Chapter 17

  STEFFON BARATHEON

  Steffon was not an overtly kind person. He was more agonistic than kind and had no desire to be a savior or a hero. But he had his principles. He had his sensibilities. He was no monster like Joffrey.

  He had tried to save Joffrey from himself. He had tried with both kindness and violence to make him change his ways, yet he had failed. Joffrey Baratheon remained the very monster that he was meant to be.

  Cruel. Feckless. Stupid. Incompetent.

  And a King could tolerate but only one of these vices. Steffon had always thought of simply taking a boat and settling down in Braavos, yet he was not deluded enough to think that it would all be so simple for Joffrey was not his only sibling, and while his twin was an absolute cunt the same could not be said of Myrcel and Tommen.

  He had always known that his brother was cruel, yet now he had experienced his cruelty first, and though he held little affection for the whore he had killed, the symbolism of that one little action was not lost to him.

  He had seen the remains of that girl and how she had been butchered. If he could do this now, Steffon could hardly imagine what he might do once he were to don the crown.

  But a part of him had always known that. Had always known that his brother was wholly unsuited to sit on the Iron Throne, and Tyrion had recognised that part of him and offered him the only solution that would allow him to save both the realm and his family from the cruelty of Joffrey Baratheon.

  “It hurts,” his little brother whimpered, as he y in bed beside him, and his hand slowly reached for the bandaged side of his head, before Myrcel simply spped it away.

  “No touching,” she said, as Tommen winced in pain.

  “You remember the Maester’s word, don’t you. He was quite firm that you shouldn’t touch the bandage,” Myrcel bossed him, and though they were not that far apart in age, Myrcel spoke with far more authority and surety than Tommen.

  “She is right,” Steffon added from the side of the bed, as Tommen’s face fell down.

  “You need to keep your hands away from it, if you want the wound to heal,” and yet Tommen was not consoled. His face remained marred by pain and frustration, and though Myrcel was being harsh, he could see the fshes of concern in her face.

  “It doesn’t matter, though does it?” Tommen countered, as he looked towards him with some indignation.

  “It’s not as if it will grow back,” and that won’t happen indeed.

  “Still, we need it to heal up so you can get back to the training yard,” Steffon encouraged, as Tommen scoffed.

  “I don’t think I want to now,” and it had been his dream to be a knight.

  “They will all make fun of me,” and the young squires could be rather hurtful with their words, and the scar would indeed draw taunts and insults.

  “Who?” asked Myrcel.

  “Joffrey, and his friends,” and Joffrey did not have friends. He had lickspittles, willing to degrade themselves just to earn a favor with the new King, and Myrcel’s confidence vanished at the mention of his twin's name, and while she could bully many people because of her status, even she was helpless when it came to their brother.

  “Then I will beat them up,” he offered with a bright smile.

  “Yes,” Myrcel uttered in excitement.

  “If they say anything, he will beat them up just as he beat up Joffrey,” and his twin was due for another beating. Steffon was not fond of instigating fights, but if Joffrey thought that he was going to let the murder of that whore, inconsequential as she may be, unanswered, then the years had made him forget just who Steffon was.

  “You will?” Tommen asked, and he nodded.

  “I will, and not just that,” he said, pinching his nose.

  “I will also help you train so that soon enough you can beat them up yourself,” and his eyes finally beamed at his offer. Seeing his brother smile like that was one of the few joys in this wretched castle.

  “Will I be your squire?” and Steffon ughed, as he ruffled his hair.

  “For that, I will have to be knighted myself,” and with the tourney coming up, he might just win himself that title as well.

  “Of then you could participate in the tourney that is set to happen in a week’s time,” Myrcel added from the side.

  “You could be a mystery knight,” Tommen chimed in, as his siblings grew excited over his potential knighthood.

  “You might even get to face one of those Northners,” Myrcel added, and that could be a possibility.

  “I am told that they are just a few days’ ride away,” Myrcel added, and he was told just that as well.

  “Yes,” and their new Hand was supposed to be here tomorrow, and with him rode his family. Well, most of his family. Despite the absence of the Lannisters, some things had refused to change, and Brandon Stark had fallen down a tower nonetheless.

  The Spider had mentioned that he had been hit by a crow while climbing a tree, and so the Lady Stark had chosen to stay behind as she nursed her unconscious son.

  “They will be here soon,” and the thing was that the Starks were not the only Great House making their way to the Capitol. The Tyrells were said be coming as well, and it was said that the Lady Olenna rode forth with her granddaughter and grandson as she sought to further the interests of her own House.

  “Its such a shame that we couldn’t visit the North,” Myrcel added.

  “I have always wanted to see Winterfell,” and he had the same desire.

  “Well, perhaps in the future,” and just then, there was a knock on the door, as both Myrcel and Tommen frowned.

  “Yes its finally here,” Steffon said, turning towards the door.

  “Come in,” and a row of servants walked in carrying a few trays of food.

  “What is this?” Myrcel asked, as Steffon smiled and winked.

  “One of my new creations,” and immediately, both of their eyes lit up.

  “You had the cooks make something special for us,” and he had been away for four years, but before that, it was a tradition of sorts for him to introduce them to a new ‘creation’ of sorts every week.

  “Yeah,” he said as he had the servants set up a table.

  “I hope you made it just as I asked,” and this experiment had far greater implications than it would seem.

  Because of Tyrion’s generosity, he was now the proud owner of quite a few inns and farms, and though they all made him quite a tidy profit, he was hoping to grow his gold, and one way of doing that was to introduce new and unique foods.

  The other idea was to change the archaic ways, and he was beginning to make progress on that as well.

  “What is it?” and he removed the lid to show them his new creation.

  “Well, I call them burgers,” and under the lid y a half dozen freshly cooked burgers, den with cheese and minced meat.

  “How do you eat that?” Myrcel asked.

  “Well, that is the thing. You eat this with your hands,” and so he rinsed his hands using some boiled water, and showed them how to eat.

  “Woah!” Myrcel gasped as she took a bite of the meat.

  “I have never tasted anything like this,” they added, as a servant came in with a message for him.

  “Of course you have not....” and so after some four years, the three of them ate their meals with smiles and ughs as Steffon convinced himself of the betrayal that he was about to commit.

  .

  .

  .

  And the first step of that was to have an army of their own. Steffon’s and Tyrion’s alliance was one of mutual benefit. They had been friends for four years, and the Lannister heir was amongst the few people who saw Joffrey for what he was.

  Then there was the added benefit of ridding himself of competition for his position as heir of Casterly Rock. Still, he had been rather surprised by his offer and had thought of it as a ploy initially, but was forced to join hands as Joffrey’s behavior became apparent.

  “I do hope you have some more people lined up,” Steffon uttered as he rubbed his head. Every army needed a commander, and theirs was to be a covert army, one hidden in the shadows, and so they needed a new and discreet man to lead the whole thing.

  “Well, I do,” and they had skimmed over some fifty men until now, and none had been deemed suitable for the task at hand. Still, it was hard to find a man who would be discreet and loyal enough for treason.

  “Let them come then,” Steffon whispered in frustration as he drowned his cup of ale.

  “Our new Hand will be here tomorrow,” and indeed tomorrow the games would begin in full.

  “Not just him, the Tyrells are set to arrive soon as well,” Tyrion added, as they took a break.

  “By now, the entire realm knows about the betrothal between Joffrey and the Stark girl,” and though no official announcement had been made, rumors about the match had been flying for some time, and now they had all been confirmed.

  “So,” and Tyrion raised a brow.

  “The Tyrells have long wished to marry into the Royal family, but their pns have not come to fruition,” and now he connected the dots.

  “They are here for me,” he guessed, and Tyrion nodded.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  And that made sense. The Tyrells needed an alliance to bolster their position in the realm, and a Royal Marriage was the best possible way for them. With the recent attack on him, the King had begun to doubt the loyalties of the Houses who had once stood against him, and the Tyrells were one of the only two Great Houses who had stood for Rhaegar during the rebellion.

  “It would be quite an advantageous match,” Tyrion added, as the doors opened.

  “The Tyrells are rich, and as far as I can tell rather desperate for a way to prove their loyalty,” and the match did have its advantages.

  “In addition to that, I have heard quite a few tales about the beauty of young Lady Margary,” Tyrion added with a smirk, as they heard the creaking of the woods as the doors opened and the next guy walked in.

  “You should really consider it,” and with that their newest candidate walked into the room, and he had a crooked nose, and wrinkly skin along with dirty blonde hair.

  There was ziness in his steps, and unlike those that had come before him he wore little to no armor though he was carrying a bag of sorts.

  “May I have your name good ser?” Tyrion called out, as he had for all the men earlier.

  “I am no ser, but I am pretty good,” the man answered with a tease, and immediately Tyrion’s lips rose in a smile.

  “Pretty good at what?” he asked.

  “Fucking, though I doubt that is what you want to hire me for even though you did have us meet at a whorehouse,” and he was more talkative than any of the others who had come before him, as both him and Tyrion exchanged gnces.

  “So, I will say killing, and keeping my mouth shut. As for my name, its Bronn,” and Steffon perked up at those words.

  “Bronn?” he asked, with a slight chuckle, and if the man was insulted by it he did not show it.

  “Yeah, Bronn,” and then those eyes narrowed.

  “And speaking of that, I brought you lot a gift,” and with that he removed the satchel from his back, and emptied it on the ground.

  “I was told that a woman from this pce was killed some weeks back. A young, comely girl. They say that she was butchered,” and out that satchel rolled out three heads, which made Tyrion gasp but Steffon recognised them at a gnce.

  THUD. THUD. THUD.

  He had been searching for the men who had brought the girl to Joffrey to make an example out of them and his search had brought him three names. Three gold cloaks, whose lifeless heads now y infront of him.

  “So, I thought why don’t I do you guys a favor,” and Tyrion and him exchanged gnces at his audacity, and initiative. By now Tyrion must have recognised the three faces as well, as he shifted in his chair and leaned forward.

  “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself Bronn.....”

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