landing spread across the land below nestled at the side of Blackwater Bay.
I'd bet it still reeks of shit and despair, Steffon smiled as they steadily rode closer to the Dragon Gate. There were many things he was looking forward to and held out hope that his father would allow most of it. Steffon loved his father, but as he aged, he realized that Robert Baratheon wasn't the best father or king. If he were being honest, Steffon believed his father would drink himself to death within the next five years. They approached the Dragon Gate and passed through with little trouble after the guardsmen noticed the royal banner of the crowned stag prancing about in the wind and continued their progress. On and on, they rode from the Dragon Gate through cobbled streets, past shops and taverns and the little homes of smallfolk, moving slowly through crowds dispersed by City Watchmen, better known as gold cloaks. Steffon knew they gathered to see the crown prince who had left the capital almost a decade ago. They did not know him nor did he know them, but they would be acquainted soon enough.
It seemed like several lifetimes had passed before they saw and then crossed the bridge leading to the Red Keep where even more people, mainly nobles had already gathered, and when he saw his family, Steffon allowed himself to breathe and smile. As he dismounted, the prince handed over the reins of his horse to be taken to the stable master for oats, hay, water, and rest. He moved off towards the crowd with a broad smile, and a curious look in his eye directed at the black-haired beauty approaching him.
"Brother, I've missed you greatly!" She cried out, colliding into him a moment later, and gripped him with strength that no woman should've possessed. Jocelyn's gotten taller, she looks so much like mother now, thought Steffon, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips while embracing his sister after almost a decade apart. He heard muffled sounds in the crook of his neck where the princess' head rested and felt a pull at his heartstrings. Steffon was wary of his sister who on the night of a fearsome storm, dragged him out of their mother by his ankle alongside her. While he had spent the last eight years at Runestone with the Royces, Jocelyn had stayed in the city of snakes and vulture, with noble lords and ladies who played the role of a friend, courter, whatever sycophantic figure they felt the need to play, and only the gods knew what effect that had. Did she take it in stride as he did, accepting and writing it off as human nature, or had she cultivated a more sinister nature to feel out his susceptibility towards her?
He wanted to cast out the thought of his sister attempting to play the part of puppeteer with him, but he couldn't afford to think otherwise, not yet. Hope for the best, but expect the worst. Steffon knew he would need to make a good first impression to stave off any nobles looking for signs of a promising opportunity to divide and conquer until he was alone again. With a practiced, gentle firmness Steffon pulled from his twin and gave a smile.
"Jocelyn, it's so good to see you, sister!" He said with half-rehearsed joy, "You've grown taller and more beautiful than I remember."
"You've grown tall as well brother, nearly as tall as father." The princess replied, though, by the brief narrowing of her blue eyes and the hesitation in her voice, Steffon knew his attempt at mummery was a half-success at best. "You also seem far more...serene than I remember." Her second string of words was more of a question than an observation, that much was clear. His demeanor had surprised her, which meant it likely surprised the observing nobles. Good, good.
The prince's eye followed his sister's to a curious pair of children, young, blonde-haired, and green-eyed dressed in finery favoring the colors of House Lannister, his mother's influence no doubt. Jocelyn beckoned the two closer and they did so with little trepidation, a testament to their faith in her though they snuck what they believed were subtle, shy glances at him, who likely seemed more like some strange giant towering over them than their unascertained older brother just a few years their senior.
"Steffon," she began with a proud smile, her arms wrapped around their shoulders as a means of both support and protection, "I'd like you to meet your youngest siblings, Tommen and Myrcella. Myrcella, Tommen, this is your eldest brother, Steffon." He knew first impressions were important especially for those blessed or cursed to be someone of his station. Steffon from a young age was cursed with a resting expression described as an aloof yet irritated, sort of boredom, it made him seem hostile and unapproachable from what Lady Alysanne told him, and as he stared down at his brother and sister while holding back a coo and laugh at Myrcella's adorable curtsey and Tommen's awkward bow, Steffon knew from the look in their eyes that his natural expression was visible.
He allowed a comfortable silence to permeate the air as a sea of calmness washed over his being like waves crashing onto the beaches of Greenstone, applauding himself mentally when their hesitancy vanished from sight.
"My little brother and sister, how I've longed to meet you both after so many years away now!" He roared, truly overjoyed, scooping them up in an arm each and hugging them tightly as they smiled up at him with what he thought was admiration. He then paused, set them down, and spoke again. "Myrcella, I heard you were growing more beautiful by the day but no one told me you had surpassed all the noble ladies in the Realm at such a young age." The golden princess blushed a cherry-red, stammering in a poor attempt to find her words. He looked to Tommen, "And you brother of mine, I heard you were quite brave and looking to be a knight one day, we may have to lock you in the Maidenvault to prevent all those noble young ladies from sinking their claws into you."
After finishing the expected pleasantries with his twin and younger siblings, Steffon's head swiveled in the direction of the main entrance and locked eyes with gleaming green eyes that regarded him with a predatory glint that brought forth flashing images of several experiences his mind had suppressed over the years. Once upon a time, Queen Cersei was a warm and loving woman who used to hug and kiss him with a mother's tender care but no longer. Those days had dwindled more and more since he was a child, an argument with his father, Steffon believed which left him with the beautiful but cold woman that stood before him.
The mummer's farce continues, he thought and refortified himself into the perfect prince with a mere exertion. "Mother, how I've missed you! It's been too long!"
"Steffon, it's good to see you." She gave him the same false smile she had given to so many others after speaking her hollow words and embraced him as was expected of the queen reunited with her firstborn son after so long. "You truly are the spitting image of your father."
The prince's ring finger twitched against the small of his mother's back, a sign of his discomfort. He knew what she meant by that, it was no compliment nor was it an innocent comment but a dig at him and his pride. Do you hate me, mother? Frustrated thoughts neared the surface, I would be eternally grateful for you to make up your mind about whether you love or hate me.
"Well, I am my father's son," Steffon responded with an aloofness she had not expected judging by her initial reaction but curious when her eyes, the same color as her ceremonial tiara, widened before narrowing. A subject for later. He refused to spare her a second glance as he moved past, she would be up all night nursing her wounded pride, he hoped.
The crown prince then came face to face with another green-eyed and golden-haired boy who had been watching him with a different sort of wariness than Tommen and Myrcella had. When he still lived as the eldest prince in King's Landing, Joffrey tried to follow Steffon around everywhere he and Jocelyn went, which he never minded. Joffrey had a puerileness about him, he knew, but nothing the crown prince couldn't handle. A few pointed looks here, some stern words there and Joff was tolerable again until their mother sunk her claws, which seemed more like a manticore's than a lion's due to the venom which they held into him, once more.
Steffon's dark blue eyes met his brother's own, more of a sea-green than emerald, in his opinion. He's tall, the spitting image of Uncle Jaime, mayhaps the lion has overpowered the stag, the crown prince thought before taking a better look at his brother's physique. Gangly as he is, he could stand to partake in a few extra meals, gods know, I could shatter his breastbone with a well-placed punch.
Prince Joffrey spoke first. "You've gotten taller, brother, the spitting image of our father as mother said." Steffon frowned, they were similar words as that of their mother but while Cersei's words had a disdainful bite to them, Joffrey's words had a nipping bitterness about them.
"I have, little brother." The crown prince smiled, offering his hand to Joffrey and hiding his frown when his brother shook it. Weak grip with a woman's softness, he remarked in his head, what kind of prince makes it to twelve without learning to wield a blade?
Steffon released his brother's hand and pulled him into an embrace despite his brother's tense posture. Whatever afflicts you be damned, brother, we must portray a united front even if that's far from the truth. "How have you been all these years?"
"I have been well, thank you," he said after a few short seconds of awkwardness. Steffon hid his frown once more and nodded, patting his brother's shoulder and moving forward again. The guards outside the Keep, red cloaks sent from Rock, gave him berth and opened the doors to the Throne Room. He walked in, looking around noticing how much smaller it all seemed while still being massive enough to dwarf even the largest of giants.
"There he is!" A boisterous man's voice cried out with a mix of pride and pure joy causing the court to come to life with hushed whispers as the eyes of many knights, lords, and ladies honed in on him with stares filled lust; lust for influence and power, lust for knowledge, lust for him but that was tabled for a later date, he had all the time in the world to entertain himself. Steffon's eyes focused on what was ahead of him, his birthright, the iron throne, a heaping monstrosity made from the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies and forged in dragonfire. Tearing his gaze from the throne he would one day inherit and towards the man crossing the long hall in his direction, the prince would've been a liar to claim that he wasn't shocked at what he saw. During his years in the Vale, Steffon had heard his fair share of rumors concerning his lord father, of how he was growing fatter with each inconsequential feast which had been confirmed by Tyrion but that he expected. With so many years without war, it was common for men to grow comfortable and cease drilling which in turn gave way to those same men growing plump as a partridge, but this? He never expected his father to sink so low, he remembered a bearded giant, strong as an ox, tossing him in the air so high, he feared he might hit his head on a cloud. This oversized, crowned lummox of an imposter couldn't be his father, and yet he was.
Robert Baratheon was a man of tall stature even by the standards of Westerosi nobles, two heads taller than most men. The king stood at six and a half feet tall, a veritable giant compared to lesser men but his fat which covered all that used to be muscle when he was still the fearsome Demon of the Trident, made him appear even larger and his coarse beard, far too overgrown to not be hiding three extra chins at the minimum, was thick and black with patches of grey. "My son, my heir! Gods, look at you! You're practically a man now! I remember when I used to look like that, a maiden's fantasy, I was! That valemen air did you good, boy!" He called out in excitement, close enough for the crown prince to see that his father's face was now ruby red and shiny with sweat, a sign of his exhaustion, a testament to his poor constitution. And his clothes, gods above and devils below, his clothes were stained with wine and what he could only assume was his last meal.
Absolutely disgusting, his father looked like highborn shit and Steffon could feel his mood plummeting into the Seven Hells with his father's every step. Keeping up appearances, Prince Steffon wore a genial smile and met his sire halfway with a confident stride, back straight and head held high. He was a prince of the blood, the crown prince of a new dynasty, a prince of the great and furious storm. He could not and would not appear weak, it was akin to death for him both figuratively and literally.
"Thank you for the warm reception, Father!" He called out with false glee, though his words rang true, "It's good to be home."
"Aye but enough pleasantries we've much to discuss with you back home where you belong. The welcome feast will begin later tonight to celebrate your homecoming and then when the time comes to celebrate the namedays of my eldest son and daughter, we'll have a great tourney, which I expect you to participate in, the people must know that their crown prince can defend them and hold this damnable throne against anyone would think to take it." Said Robert after embracing him, his storm blue eyes hardened and swathed in darkness. He had always been no-nonsense when it came to martial pursuits but with the Targaryens somewhere in Essos, Robert's obsession with his son being a warrior had only grown with the years. The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms pulled back and smiled when he noticed that his son was nearly his equal in height, taller than even his Uncle Renly and just an inch or so short of his Uncle Stannis. Resting his hands on Steffon's shoulders and waved for the prince to follow.
He nodded before turning to wave goodbye to his siblings who returned the wave as he moved to follow his father. A pair of men in the snow-white cloaks and golden armor of the Kingsguard walked in synchronized steps, one in front of his father and another in the back, both ready to cut down any who meant to harm the king as they moved to what he remembered as the council chambers. He noticed the White Sword guarding the entrance to the chambers, Red Ronnet the Righteous, and nodded in acknowledgment, receiving a nod and kind smile in return. Ser Ronnet was the Knight of Griffin's Roost who found glory and shown such valor during the Greyjoy Rebellion that King Robert on the behest of his Hand and Lord Commander, Denys Arryn and Ser Barristan Selmy, invited the son of Ronald Connington to join the prestigious and ancient order of the Kingsguard.
Stepping into the council chambers he sighed. Indeed, King's Landing was sure to be the very first test of many in the coming years.
Author's Note: I've recently come across a dilemma (to me at least) that may ruin this story. I feel that my pacing while trying to develop character dynamics in this AU may be going too slow. An example of this would be the routes of chapter four: the welcome feast vs a three-day timeskip to Jocelyn's POV.
Maybe I'm overthinking because this is my first time putting a story out there, but I felt it would be a good idea to get the overall consensus anyway.
sniperbro1998: I really like it so far I'm looking forward to Steffon's interaction with his parents and especially his sister, Jocelyn, which I'm guessing is a female Joffrey.
ー I'm glad you're diggin' it, and nope, Joffrey still exists here. Jocelyn's more of a female Cersei without the incest, sociopathic tendencies (to a certain degree), and delusions of grandeur
Draughtjunkman: There is no such thing as a "queen consort" since the male title takes predominance over the female. hence there is no need to specify that the queen is only the consort.
ー Maybe I'm wrong here but I'm pretty sure that "Queen Consort" is definitely a real title, though rarely used, it signifies that the person in question is only royal by marriage and not by blood. Cersei is the Queen Consort because she married into royalty, Rhaella simply held the title of Queen since she was of royal blood. Consorts are all a thing in the principality of Dorne. Mellario (Prince Doran's wife) held the title of Princess Consort since she wasn't already a part of a principality or royal dynasty.
DannyBlack70: As I said before on Reddit I'm really looking forward to more of this. Having Denys instead of Jon is really intriguing choice and I'm definitely liking the OC so faar
ー Good to see you, man, glad you're enjoying the story.
daspeedforce: Poor Steffon. Forced to deal with his whore mother, neglectful idiotic drunk of a father, and the rest of the rats of Kings Landing. Not to mention his evil little brother, impulsive hardheaded Jaime, baelish's schemes, varys' tittering, then getting caught between Stannis and Jon Arryn investigation, used to back their theory.
ー Yup, this exactly. He already wasn't too happy about returning to King's Landing anyway but with all the shit that's going down, I wouldn't be surprised if he holds a grudge for being forced back.