The Black Stag(Remastered)
Summary: King Robert and Queen Cersei manage to conceive a true heir to the Iron Throne. This is the story of Steffon Baratheon. Remastered and re-edited for plot pacing and character consistency. Rated Mature.
Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire
Chapter Three
The lad had features hardened by a life of struggle. His hands were calloused and rough and leathered from working with the fishermen. His skin was tanned from long hours outside training at swords or working amongst the smallfolk. His eyes were world weary and much older than his tender years.
And, yet, he was beautiful. Even with his hair dyed blue. Even with his hard features. He was hauntingly beautiful in a way that Jon Connington had only seen once before.
If Jon closed his eyes, he could almost place himself back in time to when he spent time with his silver prince and the world seemed brighter than it did today.
It had been almost twenty years since Jon had last seen his silver prince. Since he had failed to stop Robert Baratheon from toppling the great dragon dynasty and been stripped of his title and exiled to the farthest corner of Essos. It had been almost twenty years since he took over raising the next rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
Jon had been raising Aegon, dubbed Young Griff, since his infancy and had personally instructed the youth in everything he needed to become the king he was meant to be. Aegon was taught swordplay and politics. He knew his letters and numbers and the sigils of the Houses of Westeros. But he also knew how to swim and cook and sew. He knew the value of a hard day's labor with the fishermen and the stonemasons. He knew how to lead from both the back and the front.
True, he wasn't as quick as his actual father in picking these skills up. And, if Jon were true to himself, the boy lacked anything more than rudimentary humility. But Jon knew that with the right guidance, his son would be the ruler best suited for Westeros. Certainly, he would be better than the Usurper or his son.
Leaning against the side of the Shy Maid as it skipped across the water, Jon allowed himself to watch his son cross blades with Ser Rolly Duckfield. The stocky man had been sent to Jon, going by Griff himself while they traveled, and had proven himself a dedicated teacher. Jon had been happy to knight him when the time came.
Jon waited for a moment until the two combatants paused their training and called his young son over.
He motioned for the boy to look over the railing of the ship and leaned in close to whisper in the boy's ear. "I've received word from a friend of mine in Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis. Jon Arryn is dead."
The boy smiled. "Good. The old falcon was the only force stabilizing the rule of the Usurper. Without him, it should be easy to convince some of the major houses over to our cause. That and being the rightful king, of course."
"Of course," Jon nodded. "But we still need to be wary. The Lannisters will never turn on the throne while Cersei is queen and the west is too afraid of the Rains of Castamere to oppose Tywin Lannister. And Baratheon and Ned Stark were raised together. Common sense would say that Stark would be named the next Hand of the King. Even if he isn't, there is little chance the North rebels against the dynasty they put on the throne themselves. And it goes without saying that the Stormlands will never betray the Baratheon family."
"But we still have Dorne and the Reach remained loyal to my grandfather during the Rebellion."
"True, but Prince Doran is a cautious man. He will support your cause, of course, but he won't act until the odds are in our favor. Mace Tyrell is a grasping man. He may have stayed loyal during the Rebellion, but he has bent the knee and Jon Arryn negotiated a betrothal between Mace's daughter and Steffon Baratheon before he died. Tyrell's desire for power will supersede his loyalty to the true throne."
"Are you saying my claim is pointless?" the boy asked, his voice rising in anger though he still maintained a harsh whisper.
"Peace, son," Jon responded, placing a calming hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm simply saying that we need to exercise caution. I'm waiting to hear from a few of my contacts that should even our odds for our Westeros landing."
"And these contacts would be?"
Jon simply smiled. "Mopatis, of course. He 's been keeping your aunt and uncle safe in his manse. The Master of Whispers, Varys. He's been feeding me information on the state of Westeros since your father died. And Harry Strickland. Leader of the Golden Company."
"Will the Golden Company and Dorne alone have enough men to win me my throne?"
"Perhaps," Jon mused. "But I would like to improve your chances some. We sail for Pentos. Mopatis will host us and you shall meet your family and we will discuss our options further. Rest assured, Aegon, with his backing we can always hire more sellswords. And when we win a few battles, the lords of Westeros will flock to your banner. Many still toast to the dragons and haven't forgotten the Rebellion either."
…
Steffon craned his neck just enough until he heard an audible pop and shrugged his shoulders preparing himself for the bout. The training pads he wore added weight that he was unaccustomed to and felt awkward as they shifted around his torso. However, he was thankful for the small mercy that his weeks of training with practice swords allowed him to hoist the blunted steel with relative ease.
Across from him, Robb Stark looked entirely comfortable in his own training gear. Steffon figured he had been training for combat for most of his years.
The young heir to Winterfell and the North was stocky and sturdy, though just a bit taller than Steffon himself. In looks he favored his mother and his Tully side, with auburn hair and blue eyes, but his countenance and posture and mannerisms screamed emulation of his stern father.
Next to him, a smirking Theon Greyjoy watched on with interest. The Greyjoy heir was lean and dark featured and handsome according to Myrcella's giggles. But there was something about his cocky smile that reminded Steffon a bit too much of his uncle Jaime and it soured Steffon to the young man immediately.
Further away, another lean and dark youth watched on as well, though this one was quick to make himself scarce if any of the royal family looked in his direction for more than a passing moment. Steffon hadn't thought much of Jon Snow since his arrival and it was clear that the bastard of Lord Stark knew to stay away from the royal party. Still, the bastard's eyes were keen as he pretended to make himself busy in order to watch the spar.
Steffon figured it was Lord Stark's honor that made him house his bastard son under the same roof as his wife and trueborn children. More still, that he seemed to treat the boy with the same affection with which he treated his other children. The same could not be said for Steffon's father.
He was aware, of course, of Edric Storm being raised at Storm's End though he had no contact with the boy. Steffon's mother would never allow it. And he was certain there were others out there, but he knew even less of them than he did of Edric.
Winterfell's master-at-arms, Ser Rodrick, bent down to give some last minute advice to Lord Robb before he turned to start the bout.
At Steffon's side, Ser Bonifer did the same.
"Remember, My Prince, judgment and wisdom will defeat strength and speed every time. The young lord may have experience, but I doubt he can match your wits if you truly put your mind to it. Follow the Crone and not the Warrior and you should be fine."
Steffon favored his sworn sword with a rueful smile. "I'm merely hoping not to make a fool of myself, Ser Bonifer."
"I have faith that the gods will see to it that you make a better showing than you believe yourself to be capable of," Ser Bonifer smiled, clapping Steffon lightly on the shoulder.
Steffon nodded again to his protector and turned to face Lord Robb and Ser Rodrick.
"My Prince, are you ready?" Ser Rodrick asked.
Robb was the first of the two to step forward, his sword swinging in a downward strike aimed at Steffon's midsection. Steffon stepped back quickly, avoiding the strike and bringing up his sword to barely parry Robb's next cross slash. Despite the stocky build of the heir to Winterfell, he was quicker than Steffon expected and the prince found himself on his back foot almost immediately.
Robb continued to press his advantage, his sword lashing out like a snake and Steffon barely managing to block the attacks. The heir to Winterfell was clever in his tactics, no two blows came from the same direction or angle, and Steffon couldn't predict where the other youth was attacking from. For now, he could only focus on keeping his balance and staying a step away from his opponent's blade. He knew that eventually he would tire from blocking blow after blow and then Robb would be free to finish him off.
Robb struck hard and Steffon reeled back, stumbling over his feet and falling to the ground. The next blow from Robb came across Steffon's helmet and he saw stars. The prince dropped from his knees to the ground.
He turned over quickly, seeing the next blow from Robb's sword coming toward his chest.
Steffon's mind raced as he struggled for a solution. "He's putting everything into this next blow. He thinks I'm going to block it. I need to do something else."
The blow came and Steffon, instead of blocking the blow with his shield, used what remained of his strength to throw his body away from Robb and scramble to his feet. He was correct in that Robb would put all his strength into that blow as the heir to Winterfell stumbled himself.
Steffon could have pressed his advantage, but he erred on the side of caution. He used the free moment he had to catch his breath instead and waited for the other young man to right himself.
"Well played , My Prince. I thought I had you there," Robb said, smiling broadly as he spun his sword and prepared to continue.
"I must admit, you nearly did," Steffon huffed in reply, his breath catching his chest more than he would like. "That last move was more out of desperation than anything."
Robb chuckled. "Very well. Are you ready to continue?"
Steffon nodded. "Let's."
Around him, Steffon could hear the shouts of "Stark" and "Winterfell", and also "Baratheon", from the household guards growing louder as the growing crowd seemed to realize that the fight was entering its next stage.
Robb struck first again, a probing slash that Steffon batted away with his shield. The next blow, he had to intercept with his blade and the struggle between the two began again. Steffon found himself tiring quicker than the last time the two tested their strength and had to break away, ducking quickly under Robb's blade and stepping away.
Steffon's breath began to burn in his chest. A few moons after his birth, Steffon developed a problem breathing. For a week, Grand Maester Pycelle and his acolytes kept a constant vigil at Steffon's bedside, watching the prince as his chest retracted while he struggled breathing. Eventually, Stefon's chest cavity filled as normal, but it left him with a life-long breathing problem. Whenever he would exert himself physically, his chest would burn beyond reason and he would find himself short of breath.
Though this problem seemed to better itself as Steffon continued to develop physically, he still felt himself struggling to breath. He knew he only had a few more minutes of stamina left in him.
He spared a quick glance down and spotted what could have been his only hope. Robb, in his haste to end the duel, traded in his footwork for power. Or maybe his footwork wasn't on par with the rest of his combat. Either way, the heir to Winterfell crossed his feet when circling, just like Allard had when he fought with Ser Bonifer. Steffon had a brief window of hope and he wasn't going to let it pass.
Instead of blocking the next blow that came from Lord Robb, Steffon just managed to turn to his side and let the blade sail past him. As he expected, Robb's feet caught when he turned to follow and that's when Stefon pressed his attack.
His first blow was a quick swipe across Robb's midsection that he expected the other boy to catch. As he did, Steffon disengaged and swung down. The blow glanced off Robb's armor, but forced the Winterfell heir to step back and disengage.
Both boys attacked again and caught the other's blunted steel, but Steffon could feel his legs grow weary trying to ground him against Robb's superior strength. Eventually, Robb won out and Steffon dropped to one knee, Robb's sword pressed lightly against his neck.
"Yield?" Robb asked with a kind smile adorning his face.
"Aye, I yield," Steffon responded.
Robb dropped his sword from Steffon's neck and extended his hand, helping the prince to his feet.
"Well fought, My Prince. I thought you had me there for a second."
Stefon doubled over, but nodded all the same. "Aye, you fight well Lord Robb, I'll be grateful to have you leading the North into battle if the time should ever come."
"Well fought boys," the voice of the king boomed out as he and Lord Stark made their way to the training yard. "I was reminded of when Ned and I were young. Though, those fights ended with me knocking his stern ass into the ground!"
"Did they?" Lord Stark replied with a raised brow. "I seem to remember forcing you to stare at the stars plenty of times."
"You dare question your king's memory?" Steffon's father growled, though the mirth behind his eyes gave away any sense of malice from the words.
"Aye, when he's wrong," Lord Stark responded with a small smirk.
"And this is why I need you in the south, Ned. The rest of the council ass kiss and only tell me what they think I want to hear. You'll tell me the truth."
"As you command, Your Grace."
"Cheer up, Ned," the king responded, slapping his large hand against Lord Stark's back. "I'm asking you to rule the realm for me, not to go back to war."
"I think we'd both prefer that option."
The king laughed. "Aye, we should leave it all behind. You and me selling our swords on the road. We have two fine sons to leave our responsibilities to. What do you say Steffon?"
Steffon shook his head. "I still think I have much to learn."
The king smiled and ruffled Steffon's hair like when he was younger. "From Ned, perhaps. He'll teach you like Jon Arryn did when we were younger. And, Ned, we'll bring your heir and yor eldest daughter down with us. Steffon can have a companion and we can finally join our houses. Joffrey won't be king, but he'll have a holdfast worthy of the daughter of the Warden of the North."
"Robb should say here, Your Grace. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."
"Nonsense. You have two younger sons, a capable wife, and a maester here. What say you, Robb? Your king commands it."
Robb spared a glance at his father. "As you say, Your Grace."
"Just like Ned. We'll get the stick out of your ass as well."
The king let out one more laughing roar and motioned for Ned to follow him back into the castle.
There was a brief silence between the two young heirs before Steffon smiled at Robb. "I apologize for my father Lord Robb, he can be rather forceful when he wants something. If you like, I can talk to him."
"No need, My Prince. Truth be told, I never thought I'd leave Winterfell. But, with my father heading south and my brother Jon wishing to join the Night's Watch, mayhaps it's best I go. I can learn to rule the North just as well in King's Landing."
"Jon? That's your bastard brother, correct?"
Robb's eyes were hard, but he nodded. "He's my brother, yes."
"No offense meant, Lord Robb," Steffon replied quickly. "Merely looking for confirmation."
"His birth doesn't offend you?" returned Robb with a genuine curiosity lacing his voice.
Steffon shrugged. Truth be told, Steffon cared little for what side of the sheets someone was born on. But, he also knew what society expected his answer to be and how his parents would respond. "He has no control over how he was born. The Seven would find his birth to be sinful and I doubt my mother would take kindly to his presence, but I have no personal feelings about him one way or another."
Robb's eyes lightened and he favored Steffon with a small smile. "Fair enough, My Prince."
Steffon waved him off. "Think nothing of it, Lord Robb. And, please, I'd like us to be friends. When we're not in a formal setting, I'd prefer you call me Steffon or Steff."
Robb nodded. "Then I insist you call me Robb."
…
The morning they were set to leave Winterfell dawned gray and cold and reflected the mood of the castle. The day before, young Bran Stark had fallen from one of the towers and had not yet woken.
Steffon hadn't spoken much to the second Stark son, but he seemed a cheerful and kind boy and it didn't take a genius to see that his injury had a devastating effect on the Stark family and the rest of the castle's inhabitants.
Still, the party needed to leave and head back to the capital. They had been away for too long and Lord Stark needed to settle in as the new Hand of the King.
Steffon's mother and siblings were already settled into their carriage, joined by Sansa and Arya Stark, while the knights saddled their horses and the soldiers prepared for their march.
Lord Stark's bastard son Jon would be venturing with his uncle Benjen further North to join the Night's Watch; their party planning to split with the royal party on the road outside of Winterfell. Surprisingly, Steffon's uncle Tyrion had elected to join them claiming he wished to see the WAll and piss off the edge of the world.
Steffon, having finished saddling his horse, approached Robb Stark and his half-brother Jon as they said goodbye.
"Apologies for the intrusion," Steffon began. "My father wishes to leave."
Steffon turned from Robb to Jon Snow. "I'm told there is great honor in serving in the Night's Watch. Thank you for doing your part."
Jon Snow bowed low. "Of course, My Prince."
Robb and his brother hugged quickly and the lean young man pulled himself on his horse and turned away.
"You were kind to my brother," Robb began, turning to face Steffon. "Thank you."
Steffon nodded. "From what I understand of the Wall, it may be the last kindness he receives for a while."
End of Chapter Three
A/N; A bit quicker than the last one and where the canon divergence truly begins. As always questions and reviews are greatly appreciated.