Chapter 27
STEFFON BARATHEON
Steffon wondered if the Gods were trying to rectify their mistake. His mere existence was an anomaly and unnatural for this world. He had tried to change a few things, but he was kicked out of the capital in an unseemly manner, which robbed him of his ability to bring forth any other change.
He remained at Casterly Rock, in defiance and preparations, as he tried to learn to play the Game that was afoot in the capital, and though he learnt the game at the foot of the master, he remained a novice.
Joffrey was a monster, and the Seven Kingdoms could suffer no greater tragedy than him. Yet he was the eldest child. Their animosity had begun the day they were born, and it had only gotten worse, and so Steffon knew that there would be little room for him in Joffrey's court.
Still, he knew of Lord Tywin's intention of naming him as his heir, and yet that wish would never come to fruition. He may hate Joffrey, but Steffon would never fall so low as to plot his demise, and yet Joffrey had not cared not had the Gods above.
It had only been a moon since him and Tyrion had begun gathering a little force of their own to both protect and assert themselves, and Steffon had agreed to his plan of replacing Joffrey through their father's command.
It was a good plan, and Robert Baratheon had little love for his eldest, and they were both born within minutes of each other. Changing the line of succession was irregular but not unprecedented, and so they would just have to make a compelling case.
And even if they were to fail, Steffon hoped to have attained enough power by then to lessen the blow of such a King. But it was not meant to be, and Robert Baratheon met his end in the hunting ground, by the slip of his horse.
A rock, and a horse. That was what had brought down the man who had destroyed a three-hundred-year-old dynasty. It was an insult, yet one which had completely unravelled his plans.
Joffrey had struck first, as his men came to slit his throat, and swinging a sword at his neck in rage was another matter. Deliberately sending assassins after him was an entirely different matter.
Robert Baratheon was dead. Joffrey was King, and the realm would be worse for it.
His plans had been foiled, and what lay in the future was absolute carnage, and Steffon had only hoped to avoid this carnage, and live a quiet and simple life in Braavos yet it was as if the Gods themselves had begun plotting against him, as he found his ship surrounded by the Royal Navy, and his ambition for a quiet and simple life were torn apart once more.
And so, he found himself here, in the cold, damp, and dark cells of Dragonstone, with only a bit of moonlight to keep him company. He heard them first, as the sound of their footsteps filled the Halls as Steffon sat there in his cell waiting for his captors.
The truth was that he had no plan for getting out of this now. But he was not going to forfeit his life so easily. Not at all.
They came close and close, and the glimmer of the torch came first before he found himself facing the people responsible for his incarceration.
"So, you are finally here, Uncle?" Steffon whispered as he looked up and found Stannis Baratheon looking down at him, and his lips pursed as he called him uncle.
"You have no right to call me by that title?" and Steffon acted surprised, even though he knew the truth well enough.
"And why is that? First, you put me into this cell for no reason, and now you stop me for calling you uncle?" he asked, and Stannis Baratheon raged.
"You are no relative of mine. You and your siblings have no Baratheon blood in your veins," and Steffon raised a brow.
"You are bastards born out of incest, and I shall purge the land from you heathens," and Steffon laughed, at that.
"Lies, though I see now why you have put me here," he challenged as he looked hte man in the eye, refusing to let his eyes wander to the woman beside him.
"You call us bastards born out of incest, while you just happen to be the closest relative to the King besides us," and now he narrowed his eyes as he rose up and walked forward.
"Do not hide your treachery behind such petty lies, uncle. I thought better of you," he snarled, as the Onion Knight pushed forward.
"If you desire the Crown, then seek it. Seek it openly, but don't you dare utter out such lies," and Stannis Baratheon fumed at being called out.
"These are not lies," and now the woman beside him answered, and he had never met her before, though he had heard of her. The Red Priestess of Dragonstone was rather famous at court for various reasons.
She was pale, and her clothes left little to imagination as she walked forward and Steffon was forced to look her in the eye, and just a mere gaze was enough to make her body heat up, as those red orbs gazed through him as if all his secrets lay bare infront of her.
"You know the truth, for you have witnessed it yourself," she whispered, and her revelation had him rooted to the ground. He had been wondering for many days how Stannis had learned about his escape from Kinsgladning, and in the end, he could only think of one way.
The Red Woman.
"So you are Stannis's whore," he insulted, and the guards behind were angered, yet she stopped them with a simple gesture of her hand.
"Such insults do not matter to me," and he ignored her quickly as he turned towards Stannis once more.
"Is she the one who has whispered such lies in your ears?" he asked, and again she answered.
"I whisper no lies, and you know it," and he refused to back down.
"Then prove it," he challenged, as he walked back and raised both his arms.
"Prove these lies to me," and Stannis cut in before the woman could answer.
"I need not prove anything. Jon Arryn was the first to discover the secret and would have revealed it to Robert if your mother had not killed him before," and he scoffed.
"You speak of a senile old fool who let a traitor into the King's Council. A traitor who tried to kill me. You would have me believe the words if such a man," he countered, and Stannis Baratheon believed himself to be a man of justice and duty.
If he left it upto the fates, or that wretched Red Woman of his, Steffon knew that he would burn at the stake, and he would do everything in his power to avoid such a fate.
"Jon Arryn was no fool. He showed me the proof," Stannis countered, and the gamble had worked.
"And what proof was it?" he asked.
"The proof lies in your features. Look at you. You and your siblings are nothing but Jaime and Cersei come again. You have Lannister eyes, and Lannister hair. You have no speck of Lannister blood in you," and Steffon began to chuckle.
"And is that the justification you give yourself for kinslaying, uncle?" he teased, and Stannis was furious now.
"You truly are a fool," and now he was thundering.
"I am no fool," he raged.
"Robb and Sansa Stark have their mother's hair and eyes. Had Lady Stark died after giving birth to them, would you label them as bastards born of incest as well!" he countered, and Stannis raised a brow.
"Lord Stark has other children as well. Others who have Stark features," and Steffon countered.
"So did my mother!" he raged, and those blue eyes widened slightly.
"A boy born before Joffrey and me. One who had Your hair and your eyes," and it was easy to forget him, yet Steffon had always known that such a day awaited him. A day when he might be forced to justify his golden hair and green eyes.
"You accuse us of being bastards, and yet you have no proof to back your claim. The years had made Jon Arryn a fool, for only a fool would take in a man such as Petyr Baelish. He robbed the crown blind while he sat there and watched," and he took a deep breath, as his threat ran dry.
"And if we are to believe in rumors, then his own wife made a mockery of her vows and took that traitor to bed, and Robyn Arryn is no more heir of the Eyrie than I am to the Iron Throne," and the entire argument around their features was nonsensical, even if it was true.
The only way to prove such an accusation may come a thousand years later, and he would never admit the truth. Never.
"I can name a thousand men who resembled their mothers. Rhaegel Targaryen for once, Baelor Breakspear! Seven Hells, my own uncle has a mismatched pair of eyes, would you declare him a heathen as well? A bastard born out of some rabid affair," and he was rattled.
Stannis Baratheon was rattled, and it was slight, yet he noticed him trying to look towards the Red Woman.
"Don't look at her. Look at me! LOOK AT ME!" and he did.
"If you desire the throne, then be a traitor and claim it for yourself. History is full of uncles who have coveted their nephews' inheritance, but do not hide your treachery in some petty lies. Be man, man, uncle! Do not cower behind the skirts of this harlot of a woman!"
"ENOUGH!" and it was Ser Davos who cut in, as he hit the steel bars with a stick, as he refused to look away from Stannis's eyes.
"You have said enough," he countered, and Steffon simply scoffed.
"Indeed," Melisadre whispered, and her voice was truly magical as those eyes glowed in the dark.
"I told you, my lord. This demon will not die easily," and he raised a brow.
"Is that what you call me when you think of me, Uncle?" he whispered to Stannis, 'Demon."
"You have spun your tales, but your time is over, you Demon. You and your siblings are nothing but monsters born out of incest, and your ashes shall fuel the rise of the one true King," and he laughed at her words, even as fear gripped his heart.
"So you intend to burn me at the stake, just because I stand in your way," and he countered, yet this time his voice lacked the conviction from before.
"You are a basta..."
"Do not lie to yourself, uncle!" he countered.
"If you hunger for the throne, then strike me down, but do not pretend that you do so for some great cause. You call me a bastard, then I name you a traitor. If Jon Arryn did tell you of this treachery, why didn't you take it to your King? Why didn't you write to your brother about it?" he asked, and Stannis had no counter for that.
"You are a traitor. No. You are worse than that. You are a self-righteous bastard who uses these fanatics' words to justify his hunger," and his breath was heavy now.
"You have no right to judge him, you demon. You are a scourge on this Earth, while he is the Promised Prince," Melisandre countered, as the fire in the torch riled up with his words.
"Do you think your tricks can fool me, you bitch! You, whose religion still practises the heinous crime of slavery," and now he turned towards Stannis once more.
"Will you bring that back as well, and perhaps you can also start burning heretics in a pyre, for that is what her so-called God asks," and he had no counter for that.
"Burn me if you so desire. But do not hide your intentions behind some lies. Be honest about your intentions. Be honest that you are a vile and cruel man who would rob his nephews and nieces of their ordained inheritance," and now it was time for the final offer.
"And if you truly are mad enough to believe in the words of this fanatic, then claim me a bastard and put me on trial. Let me make my case, and do the same yourself, and we shall all know the truth!"
And with those words, his nostrils flared, before the Lord of Dragonstone walked away, while his loyal knight followed after him.
"My lord, my lord..." The Onion Knight was gone, leaving him alone with Melisandre, who looked down at him, and he spotted a hint of frustration in those eyes as she spoke to him.
"Your games will not work, you demon," and Steffon narrowed his eyes.
"I am no demon. I am Steffon Baratheon. The only demon here is you," he countered.
"No matter what you do, your fate is sealed. You will burn, and from your ashes the promised prince will be born," and he scoffed.
"The Azor Ahai," and the words seemed to surprise her.
"How do you know those words?"
"Are you surprised that I know of your so-called fated prince?" he teased.
"You are quite fond of prophecies, aren't you, my lady? So let me give you one of my own," and now he looked her dead in the eye as he made a big gamble of his own.
"Stannis Baratheon is not Azor Ahai...."
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