House of Blood & Tides

One.

Stefan

Stefan Targaryen couldn't decide if he was a good or bad person. If the determination was based on desires alone, Stefan wouldn't make it into the seven heavens.

His private chambers were illuminated by candles. They burned in all four corners of his room and on the tables.

Dressed in his night clothes, Stefan made his way to his water pitcher and bowl. The servants were asleep so he'd have to pour the scented water over his hands on his own. He often washed his hands, a habit he developed to help soothe his anxiety. He needed to be constantly reminded that no blood coated his hands. He was clean and he was safe in his chambers.

It's been a year since he was permitted to relinquish his role as Commander of the City Watch. His father, Giuseppe Targaryen, had forced the position upon him. He believed Stefan was too weak and emotional. He thought a job commanding men would strengthen him.

At first, Stefan had been honorable. He kept the gold cloaks in check, keeping them from looting, ruthless killing, and brutality. However, once Stefan carried out his first punishment on a simple thief, he knew he was losing it.

People say, Targaryen's always dance too close to madness. Every time one is born the gods flip a coin: madness or greatness.

Stefan Targaryen, the good prince, as his people called him, craved blood. So, while on duty, away from the sight of his men, he did horrible things. Things he wouldn't speak of. Never to innocents of course but it still didn't absolve him of anything. Sword in hand he took the pursuits of the law on his own.

He'd only tasted blood once. He just put a little to his lips nothing else. He'd heard stories of Vampir, who drank blood in exchange for youth but that was just old tales. There was no magic in Westeros that Stefan knew of. He was simply ill and now that he no longer commanded the City Watch, he'd go back to normal.

He'd be the darling prince that everyone fawned over. His brother Damon Targaryen on the other hand blamed for carrying all the dark traits.

Once his hands were washed, Stefan sauntered back to bed. Every step on his cold, wooden floor felt slow and off balance. He pulled his heavy brocade bedspread over himself and placed his head on his pillow.

Now if I were to sneak out what route would I take?

The thought crossed Stefan's mind. It was inevitable and uncontrollable.

He knew that there were at least two white cloaks stationed outside his room. If he left they'd wonder why, it was such an odd hour of the night to be up. He knew of no secret passageways that connected to his room or else he'd use it to sneak out.

Stefan eyed the sword carefully placed beside his bed. Sunwalker was the name he'd given it as a boy. The blade was Valyrian steel, rare and irreplaceable. He wanted to use it tonight.

Doing his best to ignore his urges, he turned onto his back. He gazed up at the soft fabric of his canopy and dug his hands into the bed sheets gripping with all his strength. He took breaths to calm himself and shut his eyes.

"I'm Prince Stefan Targaryen, the good, the just, and the honorable. That is how people will remember me in the maester's recorded history. No one will know of what I've done." As he recited the phrase it brought him relief and comfort. So, Stefan repeated that over and over again. He only stopped because sleep finally claimed him.