Meera screamed. She screamed despite the muffle put over her mouth. She screamed even as no sound came out. She screamed for her daughter.

Meera fought. She fought against the shackles put around her wrists. She fought against the bag put over her head. She fought for her daughter.

She screamed and fought for days to no avail. Muffled voices and harsh grips were all her capturers gave in reply. Until the carriage finally stopped. A creaking sound and a gust of wind revealed that the door had been opened. Meera could perceive the sounds of the city--voices, yells, steps--as well as the smells of the city--dirt, waste, and smoke. As the scent of the salty ocean also reached her, Meera knew where she was.

King's Landing. The city of the king. The king who was her enemy.

A pull on the shackles brought her out of the carriage and a firm armored hand on her shoulder lead her onto a soft carpet spread over hard flat stones. The floor of a castle.

Then--after an eternity of steps that threaten to trip her over--a room. The soft bed beneath her felt like a haven after the rough carriage ride to get there. But Meera couldn't lay down and relax. She needed to get out of there. She needed to go to her daughter.

After her shackles had been tied to the bed frame behind her, the bag and muffle were, at last, removed. She coughed a few times to regain her voice as warm orange sunshine--of the hour right before dusk--stung her eyes.

"I will kill you," was the first words she spoke through gritted teeth. "I will fucking kill all of you." She looked upon the tall dark-haired man before her. Bronn of Blackwater. The sellsword who had sold his honor, if he ever had any, to the mysterious king. "I will kill you. I will kill any soldier who gets in my way. And I will kill him, the king, whoever he really is."

The smirk on the man's face made her want to deliver on her promise of murder right there and then. But unfortunately, the shackles on her wrist made that feat impossible. "And how do you plan to do that, Lady Baratheon?" he asked.

"I don't know," she sneered. "But I know that I will. I'll do what I need to get to my daughter."

"Your daughter is long gone." The man sighed and looked at the floor. Perhaps he was ashamed of himself. She hoped he was. "The wolves will have gotten to her by now. I'm sorry, Lady Baratheon."

The apology almost sounded genuine. But Meera knew that a man with no honor also had no soul.

But she didn't believe his words. Meera didn't believe Joreen was gone. Because even if someone spoke the truth as they knew it, that didn't mean it was the actual truth. A man could only know what he knew, and Meera knew something Bronn didn't know.

She knew that Steffon Seaworth had seen what had happened and that the boy would never leave her daughter's side in a time of peril. Steffon would guard Joreen and bring her to safety.

Those were the words Meera kept repeating as Bronn locked the thick door to the room that held her imprisoned, leaving her alone with her thoughts in the darkness.

***

Just as his father was about to leave the courtyard of Storm's End--perhaps not to be seen for years once again, if even returned--Steffon reached for him. At ten years old, he wasn't a baby, like Joreen, and he didn't want to be left behind like one. He caught his Davos' worn hand, calloused from decades of holding swords, ropes, and reins, to halt him for just one more moment.

"Wait, father," the boy piped up, which made his father turn around. Hazel eyes met hazel eyes. One pair of eyes that had seen too much of the world and one pair of eyes that hadn't seen enough of it yet.

It would come a day when Steffon had seen it all. When his hands were as worn as his father's and his eyes veery of the world. Because despite living his life as a warrior, he would live longer than most.

"What is it, Steff?" his father asked. Not mad. Never mad. Always patient and kind.

"I..." The boy's voice gave in on him. Steffon's mother had told him that would happen sometimes as he got older and his voice got deeper. But this didn't seem related to age, but rather fear. Fear of blood, screaming, and death. All of a sudden, the horrors of war seemed so real. The small dagger that hung on his belt brought back his courage as Steffon let his hand slide across its intricate handle. Lady Baratheon had given it to him after she had forced her once-blacksmith husband to make it. Lord Baratheon actually seemed to have enjoyed the task as he'd even added a pattern of ships and cliffs that wrapped around. Fit for a boy called Seaworth.

"I want to come with you," Steffon said as he let confidence pour from the dagger into his vocal cords. "I want to fight. Lady Baratheon is my friend. I want to fight for her."

A gasp came from behind him. From his mother's throat. She who had already lost one son to war, and another to the wall. But Marya didn't say anything. She didn't try to hold her son back. She didn't cry or despair. She simply gasped and then remained silent.

While Lord Baratheon steadfastly walked away from them, determined not to turn back because then he would never be able to leave, Steffon's father remained in place. He put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"I can take you with me, son," he said with sorrow in his eyes. "If that's what you really want, Steffon, I will let you fight. Being the youngest son of a knight, war will be your life, or it will take your life. Sooner or later, you will have to fight."

Steffon nodded. He'd never put his life path into words like that but he'd always sensed it. He knew that there was no other path than fighting for him.

"But..." his father continued. "Maybe you can stay here and fight."

Steffon looked curiously at his father. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Davos looked after Lord Baratheon, who now had reached the gate of the castle. Not looking back at his screaming daughter for even a moment. Poor Stannis was unsuccessfully trying to soothe the girl with the help of his wife--who held baby Mathos--and his mother Marya.

"The girl," Davos said nodded toward Joreen. "Protect her, Steffon. Just like you did in the woods. Every man here will protect her, of course, but you can be her personal guard. Do it for Lady Baratheon. She would want to know her daughter is taken care of."

Steffon nodded resolutely, relieved that his life of war didn't have to start today. But, just as his father, he knew that was the life that the gods had destined for him. It was why he climbed those towers and trees. He knew he needed to be fit to fight one day. And not just fight but fight well. As well as his father.

His training would come to pay off. Twenty years from now, Steffon Seaworth wouldn't just be a better fighter than his own father; Ser Steffon Seaworth would be known as the fiercest fighter in the whole kingdom.

"I will," he said, squeezing the hilt of his dagger. "I will protect her. I'll protect Jory... I mean, Lady Joreen."

A worn hand ruffled Steffon's hair. The touch was surprisingly gentle.

As Davos turned away from his family, to leave them behind as he once again went to war, Steffon took his place beside his brother Stannis, who held a screaming and kicking baby Joreen.

"I'm here, Jory," Steffon whispered and patted a little foot. "I'll make sure you're safe."

As by a stroke of magic, the girl stopped crying and instead reached her little hand toward Steffon. She clasped his finger tightly.

The future queen. And her queen's guard. He would stand by her side for sixty years and more. Through revolutions and upheaval. Through peace and war. Through life and death.

Author's Note: These first chapters are a bit short as I'm starting to set the stage for what is to come. There's a lot of drama coming soon...

And yeah, Steffon... Steffon is important. I always knew he would be, even though he's basically only mentioned once in book 1.