Boryn

Boryn Baratheon, trueborn heir to the Iron Throne, circled his uncle Jaime Lannister in the training yard of the Red Keep. The morning sun beat down on King's Landing, casting long shadows over the courtyard's stone walls. Boryn, now a man grown of sixteen, stood nearly as tall as his father, King Robert, and was of the same formidable bulk and stock. His hair, dark as a raven's wing, fell into his eyes as he studied his uncle's every move.

"Come now," Jaime teased, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight. "Show me the might of the Stag." His voice was light, but his eyes were sharp, ever vigilant. The Kingslayer moved with the grace of a dancer, his sword an extension of his arm, poised and deadly.

Boryn's dark hair fell into his eyes as he stepped back, only to lunge forward with renewed vigor. He admired his uncle's skill, the way Jaime moved with a fluid grace. It was a dance, and the Prince was determined to keep up.

"Don't grimace when you lunge you or you give away the game," Jaime chided his nephew, his face creased with a fox's smile. He had effortlessly avoided Boryn's strike, and he moved like the wind itself.

Boryn nodded, sweat dripping down his brow as he parried another blow. It was swifter than he had anticipated, and he had to hop back in order to fully get out of dodge.

"So, the Stag can dance," Jaime's words were half praise and half jape, but Boryn's chest swelled with pride at his uncle's words.

The sounds of footsteps interrupted their sparring session, and Boryn turned to see Petyr Baelish, the Master Of Coin, ever-present smirk on his lips, standing at the edge of the courtyard, leaning against a pillar with a book nestled between his arms.

"My Prince," Littlefinger began, giving the heir a courteous bow. He spoke with a tone as smooth as silk, "forgive the intrusion, but your father, the King, requests your presence immediately."

Boryn straightened, sheathing his sword as he wiped his brow. "What for?"

Baelish's smile widened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "He wishes to discuss your future. A marriage proposal, so I've heard."

The Prince's brow was knitted together in a flash of surprise. "A marriage proposal?"

"It would seem so," Littlefinger replied, stepping closer. "To the eldest Stark daughter, Sansa. A union between House Baratheon and House Stark would strengthen the ties between the North and the Crown."

Before Boryn could respond, Baelish's expression softened slightly, as if he had remembered some grave duty. "And, my Prince," he added, his voice lower, "I offer my condolences for the death of Jon Arryn. He was a good man, and his loss will be felt across the realm."

The mention of Jon Arryn's death brought a shadow over Boryn's thoughts. He had been a father figure of sorts, a mentor to his own father, and his death had shaken King Robert in ways that Boryn had never seen.

The future suddenly seemed more uncertain, more treacherous.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," Boryn said quietly, his voice was low, the storm beneath the surface was as loud as any other on Storm's End. "If you'll excuse me," The crowned prince stormed off into the darkness, his heart thundering in his chest.

Jaime

In the candlelit chambers of the Red Keep, Cersei Lannister overlooked the proceedings of the Silent Sisters as they prayed over Jon Arryn's body. Her expression was as hard as iron, her thoughts dark. Jaime, leaned against one of the columns and for a moment he said nothing, he merely stared at his sister.

"You worry too much," Jaime said finally.

"And you never worry about anything," Her gaze remained fixed on the proceedings a level below.

"I don't know what he suspected, but if he knew the truth..." She trailed off, her expression betraying a rare flicker of unease.

Jaime pushed himself off the column and walked toward her, his golden hair glinting in the low light. "If he knew, then he would have told Robert, and our heads would be lining the walls of King's Landing right about now."

Cersei said nothing at first, but then finally added, "Still, we should be careful. Jon Arryn was no fool. If he left anything behind, anything that could point to us..."

"Then we'll deal with it, just as we always have," Jaime assured her.

A silence settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Jaime hesitated, then decided to broach the subject that had been gnawing at him for some time.

"And let's not forget of Boryn," Jaime informed her, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. "He is a capable young man, and strong, it would be a shame if he were to be dragged into the middle of..." The Kingslayer gestured to Jon Arryn's body with a nod of his head, "...this."

Cersei stiffened, her face hardening like stone. "That means little to me."

Jaime sighed. "He is your son, Cersei. Your firstborn and heir to the Iron Throne. From what I can tell his time away on Dragonstone has done him some good. He's not a stiff like Stannis nor an oaf like his father, I figured he would be everything you would want in a son."

Cersei's expression darkened, her lips curling in disdain. "Everything Robert wanted," she echoed bitterly. "But not what I wanted. He was sent away to that wretched rock, and now he's not but a reminder of everything I despise."

"You haven't seen him since the Siege Of Pyke," Jaime pressed gently, "And he is here now. Don't you ever wonder what kind of man he's becoming?"

"No," Cersei hissed, her voice sharp and cutting. "I don't care. He was a mistake, a burden. The son Robert wanted, not the one I wanted."

Jaime said nothing, feeling something akin to pity for his nephew.

"I have other concerns, greater concerns. Jon Arryn is dead, and we must ensure that nothing from his death threatens us. Let us focus on that, and leave the past where it belongs."

Jaime nodded slowly, knowing better than to press the issue further.

Boryn

"You'll do as I command, boy," Robert said, his voice a low rumble. "The North needs to be bound to us by more than oaths and words. A marriage alliance with the Starks will secure that."

Boryn took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. "She is a child! I desire an equal in court not a swaddled babe-"

Robert slammed his fist on the desk, making the inkwell jump. "Seven hells, son! You think I wanted to marry your mother?! I didn't have a choice, and neither do you! This isn't about what you want, it's about what's best for the realm! Bringing the Starks into the fold will secure our lineage for generations to come! Look around you! What do you think is holding this damned thing together?!"

Boryn's gaze turned downward, his expression full of melancholy. For once, his father's words made sense to him. The North was a land that followed the Old Gods, it was wild, large, and untamed. His father had ties through a bond with Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, but that bond could be easily broken. A bond of blood however, would last forever.

Yet the crowned Prince felt as if the cost for him would be too great.

"I am not you," Boryn said quietly, garnering his father's attention once more. "I will not be forced into a loveless marriage, a marriage that mirrors yours."

The King steeled his face, his eyes shone with the fury of a thousand storms. "Stubborn boy. I see Stannis hadn't passed on to you his sense of duty," he muttered. "But you will do as I decree."

There was a long silence between them, the kind that stretched like a chasm. Boryn wanted to bridge it, to find some way to make his father see reason, but he knew it was futile. The King had made up his mind, and in that moment, Boryn felt the weight of his own future settle heavily upon his shoulders.

"Think on it," His father said finally, his voice heavy. "You'll meet Sansa, and perhaps you'll find her to your liking."

Boryn nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. He turned and left the solar without another word, the echo of his father's command ringing in his ears.