- Latter end of the 282nd Year, Harrenhal -

A babe's cries echoed throughout Kingspyre Tower, the tallest and largest of the great towers within Harrenhal, the ghostly dark halls lively with life.

The midwife passed the child to the mother who sat on the bed, beads of sweat made her gown and bedding wet (other than the blood). She brushed her auburn hair aside and reached her pale arms to grab her baby, "It's a healthy son, Lady."

A boy, truly?

Celia Whent felt a smile cross her lips, memories of the last year flooding her mind.

She was a young maid, freshly flowered, and was given a grand tourney for her seventeenth name day, all had come even the King and Crown Prince, though that wasn't what stirred her happiness as the Prince embarrassed his wife who was in attendance and the King looked nothing like the beautiful son he had.

No, her happiness comes from the charming laughter of Robert Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End and handsome as well.

She was captivated by him, and at the closing feast of the tournament, she was disheartened by losing her title as Queen of Love and Beauty to the Northern daughter of House Stark. It was Robert and his tender words that made her open her heart and her body to him.

It was magical, he even said he would marry her and when she became pregnant she couldn't wait to be his.

Celia's smile then faded, and she frowned as the latest event crept in.

Lyanna's abduction, the Northern maid who she later found out was betrothed to Robert begot a terrible war that had since claimed the lives of her own father and all of her brothers at the outset of the Battle of the Bells.

Her pregnancy was soon discovered by her swollen belly, fortunately, her mother (Shella) was more happy than upset and had since prepared the castle and staff for the impending birth.

She had sent word of the occasion to Robert, wherever he was since the ugliness of this wretched war began. She wanted him to come to her so they could be wed but nothing had been replied, no returning raven or even a rider sent to protect her.

Mother forced her to accept the reality of things, she wasn't anything but a whore to Robert.

"No matter, I still love you," she said with a coo to her boy, suckling milk from her breast. She placed a finger, twirling his little tuft of black hair as she thought of a name for him.

Ancestral Whent names came to mind but looking down, she knew he wouldn't grow to be a went as he had nothing distinguishing to choose so she gave him the name of Steffon, Steffon Rivers, her acknowledged natural-born son.

As she rested, her son remained at her side, well, after the bedding and clothes were replaced and a crib was placed inside the chamber.

The next few days she didn't leave the room but after a fortnight she decided to show her son to the rest of the household, the child giggled and blue eyes looked about the castle with curiosity.

Mother adored Steffon, saying he had her eyes but Celia knew better for her eyes were a lighter blue whereas her son had only the eyes of his father. "Don't be so modest, My Lady." Ser Willis Wode, her father's friend one of the few hundred who rode out of Harrenhal to fight.

He referred to her as My Lady? Celia thought it curious.

She was Lady of Harrenhal, the passing of her father and brothers leaving everything to her to maintain.

Another few days would pass and she was walking the courtyard to break her fast with Mother when the horns blew from the postern gate. She hurried as sure as others to see what the commotion was about and her eyes widened seeing the banners of House Baratheon.

For a moment, a split second she hoped it was him, and her eyes widened further when she saw Robert's bearded face.

A thousand scenarios ran through her mind as she approached him, from him proposing marriage to other fantasies but what he wanted was to see his bastard son, said exactly as such, "I come to see this bastard of mine, My Lady?"

My Lady?

Climbing the Kingspyre with Robert, he didn't much say a single word, even when she tried to do so. "Was I just a whore to you? You take my virtue and what, come to claim he isn't yours?" was something she wanted to ask but she forced onward and in silence.

Robert walked over and after some caution picked up Steffon. "What did you name him?" was the first he asked since arriving and she grew further upset.

"He's... " she paused then continued, "I named him Steffon, after your own Lord Father." she was gladdened he smiled, appreciative of her choice so she decided to ask. "Robert, I dreamt of this moment, eager to see you keep the promise made that night."

Robert eyed her with some confusion, "My Lady, ah Celia... I am sorry. I don't even remember our night," and like that, her world was crushed.

The rebel leader left with promises to look after and see that their son wants for nothing but she didn't listen to a word and the night that followed his departure, she fell into such a depression that she succumbed to her violent thoughts.

Celia Whent stood on the bridge connecting Kingspyre to Widow's Tower, climbed onto the ledge, and free-fell to the ground below, feeling nothing more.

The castle was alive in the hours of Celia's suicide, Shella was in her own chamber when a knock was heard and she hurried with haste, unbelieving in what Willis had reported until she saw it for herself and wailed openly, her last child was gone.

After a few more moons the war would end. Robert would be crowned King Robert, first of his name, and like promised would send Steffon a gift up to his tenth name day then an allowance of gold thereafter.

Steffon Rivers would grow strong day by day despite being under the shadows of Harrenhal, growing tall and charming by his twelfth name day.

- The 295th Year, the Red Keep -

Robert relaxed against the wall of his bath, his stomach digesting the meal he had at supper.

"Your Grace, the Hand of the King is here to see you." damn the man, couldn't it have waited till tomorrow? Robert waved his hand to tell the Kingsguard to grant Jon permission to enter and with a sigh, the King reached for a bottle of Arbor Gold.

Jon had been his irritatingly wise conscience over the last decade or so he has reigned as King. The Hand entered with a disapproving sigh, embarrassed at Robert's state of undress as the water warmed from how hot he had it.

"What is it, Jon?" he asked and Lord Arryn set down some books and approached with a raven scroll, no matter how much he squinted, he couldn't see the blasted sigil on the scroll. "An urgent letter, hmm, from where? Has the Blackwoods and Brackens reignited their age-old feud?"

"It is from Lady Shella Whent, Robert." his bastard's grandmother?

It's been some years since he's seen the lad, the last time was when he had to bring the Ironborn to heel. "What happened, is it my son?" he questioned out of slight concern, wondering if he had died or worse, gotten married.

A further memory or guilt came to him, hearing how the boy's mother jumped to her death just as he was making his way to celebrate Ned and Jon's wedding to Catelyn and Lysa Tully.

He felt terrible but the girl wasn't too bright, surely Steffon did well under Lady Shella.

"In a way, yes." Jon answered and cleared his throat, "She writes with urgency to stem the fall of her House, she asked to petition your Grace to legitimize Steffon Rivers so he may be the next Lord of Harrenhal."

Robert truthfully hadn't given such a thing thought, not even when it came to Mya or Edric.

"What do you think, Jon?" he would have counsel on the matter for it had some consequences if he did or didn't.

Jon was quiet for several moments, "If we don't, House Whent is sure to fade in name, they are a loyal House and related to the Tully's by blood." so his son is close in blood to Ned's own children? Interesting. "However, doing so puts Prince Joffrey's succession in a precarious situation, care to remember how the Blackfyres spent almost a half-century trying to take the Iron Throne."

Sure but his blood is not to greedy or mad as the Targaryens. "What if we have him swear not to do anything? He is a good child from what I remember."

"He's your son, Robert, but Lady Whent would like a reply so what will we do?"

Bah, he isn't dying anytime in the future so let it be so, "Draft me a declaration and send for my bastard, have him come and I will discuss it with Lady Whent."

He supposed he owed it to the boy's mother, so one more great gift, and besides, better Harrenhal be under someone with his blood than anyone else.

- Harrenhal -

A cheerful youth of ten and two blocked the blow from Willis Wode, reacting swiftly and swinging his tourney blade at the old knight's exposed chest, smiling victoriously as he did so.

"You are learning well, Steffon."

"Thank you, Ser Willis."

The small-voiced calling of Maester Tothmure broke the training session, "Steffon! Your Grandmother needs you." the youth set down his shield and sword before running inside Widows Tower.

Ghosts are said to haunt these halls, but they never bothered him. The only time it was frightening was during thunderstorms or when venturing into the under-vaults, which had no windows or light except for a dozen torches.

Harrenhal was home, his favorite places with the Hall of a Thousand Hearths and the Godswood where the warped Weirwood stared eternally.

Making it to the bridge, he was surprised to see his Grandmother standing in the middle, a solemn look in her expression and so too did Steffon upon remembering this was where his mother had lept to her death.

She noticed him and smiled, "Come here, child, I have news." news?

"Yes, Grandmother." she handed him a letter and he saw it was stamped with gold wax, the crowned stag of the royal House of Baratheon. "Father?"

"Yes, he wants to see you." not since he was six had he even seen his father's face.

Steffon remembers getting letters, usually a gift or some gold but nothing else other than that. "Why does he want to see me now?" he asked and Shella cupped his cheek.

"You are the future of House Whent, child... It's high time you earned the right to carry the name."

Steffon Whent, Lord of Harrenhal.