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Steffon Baratheon snorted, restless, during Maester Samwell’s lesson. How can we listen on a day like this, he thought. He would have preferred to continue training on the parade with Prince Aemon, rather than sitting there listening to that boring history lesson. The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, twelve year old, was sitting in front of him, round a long solid wood table, and he could hardly hold back the anxiety that filled him. Steffon watched him carefully, to spend most of his time. Matted locks of black hair sprouted from the head of the prince, a few patches of dust and earth soiled the red dragon embroidered on his black jerkin. Clearly, Aemon followed the restless steps of the servants who wandered whispering for the Red Keep.
The Queen was giving birth. Steffon was not very informed about the procedure, but that morning Brienne of Tarth had come running to the parade ground, where the King himself was overseeing their training with the sword. It was always exciting when the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the legendary and formidable fighter, watched them and advised them. Sometimes Uncle Jon went down among them to train them personally. He was often particularly dissatisfied with how they used their shields to defend themselves. That morning he was berating Ned, saying that the boy had to raise the guard or the king would sound him as a bell, when Lady Brienne had come to inform him.
Since then, they had not seen the King, probably because ha was in the apartments of the Queen, waiting for the birth of his last child. A similar thing had happened three years earlier, when little Robb was born, and Steffon had just come to King's Landing. The Red Keep and the whole city held the breath while Steffon and the young princes were waiting for hours any news upon the arrival of the new Targaryen.
At some point, the Aemon’s incredible violet eyes widened, staring concentrated the corner of the open window. Immediately, Steffon’s eyes followed the direction of the prince's eyes. The voice of the Maester continued to tell of kings and battles, but from the courtyard of the Red Keep they could heard laughter of little children. Violet eyes shone, the heir to the throne recognized the children's voices, and a smile curled his lips.
Steffon Baratheon knew immediately that out there, in the yard, there were the little children of the King. He liked them. Of course, he could not fight with them, but it was funny when he and Aemon loaded them on their shoulders and ran about them around the Keep, despite the exasperated servitude’s cry.
Even if Aemon was older than a year, Steffon was the stronger of the two, and logic as well as the practice wanted him to load his shoulder Lyanna, six years, while his friend took care of the small Robb, three years old. With his dark curls and the long-face of north men, he was a small copy of his older brother and his father.
Steffon liked to carry around the princess. She was always so quiet, and polite, the exact opposite of Aemon, noisy and boastful as few. And she was beautiful. Her long silver hair fell in soft waves to her waist, her delicate features were very different from those of the two brothers with dark hair. He often heard the comments of the adults who complimented the sovereigns for her beauty. "She is a true Targaryen" they said " she is the blood of the dragon. She’ll become beautiful and regal as Queen Daenerys."
Steffon had noticed, just arrived to King's Landing after the death of his father, that appoint Queen Daenerys was something that made uncomfortable many people in the Red Keep. Uncle Jon usually smiled, while his eyes followed with a sad smile little Lyanna’s games.
The Queen usually stiffened immediately. Her face showed no change, but Steffon had learned to know her well, so much to love her almost as if she was his real mother. He knew that mentioning the last Queen of the Dragon made her uncomfortable. After all, she was only the wife of the King. The crown had been of Queen Daenerys by birth and conquest. It was understood that any reference to the mother of dragons did not please her. But in that moments, the attention of the Queen was going to Aemon.
The young prince in fact sometimes went to hide in some hidden spot in the godswood, to cry alone because he missed his mother. He was ashamed of that weakness, and would not let anyone see the tears he could not hold back. Recently it was seldom enough, but it was a scene that was repeated frequently after Steffon’s Arrive. Aemon's mother had died during the terrible battle against the Others, five years earlier.
Steffon understood him, all right. His mother died when he was born, but his father, Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, had died just three years before, sunk while returning from a trip to Sunspear. Since then, the King had him under his tutelage, by sending his trusted adviser Ser Davos Seaworth to administer his estate until Steffon had not reached the age to rule alone his land. Meanwhile, he learned to fight and rule together with the one who would become the ruler after King Jon's death. The prince was like a brother to him.
Aemon was busy smiling and listening to the chatter of the younger brothers, who were playing outside the window while young Baratheon was distracted, lost in his train of thought.
"Well, my young Lords. Since you seem particularly interested in today's lesson, tell me: who was the Hand of the King during the Battle of Blackwater?"
Aemon and Steffon exchanged a dismayed look. It was predictable that Maester Samwell plucked them foul.
"Tyrion Lannister." They both turned to Ned, who until then had remained silent, sitting alongside his older brother. Maester Samwell let out a chuckle. Looking at him, for the umpteenth time Steffon could not help but wonder to the incredible similarity that Ned had with his sister, even though he was older than three years. The same gray eyes of Lyanna was engraved in a face with identical features to those of her, much more delicate than those of the brothers. In a different way from his sister, some brown curls framed the beautiful face of Ned, with a deep red hue that shimmered in the afternoon light.
"The king at the time was Jeoffrey Baratheon. Lord Tyrion had been the Hand of the King for a short period before the charge returned to his father, Tywin Lannister." The boy explained. Ned was so silent as few, so much as to forget his presence at all. And although he was only nine years old, he could be more attentive during lessons with Maester Samwell, and knew a lot of things, including those that were not explained in class.
Steffon had heard more than once the servants talking about Ned. He was not sweet and kind as Lyanna, not even funny and boisterous as Aemon, so his long silences and his serious expressions made him obnoxious to most of the servants. "The bastard," they called him to each other, because he was not born or from Queen Daenerys nor the legitimate wife of the King, but he was the son of some unknown woman. Perhaps, some murmured, he was the son of one of those wildlings who came from beyond the Wall. However, Ned had been recognized by the King, and had been received with great kindness by Queen Daenerys by the wife of the King.
"Jeoffrey Baratheon? Was he a relative of yours?” The prince asked to Steffon, his purple eyes laid on him with some surprise.
"Prince Aemon! What? Don’t you know that Jeoffrey Baratheon was Steffon’s uncle?"
The voice of the Maester had risen a few octaves in amazement. Aemon was a great guy, as noisy and boastful, but not particularly attentive to political issues. Probably he would have become a great warrior, like his father, but he would need good advisers by his side to become a great ruler.
"But then, was your father the brother of the King?" The Prince asked again.
"Yes and no. He's never known. My father was a Waters." Steffon said, glancing in passing at Ned. "He’s been legitimized by King Jon’s decree. My father was the illegitimate son of King Robert Baratheon."
"The usurper." Ned said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the table.
"Your grandfather was King Robert? The one who killed my grandfather in the Battle of the Trident? " The the prince asked, a lot of amazement and a lot of indignation in his voice.
"Aemon, seriously, but where have you been until now? Where do you live? Steffon is with us for years and you do not know these things?" Ned’s rebuke was almost comical, if the theme of the discussion had not been so dramatic. Maester Samwell was holding back a laugh, as Steffon indeed.
"His grandfather killed our grandfather Rheagar, and his uncle Joffrey execute my grandfather, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Of course, as always the Queen says, Lord Gendry was a brave and important ally for my father, and has no blame for what they did to her relatives." Ned explained.
"Wait, Ned, I get lost. Was Lord Eddard grandmother Lyanna’s brother?"
"Yes."
"Then how can he be your grandfather is he is Grandma’s brother?"
Ned stared straight into the eyes of his brother for a moment. "Why you will become king just because you were born before me? You're as stupid as a goat!"
Before Aemon could beat his brother, the voice of Maester Samwell came to stop them.
"Eddard! Moderate your words, your brother is still the heir to the throne! And you, Prince Aemon, behave like a king! Are you both young princes or just two urchins from Flea Bottom?"
More than the Maester’s voice, a silver-haired whirlwind calm them. Without being heard, Lyanna had entered the room carrying around little Robb and a kitten. Wearing a simple blue dress, she had stop between her two brothers, watching them both with her beautiful gray eyes.
"Do not worry about it, Ned. When Aemon will be on the throne, you will become Hand of the King, so he won’t ruin anything."
Even Ned, always serious, smiled at the words of his sister. The expression of Aemon's face instead, was pure joy, violet eyes enchanted by Lyanna’s grace. Obviously the Maester had smothered another laugh, Steffon had heard it very clearly.
"Care to explain me why our grandmother’s brother is your grandfather?" The prince asked again to his brother.
"In your opinion, when I was born, why did they give me the name of Lord Eddard Stark?"
"Because he was the uncle of our father?"
"But where were you when father tell us that he grew up in Winterfell believing to be the bastard son of Lord Eddard?"
"I dunno, I listen only when he tells the adventures lived on the Wall, as Lord Commander!"
Steffon thought that was why the King was so magnanimous towards bastards, his and of the others. He had grown up as one of them. What stories. And those servants whispering maliciously behind Ned’s back... He wondered if they knew that their adored King had been a bastard? Probably yes, but as they were stupid, they did not realize that illegitimate children were nothing less than legitimate children. From what the King and Queen had told him, Steffon’s father had been a much more valiant man than his brothers who were seated on the throne.
Meanwhile, Ned began to explain patiently to his brother the complicated genealogy of the Targaryen family, while Lyanna listened with interest, and the small Robb was rolling on the floor playing with the kitten.
"My mother is Lord Eddard’s daughter. This is why I was named after him, like my grandfather, see?"
Steffon gasped. Just a moment. Ned's mother was Lord Eddard’s daughter? Lady Sansa of the Valley? That's where he got his red hair! He was really amazed, not only for the shocking revelation of the woman who was Ned's mother, but for the absolute tranquility with which the prince himself had received the news. Even Maester Samwell had not blink an eye. Evidently the truth was well known, within the royal family.
"So your mother is our father’s cousin?"
"Yes." Ned said. "But your mother was our father’s aunt."
"I don’t understand nothing anymore." Aemon surrendered, exasperated.
"Queen Daenerys was grandfather Rheagar's sister. Look, I’m going to make a little drawing. Our great-grandparents, Aerys and Rhaella, were brothers."
"Beware boys. You are Targaryen and it is known that they married brothers, the rest of the world, however, do not. It's forbidden. At best you get to marriages between cousins.” Maester Samwell warned them.
"True. Our great-grandparents Stark, Rickard and Lyarra, were cousins too. Hey, do you know that our great-grandfather Aerys Targaryen killed our great-grandfather Stark? Yet grandmother Lyanna’s brother, another one, not Lord Eddard."
"How do you know all these things Ned? " The prince asked him, while his finger were following the complicated lines drawn by his brother in the family tree of Stark and Targaryen.
"Lord Tyrion. He tells me a lot of things. I like to talk with him."
"But then ... If we are Targaryen and we marry our siblings, it means that Lyanna will marry one of us?" Aemon asked then, a puzzled look that rested on her sister.
"But I don’t want it! I want to get married with whoever I want, not with one of you!"
"Wait Lyanna, no bride can marry who she wants to. Weddings don’t work like this " Ned answered her, a sad smile as he stroked her long hair. "You're going to marry a lord, and you will live in his castle."
"No. I want to become a Maester." Everyone laughed loudly at Lyanna’s statement, including Maester Samwell that, it was clear, had resigned himself to the fact that the boys would not follow his lecture for that day. The only one not laughing was Robb, pledged to hunt down his kitten in all corners of the room.
"So ... In summary, Ned and Lyanna were given the name of your grandparents, and you Aemon? Why did they give you that name? " Steffon asked.
"Aemon is a household name, for us Targaryen. But our father always tell us there was a Maester among the guardians of the night when he was Lord Commander, and he was called just Aemon. Think, there was this great-uncle of his, and they did not even know to be relatives!" The prince replied. Steffon noted Ned's gray eyes alighted on the figure of the Maester. It seemed almost hearing the brains of young Targaryen that was set in motion.
"Maester Samwell, you knew that Maester Aemon? When you were on the Wall with our father, among the Night's Watch?"
"Yes, I was his attendant. I lived with him for a while, and I got to know him very well. He was truly a great man. Incredibly wise, but humble."
"So our father say." Aemon said, "That he gave me this name because he hoped that I become wise and humble ... but it seems to be wrong!".
While laughing without restraint after the last of the prince output, Maester Samwell had approached Robb, who had begun to whine because the kitten had climbed up a tent and did not want to go down.
"But tell me, young princes, you know why your little brother is been called so?" Maester Samwell relaunched to boys, while putting the cat in Robb’s arms, who was still sobbing.
"I know, I know!" Chimed Lyanna, jumping excited because finally she also knew the answer to a question of the Maester. The brothers and Steffon looked at her complacent and let her talk, while little Rob watched fascinated. Maybe it was the first time he heard where his name came from.
"Robb is the name of our uncle!" The brothers chuckled at her response, making her pout.
"Why are you laughing? It's true! Mother always says that Robb has our uncle's name and his eyes!"
Everyone turned to look at the blue eyes of little Rob, and Ned completed the partial response of his sister "Robb Stark was the Young Wolf, son of Lord Eddard, proclaimed King of the North by his vassals."
"They say it was a brave fighter ... and also a great strategist. Too bad he's been betrayed by that scum of Bolton. " Aemon continued.
"And of Frey. " The auburn-haired prince concluded again, his eyes narrowed with hatred. That side of the quiet Ned put Steffon in apprehension. He seemed to hold a grudge against those who had hurt his family and sometimes Steffon feared that one day or the other the second son of the King would make him pay for being a Baratheon, guilty race of the death of both of his grandfathers.
"They have always given names of grandparents or uncles. Who knows what name they will give to the child about to be born now..."
"I hope they have finished with Stark names." Aemon snorted "Better if they will call him Rhaegar."
"A very good name bro, I agree with you. Maybe he will have silver hair and purple eyes, like a true Targaryen. It would be even now. " Ned echoed his brother’s words.
Steffon smiled, looking at the young princes fantasizing on the name and appearance of a still unborn brother. Even if different, physically and temperamentally, and even if they could be at odds in each other's behavior, when it came to the younger sibling, the King and Queen, Westeros politics or their family, the two incredibly agree over everything.”
"I don’t like it." Lyanna said, disrupting the idyllic agreement between her older brothers. "I prefer North names. As Brandon. We also have an uncle named Brandon! And if it will be a female?"
Aemon answered fast "Daenerys would be a beautiful name."
Suddenly, a louder buzz came from the corridors. Everyone turned toward the entrance, from where appeared a low and tottering figure: the Hand of the King.
"Uncle Tyrion!" Lyanna exclaimed with a little cry, running to him for a hug.
"Princess Lyanna! Beautiful as always! Prince Aemon, how are your studies with our Maester Samwell? Oh, who's here, the inevitable Lord Baratheon! By the old gods and the new, dear young man, you're getting bigger! Do you have already start to train with the hammer? No? Well, you should!”
“But who do we have here? Oh, little Robb! Oh my, your mother's right, you have the same blue eyes of Robb Stark. What do you have there? A kitten? No! That’s wrong! You are not a Lannister!! Only dragons or direwolves for you... Eddard! How are you, son? But what is this sheet, a family tree?"
"I was explaining to Aemon a bit 'of details about our ancestors. It is a bit 'complicated to understand, with Queen Daenerys being our father’s aunt..."
"Don’t tell it to me, son... But, you're good, look here, you are quite marked kinship with the old Maester Aemon ! Not even your father did understand that well, I'm sure! And yet from the side Stark, perfect!"
Steffon glanced to the family tree, so praised from the Hand of the King. From the straight line that joined the King and Queen departed three branches. One for Robb, one for Lyanna, and one for... Ned? But ... wait, the Queen and the King married six years ago, he knew, with a large scandal since the bride was already pregnant... The servants were still talking about it. "Good thing princess Lyanna is a Targaryen from head to toe, or no one would believe the Queen!" they said.
Why Ned, the bastard legitimized, had put himself as the son of the Queen? It made no sense! Yet neither Lord Tyrion nor Maester Samwell had said nothing!
"Uncle Tyrion" Lyanna hastened to ask "Is it true that I must marry one of my brothers?"
"Um ... Let's say you can, but it’s not required." The Hand of the King replied, stroking her long blond hair "When you'll be old enough to marry we’ll make different assessments. But I don’t think that our Queen appreciate this type of marriages, and I believe that the King does not care anything about the old traditions to maintain the pure blood of the dragon. So, do not worry, if your brothers are unpleasant you will not be obliged to marry them! " He concluded with a smile.
"Good! I don’t want to get married, I want to become a Maester!"
LordTyrion, amazed, crossed the look with Maester Samwell "Oh well, you can not just say that princess Lyanna Targaryen is not ambitious! But no more talk! I am here by order of the King! The Queen has given birth and your father wants you immediately to her rooms!"
The principles crowded all around the Hand of the King, making a storm of questions: "Is it male or female? What's the name? How are Mother?"
"Hush, please! No questions, I can not tell you anything, otherwise the king will punish me. He wants to be the one to tell you, and he doesn’t want to miss your faces for all the gold of the Lannister. Come on, let's go!"
While the young princes walked excited along the corridors of the Red Keep, Steffon Baratheon stood up, giving a closer look to Ned’s family tree. It was just as well written. Aemon was right, it was hard to make sense of it.
"Well, what are you waiting?" Lord Tyrion addressed him.
"But I'm not a Targaryen."
"So what? Me neither, or Maester Samwell, but we are going either."
"But you are counselors, friends of the king..."
"And you? You're much more of a counselor. You're his ward... Indeed, you are the darling of the Queen. She wanted you wanted here, never forget that."
Steffon was silent, and walked along with Maester Samwell and Lord Tyrion for the long corridors of the Red Keep. Once they get to the bedside of the Queen, they stood in the doorway, watching in silence the scene that unfolded before their eyes. Among the heads of all the colors of the young princes, the black figure of the King rose, laughing eyes that passed from the face of one child to another, while the lips were trying to remain bent down.
He was sitting on the bed, next to the Queen, with an arm encircled her shoulders while the other embraced Lyanna, sitting on his lap. His gray eyes, like those of Lyanna and Ned, were fixed on the dark head of Robb, who climbed on the blankets was watching the bundle into the arms of the Queen. Kneeling beside the bed, Aemon had one hand on Ned’s shoulder and another on the sheets. Steffon could not see their faces, but he could say that they, too, were watching the bundle that let out now some whimpers.
The king became aware of the group on the door, and touched the shoulder of the Queen. She looked tired and pale and smiled to him. He whispered something in her ear, and then she looked at Steffon. Without speaking she stretched out her hand towards him, beckoning him to advance. Unsure, he took a few steps toward the Targaryen family. Uncle Jon and the Queen smiled, Lyanna fidgeted on his father's knee, Robb was moving on all fours on the bed. Steffon stopped a few feet away, trying to see something in the midst of the bassoon folds.
Aemon took his wrist, tugging him at the floor "Get here with us, otherwise you’re not be able to see her at all, if you stay so far away."
Kneeling at the side of the bed, sandwiched between Aemon and Ned that gripped his arms and shoulders, Steffon Baratheon laid his eyes on the little creature that seemed to sleep in the arms of the Queen. She was wrinkled, red and with a short dark hair around her head.
"What's her name?" He murmured softly, afraid to wake her.
"Catelyn" the King whispered, exchanging a look with the Queen that Steffon would never understand. Surrounded by the young princes, they stared in silence for long time. Uncle Jon caressed her pale cheek with his thumb, and she looked at him without speaking. They resembled each other in an almost shocking way, more than Lyanna and Ned. Everything about them was the same: their eyes, their hair, their faces, their features, their smiles. They looked like twins. In those moments, it was as if there were only them, as though it were a dialogue that only they were able to understand.
"So no Targaryen name eh, Aemon?" Steffon whispered to the prince, to distract him and himself from the silent observation of the sovereign, who were still lost in each other's eyes.
"Yeah, too bad. But it's not even a northern name, so it's fine." Aemon smiled, his violet eyes on the little sister. It was curious how, especially when he laughed, Aemon resembled the Queen. Perhaps because her smiles were rare enough, or maybe because they were always reserved for her children, or for the King. Thinking about it, the Queen also smiled to Aemon and Ned. And to him.
"And no silver hair, huh Ned?" He continued, tapping lightly on the arm of his friend.
"No, she’s dark, but maybe she has purple eyes, as Aemon..." Ned said, with a gleam of hope in his eyes.
Almost as if she had heard her brothers talking, little Catelyn's eyes narrowed. For a moment, everyone was waiting for the light reflected on her irises, to understand what colors she had inherited, in the wide palette of available possibilities.
It was Lyanna, the silent Lyanna clapping excited, surging into her father's arms. "Her eyes are like mine father, like yours! Like ours! You saw it Ned?"
"She may have gray eyes like yours but she resembles a lot to Robb when he was just born!" Aemon replied. "She will resemble a lot to both of us!!"
Everyone began to talk about their new little sister, one above the other, while the Queen was trying in vain to get them to talk more softly and the King laughed amused. Maester Samwell too intervened, trying to appease at least the older kids, but only the voice of Lord Tyrion was able to distract their attention from little Catelyn.
"Come on guys, let's go, your mother has to rest, and also your new little sister. It's almost time for dinner, you are not hungry?"
The young Targaryen went out of the room shouting, someone with more enthusiasm as Aegon and Robb, someone a little 'reluctantly, as Lyanna and Ned, leaving behind the sovereigns giggling between them. As he followed the young Targaryen nearby, Steffan felt something inside him. It was a strange thing, it took its chest, but also a little his nose. He was starting to cry. He was not sure why. It hurt, the thought of not having brothers and parents to share those moments. But on the other hand, it was wonderful to be able to count on them. It was not his family, but it was as if they were.
He felt a heavy hand resting on his shoulder. Steffan turned his face toward the King, who was looking at him with one of his sad smiles. "Hold on. You're a good boy." The urge to cry was so great, that Steffon could not hide a traitor tear in front of the King. He closed his eyes, hoping to hide his weakness, but what he felt next was Uncle Jon’s arms around him and the heavy fabric of the royal jerkin on his cheek. The King remained silent, giving him little pats on the back as he waited for the sobs to decrease.
"The Queen wants to have a word with you, you can stay with her a little more." He whispered softly, loosening the embrace and bringing it back to the room of his wife.
The boy appeared, this time alone, in the presence of the Queen, waiting. She was beautiful, the queen, despite her dark hair was tousled, despite the face pale and tired, despite the shadows that burdened her gray eyes. Who knows, maybe little Catelyn would become as beautiful as her.
Before entering, Steffan Baratheon had the time to hear a brief exchange between the King and his Hand moving away.
"You've chosen a nice name, Jon."
The corridor echoed with their footsteps, before hearing the King's fading slowly response.
"To the first one, Tyrion, I gave the name of the mother I never knew, to the other one I gave the name of the mother that I always wanted to have."