Command of the host was given to Lord Ormund, as King's Hand. In 260 AC, his lordship landed Targaryen armies upon three of the Stepstones, and the War of the Ninepenny Kings turned bloody. [...] Lord Ormund Baratheon, the Westerosi commander, was amongst the first to perish. Cut down by the hand of Maelys the Monstrous, he died in the arms of his son and heir, Steffon Baratheon.

(The World of Ice and Fire)

Bawling, strong, one hour old, plucked from the cradle: he kissed the infant's fluffy skull and said, I shall be as tender to you as my father was not to me. For what's the point of breeding children, if each generation does not improve on what went before?

(Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel)

The Stepstones, 260 AC

The young man had blood on his face. His father's blood, Jon Arryn thought at first, until he saw the deep gash running down Steffon Baratheon's cheek.

"Best get a maester to tend to that wound, Lord Baratheon."

The eyes that rose to meet Jon's gaze were red-rimmed but dry. "My father is dead," came the reply, in a voice dulled with pain.

I know, lad. "I was not addressing your lord father."

The new Lord of Storm's End closed his eyes and lowered his head as if in silent prayer, but he did not flinch at the reminder. He knew, of course. He had always known, even if the knowledge had failed him for a brief moment. This was a young man trained to duty and inheritance, like Jon Arryn himself had been, with the added burden of being an only child.

The old Lord of Storm's End – Lord Ormund of House Baratheon, he who had also been the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Hand of the King, commander of the king's army, husband to the old king's daughter, father to the old king's grandson – he was now past pain, past everything. He was tall, as the Baratheons were wont to be, but not as tall or as sturdy and large in build as his lord father had been in his prime. The Laughing Storm had been an unforgettable, imposing figure; larger than life, more a myth than a man to many, although he must have seemed real enough to his own son, who had to tread in his everlasting shadow.

Lord Boremund was stone, hard and strong and unmoving, Septon Eustace had written in his history of the Dance of the Dragons, while his son Lord Borros was the wind, raging and howling and blowing this way and that.

Lord Lyonel had been a force of nature; his son the wall trying to withstand it.

And what of Lord Ormund's only son and heir? Only four-and-ten and not yet a knight, kneeling beside his father's body in his father's tent, hands clasped together, at present looking as meek and mild as a pious septon. But earlier, it had taken the strength of four men to pry him away from his father's dead body and force him to safety, away from the still-raging battle. (It would not do to lose two Lords Baratheon in one day, Jon had seen at once, especially if the second one was the king's own nephew.)

It had taken Jon's own harsh words whispered in his ear about the peril and the utter irresponsibility of abandoning his duty to his people to prevent Steffon Baratheon from taking chase after the man who slew his father; Maelys the Monstrous himself, looking more than worthy of that disreputable name.

He was black of hair, this new Lord of Storm's End, as the Baratheons were wont to be. His eyes were not the deep, dark blue of his father's, nor were they the violet purplish hue of his mother's; they were some strange combination of colors that seemed to shimmer and to alter in shade with the change in his expression.

Hands still clasped together, looking uncertainly at Jon Arryn, Steffon said, "Will you pray with me, Lord Arryn? For my father. I could not seem to remember the words, though we prayed together this very morning, my lord father and I, before the start of battle." How foolish of me, the ashamed look on Steffon's face seemed to be saying, how utterly foolish and absurd, to forget something you have known almost all your life.

"I shall be honored," Jon replied, kneeling beside Steffon.

They prayed for the Mother's mercy for Ormund Baratheon, and for the Father Above to judge Steffon's father justly. They prayed to the Warrior for strength, and to the Crone for guidance.

Steffon's warm hand grasped his father's cold one. "Pray gods I will be as wise a lord as you have been, Father. As good a man. As … as -" his voice breaking, he paused, before continuing, "-as loving a father."

He kissed his father's brow, gently. "He was tender to me, the way his own father was not to him," Steffon said to Jon, afterwards. "I did not know to value and appreciate it for a long time. I did not know any better, I took it for granted as my rightful due as his son, until I was old enough to understand that not all fathers treated their children in that manner."

He paused again, a troubled expression crossing his face. "Though, near the end, my father was apprehensive that he had failed me. He confided that to my uncle before we left for the Stepstones, when he thought I was not listening. He was worried that he had failed me by sheltering me too much from the cruelties and the vagaries of the world. I think he feared that I am too soft, too trusting, though he had not put it so bluntly. He feared that he had done worse for me than his own father had done for his children, even as harsh and unyielding as my grandfather had been."

Jon Arryn stared at Steffon's face, looking for the trace of Ormund Baratheon's fear for his son. The young man did not lack courage, there was no denying that. He had acquitted himself well in battle, before his father was struck down, and Jon even admired his grim if somewhat reckless determination after his father was slayed. As for being too trusting, that still remained to be seen.

It was something often repeated generations after generations. A son, promising to himself that he would not repeat the mistakes of his father, and then either repeating those same mistakes nonetheless; or, in his eagerness and desperation to avoid them, committing other mistakes of his own, perhaps even graver ones.

I shall not be as my father was, that was a refrain echoed by many sons throughout the ages. I shall be different. I shall be better. 'Different' might not be so hard to achieve, but 'better' was not always a certainty.

Steffon Baratheon had not been making that same exhortation, though. He had prayed not to be different or better than his father, but as good. As wise a lord, as good a man, as loving a father.

Perhaps Ormund Baratheon had not done so ill by his son after all, Jon thought.

What do you know, truly? The man who is not a father himself, who has never been one, might never be one.

Jon ignored the mocking voice in his own head.

His placed his hand on top of Steffon's hand, which was still grasping his father's hand.

"I'm afraid," Steffon confided, in a low voice.

"That is good. Fear is good. It shows that you are not a fool. Only a fool is too stupid and too reckless to know when it is time to fear."

"And it is definitely time to fear?"

"With everything you have riding on your shoulders, I would say, yes, definitely," Jon replied.

"Fear is a foe to be conquered and triumphantly vanquished, his own father had told my father. But I think for my father, fear was his constant companion," Steffon said.

"But that never stopped him from being the man that he was."

Steffon nodded. He rose from his kneeling position, and Jon rose with him, their hands still clasped together. "I shall have to write to my mother, and to the stormlords," Steffon said. His grieving would be private, his tears would be shed out of sight of any man, Jon suspected. But that this particular son would cry for his beloved father, Jon did not doubt at all.

"Thank you, Lord Arryn. You have done me a great service today. I shall never forget it."

Storm's End, 272 AC

"You won't forget, won't you? About my letter?"

"Of course I won't," Stannis replied, indignantly. This was the fifth time Robert had reminded him about that letter, the one to be given to Ned Stark. "When have I ever forgotten anything?"

Robert shrugged.

Stannis always remembered. He remembered what the king said, word for word. "Why should Lord Arryn be given the privilege of molding my cousin's heir into a man, while the king is reduced to second sons, to second best?" He even remembered the king's tone, sneering and hurt at the same time, like a sulking little boy. But the king was not a little boy, he was a grown man, like Father, even if he behaved even worse than Robert ever did on his naughtiest days.

The trouble is, you cannot send a king to bed without his supper, or take away his riding privileges, Mother had said to Father.

At first, Robert had been full of enthusiasm. "I won't be a page for long, only a year or two, you'll see. And then I will be made a squire. The king's squire."

"Or Prince Rhaegar's," Mother said.

"But being the king's squire is much better than being the prince's squire," Robert declared. "Isn't that right, Father?"

"It depends on the king," Mother said under her breath, but only Stannis seemed to have heard her.

These days, though, Robert was talking less and less about what a privilege it was being chosen by the king, and more and more about how much he would miss the Eyrie. You would think he had spent ten whole years there, instead of just one.

But Stannis also remembered what Father had said. "Robert is going to a new place too, just like you, Stannis." So he told his brother, "I won't forget your letter. I promise."

Robert nodded, looking almost grateful. Then, he immediately ruined it. "And don't you dare try to read it!"

"Why would I want to read your stupid letter?" Judging from Robert's letters home, Stannis could even guess its content.

How are you? I am fine. The weather is fine. We went hunting today, and yesterday too.

But the letter to Ned Stark seemed to have more words in it. Robert had labored for many, many hours over it, even going to the extraordinary length of asking his brother how to spell certain long words.

Robert had wanted to go with Stannis and their father to the Eyrie. "So I can say my farewell properly," he had said.

"You already said your farewell to Lord Arryn and Ned Stark before we left King's Landing," Stannis reminded him.

Robert glared at Stannis. "There are other people, too. There's Lady Rowena, and Elbert, and Ser Denys and –" Robert continued on and on.

Father had seemed ready to allow Robert to go with them, at first. But then Mother gave him that look, that particular look, and then Father said, "Let me think on it." But Stannis thought he knew what it really meant: I will discuss it with your mother. That was usually the case, when Mother gave Father that look, that particular smile, with that particular way of calling her husband's name. Mother would never say anything to dispute Father in front of others, but they would discuss it later in their bedchamber, sometimes heatedly, but more often not.

The next day, Father told Robert he would not be coming with them to the Eyrie after all. "You will be leaving for King's Landing soon. And you have been away from home for a year before this. Don't you want to spend some time in Storm's End, with your mother?"

"But Mother is coming with us when we go to King's Landing," Robert said, giving Mother his biggest, most winning smile. "And Father, you said yourself that you and Mother might be staying in court for a while. So we'll have plenty of time to be together. Otherwise, of course I would not want to leave you again so soon, Mother. I love you so very dearly."

Robert said things like that easily, without embarrassment. Stannis would have felt too ill-at-ease.

Mother smiled, but her reply was not encouraging. "It's not just about spending time with your mother, Robert. You should spend some time in Storm's End. After all, you will be Lord of Storm's End one day."

"But that won't be for years and years," Robert said.

Father was only four years older than Robert when he became Lord of Storm's End.

But that was different. There was a war. That's why Grandfather Ormund died. There was not a war now.

Cassana's reason had partly been the one she told Robert, but there was also another reason, for her younger son's sake.

"It's not like they'll forget about Robert completely if he's not there," Steffon had countered.

"True, but at least Robert is not present and looming beside him, for the comparison to be made from the start," Cassana replied.

"They are brothers. It will happen all their lives. They will have to learn to deal with it, sooner or later. You were the one who often reminded me of that."

"I know," Cassana said, sighing. She had thought her husband much too lenient with their sons; that she had to be the one stiffening his resolve when it came to their boys. But her own resolve was weakening, this one time.

Her thought turned to that other vexing matter. "Are we really staying on at court?"

"Aerys hinted at it. Jon said if I show any inclination, the king might leap at the chance to offer me a place in the Small Council."

"Is this truly only about keeping Robert safe? Or do you suddenly harbor ambition to take Tywin Lannister's place, seeing the cracks that have opened up in their relationship?"

Steffon looked hurt. "Do you really believe that of me? Do you know me so little by now? Or do you think the man you love has changed so much?"

"I fear Lord Arryn's ambition for you, more than I fear your own."

He kissed her brow. "There is no ambition, for anything, on Jon's part or mine." He kissed her cheek. "I only want to keep our sons safe." He kissed her lips. "And our other children, should they come."

Robert handed the gloves to Father with as much ceremony he could muster, already practicing his royal page posture. "Safe return, Father," he said, bowing slightly.

Stannis and his mother had already hugged and said their farewell in his bedchamber. In the courtyard, Mother only kissed the top of his head lightly, before letting him go, quickly.

Stannis held out his hand to Robert. "Have a safe journey to King's Landing."

Robert laughed. He took Stannis' hand as if to shake it, but then, he folded his younger brother into an embrace instead. "It's fine to be afraid," he said. "I was a little afraid at first, leaving home for the first time. Only a little, mind you, not a lot. It will be great at the Eyrie, you'll see."

Usually Stannis would be outraged. "I'm not afraid!" he would have exclaimed. But this time, he only nodded.

And then it was time to leave. "Wave to your mother," Father said. Stannis waved.

And then they were moving forward. He wanted to look back, really wanted to, but he resisted the urge. "You can look back, there is nothing wrong with that," Father said, gently. He was grateful to Father for saying that, but he did not look back, not once.