11th Moon of 295 A.C.

Denys' boots echoed as he walked. Great strides with long legs, for he did not have the time to squander on as petty things as walking. They had been granted some time away from the sun this week as a storm raged outside, thunder rolled across the castle, rain fell in blinding sheets, and from time to time great bolts of blue-white lightning lit up the world as bright as day.

Tucked beneath his arm, he had his papers. The guards posted outside the chamber door wasted little time in heaving it open for him.

"My lords, my sincerest apologies for the delay, but there were developments that required my attention. I won't waste a moment so let us begin." He had reached his vacant and cushioned high seat inside the council's chambers by then, a small comfort to hold onto in the oven known as King's Landing. Denys dropped his papers down on the tabletop in front of him.

When he first entered this room all those years ago as Hand of the King―a position that he expected to hold until they settled the affairs of their broken realm―but reality was often disappointing and the gods were cruel bastards who enjoyed crueler japes. Ned had returned with Robert's betrothed but she had been long dead and never in his life had Denys seen Robert more distraught. He had refused to attend any meetings for an entire fortnight, locking himself in his royal chambers like a child that had been denied sweets after dinner.

Denys felt a pang of guilt at chastising a man for grieving over a woman he loved but Robert didn't love Lyanna Stark, not then and not now. He fancied her ever since their first and last meeting at the Tourney of Harrenhal, Denys would give him that, but he'd watched them talk from a distance with Elbert and he could tell that the she-wolf had not felt the same and he wondered how Robert had overlooked such an obvious thing, the girl was very antithesis of all that could be called subtle.

And then it all went to shit with a single gesture that everyone would've been swept under the rug under different circumstances.

Prince Rhaegar had crowned the wolf-maid as his Queen of Love and Beauty, overlooking his pregnant wife, Princess Elia of House Martell, a mistake that Westeros would never forget as long as men had ears to listen and mouths to speak. A hush had fallen on the crowd of lords and ladies, one so powerful that for that moment and that moment alone, Denys Arryn thought the gods had stripped the entire world of sound.

He had grown up hearing stories and songs of the Silver Prince, the Last Dragon called Rhaegar Targaryen. The stories of the crown prince's mind and unending prodigious nature had always been a favored topic he was forced to hear whenever Uncle Jon announced that they would ride to the capital for a tourney.

As he followed the eyes of the crowd to see the Silver Prince atop his dark destrier in a suit of night-black plate decorated with rubies adorned on the breastplate in the form of a three-headed dragon and helm decorated with streamers the color fire, his lance with a crown of blue winter roses hanging from the tip extended to a woman who wasn't his pregnant wife, Lord Arryn understood that all the talk of how smart the prince was and how great of a king he would be one day had simply been talk and nothing more.

Words are wind, he reminded himself. Rhaegar had been nothing more than smoke and mirrors, a clever illusion to trick the masses of Westeros and up until that moment, it worked. Had he been half as wise as so many claimed, Rhaegar would have known how foolish of a decision it was to crown Lady Lyanna. He was a melancholic fool playing the part of a wise prince and nothing more.

"Lord Hand?"

During the infancy of Robert's reign, he wondered about her and what could've been going through her head during the rebellion and whether she thought herself at fault for so much bloodshed. Then when Ned had returned from Dorne with his sister's corpse and his own bastard that looked just like the Lord of House Stark, Denys had wondered if they had the story wrong. He wondered if that dark-haired baby had truly been sired by the Honorable Ned Stark but he hadn't pressed the matter, he knew it was just the ever-paranoid, war-weary mind of his that saw potential threats in every shadow on the wall.

Had the boy truly been Rhaegar's bastard like that tiny, ever-paranoid and war-weary voice in his head wondered, he would've surely resembled him in some way, Targaryen bastards often did.

"My Lord Hand, is all well with you?"

After Ned lifted the Siege at Storm's End where Mace Tyrell and his Reacher lords and knights camped outside the ancestral seat of House Baratheon and returned with a gaunt Stannis and Renly, His Grace decided to honor him with the permanent position of Hand because he felt that no one could be a better advisor than a true friend.

Honor, you say? A voice that has been steadily growing with each passing year scoffed, Just as he 'honored' Stannis with Dragonstone as opposed to Storm's End, his birthright? The falcon lord frowned at his thoughts.

"Lord Arryn?" A concerned voice shook him from his thoughts and Denys looked around the chambers to see the five other members of the small council. "Lord Arryn, can you hear me?"

"Gods, where is my mind today?" He cleared his throat and straightened himself in his seat at the head of the table. "Forgive my absentmindedness, my lords, I was lost in thought. I would be most grateful if someone could remind me of which matters we were speaking of."

Petyr smiled, "We were discussing the topic of Braavos, my lord. There's not much we know so far but if you want specifics, the Sealord of Braavos is facing pressure on both sides of his council from growing factions who believe that with the crown's large sum of debt and slow payments, the belief that it may be better to retrieve the payment by force."

And Denys gave him a thankful nod. He didn't know much about Petyr Baelish besides that he was the great-grandson of a Braavosi sellsword in the service of Lord Corbray and through his father's friendship with Lord Hoster, led to Petyr becoming a ward at Riverrun. He didn't care to know much either. All that mattered was that Baelish did his job and did it well, though with Robert draining the treasury, his efforts were moot.

"Lord Varys, you've been keeping an eye on the situation within the Faith, tell me what they speak of," said Denys.

"There's a growing discontentment with the current High Septon who many believe to be a corrupt glutton who takes bribes in coin and other things," the Spider began softly as if in mourning, Denys had almost believed it for a moment. "The Most Devout have been meeting regularly in the Room of Silver to discuss who amongst them they would nominate to replace, assuming they gather enough evidence to overthrow the current Father of the Faithful."

He listened intently, since the time of Baelor the Blessed, the Faith had been making attempts to worm its way into the crown's interests, mainly in trying to gain a hereditary seat for the High Septon on the small council, that was still the case, but recently there had been murmurings from what little spies the taloned hand did have that the faithful were angry with corruption within the sept. Denys knew things needed to be reformed but it wasn't a question of how or why but when. The Faith was the shining beacon that kept many of the lowborn in check but if that beacon was to lose its light, who could say what they would do while dwelling within the darkness.

"Who have they decided upon, if anyone?" The thing with the pious was that they talked and talked as long as they were able to without their tongues tiring and in the end, they would never decide on anything.

"A man from the Riverlands with strong ties to Houses Mooton and Mallister as well as Manderly he is someone who wishes to keep things the same as they have always been. A man who supposedly walked all over the realm to perform the traditional duties of a septon in villages too small for their own." The Spider looked down at his notes and said, "However, there is another, a woman, named Joan, she speaks of reforming and separating things into one or two components."

"That will be something, a woman as High Septon, Baelor would shit himself." Baelish japed.

In a moment like this, Denys would expect Pycelle, who was old enough to piss dust and supposedly the senior member of Citadel's order, would usually interject his two coppers on the discussed matters but instead, he said nothing as he snored softly in his seat.

Varys however replied. "It might be more likely than you think, she has gotten support from three of the Most Devout, the others may change their point of view on her soon enough."

Denys then flicked his gaze across the faces of all the king's councilors. "How are things within the Riverlands, is the yield strong?"

"Lord Hoster has sent over the yields for this season, and they have produced some four hundred thousand dragons worth of product, enough to feed the Riverlands and a few other kingdoms for three or four years. All I need is King Robert's agreement to begin the shipment."

"I'll bring such matters up to His Grace when I speak with him," Lord Arryn replied.

"There is also the matter of the Stepstones, as mentioned during our last meeting, several groups of pirates and sellsails have been harassing both Westerosi and Braavosi ships, any ship that sails up or down the Narrow Sea and stores too close to Essos really," Varys said. "My little birds say that these pirates are forming a kingdom of their own and requiring all those who sail the Narrow Sea to pay a fee in exchange for not being their latest victim."

A pirate kingdom of all things?! Denys wondered, listening intently. The Stepstones had always been a pirate-infested island chain that had once acted as the land-bridge that would lead the First Men into Westeros before the greenseers of the children of the forest used magic to shatter the land-bridge into an archipelago that would become the Stepstones or so the songs and tales said. The Stepstones had the potential to be a valuable asset that many wrote off land that was impossible to hold and though he wanted to agree with them, Tyrosh was one of the several islands that made up the Stepstones and it was as stable as could be expected of the Free Cities.

"Who have they decided upon, if anyone?" The thing with religious people was that they always talked and talked and never decided on anything.

"Nothing solid as of late, my lord, mere rumors at most." The Spider looked down at his notes and said, "Interestingly enough, Salladhor Saan and Euron Greyjoy amongst others are said to be leaders of their factions vying for power over the still-developing kingdom."

A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the latter. Banished for supposedly raping his brother's salt wife, whispers of the Greyjoy's atrocities had reached Westeros' shores.

Taking in all the new information, the Hand of the King nodded. "If there's nothing else, then this meeting is adjourned," he said. "I'll bring up the matters we spoke of with King Robert. With that being said, Lord Varys, I want you to keep an ear to whatever is discussed within the Silver Room and oh the Stepstones if you can. Dismissed."

And with that, the members of the council got up, bowed, and left. Denys journeyed to the Small Hall, a long room with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred or so at its trestle tables.

"My lord of Arryn," called a rising Dallen, the rest of the guards following suit when he entered. Each man wore a blue silk cloak, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons. A shining, silver hand clutched the silk folds and marked them as household guard to the Hand of the King. There were a little more than a hundred guardsmen present here and now.

Dallen was a baseborn man of the Vale, rumored to have been fathered by Denys' deceased uncle, Jon Arryn, and captain of his household guard for over a decade now. Loyal and true, there were a handful of men that the Hand trusted nearly as much.

"Be seated, all of you." He waved a hand, signaling for the meal to resume. "I see you've started without me, it's good to know that sensible men still exist in the city, gods know they're few and far between at the king's court." The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs and peppers from the Free Cities.

He searched the hall for his family, quickly spotting an auburn head of hair, a brown head of hair, and a single golden head of hair when there were meant to be two present. Where in the hells is that boy? Denys approached the table, extending a small greeting to those present. His captain of the guard turned to him, mug in hand.

"There's been talk in the yard about the tournament," said Dallen as he sat. "Many of the older knights seem convinced that Lord Tyrell's youngest will be the one to crown a girl his queen of love and beauty while others have placed bets that the Lord Artys or Prince Steffon will be the ones to taste victory."

Unfortunately, there wasn't much that he knew about Loras Tyrell aside from the fact that he was Renly's squire, the youngest of Mace Tyrell's son, and a skilled jouster who had developed a rivalry of sorts with his own son, Artys as they often found themselves competing against each other in the final tilts of the jousts that they both competed in. He was talented, not as much as Artys but not without talent.

"I've heard much of the same, Dallen." He said after swallowing a snail dipped in honey and garlic. "Who have you trusted to fatten your coin purse this time around?"

"Lord Artys for the joust," His guard smiled, sitting down his mug. "And Prince Steffon for the melee, assuming he competes. He fought in the yard like a raging bull, that one!"

Denys chuckled, several images of the boy he grew up with flashing through his mind. Robert had been described as such when they were younger and loved melees far more than he loved jousting. It seemed the Baratheon seed was strong.

He grimaced at that, his smile soured into a frown when his mind considered the implication and after a few more minutes of conversation, Lord Denys turned to his family, desperate to quiet his mind for as long as he could.

Denys reached his hand across the table, taking Lysa's hand in his. "How was your day, my love?" He never expected such fruitfulness to come from a marriage that he originally wanted nothing to do with. When Denys stood in Riverrun's sept alongside Ned and Catelyn, grim-faced and grieving not only Elbert but the loss of a woman from the Vale he meant to make his wife. Still, they were at war, the Reach and Dorne stood with the crown so Denys married Lord Trout's daughter for the Riverlands, their swords, and men. He realized how vain he sounded. Mayhaps, Lysa's heart ached for another just like his as they stood in Riverrun's sept alongside Ned and Catelyn, pledging their love in holy matrimony. It's all in the past, either way, he tabled his intrusive thoughts and looked into her eyes as she spoke, admiring her all the while.

"—And then, Lady Alyssane and I had lunch alongside the ladies of House Estermont. she spoke and the sound of Lysa's voice finally reached him. "His Grace and his brothers are related to House Estermont, are they not?"

"Through their mother, I believe." The Estermonts hadn't been seen in the capital for several years now, not since the crown prince had left for the Vale. Denys had tried to speak with Robert about it once or twice but the king, the stubborn stag that he was, would hear nothing of it.

"I thought as much," said Lysa. "Mayhaps they wish to gain more favor with King Robert and Prince Steffon. With the amount of wealth Lady Sofina mentioned they've amassed so quickly, I wouldn't be surprised."

That took him by surprise but Denys nodded along as she talked. The Estermonts were a principal House of the Stormlands who ruled over the small island of Estermont east of Cape Wrath from their seat of Greenstone. They weren't in the lower brackets of wealth like the Westerlings, Corbrays, or Crabbs but from the way Lysa spoke, something unforeseen had happened.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she cut in the middle of his thoughts. "Artys left with Prince Steffon this morning but promised to be back in time for dinner. He hopes you'll be there, as do we all."

"See that he is," Denys nodded, "and assure him that I'll be there." He turned to Alyssa when Lysa was done. "What of you, songbird, how did you spend your day?"

Alyssa smiled like the Maiden-made-flesh as she always did but today she looked her best. She had brushed out her long golden hair until it shone in the light, and picked her nicest blue silks which matched her eyes.

"Jocelyn, the other ladies, and I spent the day drinking tea on the balcony overlooking the gardens. She's upset again, her brother's fault, I think."

Lysa cut in before he could reply. "You will address Princess Jocelyn by her title, young lady," an aghast expression on her face. A sign of another spat between the mother and daughter. "What would people think if they heard you speaking of her so casually?"

He sighed as he always did whenever his lady wife did something like this. "They've been raised together since birth and have been friends all the while, Lysa. Let Alyssa call the princess by name if she wishes." He could see from the frown on her face and the smug look Alyssa wore that Lysa wanted nothing more than to fight him on this but she thought better of it.

"Fine," she muttered apprehensively, sighing. "Just be careful, Alyssa, the court is an unintended garden, and snakes along with other dangerous creatures dwell within such places."

He smiled in thanks before returning to his meal as more courses came and went. Denys thought to try for the umpteenth time at making conversation with Robin, his second son but what was the point when the boy turned into a damn mute whenever he tried to speak with him? He, Lysa, and Alyssa spoke in turns for another hour or so before he asked someone what hour they were in and learned that it was now the Hour of the Eel. He was late.

"Damn," he swore, letting his utensils fall against the plate with a sharp clang and rose from the table. The sharp eyes of his wife and daughter turned to him, downcast expressions adorned. He made his apologies as he always did and left the hall in silence before reminding Lysa to ensure that Artys was present tonight.

It was a long walk to the Tower of the Hand to complete his earlier works. There was much planning in the nameday tourney tournament and feast in honor of twin blood royals and most of it was a thankless pursuit that Robert had seen no reason to take part in unless it involved whores, fighting, or wine one way or another. Three knocks caught his attention.

"Enter," the falcon lord called out, eyes still on the documents regarding a land dispute on the border between the Westerlands and Reach when out from the corner of his eye, a towering shadow with trims of gold here and there slipped into the solar.

"My lord," a low voice, a young one by the sound of it, greeted Denys, nearly scaring him to death in the process.

Denys looked up from the map spread on the table before him. "My prince," he returned the greeting, astonished that the crown prince had elected to visit him but inclined his head all the same.

A part of him could scarcely believe that this was the same boy who barricaded himself within his bedchambers when he learned that he would be fostered in the Vale and in an act of defiance, held an hour-long screaming match with the Demon of the Trident.

And yet, here he was, that same boy. Only, "little" could no longer describe him.

The stag and falcon engaged in small talk typical of those fortunate enough to be born to their stations. Unlike the majority of Westeros, they did not speak of rumors in the market or which baker's daughter was marrying whose blacksmith's son. No, instead they spoke of tourneys and swordplay and lessons and opinions on the city and the court that lived within the Red Keep, it was all drab, in truth, but it was drab that only a privileged few could engage in.

While the lord hand and crown prince conversed, Lord Arryn took a moment to appraise Robert's son and heir. Yohn Royce had the right of it when his letters spoke of how he was the spitting image of his father, it was like looking through a window into the past at a young Robert during their years in the Vale: tall and broad for his age, though there were certain features found in Prince Steffon that one would have a hard time finding in King Robert. Robert seemed to possess a carefree, slouched posture while his son seemed the more prideful of the two with his chin up, chest out, and shoulders back.

He could tell from his features alone: the high cheekbones and defined jawline, that the young prince would soon play a key role in the fantasies of many maidens at court and mayhaps even their mothers as his handsomeness overlapped into comeliness. The differences between the king and prince began in the windows to the soul, Robert along with his brothers and trueborn sons and daughter, possessed sharp eyes the color of the clear sky and within those eyes, he often saw frustration or lust or loathing or fury but that was not the case with Steffon Baratheon.

In the days since his return to the capital, Denys had watched Prince Steffon, making note of which features he shared with his friend and which he didn't, and demeanor aside, eyes were the only thing that separated Robert and Steffon. At first, he dismissed it as nothing more than a mere trick from the lack of light but the Hand could see enough. In the eyes of the crown prince, he had seen many things: amusement, dissatisfaction, defiance, annoyance, loathing, and disinterest to name a few but the most important thing the lord had seen was the shade of his eyes.

They were of indigo, a beautiful shade of blue and violet that the histories said Targaryen kings and queens, princes and princesses held from time to time.

Gods, now what? This changes everything, he sighed, two steps forward and four steps back. What if I'm wrong? If all Baratheons are meant to be black of hair and blue of eye, then how are Steffon's eyes to be explained? Could I have been wrong?

"Lord Arryn, did you hear me?" The prince asked, snapping him back to the real world. His inner monologues had been more frequent of late, from a lack of sleep, the Grand Maester had assured him.

"Is everything alright, my lord? Perhaps I came at a bad time, it's fine if you would rather rest."

Denys chastised his absentmindedness. His inner monologues had been more frequent of late, from a lack of sleep, the Grand Maester had assured him.

"No, Prince Steffon, I'm fine. Please, what do you wish to speak about?"

For a moment, he could have sworn the boy's eyes narrowed, the color flickering from indigo to violet to blue and back to indigo again. He watched as Steffon's became vacant of expression, mayhaps a brooding one as he seemingly gathered his thoughts. "There are several matters I'd like to discuss either in this meeting or in future ones but it's come to my attention that the City Watch is, well...troublesome."

Denys held back a laugh, he hadn't expected the boy to be some indirect about it. "Corrupt, you mean."

The prince shrugged. "In a word, yes," bluntness seemed to relax the crown prince ever-so-slightly. "Now mind you, I didn't bring this to your attention as an attempt to rock the boat so to speak, but seeing as my Uncle Renly is the Master of Laws and not in the capital at present while my father is likely…face-deep in some busty whore's tits, I felt it would be better to bring the matter to you. I trust you received my written proposal?"

He received it alright and then read it several times over just to be sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. The ambition was all well and good but this was behind mere ambition, this was something more and the Arryn remained unsure whether that would do the realm some good or make it bleed.

"I have, Your Grace," he said carefully. "It's quite an ambitious plan, so much so that some in the court might jape that you were on your way to becoming the Rogue Prince come again."

"Yes, Prince Daemon was once Commander of the City Watch and some would say he was the greatest that ever donned the gold cloak and with such a precedent, I wouldn't be the first member of the royal family to hold the post of Commander of the City Watch."

"And with such a precedent," Denys frowned and felt headache developing, "there are many who would say that you were attempting to seize power and undermine His Grace's power. And while I'm sure that's the furthest thing from the truth, Prince Daemon was your senior by a decade, knighted and battle-proven when he headed the City Watch. Commander Slynt has not done anything that would necessitate his removal."

A sly smile, mayhaps a mocking one even that cut like a dagger slid its way onto the stag prince's face, his eyes seemingly lighting up.

"Other than allowing his command to run rampant with corruption and negligence, of course," he remarked. "I think I would be far better suited to turn the gold cloaks into something worth its name with enough time."

The Hand fixed him with the same stare he used on his children and nearly scowled when Prince Steffon gave him another smile and then it hit him. How could he discipline this willful, wild boy when not even the famed Demon of the Trident and Warhammer of Westeros could tame him? It was folly.

"While I don't doubt your...faculties, the City Watch remains in an acceptable state."

"If you consider 'rotting' to be an acceptable state, my lord, I worry for your health." He said and as Denys' fists tightened, he cursed himself for allowing an argumentative fourteen-year-old to get under his skin with so little effort.

"And what would you have me do?"

"Replace him, of course, with someone who will reform the City Watch."

Denys sighed when he asked what the prince believed should be done and heard his answer.

"The Commander's as corrupt as any other Commander in the past. His replacement could be worse," said the Hand of the King, and silence enveloped the solar only seconds later. Steffon's eyes seemed hardened as he stared at a corner of the desk, mayhaps in thought.

"Or better."

Denys sighed and refilled his cup of wine, offering one to Prince Steffon as well, just barely hearing the uttering of his thanks while he remained deep in thought and took another long sip. The boy was clever, too clever by half in Denys' honest opinion but within the cleverness that the crown prince used to run verbal circles around for his own amusement, he saw skill that would serve him well the day he sat the Iron Throne. Even then, there wasn't a simple answer that would solve their problem entirely. The Baratheons that would trace their lineage back to King Robert and eventually King Steffon would still be dealing with these issues and even then the power of the crown would have to be maintained.

"For what it's worth, it angers me as well, my prince, but these kinds of problems have been a thorn in the side of the crown for a long time, longer than your father's dynasty." He began with a small smile, "Still, I would be a liar to claim that I wasn't interested in this grand plan of yours to reform the City Watch."

The prince's eyes were defiant, like his father's, he didn't like to be pitied. Truly, it was a promising sign, if he did look for pity he wouldn't find it while sitting atop the Iron Throne with a crown on his head.

Steffon sighed. "I'm not so sure as I haven't had much time to think about it but to get the ball rolling, the one week training period for a weapon and the gold cloak would be done away with in favor of a longer period, somewhere between three and six turns of the moon. Those moons of intensive training would at least give us a chance to weed out the ones most likely to turn to drink or corruption."

He nodded at the prince's ideas, in truth, they were well thought out, whether that meant the prince had lied to him or not was irrelevant. Lord Denys was interested in what the king's son was capable of when not in the training yard but he couldn't simply indulge him, that would set an unfavorable precedent.

"A sound proposal, my prince. Your plan has good points and bad points as any plan would at this point. With that being said, I cannot support naming you as Commander of the City Watch."

"Well, I did think Master of Laws was a bit too high an aspiration for the time being," the crown prince japed and Denys found himself smiling. Then came his next proposal. "Lieutenant Commander, then? I would work solely under Commander Slynt's position, perhaps even heading some division within the gold cloaks ranks. Out of the way of immediate danger, of course."

Unfortunately for him, Lord Denys' head was already shaking from left to right in firm disagreement. "You've only just returned to the capital after being away for nearly a decade. Not only that but your position as crown prince would undercut Commander Slynt's authority. Any number of captains, lieutenants, cadets, and officers would attempt to curry favor by reporting to you first and prioritizing your orders over those of the Commander. No, it would be the same either way."

He's cunning, I'll give him that, he thought, but it's a green boy's cunning. I almost considered bringing such a proposal to the small council of all things.

One thing he noticed about Steffon was that he never seemed disheartened or even frustrated when he shut down his proposals one after the other. It was like some game to him, only Denys had no clue what the rules were.

This time though, a serious glint appeared in the prince's eye as he leaned forward. "The crown cannot allow men such as Commander Slynt to make a mockery of the king's law and authority. What would people think if they caught wind of such things?"

Denys sighed deeply. The boy's heart was in the right place and his mind was somewhere else. "Your Grace, my answer to your proposal is still no."

A blue-violet fire seemed to burn defiantly in Prince Steffon's eyes. Why do you Baratheons have to be so averse to not getting what you want? He wanted to ask but thought better of it.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he sighed out, running a hand through dark hair before standing from the chair and inclining his head. "Still, I'll find another path as sometimes different roads can lead to the same castle. I thank you, my lord hand, for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

And before he could say anything in reply, Prince Steffon of House Baratheon was outside the solar and down the halls of the Red Keep, leaving Lord Denys alone and somewhat confused.

What in the seven hells just happened? He scrambled inside his thoughts. Denys pondered for what seemed like minutes but was actually hours after the prince left his solar and then the king's chief advisor followed suit, still pondering on much and more.

"Four steps forward, two steps back," he sighed.

Author's Note: A couple of days ago, I went through a short period of...dissatisfaction. Hindsight's 20/20 and I can see why in this story because looking back on this story, I can see several mistakes that happened either because I wrote something in without thinking much on it. I think my greatest gripe is the MC's name and lack of background. "Steffon" is a strong name and it ties to Robert's history but when naming him, I somehow forgot that most Trueborn Baratheon's use the name; sometimes I flip between liking Steffon's name and wishing I had called him "Lyonel" or "Orryn" those sound strong to me but who knows, it may happen, it may not happen, my thoughts and opinions regarding my fic alternates based on mood, I've found. Also, I didn't delve into the earlier stages of Robert and Cersei's relationship through Steffon's eyes and center a certain amount of his character around how such a toxic environment affected him at a young age. Overall, this was a long-winded way to say that I want to make this story and the OC more interesting while weaving my fresh ideas into the story as organically as possible and I'm not sure to do that besides: a re-write in the form of a new story, placing more childhood chapters at the beginning or simply accepting what I've written and moving on by taking more risks, calculated risks but risks all the same (those first two are last resorts.) This could honestly just be the anxiety I've developed from writing for the first time and a desire to make it perfect but either way thanks for listening to me whine, see you next chapter.

Venting aside, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and hope it gave some insight into what's going on in the world, the direction Steffon's ambitions seem to be taking him, as well as the problem his existence and peculiar features cause in Denys' Lannincest theory since he doesn't have much in terms of evidence at the moment.

Also, I'm happy announce that I've begun the process of outlining other works that I plan to publish on this platform and others. I'll be doing SI's, OC's, AU's, and the like. For the time being, I'm trying to get all my ideas (and goddamn, there are a lot) down before starting the selection process to choose quality ideas but feel free to check out my profile for more or simply send a PM about which idea got your attention.

The Jingo: Robb from the inception if his character was always meant to fail in my opinion. GRRM is obsessed with killing traditional heroic archetypes so that's why Robb acts the way he does. You get enough competence at the beginning to make him seem to be a clever and decent guy; the prototypical "heroic rebel rising up to bring justice", and then the honor gets dialed up to completely moronic and his campaign crashes and burns in the space of like a third of a book. I like Robb much more than basically every other Stark because I always felt like he had great potential as originally portrayed, while the others are all a combination of basic traits that get to keep on existing because they all so far tick the check marks on Martin's "cripples, bastards, and broken things" boxes.

一 I did some re-reading, focusing on Robb during the war and I'm now realizing that GRRM never planned for him to win and I see that in events such as him needing to pass the Twins and appease Walder through marriage to one of his daughters/granddaughters while Edmure is the twenty-five year old Lord Paramount of the Riverlands who isn't married because reasons and then to make matters worse, Robb for some reason splits his army (no problem with this, actually) and then gives Roose complete authority over it with no oversight whatsoever. Roose Bolton. The self-serving man belonging to the one stubborn House up north that's been trying to displace the Starks for thousands of years. He could have given control to Uncle Edmure, Tytos Blackwood, Jonos Bracken, the Greatjon, or Uncle Blackfish. Anyone would have been a smarter choice and I believe that's the same sentiment of many characters within Robb's army, particularly the Northerners. And then with his idealistic view of Ned and honor as a concept doomed him before he knew it doomed him but like you, I liked Robb because of his potential with the Young Wolf moniker and feats, the kid could've become an unkillable legend but with that being said I plan on rectifying that a little in Brewing Storms and by a whole lot in a future work that'll either be an OC Stark brother or cousin or just a Robb Stark SI to build off of the Young Wolf legend.

Huningtonson543: Can we just get the Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken "Enemies to best buddies" comedy spin-off that the world demands? Another great chapter. Rolland be like "Gods, I don't get paid enough to protect this little prick from himself sometimes."

一 For comedic purposes, I think I'm gonna have both the Blackwoods and Brackens join Steffon's little faction at court while staying at each other's throats before transitioning to friendship based around everyone not apart of the prince's faction. The same will apply to their sons befriending or squiring for the prince along with Jayne Bracken and Bethany Blackwood. Also yeah lmao, Rolland's a saint that doesn't get the credit he deserves for constantly keeping that kid from getting himself in trouble.

HouseDaynelover4ever: Awesome as always. Steffon getting wood from the Blackwood ;) Looking forward to more.

一 Thanks bro, can't wait for your thirteenth chapter, shit's heating up.

Js: I'm wondering if Steffon's Targ genes woke up suddenly after meeting Bethany considering his... hat great great grandmother was Betha Blackwood. But not gonna lie, the Blackwoods and the Royces are few of the non lord paramount/warden houses that is interesting to me. Both of them are the few First Men houses out of the North and actually identify as such. I imagine Steffon would be much better received than Joffrey in the north... not that it takes much. It'll be interesting if Steffon shows a half baked understanding of the Old Tongue from fostering with the Royces and studying their famed Rune armor.

It'll be hilarious if Joffrey does the same shit in canon but the outcome with the wolves don't pan out the same way due to him not being the crown prince and Cersei having a cold distant relationship with Steffon and thus they don't have the same weight to pressure Robert into killing Lady. Y'know I don't think there's any fics out there that explore Maester Aemon's relationship with the Trueborn Baratheons. Most fics naturally have him favor Jon Snow due to them being of House Targaryen but the current Targaryens and Baratheons are both descendants of his brother Aegon V. No matter who won the Rebellion the man was losing half his family either way. Maybe have Steffon hatch dragons of his own tbh. There's too many Stark Targ fics out there.

一 Steff's Targ genes will waken soon enough, I'm just looking for a good place for it to happen, though I have a few ideas at the ready. The Royces being First Men Houses in the Vale was one of the core reasons I wrote Steffon being squired there since he'd get a good deal of Andal and First Men cultural lessons along with some language lessons and with the Blackwoods, well, if Bloodraven was a warg/skinchanger and all the Stark kids were wargs/skinchangers, (except Sansa, because Lady died so soon and maybe Rickon because he's like 2-5 and we never get his POV) then who's to say the Blackwood are any different? Also, with the Houses Blackwood and Royce, their connection to Steffon is like a bridge of sorts to the different cultures in Steffon's blood (First Men from Great Great Grandma Betha, Andal from Great Grandfather Ormund, Valyrian from Great Great Grandpa Aegon) so the next one to add is some Valyrian blood to his inner circle. Steffon's gonna be well-received for sure (Joffrey will be better received than his canon counterpart) but your comment makes me really consider writing the royal family's arrival from Ned's POV where he's bewildered by this indigo-eyed, towering giant of a prince with rune-covered armor riding up the kingsroad and through Winterfell's gates either half-baked or drunk while singing some First Men or Northmen song in the Old Tongue.

Joffrey doing dumb things have a lot of weight now (you'll see in chapter 9-12ish where the brothers interact) since he's kinda scared of Steffon while admiring him in a way but if he did managed to still ignore his fear of whatever cruel and unusual torture his brother would bring down on him, all Steffon would have to do is tell Robert that Joffrey started the whole thing, Cersei's babying him when he's nearly a man and making him a pussy and just like that, it's over because in Bobby B's mind the hierarchy is more or less: Steffon then Jocelyn then Myrcella then Tommen then Moon Boy then Joffrey then Balerion the Cat then Cersei. With the thing about Maester Aemon, I want you to know that I both love and hate you for putting the puzzle piece together and figuring out what I have planned, I really thought no one would pick up on it but fuck it, the fact that you figured it out makes me want to reveal a bit. Yes, Maester Aemon and Prince Steffon will meet when the royals go north and Steffon plans to see his friend, Waymar. They're gonna talk a bit about their intertwined family history, magic, books, kingship, what the hell's going on beyond the Wall, Aegon V, and some other stuff that I'm gonna really enjoy. And they may talk about dragons and what it would hypothetically take to hatch one.

Jay: Re-read the chapter just now. You know I'm a bit sad that the GOT franchise has kinda meh magic and all the higher tier magic is still considered low tier to other verses. I do like that magic has an actual price that has to be paid, usually in the form of blood and life but it's just so inconvenient that people are usually better off swinging a sword like a unga boonga caveman. I suppose the payoff in other franchises with higher magic is dealing with legitimate demons, gods and eldritch space abominations like SMT and Fate.

That said, what are the chances of Steffon actually using magic? Most magic' in Westeros is just the Starks warging and it's frankly a bit boring and a shame. Steffon does have a fair bit of Firstmen heritage from being a Baratheon and a Lannister. The Baratheon married into the Targ line pretty often so they have a fair bit of 'Dragon's blood' and are the decendants of the ancient Storm kings the Durrandons. I know this is just power fantasy but a small part of me does enjoy a good wank fic.

— I'll say this: go back and skim through the earlier chapters and note how I detail Steffon's eye color, it's not the same blue as Robert's, it's indigo like Aegon V.

Hoosthat: Please update. It's amazing so far!

— Glad to know you're enjoying my work. I hope you keep reading.