Okay, so welcome to my first Game of Thrones story. Recently, I've been reading a lot of stories which feature a legitimate son of Robert and Cersei, and the thought's always intrigued me, so I decided to have a pop at one myself.
As for the name of their son, I've chosen Steffon. This is because I always got the impression that despite his many failings, Robert was fond of his father and did dearly miss him after his father's ship was sunk by a storm at Shipbreaker Bay within sight of Storm's End.
Also, because I'm not fond of overly perfect characters, I'm deliberately making Steffon a competent, but not brilliant fighter. Instead, I'm going to make him more of a commander than a fighter; though this may be because I've always felt that smarts beat brute force.
Anyway, here are the ages. I've aged some of them up or down for the purposes of this story:
Robb, Theon, Jon-17
Joffrey-16
Steffon and Sansa-15
Arya and Myrcella-14 (mainly to reduce the squick with Steffon and Arya)
Bran and Tommen-12
Shireen-9
Rickon-7
Steffon Baratheon breathed in the crisp, cold Northern air. Despite having never been to the North before, he was already liking it. He wasn't that fond of the heat of the south.
It had been a month since House Baratheon of King's Landing had begun their long journey northwards, ever since the death of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. Lord Arryn's death had always troubled Steffon, mainly because Arryn had been in perfect health before he suddenly took ill and died. Steffon had always had always been smart (some would say too smart for his own good), and had spent some time analysing Jon Arryn's death, and had come to what he thought was the only logical conclusion: Jon Arryn had been murdered. By whom, he couldn't say, but it troubled him nonetheless.
What disturbed him even more was that his uncle Stannis had fled King's Landing soon after Jon's death. Stannis was never one to run from a fight. This troubled Steffon greatly.
Still, it would do him no good to be focussing on his troubles now. He was in the North, the largest of the Seven Kingdoms. What a beautiful place it is too, thought Steffon. There was none of that ridiculous, over-the-top decoration that seemed so popular in the south. No, it was simple and elegant. This, was nature at its finest.
"Steffon, are you still there, boy?" Asked his father, snapping him out of his thoughts. The two were riding at the head of the royal column.
"Yes, father."
"Good, I'd thought your mind had gone wandering again." Said Robert. It was true, Steffon had always been a bit of a daydreamer. It was the one flaw he allowed himself. Well, that and his average-at-best swordsmanship.
When Steffon was growing up, many commented on his uncanny resemblance to Robert when he was young, save for the fact that Steffon was always clean-shaven. His resemblance to his father became even more apparent when compared to his siblings. While Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella all had blonde hair, Steffon's hair was as black as the night itself. He had also shown a marked preference for Baratheon equipment, while Joffrey seemed to prefer Lannister. Steffon was also always seen wearing some form of armour. Even now, he was wearing Baratheon-style padded armour (just think of it as a dark beige colour with the Baratheon sigil in the centre) with a Baratheon cape fluttering from his back. The padded armour helped with the North's cold climate that was for sure.
"My mind would go wandering father; we've been riding for a month."
"Yes well, we'd have reached Winterfell sooner if your mother didn't insist on bringing that damned Wheelhouse with us. Then there's your older brother; he's the Crown Prince! He should be riding! But no, he stays in that wheelhouse with his mother."
Steffon's face slightly darkened at the mention of Joffrey. He and his brother had never really gotten along. It had started when Steffon was 8 and Joffrey was 9. Steffon had been running around in the Red Keep's courtyard, playing with a wooden sword he had recently been given by his uncle Stannis for his 8th nameday. Steffon had been pretending he was his father during the Rebellion, killing Rhaegar Targaryen and winning the Rebellion, before Joffrey had shoved him to the ground, telling him he would be the King and Steffon would be nothing his whole life.
It was the one time Steffon had truly cried.
Ever since then, the two had never gotten along. Steffon had spent more time around Robert and Stannis, while Joffrey usually was seen with their mother. Steffon's time spent with Stannis proved to be well-founded too. Thanks to Stannis' influence, Steffon became a rather skilled tactician and strategist. He longed to test his skills so much, he'd once tried to sneak out of the Red Keep and find a ship for Essos, and join one of the constantly warring Free Cities. He'd almost escaped the Keep . . . before he was found by Barristan Selmy. His mother had scolded him for worrying her; his father had merely laughed; Renly had so likewise; and Stannis had pulled him aside to give him a lecture about duty and responsibility.
CRRRAAACCCKKKK
Oh damn that wheelhouse to all the Seven Hells. Thought Steffon. One of the wheels had broken off. Again. Gods, even his mother and sibling had to be getting sick of that thing now, surely. Steffon dismounted his horse and went to help change the wheel.
After 30 minutes of fluffing about, the column was on the move again. Soon enough, Winterfell was in sight. Steffon couldn't help but marvel at the grand structures that made up the Stark ancestral home. This was the first time since he'd been in the North that he truly felt the presence of the First Men; he could see it in the buildings. Again, like every other building in the North; there was nothing fancy about it. Although a lot of effort had clearly gone into building it, he could see that other than the handful of Direwolf banners that fluttered from the walls, there was almost no decoration on the buildings.
Joffrey by now had left the wheelhouse and mounted a horse to ride in to Winterfell. He rode ahead of Steffon, as he was the Crown Prince and Steffon wasn't.
They rode through the gates of Winterfell and up to where the Starks were waiting to receive them. In this moment, Steffon noticed that a girl with auburn hair smiling shyly at Joffrey. Oh great, another person for my brother to torture, he thought. Robert dismounted his horse and walked up to Eddard Stark, his old friend. The two stared at each other for a few moments, before Robert spoke up.
"You got fat" he said. Father can't exactly talk about weight, Steffon thought. Eddard looked pointedly at Robert's stomach, as if returning what Robert had said. The two stared intensely at each other for a few more seconds, before they both broke out into a laugh. Steffon couldn't help himself and chuckled lightly.
"9 years. I haven't seen you, where the hell have you been?" Asked Robert.
"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." Replied Ned, smiling.
While his father conversed with the other Starks, Steffon began surveying them. It was habit of his when meeting people for the first time. On the far right of the Stark family seemed to be their youngest child, what his name was, Steffon couldn't put his finger on. Looking to his left, he saw the remaining Starks.
His eyes first landed on the eldest of the Stark children. Robb, Steffon thought his name was. Robb was tall, broad-shouldered and seemed to have an aura of leadership around him. Steffon came to the conclusion that the heir to Winterfell would become a great man in the future.
Looking further down the line, he noticed the auburn-haired girl again. She'd clearly inherited her mother's Tully looks. Steffon knew almost instantly that she was what could be termed classically beautiful, but she seemed too naïve; too perfect.
Looking further to the left, he saw a girl who looked to be no older than 12. She'd inherited her father's distinctive Stark looks, and Steffon got the feeling he'd seen her before. She was the short one wearing the helmet at the gate, you dolt he thought. Straight away, he could tell that she wasn't a typical noble lady. It seemed to draw him to her.
His impression of the last Stark was one of mystery. The boy seemed to be like every other, but there seemed to be something more to him than met the eye. He'd have to keep his eye on that one.
"Ned, take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects." Said Robert, breaking Steffon's train of thought. It was Lyanna he was talking about. Naturally. He talked of her often, and Steffon frequently tired of hearing it.
"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." Cersei said coldly. Robert and Ned left anyway. Cersei sent Steffon's uncle, Jaime Lannister, off to find his other uncle, Tyrion.
Steffon had always gotten along with Tyrion. From what he knew of the Lannisters, he gathered Tyrion was the figurative black sheep of the family. Hated by his father Tywin and his sister Cersei alike, Steffon and Tyrion, having both endured the hatred of siblings, seemed to be kindred spirits. Indeed, it showed; Tyrion was the one Lannister he always made time for.
He turned towards Catelyn Stark, Ned's wife. "Well, Lady Stark, are you not going to introduce me and siblings?" He said, gesturing to Myrcella and Tommen. Joffrey gave a slight glare, but immediately went back to smiling when Sansa was looking at him again.
"Of course, my Prince." Said Catelyn, with immaculate politeness. She turned to the child next to her.
"This is my youngest son, Rickon. He's only 7 years old." She said. Rickon looked up at the person that was called the Young Stag shyly. Steffon, seeing that the lad was clearly out of his depth, gently ruffled his hair, just as his father had done.
"This is my eldest, Robb." Cat said, gesturing towards the future Lord of Winterfell.
"A pleasure, my Prince." Said Robb.
"Call me Steffon, please." He replied.
"Very well then Steffon." Said Robb, half-smiling. Steffon returned the half-smile, feeling that could become good friends with this man.
"Our elder daughter Sansa. Sansa, show these three some attention!" Said Cat, momentarily diverting Sansa's attention from Joffrey long enough to say a quick hello. Steffon quickly moved on.
"Our younger daughter Arya." Said Cat.
"How old are you, My Lady? 12?" He asked.
"14. And I'm not a Lady." Arya replied. She's feisty, this onehe thought. He smiled down at her, while Cat rolled her eyes in exasperation. Myrcella and Tommen merely giggled.
"And last but not least, our middle son, Brandon. He prefers to be called Bran though." Cat said. Steffon made quick introductions of himself and Tommen, but Myrcella's was a bit more drawn out. She blushed when Bran kissed her hand. Although Bran was merely observing a courtesy (Robb had done the same about 30 seconds ago), Myrcella was going redder by the second. Cat and Steffon merely nodded at each other and separated the two (both would cop an earful for it later). As Steffon peered past the Starks, he noticed a person who looked strikingly similar to Ned. He turned to Cat.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"Jon Snow. Ned's bastard son." She responded, somewhat coldly.
"I wish to speak with him."
"My Prince, it would not be appropriate for-" Catelyn began to protest, before Steffon cut her off.
"Oh bugger that nonsense. We're all equal, aren't we?" Said Steffon. Reluctantly, Catelyn motioned for Jon to step forward and shake the Prince's hand.
"My Prince." Said Jon, clearly uncomfortable with Catelyn beside him. The Lady of Winterfell had already made little secret of her disdain for Jon.
"Please, call me Steffon." He said, grabbing Jon's hand and shaking it. He was then introduced to Theon Greyjoy, the heir to Pyke. As the party began to disperse, Robb and Theon walked over to him.
"Steffon, we thought we'd give you the tour of Winterfell." Said Robb.
"Thank you, Robb. Oh, will Jon be joining us?" Steffon asked.
"I'm just a bastard, my Prince" Said Jon, with the same grim look on his face.
"Perhaps, but my half-brother Edric is a bastard too. It makes little difference to me." Said Steffon. Jon was taken slightly aback; he hadn't expected this sort of thinking from a Prince of Westeros, let alone someone related to Joffrey. Jon made to join them, and the three began showing the Prince around Winterfell.
"You'll like Winterfell, Steffon."
"I already do, Robb. It's a lot simpler than the south, that's for sure."
"The girls are better up here too. If you like redheads, go to the tavern and ask for-" Theon began, before being cut off by Steffon.
"I'll have to stop you there Theon. I do love my father, but the whoring and drinking is where I draw the line." Said Steffon, with a note of finality. "So, where to first?"
"Do you like history?" Asked Jon.
"Yes, very much so." Steffon replied. Jon and Robb nodded at each other.
"Then first stop is the First Keep. Come on then." Said Robb. The four began walking towards the First Keep. I'm already liking this place, Steffon thought.