Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or anything affiliated with it. The rights to it belong solely to their respective owners.

Summary: Typhon Baratheon, second son of Robert and Cersei, also known as the "Storm Lion". After the death of Jon Arryn, events will begin to unfold, and Typhon will not pass up the chance to play the game of thrones.

The Eccentric Stag

Chapter 1: Arrival in Winterfell

During the past few weeks, Typhon Baratheon had come to realization. All his life, he had considered the South to be beautiful. The gardens of the Red Keep, the waters at Dragonstone, the cliffs upon which Casterly Rock stood. But now, standing here in the North, he had to admit that it had its own beauty as well.

The rolling hills, the clear skies-when it wasn't snowing or raining, that was—and the simple elegance of it put it right up there with everywhere else. And the air. Gods above, the cold, clean air. Having grown up in King's Landing, he had no idea how bad it smelled until he breathed in a lungful here in the North.

His mother or older brother, on the other hand, seemed to despise the change in scenery. Both of them had spent almost the entire trip cooped up inside the royal carriage, coming out only when necessary. Tommen and Myrcella were in there too, though that was because they weren't old enough to ride yet. Typhon, meanwhile, had nearly jumped at the chance to ride alongside the rest of the column, if for no other reason so he didn't have to listen to Joffrey.

'I swear, if I have to hear him complain about this trip one more time, I'm going to pull him out of that carriage and shove his face in the mud, Grandfather's lessons be damned,' he thought. True enough, Lord Tywin had always drilled the values of patience and restraint into his grandson. But there was a limit to much that patience put up with before he got sick of it.

Sighing out loud, he reached up and ran a hand through his black hair, cut no more than a half-inch long. He kept his hair that short for no other reason than doing so made harder to get dirty and easier to clean. He had inherited the high cheekbones from his mother's side of the family, and his left eye was green to go with it. But from his father's side, he had inherited his hair color, a square jawline, massive frame and the blue that was his right eye. At that time, he was wearing a set of a set of padded black armor with the golden crowned stag of his House emblazoned over the heart.

Hearing a chuckle behind him, he looked around and saw his father, King Robert Baratheon, approaching from behind. Typhon pitied the poor horse that had to carry the King's massive weight. "Enjoying the view, son?" he asked.

Typhon nodded, looking ahead once more. "I am, Father. This is the first time I've seen the North, and I can see why your friend Lord Stark likes it so much," he replied.

Robert chuckled and ruffled his son's hair, completely disregarding the fact that he hated that. "That he does. Sometimes, when we were fighting the Targaryens, Ned wouldn't shut up about how much he wanted to return to Winterfell and its snow."

The prince raised an eyebrow. "And despite that, you want him to leave it and become Hand of the King?" is what he wanted to ask. However, he knew that saying such a thing out loud would be a step too far in terms of disrespect.

So, the fifteen-year-old said nothing, and just looked ahead. The reason they were traveling in the first place was because the previous Hand, Jon Arryn, had died from a sudden fever. Whatever had caused it, the fever killed Lord Arryn in a matter of days, leaving the position of Hand of the Kind vacant. Now his father wanted his oldest friend, Eddard Stark of Winterfell, to become the new Hand.

Although he didn't say it to anyone, Typhon found Lord Arryn's death to be a little too sudden. The old man, while getting on in years, had been perfectly healthy up to this point. Something as simple as a fever should not have been able to kill him so quickly. Grand Maester Pycelle confirmed that the fever was what did him in, but his grandfather, Tywin, had always told him to accept nothing as pure truth. No matter who said it.

But now Jon's remains were already being taken back to the Vale, and they were heading to Winterfell. Any chance he may have had to confirm or deny his suspicions was gone now.

That was the exact moment when a thunderous crack filled the air, startling both father and son. They both looked behind them, towards the source of the noise, and Robert swore loudly and what he saw while Typhon merely groaned. Once of the wheels to the carriage had broken off again, leaving it stuck in the mud. 'Seriously, this has to be the, what, fifth time this has happened? Who the hell even built the damn thing?' he thought.

For a moment, the prince debated the time it would take to wait for some of their bannermen to replace the wheel on their own versus the energy required if he chose to help. Deciding that the in this, case, the former outweighed the latter, he dismounted his horse and moved to help.

The wheel was replaced soon after, a couple of the bannermen replacing the wheel while Typhon, the Hound and a few others kept that side of the carriage raised above the dirt. Once that was taken care of, they began moving again, this time with Joffrey having actually gotten on his horse.

A few hours later, the royal column approached Winterfell, letting Typhon obtain his first look at it as well. Much like the lands it ruled, the castle was of relatively simple design, more like a fortress than an actual castle. From a few of the towers, he could see a handful of banners, each one showing the gray direwolf that was the symbol of House Stark. But beyond that, there little decoration on the buildings, each one carved from dark grey stone.

As they came closer, they went through the town located just outside of Winterfell, which was rather fittingly called Winter Town. More than a few people stopped and stared at the royal procession, obviously noticing the Baratheon banners, Kingsguard, and carriage.

Typhon blinked while looking over them. There, sitting on top of one of the wagons, was a small girl. Her clothing was of too high quality for her to be a peasant, and she was wearing a guard helmet that was obviously meant for someone with a larger head. She was staring at them with unrestrained awe, taking in everything she could see with her gray eyes. Curious.

Finally, they entered the castle courtyard, where all the residents of Winterfell stood. At the front of them were the members of House Stark, standing in a line going from left to right. At the far right was a tall man with long dark hair and a graying beard. His eyes were the same shade of gray as the girl he saw before. 'That must be Lord Eddard, Head of the House, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," he thought.

Next to Lord Stark was a rather beautiful woman with fair skin, long red hair and blue eyes. Her eyes possessed both kindness and inner strength, like warm fire surrounding a core of Valyrian steel. 'Catelyn Stark, previously Catelyn Tully, Lady of Winterfell and Lord Stark's wife.'

She was followed by a young man who appeared to be around Joffrey's age. The man had the same eyes as his mother, though his hair was not so vibrant a red. That said, his height and strong build spoke of his father. 'Robb Stark, Lord Stark's firstborn son. And Lord of Winterfell, someday.'

Fourth and fifth in line were two girls, though their appearances were as different as night and day. The first girl looked like a spitting image of her mother, or at least what Lady Stark might had looked like in years past. Her long red hair and blue eyes, as well as her general posture, created almost the perfect image a 'proper lady'.

The other girl, by contrast, had brown hair that only reached her neck, with skinny build and a much lower height. Her facial structure was also similar to Lord Stark's. She appeared both excited to see them and bored at having to wait. How she was able to display both expressions simultaneously baffled Typhon… Wait a minute.

'She's the one who was one the wagon before. Which would make her Arya Stark, and the other girl Sansa Stark, Lord Stark's two daughters,' he thought.

And finally, there were two other boys, both of them favoring their mother's appearance over their father's. 'What were their names… Ah, Brandon and Rickon Stark. That's all of them,' he thought.

Satisfied that he remembered all their names—he'd appear a real fool if he forgot and had to ask—Typhon was prepared to sit back and wait for his father to get over here. That was, until he saw Joffrey smirking at Sansa, who was smiling back shyly with a blush on her cheeks. Gods, was another girl going to fall head over heels for his brother based on his looks alone? That only meant there would entire rivers of tears when they saw how much of an utter shit Joffrey was.

That was when his father made it into the courtyard. As one, every northerner in sight dropped to one knee before him bowing their heads in submission to the King. Two squires came up and helped Robert dismount his horse, and he walked closer to them. He stopped in front of Lord Stark, overlooking them all. Then, with a wave of his hand, he silently bid them all to rise.

Lord Stark was tall enough that Robert actually had to look up slightly to stare him in the eye, despite the fact that the King was of no small stature either. 'Not like Uncle Tyrion, in any case. Actually, where is Uncle?' Typhon thought, looking around and seeing that Tyrion was nowhere to be found.

He was forced to refocus on the matter at hand, however, when his father simply said, "You've got fat." The prince blinked once, twice, then looked at Robert. Now if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black…

Apparently, Lord Stark was of similar mind, looking pointedly at the king's massive stomach. Then was a moment of silence, the two seemingly trying make the other blink first. Then it came to an end when both Lord and King burst into laughter, before hugging each other like old friends. Then Robert looked over at Lady Stark, exclaiming "Cat!"

"Your Grace," she replied much more calmly, returning the hug when he decided to give her one too.

Typhon had to avoid chuckling at the spectacle, instead remaining silent as Robert asked "Nine years. Has it really been that long? And where the hell have you been this whole time?"

Ned kept grinning, even as he respectfully replied "Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell remains yours."

"Where's the Imp?" Typhon heard Arya reply, and looked over at her with a frown. However, before he could say anything, he noticed that her expression wasn't one of disdain or superiority. She was just curious.

'A highborn girl who doesn't care for Uncle's appearance? Now that's interesting,' he thought, completely missing Sansa telling her sister to shut up.

Their exchange, however, drew his father's attention, and he looked over at the rest of the Stark family. "Who have we here?" he asked, moving over to them one a time. "You must be Robb," he said, extending his hand for the eldest child to shake.

Robb did so with a firm hand and ever firmer expression. A Stark through and through. Satisfied, he took one look at Sansa and said "My, you're a pretty one." While Sansa was looking away and smiling, he continued and looked at her sister. "And what's your name?" he asked.

With about as much subtlety as a punch from the Mountain, she replied "Arya." Robert said nothing, momentarily flummoxed by her behavior. Both Sansa and Catelyn gave her lecturing stares, but Typhon had to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing. Somehow, it seemed that was the exact moment when Arya looked at him too, and seeing the grin on his face caused a similar one to appear on hers.

Just then, his mother finally exited the carriage, looking as beautiful as ever. She wore a red dress to proudly display her Lannister heritage, and Typhon was somewhat saddened to see that there was nothing to indicate her being a part of House Baratheon to go with it. Then again, considering the state of her and his father's marriage, it shouldn't have been too surprising.

As it was, she stepped in front of Ned, and he kissed her hand when prompted. "My Queen," he said, with Catelyn parroting it and curtseying.

"Ned, take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects," Robert said, having finished talking with Bran.

Typhon frowned further. Not even five minutes, and his father was already trying to go there? Not only was it no secret just whose crypt he was going to see, but they had been on the road for a month. Couldn't he at least wait? His mother said as much, commenting "The dead aren't going anywhere, my love. Surely you ought to rest first."

But Robert merely said "Ned," and walked off. Lord Stark stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he sent Cersei an apologetic look and obeyed his King. An awkward silence fell over them, with Lady Stark looking rather uncomfortable while Cersei looked equal parts saddened and embarrassed.

'So, do I wait for someone else to say something and risk it being something even more awkward? Or do I speak up and say something myself?' Typhon thought. Deciding on the latter, he got down from his horse and began walking forward. As he did, he whispered to his Uncle Jaime to start looking for Tyrion, who nodded and rode off.

However, before he could say something, Arya spoke up, once again asking "Where's the Imp?" Well, so much for preventing something more awkward.

At that, Cersei's embarrassment turned to anger, and she walked back to the column to order someone to go find him. "I've already sent Uncle to go find him, Mother," he told her.

Cersei blinked in surprise, before smiling thankfully. Then she turned back around and, with the rest of his siblings in tow, walked off. The crowd began to disperse after that, all the guards returning to their posts while several servants began moving all the royal family's belongings inside.

Seeing his chance to explore more his new temporary residence, Typhon resumed stepping closer. "Lady Stark, I see the rumors of your beauty were not exaggerated," he said, bowing.

Catelyn paused, not having realized that he hadn't followed his mother, but quickly bowed. "You're too kind, My Prince. I take it Winterfell is to your liking?" she asked politely.

Typhon could have sworn he heard Arya mutter "Why shouldn't it be?" but he pretended to have heard nothing. "Indeed it is, My Lady. I was wondering if I could possibly explore your household for a while. Could you send someone to come with me, so I don't get lost?" he requested.

"I know my children would be more than happy to give you a tour," she replied, before looking over at said children. Sansa was too busy staring at where Joffrey had left, obviously eager to go talk to him. He doubted Brandon or Rickon would be able to give a good tour. So that left just Robb and Arya.

Struck by a sudden impulse, Typhon said "Perhaps the Wolf Girl would be willing to volunteer." At that, every member of the Stark family looked at him in surprise, save Arya. Arya appeared excited at the idea of showing off her home, and quickly nodded. "Excellent," he said, smiling as he began following her.

With Arya as his rather enthusiastic guide, Typhon was shown just about every part of Winterfell that didn't include the bedchambers. First was the training yard, which was overseen by a stocky man with white hair and a stern expression. According to Arya, that was Ser Rodrick Cassel, Winterfell's Castellan and its Master-At-Arms.

Then there was the broken tower, a structure that had once been Winterfell's tallest guard tower. But then it was struck by lighting a little over a century ago, and the top two-thirds of the building had collapsed in on itself. No attempts had been made to repair it, and even now it was slowly crumbling a little more with each year that passed.

Then there were places such as the rookery, where the messenger ravens were kept, a library that Arya was all too eager to get away from, the armory, and dozens of courtyards and open areas.

It was when they were returning to the training yard that Typhon heard a something akin to a bark. Turning around, he saw what appeared to be a large wolf with gray fur charging at them. Typhon's eyes widened, and he began reaching for his sword. But then, to his utter shock, Arya stepped forward and called "Nymeria!"

The wolf, apparently named Nymeria, came to stop in front of Arya, panting and looking up at her with dark golden eyes. The girl began petting her like one would a dog, making Typhon raised an eyebrow. "Yours?" he felt the need to ask.

Arya nodded happily. "Yep. Her name is Nymeria, and she's my direwolf!" she stated. At that, Typhon grew even further surprised. But then he took a closer look, comparing the creature before him to the few actual wolves he had seen before. Compared to them, the direwolf's legs were longer and they had larger heads, as well as longer, more prominent muzzles. But weren't dire wolves supposed to have gone extinct except for north of the Wall?

Typhon asked as much, and she replied "That's what we thought. But then Father came across a whole litter of them when he was outside of the castle one day. There was one for each of his children, so he let us have them."

That made him nod his head, though he internally wondered over the strange coincidence. The first direwolf sighting in years, and the number of pups was exactly equal to the number of Stark children, who had the direwolf itself as their symbol? A little too coincidental, if you asked him.

Back in the present, Typhon pushed his thoughts down and stepped closer, holding his hand towards Nymeria. She looked at the hand, before looking at him in curiosity. Then, after a few seconds of sniffing, she licked his hand and pushed her head into it. Typhon smiled and began petting her as well, causing Arya to smile even wider. "She likes you," she said.

After that, they resumed their trip back to the training yard, this time with the direwolf walking in between them. As they walked, Arya asked "So, what do you think of Winterfell?"

Typhon looked around. "I find I'm enjoying it. Quite a bit, to be honest. There's no flashy colors or unnecessary noise, amongst other things. Being in a place like this reminds of all the things in the South that I could honestly do without," he admitted.

Arya grinned, as if to say 'I knew it. My home is the best.' But what she actually said was another question, on a completely different topic. "Is it true that they call you the Storm Lion?"

Typhon nearly tripped over his own feet, looking at her incredulously. "Where did you hear that?" he nearly demanded.

She shrugged. "It was something I heard once. They call you that because the King is from House Baratheon, who controls the Stormlands. But your mother is from the Lannister House, and you supposedly take after her father, Tywin Lannister," she explained.

Typhon thought about that for a while, before sighing. "This isn't the first time I've heard that name, and I confess that there's some truth to it. While I've spent most of my life in King's Landing, I've visited over places, such as Dragonstone, where my Uncle Stannis lives, and Casterly Rock, which is to the Lannisters what Winterfell is to the Starks. I had heard of how Grandfather was supposedly one of the smartest and most powerful men in Westeros, and begged him to teach me what he knew. I suppose that's why they think I took after him," he told her.

Arya considered this for a while, before simply saying "Alright," and looking ahead.

What Typhon didn't say was that Tywin, seeing the earnest desire to learn in his grandson's eyes, had decided to test him with a single riddle, something Lord Varys had once told him. Three powerful people—a king, a priest and a rich man—were standing in the same room. In the center of the room was a common sellsword. Each man wanted the sellsword to kill the other two. So, who lived, and who died?

As a child, Typhon had only a vague idea of what power actually was, be it power in politics, in warfare, in sword fighting, etc. So how was he supposed to come up with an answer for a riddle like that? But when he couldn't come up with an answer, Tywin dismissed him, saying for him to only come back once he had figured it out.

Rather than be discouraged, however, Typhon took it as a challenge, and thought day and night about the answer could be, using every bit of wisdom his eight-year-old mind had possessed. Until finally, on a day when his father went into the Kingswood to go hunting again, it came to him. And the next time he saw Tywin, he gave his answer.

Tywin's answer had been that the rich man would live, while the king and priest would die. After all, it was a sellsword who was being given the task, someone who killed for money. So, because of that, it was only natural that the sellsword would obey whoever offered the most money. (And if this happened in real life, the rich man was probably a Lannister.)

Varys's answer to the riddle was the it was whoever had the most power, which in turn was whoever the sellsword believed had the most power. Like a shadow on a wall, whichever man created the greatest illusion of strength was the one the sellsword obeyed.

When Typhon had approached his grandfather that day, his answer had not been either of the first two. Instead, Typhon said that the sellsword would live… and every other man would die. The king would die and have his crown and throne taken, so the sellsword could be the new king. The priest would die because the rich man wanted it, and the sellsword had no faith in the gods or their wrath. And then the rich man would die as well, whether on that day or another, so that the sellsword would take not just the gold offered to him, but every bit of gold the rich man had.

From that day forward, the prince would spend one month a year at Casterly Rock at minimum, where his lessons with Tywin would continue.

Typhon was once again pulled out of his thoughts by Arya, who said "Well, that finishes up the tour. Do I need to take you to our chambers too, or can one of the servants do it for me?"

Looking at her, he could see that, now that she was done showing the place she lived in, Arya was keen to move on and go do whatever it was she wanted to. So, Typhon chuckled and shook his head, saying "I'll ask a maid to take me. Have fun, Arya."

She nodded and ran off, Nymeria pausing to take a good look at the prince before running off as well, quickly catching up with her owner. And Typhon was left to laugh at how much the wolf and girl were like each other, before finding a maid to guide him to his chambers.

Looking down at his choices of clothing for tonight's feast, Typhon had to avoid rolling his eyes. His mother always wanted him to dress in only red and gold, to display his Lannister blood and nothing else. And his father wanted him to do the same with the Baratheon colors of gold and black. The outfits before him reflected that, essentially forcing him to pick which side of his family he wanted the Starks to see in him.

"As Father would say, piss on that," he muttered aloud, and reached in his trunk to pull out his own choice of outfit. A black, fur-lined cloak and black tunic, with the back of the cloak possessing crowned stag embossed in gold. And to go with it were scarlet trousers and leggings, as well as pair of gold rings on his right hand, shaped like a stag and lion's heads respectively.

Shortly after he finished getting dressed, there was a knock on his door. Turning around, he said "Enter," and his mother walked in. Cersei was garbed in breathtaking red and gold dress, one that covered and yet still showed every inch of a figure that set women in King's Landing alight with envy. Her hair was done up in some elaborate southern braid, and her smile could send lesser men to their hands and knees.

She directed that smile at him, she said "You look more handsome than your father, Typhon."

The prince chuckled. "Considering that father has a stomach as wide as he is tall, that's not a hard feat," he pointed out.

Cersei didn't laugh, but he could tell from the way she pursed her lips that she wanted to. She sat down on the bed and gestured him to sit beside her. He did so, resisting the urge to lay his head in her lap like he hand done as a child. "You shouldn't say such things about your King," she admonished lightly, before switching topics and asking, "Why aren't you wearing the clothes I had laid out for you?"

Typhon sighed. "Father wants me to show off the part of me that comes from him, and you want me to do the same for you. But I carry blood from both of you, lion and stag," he stated, waving at both his clothes and his eyes.

"So I see," she said, softly running a hand through his hair. "You know, when you were born, and I saw that you had Robert's hair, I worried that you would inherit his less desirable qualities as well. But instead you only seemed to inherit his best—pride, determination, skill with a sword, and so on. And from me, you inherited ambition, intelligence, and a keen eye for reading others," she told him.

Typhon smiled and leaned into her hand, enjoying the comfort it brought. "One day, if Grandfather has his way, I'll end up the heir to Casterly Rock. Head of one of the most powerful families in all of Westeros. I have to be strong, and smart, and ambitious, if I'm ever going to do well at it. And either way, I'll still have to help Joffrey rule in King's Landing until the day he dies," he replied.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. Even she wasn't so blind to see that, until he matured, Joffrey would not be a good king on his own. But from the way her second oldest spoke, he'd still need help long after. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Because the Iron Throne is a chair for fools," he said bluntly. At her perplexed expression, he elaborated. "Whether they were a fool before they sat on it, became one the instant they did, or grew to be one after, every person who had ever or will ever sit on that throne is a fool. Just look at Father and the Mad King for proof. And Joffrey will be no exception."

His mother frowned but didn't have a response to that, partly because she suspected him to be right. Instead, she looked out the window and saw the it was starting to turn dark. Which meant that the feast would be starting soon.

"Come, now. Let's be kind to our hosts, savages though they may be," she said, rising to her feet. He followed her, and together they made for the Great Hall.

Yep, another plot bunny, this time for Game of Thrones. What can I say? It's a freaking awesome show.

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