10th Moon of 295 A.C.
On the stone edge of her balcony with her head inclined towards the night sky, Princess Jocelyn listened to the songs of black-crowned night herons whose song heralded the end of the day. The moon, which seemed clear enough to point out every last crater, glowed ethereally as it loomed over the world, casting its image over the surface of the Blackwater. In her opinion, it held a feminine sort of beauty that the gods seemed to only deem a select few worthy of. Her eyes made note of the velvety dark blue backdrop of the skies as her mind wandered towards her brother, Steffon.
Seeing her little brother again was something that Jocelyn had looked forward to and dreamed of since the day he left on horseback heading for the Vale. She had expected him to visit King's Landing or attend a tourney over the years but alas, they always seemed to be attending tourneys leagues away and her father never seemed to care enough to press the issue.
Then, fortunate news found her by way of court gossipers who whispered that the king had ended the crown prince's fostering and summoned him home. Not long after the information reached her ears, it spread like wildfire on a bed of oil as knights and lords both high and low speculated in their circles on why the prince's fostering had been cut short without further explanation as the king was not obliged to reveal such reasons to his court or to his own daughter it seemed. In mere hours after the announcement, rumors of all kinds had circulated. Some whispered that her brother had been caught abed with Lord Royce's eldest daughter, while others suggested that he had fallen in love with a blacksmith's daughter and planned to marry the girl at the Great Sept of Baelor upon his return. The most bizarre hearsay that found her ears was that her father wished to wed her and Steffon like the Targaryens of old as to preserve their bloodline, the bloodline of storm kings.
When he rode across the moat and dismounted from his black palfrey, she was sure the only thing the court wondered was why the prince seemed so unlike himself?
And much to her chagrin, that very question had been eating away at Jocelyn from midday to midnight.
She had built an image of her brother within her mind's eye over the years of his absence on what he would be like the day he headed the party through one of the seven gates into King's Landing with thousands of rearing black stags, crowned around the neck in gold, the banners of their Royal House, flying proudly in the wind.
Boisterous. Happy. Arrogant.
These were the characteristics she expected Steffon to measure to the day they finally reunited after nearly ten years and he shattered them all like glass the moment her eyes clashed against his eyes, such an odd shade that they almost seemed to trapped between the stormy blue associated with House Baratheon and the haunting violet of House Targaryen.
Have they changed after all these years or were they always that way? She wondered, and her inability to decide between the two possibilities did nothing more than infuriate her.
The prince she embraced outside the Red Keep was not the one who had left years ago. He wore her brother's face but spoke with a completely different tone of voice, smiled false smiles, and carried himself in a way that was alien to her.
It was all so wrong like someone pulled him from his body and replaced him with someone that was still familiarizing themselves with their mummer's farce and wrestling with their true identity. That was the only thing that made sense and the only answer she would accept.
Jocelyn remembered the image of who her brother had been when he was still within the halls of the Red Keep with her through a far-eye of nostalgia. He was a rambunctious little thing back then with a bratty demeanor and a worse temper than even Joffrey that made an appearance whenever he was denied something, such as an audience with their mother or father. On days when her brother was feeling particularly mischievous, he would skip his daily lessons with the Grand Maester and somehow sneak out of the Red Keep to explore on his own, much to their mother's disapproval and their father's odd approval, though he eventually assigned Steffon a sworn shield after the seventh or eighth instance. Back then, Jocelyn herself could effortlessly convince him to do what she wanted, those had been the days.
Earlier, when she saw him it was like seeing a delineation of what her father might have looked like in his glory days come to life. He had grown quite handsome, she had to admit, with hair dark as a moonless night tied back and alluring eyes, Jocelyn was sure that there would soon be a wave of maidens flocking to her as a stepping stone for her brother's affections.
Just the thought of it all caused a light throbbing in her forehead as she watched the drilling guardsmen below, wanting nothing more than to be down there herself to practice her archery. Her mother had forbidden her from it until after the tourney and feast had finished, the cursed woman had even forbidden her from going hawking with Alayne in the Kingswood! Jocelyn sent a silent prayer to the Mother that her own would finally temper her overbearing and critical nature. She couldn't rely on her parents for much more than the merest of support but with Steffon by her side where he belonged, things could finally return to how they were when they were still children. He would be a tough nut to crack, that much was sure, but she would get to him soon enough. He could not deny her a thing growing up.
A knight in armor the color of snow, his cape fluttering majestically in the warm, summer breeze like in the stories caught her eye and curiosity, but the woman dressed in rich golds and crimson had captured her attention and with that, her malice. Without her knowing, the princess went for her quiver and took out an arrow, twirling it between two fingers glaring down at the woman. Speak of the devil and she shall appear, Jocelyn thought bitterly, a rehashing of the old saying.
She eyed her like a hawk from her perched position on the balcony, smiling at her internal dialogue.
I could make the shot, you know, she mused. No one would ever truly know from where the arrow flew. The tales would say the archer had been sent by Targaryen loyalists looking to strike at the Baratheon dynasty and weaken it, yet the assassin's identity was never discovered.
"My princess, your bath has been prepared as commanded," came a woman's accented voice from her bath chambers. Jocelyn carefully maneuvered off the edge and walked back into her bedchambers, an admittedly extravagant main room dressed in rich black and gold, a lush mosaic of feminine beauty. The sweet scent of lavender and honey met her nose and she stepped into the chambers, closing the door behind her.
As she laid in the bath, Jocelyn Baratheon sighed quietly and pretended to be deep in thought for the next few minutes as her most trusted servant, the woman simply known as Amyra finished off the last few details of her bath. Try as she might, the princess just couldn't keep her eyes off of Amyra. She was just so beautiful, more beautiful than any commoner had any right to be and she couldn't help thinking about what she desired.
There was one instance, a single second, where Jocelyn believed she saw a flickering flame of desire in her maid's chestnut brown eyes as her pale hands roamed and washed her inner thigh before it vanished. Perhaps her eyes were playing a cruel trick on her, perhaps they were not. Regardless, nothing more occurred between the two. She was washed, dried, perfumed, dressed, and left burning with desire before she dismissed her for the night, and sat down at the vanity to brush her hair. Loathe as she may have been to wake at such an ungodly hour, she was expected to be present at the welcoming feast.
Jocelyn took a look at herself in the myrish hanging mirror above her vanity and sighed in admiration. Not yet a woman grown, she has already possessed beauty surpassing even her mother, a fact which the dark-haired princess took great pleasure in. Her formerly disheveled black mane was now tamed in a simple long braid, something her mother would likely see as a slight against her but it mattered not. Outside, she could hear servants muttering as they were doing their duties.
A knock at her door took her attention away, as did the voice from behind it.
"Princess Jocelyn, may I enter?"
"You may," She replied, standing from the vanity and straightening her dress. The handle twisted and turned, the chamber doors drew backward, and in walked a White Sword. "To what do I owe the occasion, Ser?" The princess inclined her head after finishing minute adjustments to her dress colored in the black and gold of House Baratheon.
The Knight of Griffin's Roost was a man of average height with a rugged sort of comeliness by way of the shallow scar running across his left cheek, accentuated with his red hair and forest-green eyes. The Son of House Connington had become her favorite Kingsguard over the years due to his bravery. The white knight bowed low, an inside joke between the two of them, and gave her one of his best smiles.
"King Robert has commanded all sworn brothers to escort the royal family to the great hall for the welcoming feast in Prince Steffon's honor. I was selected to escort you."
"Well it's best not to keep them waiting," she said but grumbled inside her mind. Finally, I was hoping we could get this over and done with sometime this decade . Princess Jocelyn linked arms with the White Sword and allowed him to escort her through the long, winding halls of Maegor's Holdfast, dodging sycophant lords and ladies looking to introduce their simpering daughters and boring sons as per usual. Jocelyn smiled when the delectable scents of freshly-roasted quail slathered in honey and saffron.
"You seem to be distraught, my princess."
Jocelyn, having been caught unaware, tensed before she met the knight's gaze. "Distraught, ser? What do you mean?"
"I don't wish to intrude upon your musings, but I noticed you have a far-away look in your eye as if you're trying to solve a puzzle that only you seem to be trying to solve. Are you wondering about Prince Steffon's change in demeanor?"
She snorted in such an unladylike way that had her mother heard, Jocelyn would never hear the end of it. "Oh, just splendid. An anointed knight of the kingsguard with unprecedented piousness and the abundant wisdom of a maester. You're a man of many talents, Ser Ronnet."
"I simply do what I'm able and adhere to the vows I first swore, my princess." The red-haired knight responded, holding a hand to his breast and giving a hardy laugh like a true stormlander. "Why does the prince confound you so?"
"Had you been an ordinary knight, I would have your head for prying into the personal matters of royalty." She finished haughtily and with an icy stare capable of cutting even the strongest of men down to size, but not Ronnet the Righteous.
"Aye, that's true," the stormlander laughed in the spacious halls. "Luckily, I happen to be quite the prestigious knight and have the honor of being a certain princesses' favored Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard."
"And oh so humble!" Jocelyn teased and smacked him lightly on the arm, though sighing a moment later. "If you're just dying for gossip all you have to do is ask. He seems distant is all, like, he's playing the main role in a mummer's farce that no one else is aware of. Do you think there could be a Faceless Man impersonating him?"
Honest to the gods, she had asked a serious and well-meaning question, though apparently Princess Jocelyn and the Knight of Griffin's Roost had differentiating views on the matter as a small chuckle escape his lips before he could stop it, his face wrinkled in amusement, even more, when her blue eyes bore into him, filled with malice.
"Forgive me, princess, but I didn't mean to laugh," The knight said in between more laughter. "I just...find it odd that in all the reasons you've come up with to explain why your brother's demeanor has changed, you've grazed over the most obvious and logical reason."
"And pray tell, ser, in your infinite wisdom, what reason have I overlooked?" Jocelyn failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Ser Ronnet, meanwhile, shrugged. "Is it so out of the question that he changed on the inside just as he changed on the outside? Boys grow into men. Girls grow into women. Our experiences dictate who we are, and Prince Steffon is no different. I would think it best to accept him as he is, instead of clinging to who he was."
Truly, she had not thought of it that way. She imagined the dark-haired, blue-eyed rambunctious boy her brother had been with hope, though there was still a conflict within herself.
Reaching the closed doors to the great hall, she looked up to see the servants scurrying back and forth like rats, hard at work making last-minute adjustments for the feast, faint figures of crimson and gold caught her eye from the right before a pair of bodies crashed against her own. She looked down and embraced her brother and sister with a soft smile. "Don't you two look like the most beautiful, most handsome little prince and princess there ever was?" The pair blushed and the three of them exchanged words, waiting for the rest of their family to arrive. Her mother and Joffrey were the first to arrive accompanied by their uncle and some other kingsguard. She saw the queen's eyes narrow at her plain braid, likely taking it as a slight of some kind.
Next, her father made his way down the hall with Steffon and Ser Barristan in tow, conversing quietly between themselves.
"Can we get this over with already? I've more important things to do at this ungodly hour?" Jocelyn cringed at the voice of her mother's golden brat. Joffrey had always been one to whine at the slightest inconvenience, even as a small child but as years went on he grew increasingly intolerable and like a fool, she thought it was because of Steffon's absence.
Jocelyn gave Joffrey a measuring look, one of disapproval and disgust. "I'm quite sure your left hand could use a long-overdue break, brother dearest," she said barely above her whisper but knew her mother had heard her when the lioness' green eyes hardened and turned on her. The Princess froze in shock, anticipation, and gods knew what else for what her mother might say or do but by the gods' grace, Cersei chose not to engage with her.
"Of course it is, Joff!" Her mother's eyes hard as stone softened as they turned to her precious cub and soothed him in a sweet tone she hadn't heard in years, "The realm must know that its future Lord Paramount of the Westerlands knows his way around vipers and vultures, even during a feast. And as Steffon's brother, you will be named his closest advisor and sit as Hand of the King on his small council just as your grandfather did for that mad fool, Aerys Targaryen."
She rolled her eyes as palliating rubbish continued to spew from her mother's mouth. Jocelyn had grown up overhearing her mother making asinine promises to Joffrey as if she held any real influence over the matter. She promised he would be a great knight and swordsman like their Uncle Jaime. She promised he would one day succeed their grandfather in ruling the Westerlands as the Lion of the Rock. And now she promised he would be the King's Hand for no other merit than simply coming out of the same woman as the crown prince.
Steffon couldn't be dimwitted enough to appoint Joffrey of all people to his small council, she assured herself.
We've had foolish kings before and we've had weak kings before. Cersei always gets what she wants, one way or another, a voice whispered a warning in her ear. Jocelyn's eyes widened and she whirled around to see who had snuck up on her but to her surprise, there was nothing behind her other than a long hallway decorated in black and gold and red.
Jocelyn Baratheon would be a liar if there wasn't a small part of her tucked away in the recess of her mind that didn't worry about whether her mother could get Steffon under her spell. She knew that she would surely make several attempts but hoped her brother could endure
"Regardless, Steffon has been gone for eight years and now he's home again," the Princess supplied her thoughts to the conversation. "We should all do our best and see to it that he does not feel alienated as the black stag of the family."
"You would know about being the black stag of the family, wouldn't you Jocelyn?" Said Joffrey and Jocelyn's face darkened, twisting into an expression of fury, spurned on by what she guessed was a glimmer of amusement and a slight smirk on her mother's perfectly sculpted face. Cersei was critical of all her children to an extent but while Steffon had been away, her overbearing nature had reared its ugly head at the Black Princess, only focusing on her precious golden lion to soothe or praise him and Jocelyn hated the both of them for it.
She hated Joffrey, his golden hair and green eyes, and his smug face whenever he said something he thought was clever.
She hated her mother, her golden hair and green eyes, and the scorn she turned her way for no reason at all.
She hated her father for how he never cared to protect her from the golden pair, for the black hair, and for the blue eyes she inherited from him.
Before she could respond, the wooden doors opened with a loud and lengthy groan, a testament to the age of the great hall, and the herald announced them. "Announcing His Grace, King Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. His Royal Consort, Queen Cersei of House Lannister. Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Steffon and Princess Jocelyn Baratheon, Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Joffrey, and Princess Myrcella Baratheon and His Royal Highness Prince Tommen Baratheon." He sang, taking in a long breath and dabbing his reddened face.
They walked in, father and mother first, then Jocelyn and Steffon, Myrcella and Joffrey followed, and Tommen walked behind them all. Jocelyn looked up to her brother to gauge his interest and to her disappointment, those eyes of his still seemed a thousand leagues away, but she smiled through it. Myrcella looked beautiful and would have songs written about her soon enough. Tommen was slowly shedding his baby fat and filling out as well, the maidens would be beating each other with blunted tourney swords soon for the opportunity to be his wife, whilst Joffrey was his horrible self, something that was better left up to interpretation. They filed into the throne room, and then took their places, the throne behind them, father right in front of it. Once father was seated they all took their places.
The king stood, and they all stood. Father held a cup of wine in his hand. He looked around the throne room, and then to his eldest son. "For eight years now, my son and heir have been in Runestone fostering under Lord Yohn Royce and his family, learning what it means to be a true man, learning the art of ruling and friendship. He has returned, and for that, we are most grateful. He has come back different, and for that, we are also grateful. Let us now raise a toast and celebrate, for our son has returned. To Prince Steffon!"
"To Prince Steffon!" The nobility cried, Jocelyn, glanced in her brother's direction again and noticed his eyes seemed bleary as if his mind was elsewhere though he somehow noticed her gaze and drank all the same. The King sat down and they all took their seats. Steffon and the Royces were sat to his father's right-hand side, whilst she, her mother, Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen were sat to father's left. A second later servants flew from the kitchens and began to serve food, starting off with a light soup.
Almost at once, the food was served, some sort of chicken with soup, she ate at a measured pace, for fear of her mother's ire. As the feast pursued, Jocelyn found herself nearly jumping to the hall's ceiling at the disturbance that was her father's laughter which boomed like thunder.
"Got a bit of an appetite in you, have you?" she looked up, fearing what it would mean if her father's question was being directed to her. Thankfully, she saw her father's head turned towards Steffon after leaning back and sighed.
"Yes, I haven't eaten since we were in Maidenpool. I've been starving for half the day." Steffon replied, suddenly returning to his senses with a smile though father seemed not to notice.
"Good, good. Now, dig in, eat, enjoy the food, before the vultures come, excluding the ones seated at our tables." He laughed and Steffon obliged and ate like a man possessed. Jocelyn ate at a measured pace and finished her starter after ten minutes. Judging from what she saw, her father was letting Steffon lead things tonight, for his father soon finished his food, putting his fork and knife down on his plate. The servants came and took the food from everyone else. She heard someone grumbling, but that was the law, if the king finished eating something, no matter what state your own food was in, you too were finished.
The next courses came and went. A sweet pumpkin soup. Ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs. Baked apples fragrant with cinnamon, her favorite. Yellow turnips soaked in butter. A monster of a boar with an apple in its mouth and roasted to perfection, but she didn't partake.
Later came sweetbreads and lamprey pie and blueberry tarts, though she ate no more than four tarts, savoring the sweet taste. Her father had grown louder with each course, which meant he was deeper in his cups than usual as befitted the occasion. From time to time Jocelyn could hear him laughing with Lord Royce and Lord Denys or roaring a command over the music and the clangor of plates and cutlery, but she could hear every other word.
Steffon meanwhile conversed with the Royces, laughing and joking, and although she wasn't a part of it, she still smiled until a hand trailed down her back and nails dug into her skin through the dress. Jocelyn was as still as a statue before mustering up the courage to turn to her right to see eyes the color of wildfire boring into her, though the seemingly kind smile hid the intense disdain well enough.
"You've quite the appetite tonight, don't you, sweetling? You truly are the daughter of Robert Baratheon."
"Forgive me, mother," she replied with a smile of her own and held a hand against her breast where her heart thumped like a war drum. "I forgot how women such as yourself lack an appetite as you approach your golden years. However, I must applaud for the skill in which your handmaidens powdered your face tonight, the crow's feet and worry lines are hardly noticeable."
Before Cersei could retort with another scathing remark, the music grew louder and people began to enter the floor to dance. Jocelyn tried her best to ignore the wretched woman, instead, rising from her seat at the high table and sweeping her gaze over the hall where lords, ladies, and knights danced with their partners. She saw Steffon who was red in the face either from anger, embarrassment, or both amplified by the wine glass in his hand, his sixth or seventh tonight, as he watched some comely, minor lord from the Westerlands dance with Ysilla Royce. Mayhaps, the gossipers had the right of it, and if anyone else noticed―which she was sure several attendees did―then court would surely be buzzing for quite a while.
Her gaze switched back to Steffon and much to her surprise, his dark eyes were already boring into her own, rather than the other way around. He gave her a strange look that lasted but a moment before he nodded and looked elsewhere.
What goes on in that head of yours, brother? She wondered to herself.
When those attending the feast began to switch partners, Jocelyn knew that she had only a few precious moments of tranquility until she was swarmed by highborn boys and men old enough to be her grandfather, looking to dance with her and "seduce" her. She would have none of it. Jocelyn could feel her heart thumping in her chest and an immeasurable pace, she knew what she wanted to do but feared what her mother might say, what the court might say but that wouldn't stop her.
She weaved through the crowd, ignoring the greetings and requests for dances, and made a beeline for one highborn boy she knew wouldn't dare try anything.
Ser Artys Arryn.
The Princess found the falcon lordling amidst a sea of highborn girls from various kingdoms all vying for his attention but as she etched closer and closer to their circle near the corner of the great hall, Jocelyn could feel their glares radiating off her skin with such heat and intensity that she would have been burnt toa crispy if looks could kill. She only smiled in return as there was no point in giving them the satisfaction of returning their hateful looks. The crowned stag does not acknowledge insects, it tramples them beneath its hooves.
She cleared her throat, ignoring the hateful stares and disheartened grumbling greetings of simpering little girls, and looked over to Lord Denys' heir. Artys looked over, his brow turned raised and his eyes wide in a cry for help. "Pardon my intrusion, Ser Artys," she said carefully, "But, I was wondering if you would care to dance?"
Her voice seemed to garner his attention as he turned his light blue eyes towards her and gave a charming smile and low bow. He was rather plain-looking, someone you would look at twice had he been born to a lesser lord, but his personality and martial talent made up for his perceived hindrance. "Princess Jocelyn, how wonderful it is to see you, though, I do feel unmanned by your unconventional approach."
I'm trying to give you an out, stupid boy, and you're going to take it, proprietary be damned! He winced from the fury brewing in her eyes and accepted his fate as she dragged him amidst the crowds before she was mobbed by invitations to dance.
Jocelyn offered her hand and a small smile. Artys took it with a grin and placed a hand on her waist. "You look beautiful, Jocelyn." He said as they swayed.
"Thank you. I must admit, you cleaned up rather well. Your drastic wardrobe change almost makes you unrecognizable," Jocelyn replied.
"This is the welcoming feast in the honor of the crown prince and my best friend who I've not seen in years. Could you imagine what my father would do?" Artys asked with a raised brow.
Jocelyn rolled her eyes, "Your father wouldn't harm a hair on your pretty little golden head and you know it. Steffon, though, he's different, no?"
Artys bit his lip, mulling it over, and paused his dancing. "Sure, but the same could be said for any of us."
"That's fair," Jocelyn admitted with sincerity, "But not to the same degree as him. It's almost like a Faceless Man is impersonating him."
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"You just did!" She giggled through a twirl, her dress floating from the spin.
"Don't be such a―by the Seven, I don't believe it!" Artys shouted mildly, earning an exasperated glare from her. His eyes scanned the room like the animal motif of his House's sigil with a look of amusement brightening them. "It looks like Steffon and Alayne are getting along well enough. I don't think I've seen her so red."
Jocelyn pulled back from the crownland-raised valemen to have a look at the two and much to her surprise, Steffon was indeed dancing with her friend, a golden-haired girl named Alayne Arryn who, just as the Falcon said, was flushed beet-red in the face as her brother whispered something in her ear. It contrasted well with her blue eyes as he spun the girl with skill she never expected him to have. The last time she'd seen him dance had been the feast before he left for Runestone when they were still learning how to waltz. She had grown frustrated with his lack of progress and had taken it upon herself to teach him.
Jocelyn remembered Steffon almost breaking her toes with his aggressive steps. The memory brought another smile to her face.
"Those two of all people? I thought they hated each other."
"It's just as I said before," the heir to the Eyrie began smugly. "People change. If friends can become enemies, then enemies can surely become friends."
Several good accidental stomps to the foot throughout the night had discouraged Artys Arryn from acting too smug. They continued to dance throughout the night, before eventually receiving another request.
"A thousand pardons, but you won't mind if I cut in will you, Artys?" came Steffon's voice as calm as still water. She noticed there was the slightest hint of a valemen's accent.
"Of course not, my friend, I think it's for the best, anyhow. The lords and ladies have noticed how distant the two of you seem. It's about time I get Robin to bed and hopefully, convince my lord father not to stay up too late tonight." The Young Arryn gave a good-natured smile and raised his hands in mock surrender, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I'll be in the courtyard at dawn if you wish to be tossed and knocked around a bit, Steff."
"Come noon, you'll be eating those words, Artys!" He called out, laughing as Artys of House Arryn's figure disappeared in the sea of dancing nobles leaving the two of them alone.
Steffon smiled at her knowingly, "You're nervous. Something to do with me one way or another, I'm sure. Is it because we haven't spoken much or because I just sent away a potential suitor and you're worried about my reaction?"
"I could ask you the same thing. Alayne looked quite enamored with the prospect of dancing with you," she replied as their fingers interlocked.
"Lady Alayne is quite the dancer and kind...in her own way." He gave a short smile for good measure, though it revealed so very little. "Unfortunately, there aren't many who would be opposed to the prospect of sharing a dance with the crown prince."
"Including Ysilla Royce?" She inquired, noting the conflicted expression on his face. Jocelyn could tell by the look on his face that Steffon held feelings of some sort for the daughter of Bronze Yohn Royce, whether that was love or lust, she could not say.
He subdued his expression quicker than expected, his tone now as sickeningly sweet as any court noble. "I cannot speak for Lady Ysilla but I'd like to believe she wouldn't mind," he shrugged. "Though, I applaud and give you full marks for skillfully deflecting, a trick you learned from our mother, yes?"
Jocelyn grimaced at the mention of their mother but pushed through to acknowledge his point. "Artys is my friend, he's your friend, you know he isn't like that."
"Perhaps, you're wrong, perhaps you're right, the ruling is still out on that," Steffon said with a small frown and shrugged. "The truth of the matter is that I've been gone for eight years and returned to unfamiliar people, places, and things. Tommen and Myrcella didn't even exist when I lived here but to your point, people change. Boys grow into men and I'm far more familiar with man's nature."
She rolled her eyes at his ignorance. "You were destined to see only one side of the coin the moment the gods gave you a cock instead of a cunt."
"I could reverse the two so that line of thinking applied to you but what would be the point? I won't do anything drastic unless truly warranted." He smiled after acknowledging her words and spun her several times before pulling her back to him.
"You've become rather grim since we last saw each other, Lord Royce's teachings, I presume?" Jocelyn's azure-tinted eyes sparkled as her brother's own narrowed, she knew his nerves were frayed. In Steffon's blue-violet eyes, there was a flicker of true, unbridled emotion, dark and stormy like House Baratheon and the one that preceded them, House Durrandon before setting back into their aloof state.
"The teachings of Lord Royce and others for good and for ill," the crown prince's voice became flat and distant once more with a faint melancholic tone if she wasn't mistaken.
That certainly piqued her interest for who would dare harm a prince of the blood with their teachings? Steffon's eyes were locked with her own, but they seemed to stare through her once again unfocused like he was leagues away and right in front of her concomitantly. He had done it four or five times tonight and though she was vexed at first, now she was concerned. She needed to know more.
"And who else provided you with these 'teachings?' such a gratuitous mentor should know that the Crown rewards any who go out of their way to help its royals, wouldn't you agree?" She asked unassumingly and with approval in her tone of voice. Jocelyn knew that Steffon needed to believe that she suspected nothing and was merely his older sister looking to reward the man or woman who "helped" her brother.
"Not to worry, sweet sister," Steffon declined with a shake of the head though she could see another set of words hitch in his throat. Her brother was deliberately holding back some key piece of information.
Jocelyn's blue eyes narrowed, no longer the color of the daytime sky but now a darker blue like a deep pool of water so dark that it was reminiscent of a brewing storm as her face scrunched up with loosely controlled fury. "Enough games, Steffon. Why are you so different now? What could have possibly happened?"
Steffon's eyes lit up and danced with a dark sort of amusement. "A man may possess a dozen faces but a man never truly changes, only acknowledges who he is with time and experience."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Jocelyn snapped back lowly, quickly regaining control when her hands tried to close into a tight fist. She could see the light expression of pain flutter across her brother's face.
He glanced over her head, eyes narrowing at something behind her but the way his jaw clenched and his teeth gritted, Jocelyn knew Steffon was displeased. He took a breath and glanced back down towards her. "Nothing more than I didn't change, not really. Who I was and who I am, seem so different that I feel they're two different people. I'm unsure if any of us truly change or if we separate who we were and are. It could be said that it's nothing more than simple comfort to believe one or the other, mayhaps both."
"You're trying to run me around with this horseshit you're spewing in hopes that I'll be too confused to ask again and it's not working!" Her voice grew several octaves louder than she hoped, earning a few looks. The court would hear of it, she knew. Jocelyn took a shaky breath, pushing back her anger, and leaned forward to whisper in Steffon's ear. "Whatever's going in that head of yours you can tell me Steffon. This is your home, our home. I'm your sister and I worry about you. You can trust me."
"Only time will tell, but the hour is late so I'll leave you with insight towards my musings if only because you're my sister and I care for you," he said in a tone she was unused to, one that sent a cold shiver down her spine. His eyes seemed now to lean more towards violet than azure as he stared deeply into her own. "There's a storm coming, Jocelyn. I know not when or where it will hit us but I have my suspicions and currently we're surrounded by many who would eat us alive if worse came to worst. House Baratheon will not be left in ruins, that much I can assure you."
She stared blankly, still taking in what he'd said and going over the reasons why he'd even say it. Before she knew what was happening, Steffon had kissed her on the cheek and bid her goodnight, but not before charging her to reflect on his words.
Jocelyn Baratheon watched the stranger that was her brother disappear into the churning sea of court nobles. As the distance increased between the twins, she noticed the sigil on Steffon's night-black silk tunic trimmed with gold for the first time as he turned to her, giving her one last look that she frustratedly couldn't decipher that morphed into a small smile. Even with the most inattentive of looks, she could tell much thought had been put into her brother's clothing judging by the grandiose antler pattern embroidered on the breast. The same delineation could be seen coiling around the collar like a serpent and down the shoulders before running along the sleeves, cuffs, and placket. The princess spotted the Crowned Stag of House Baratheon only this one was indigo-eyed like her brother and fearlessly pranced beneath forked lightning the same shade as its eyes, her brother's eyes, the same eyes that somehow brimmed with reticence and drew the attention of anyone who dared look at the same time.
Even though guests spoke and laughed loudly, she heard something.
Even though the music of the feast drowned out her thoughts, she heard something.
Even though there should have been no possible way for it to happen, she still heard the rumbling roar of thunder and felt her mind drift to the storm her brother referred to. The princess knew that it was nothing more than her brother's ridiculous ramblings, likely something he picked up from a dusty tome in the Vale and nothing more.
Then why does it worry you so? An unfamiliar voice wondered in a whisperous tone. Jocelyn wanted to respond, she opened her mouth to answer but no words came out. She had no such answer.
The king announced that he was retiring and festivities ended for the night. Jocelyn made her way back to her rooms, Ser Barristan trailing her as well as any white knight. She saw someone kissing a serving girl in the halls and had tonight's circumstances been different, she would've laughed but alas, more pressing matters and thoughts were on her mind.
A storm is on the horizon, she begrudgingly acknowledged though was ready to retract that thought at a moment's notice. If I'm to believe such notions, then how did Steff of all people come to learn of it?
Author's Note: Alright, so I'm not dead! If you were expecting the chapter earlier (hell, I expected it earlier,) then I apologize for taking nearly a month but I've been working on a big outline for this, reading other fics for tips on court politics, intrigue, finances, and a bunch of other stuff while playing around with ideas for some other stories. Some are OC's. There's an SI or two. And several ideas of canon characters just making very different decisions due to their circumstances. What's your opinion on the dating system (10th Moon of 295 A.C.)? Do you like it or should I decide on a different one?
Dragonlord001: So Jocelyn is a better version of Cersei
― A bit of an oversimplification, but that's honestly a pretty good guess. She has some of Cersei's traits, some of Robert's traits, and then, traits that are just her own.
tiwari2041: Oooh looking forward to reading more of this, it'll be interesting to see how this goes
― I'm glad you think so, I'll definitely try to keep things interesting, butterfly effect and all.
DodgeGM: The fact that Denys already knows about Jaime and Cersei three years prior to canon and Steffon's return hints at everything crashing down faster than we know. I'd like to see who's going to be Steffon's allies in King's Landing. I'm really hoping Jocelyn is an ally, as much wariness we're given from Steffon's POV, I hope they don't clash with each other (too much at least). There's enough bad blood between the family (pretty much every single family member, aside from Tommen and Myrcella, is a danger to Steffon). Also like to see prospects of marriage, because they're of age and alliances are necessary for the incoming storm.
― Going forward into chapters after the current one, Steffon's gonna start building himself a nice bit of power in the capital with help of friends in high and low places alike. I'll say this about Jocelyn: she loves her brother, but she's her mother's daughter even if she denies it. Steffon's wariness of her is warranted a bit, but he's wary of anyone with free will. As for the marriages, keep your eyes open and keen, you'll miss it if you blink.