steffon the sweet

steffon is being moved into a multi-muse blog for some of my kids muses (for the sake of simplicity, easier access, and my sanity of not having to blog hop everyday)

“Then show the way little Steffon, i’m avoiding my septa at the moment also.” She smiled and took his hand, she was sue her and her brother’s had found the secret way there when they were younger. “I’m sure they have your favorite treats made.”

It has all fallen on him now, as the next in line to inherit the Twins, only Steffon doesn’t feel ready at all. His house is in turmoil and already there are factions rising up, not to mention other lords of other houses poking their noses where they don’t belong, trying to stir up trouble.

Jaime blinked as he listened to the child explain himself. He honestly wasn’t sure whether he was more surprised that he had apparently obeyed the request to tell the truth - a child and a Frey, it was something that was almost impossible to believe - or that he seemed to bear such a striking resemblance to both Tommen and Tyrion.

“At least you’ve learned how to fight,” Jaime said, almost to himself as he nodded thoughtfully. “And I suppose it’s no bad thing if you don’t enjoy it, as long as you can at least defend yourself.” He seemed to reach a decision and sat back, folding his arms as he looked at his new friend. “I’ll take you with us back to King’s Landing. I don’t know how the Freys managed to produce someone like you, but you certainly don’t belong with these treacherous fools. You can act as my squire for the journey back and see how you like it. When we reach King’s Landing then we decide what’s to be done with you.” He smiled slightly. “We could use some more people there with some brains in their heads. And Tommen can always do with having a friend like you. What do you think, is that acceptable?”

How did the Freys produce someone like him? Well, to hear the people tell it, it was all down to his Grandfather who was an honorable man. A honorable man who died fighting for Robb Stark, the King that his Grandfather’s father had so thoroughly betrayed, thus desecrating and spitting on the memory of a dead son. But Steffon didn’t recount this to Ser Jaime, he doubts the Lannister would want to hear anyways. And as for treacherous fools, Steffon silently agreed on that count too. The boy could not understand siding with people who had killed your own son, it seemed a ridiculous idea, not to mention dishonorable and Steffon’s father had always taught him honor was important, even if the rest of the Freys never took that to heart it seemed.

Smiling a little at Ser Jaime’s comment about needing people with brains, the boy chanced a comment, “Perhaps if there were more people with brains, there wouldn’t be wars or the need to break honored oaths.” Steffon wouldn’t have said this to someone who’s a Lannister, after all, it was the Lannisters who engineered the Red Wedding. But the boy had a feeling that Ser Jaime, a man of honor, hated what happened as much as those in the North, even if he is a Lannister. 

The Great Hall is silent outside of the occasional scuff of boots on the stone floor or the rustle of fabric or chained mail as someone moves. Sansa sits to the left of him, her gloved hands folded on the table, and Bran to his right. Davos lingers aside in murky shadow with Arya close beside him. Northmen stand guard along the hall, shields emblazoned with snarling direwolves. Jon knew the boy must feel intimated, to walk into this hall and see them all gathered here. It took a type of courage to present himself given the dark shadow House Frey casts, and it shows in how Steffon stands: with a sense of strength.    “I thank you for coming here.” His chair creaks as he rises to stand, and he feels as if frivolous words are not needed—only frank ones. “There is no denying the enmity between our houses. Your great-grandfather committed grievous crimes against my family and other families of the North. But I cannot punish you for how the faith has been broken or make you answer for another man’s wrongs.”   Steffon isn’t responsible for what happened, and he is the surviving lord. If willing, together they could mend what is broken. Those trespasses belong to another. While House Stark cannot forget them, they can at least begin to forgive.  “Winter is here, and if we’re all to survive, we need to be united. I summoned you in the hopes you would once again swear House Frey’s fealty. What is your answer?”

Jon Snow might be willing to forgive, to put it all in the past. But Steffon isn’t naive to believe all the Northern houses believe in that. He knows enough of them would rather he be executed, that House Frey be wiped out, much like so many great houses before them. But the Starks always have their honor, they would never kill women and children, not like Twyin Lannister would, not like the Reynes and the Tarbecks.

At least in their halls, Steffon could feel a sense of safety the wolves provided. He knows what he has to do, he knows that he has to sway the feelings of others. And while it may not happen immediately, it may not even happen generations from now, but it would be a start. A new place from which House Frey could rise anew and earn back the trust his Great-Grandfather had thrown away.

Steffon gets onto one knee, his eyes gazed into that of Jon Snow’s, “You’re right, Your Grace, my Great-Grandfather committed terrible crimes, and in doing so, he broke the most sacred vows sworn by man and lost the honor of my house. I cannot make you or the other Lords here believe, but I swear those vows will not be broken by House Frey again. I swear my fealty and will do all that I can to aid you in the winter and all the days to come. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

Jaime slowly raised an eyebrow, unable to help but be amused somewhat by the boy’s defense of him. Part of him just dismissed it as Walder Frey having schooled the boy on what to say, to get Jaime to take him, but the larger part of him was intrigued, wondering if perhaps he truly believed what he said.

Pulling the chair beside him out from beneath the table, he patted the seat once with his golden hand as an invitation to the young Frey to sit down. “I was a great warrior. The missing hand makes things a little more difficult for me in that regard now.” He tilted his head, briefly rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Being a squire is not an easy task at the best of times. For the commander of an army it’s even harder. And for a one-handed commander, it’s harder still. So tell me honestly, do you really want this or have you just been told to want this? It will make little difference either way but it’s better that we both know where we stand, yes?”

Telling truths were exactly a thing that the Freys have been known to do, and sure wasn’t something that Steffon done a lot of either. After all, being truthful in this household would more get you a lashing and praise. But the boy found that he felt like he could be honest in the presence of Jaime Lannister and he wasn’t quite sure why.

Jaime stared at the boy standing in front of him and groaned inwardly, pressing the fingertips of his golden hand against his forehead as he breathed deeply in annoyance. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Walder Frey had suddenly informed him that he’d be taking the boy with him when the Lannister army headed back to King’s Landing, leaving no room for arguing in the matter, judging by his new squire’s behaviour, the old man had been planning this for a while.

He studied the child carefully, coming to the conclusion that he seemed a lot like Tommen. He’d be lucky to last a week in King’s Landing. He waved his hand dismissively and gave the child a weary smile. “There’s no need for all that. I’m a Kingslayer who has been…released from the Kingsguard. There’s very little honour in serving me, no matter what Lord Frey has told you.”

“You’re the Queen’s brother and a great warrior, surely anyone who wouldn’t think it an honor is just either stupid or jealous.”