King's Landing was unlike anywhere Ren had been before.

The cramped, crowded city seemed a whole other world to the vast open wilderness of the North. There were so many people, none of whom he knew bar his mother, Uncle Ned and the dozen Stark and four Bolton guards that had accompanied them south. His mother had chosen those guards for their speed on horseback, wanting to reach King's Landing as fast as possible, and return to the North equally as quickly.

She disliked the south, he knew. Ren might have only been ten-years-old, but he had heard whispers of the Mad King, who had kept his mother prisoner here during Robert's Rebellion. There had even been whispers that Aerys Targaryen was Ren's father, though Lord Bolton didn't allow such talk in the Dreadfort. Ren knew he wasn't a Targaryen, anyway. His mother hated Targaryens, and had his father really been the old King, he would not be here today.

His Uncle Ned also disliked King's Landing; the only reason they were here was because King Robert had demanded the presence of his uncle for the tourney to celebrate Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrcella's eighth nameday. Ren was unsure why his mother had come too, but was always eager to leave the Dreadfort, so did not question her too much.

Though he would never tell his mother, he quite liked the city. The overwhelming sights, sounds and smells were a lot to take in, but he found himself able to blend in here, stay mostly invisible in a way he had never been able to in Winterfell or the Dreadfort. There, everyone knew him as Rosennis Stark's bastard, and he had to do his best to stay out of sight of the terrifying Lord Bolton. Here, he was just another skinny boy in plain clothes, and everyone's eyes passed him by.

Ren left the chambers he and his mother had been given early the first morning after they arrived, unable to stay in bed when there was the entire keep outside. But first, he went to the practice yard, blunted tourney sword in hand, ready to train as he had done every day since he was old enough to pick up a sword. Ren loved sparring as much as his mother loved horses.

He expected to be the first one there - he always was, whether he was in Winterfell or the Dreadfort, and was always the last to leave before lunch - however an angry looking dark-haired boy, perhaps only two years his elder but twice as strong, was there already. The boy was determinedly hacking at a dummy with a sword that looked far too big for him. He was good, though. Not as good as Ren, but few people under sixteen were. Not many over sixteen were. That wasn't arrogance, as he often told his mother when she reproached him for it, it was a fact. Though this boy was definitely stronger than he was; Ren's weakness was that despite being tall for his age, he was still rather skinny.

"What are you looking at?"

Ren started as the boy looked his way, heavy brow lowered in somewhat defensive suspicion. He spoke with a Westerlands accent, like the Queen and the redcloaked guardsmen. Then he saw the sword in Ren's hand, and his angry eyes lit up.

"Do you want to spar? It's not as much fun with a dummy,"

"Yes,"

The boy was far stronger, but Ren was quicker. He also had an advantage in that he fought with his left hand, which tended to throw his opponent slightly, so - as normal when fighting with boys his own age - he triumphed, but after a longer fight than usual. The other boy really was good. Ren knocked the large sword - which couldn't have helped with balance - out of the boy's hands, and had his own sword at his throat.

The boy's dark blue eyes widened, clearly not used to losing. "You cheated," He accused, angrier than before. "I should've won, you're too weedy to beat me,"

Ren glowered at him, lowering his sword. "I didn't cheat, I'm just better,"

For a moment he thought the other boy would hit him. Clearly he was thinking about it, but then a bark of laughter sounded behind them. Both boys spun around, unaware they were being watched, and Ren saw a man stood in the shade, leaning against a column. Tall, with a mane of golden curls and an irritating smirk; Ren recognised him instantly. Even if he hadn't had vague memories of him winning the joust at the Riverrun tourney, Ser Jaime Lannister wasn't an easy man to mistake. His resemblance to the Queen was uncanny, and though the white cloak of the Kingsguard wasn't draped around his shoulders - he must be off duty - he wore a red tunic and the Lannister lion roared from the pommel of his sword.

"He's right, boy," The knight lazily pushed off the column. "He is better," The boy scowled, which seemed to amuse Lannister. "Don't sulk, that doesn't make you bad. I bet you could beat someone twice your age, is that right?"

He was now looking at Ren, who raised his eyes to answer, not missing the strange look that flashed through Lannister's expression as he saw his face.

"Yes. Ser," He added after a pause; his mother was strict about manners, even though he was only a bastard and it didn't really matter like it did with his siblings and cousins. "I beat the Master-of-Arms at the Dreadfort two moons ago, and he's six-and-thirty,"

Lannister's smirk grew. "See, Loreon. No need to show off that temper of yours,"

They seemed to know each other. Perhaps the boy, Loreon, was his squire. That meant he was highborn, which explained his annoyance at losing. Highborns were very proud, even his mother and siblings to some extent. Ren supposed he was too, having grown up around them.

"What's your name, boy?" Lannister asked him.

"Renan, Ser. Snow," His baseborn name was given grudgingly. Whilst his trueborn siblings could call themselves Bolton, his cousins Stark, he was stuck with Snow.

"Ross Stark's boy," Lannister didn't seem surprised.

It was rare Ren heard anyone call his mother that. She hadn't been Lady Stark in years, and no one but his uncles, Ned and Benjen, called her Ross. He didn't correct the man, though. Ross Stark's son sounded better than Lady Bolton's bastard.

"You fight with your left hand. She - writes with her left,"

How well do you know her, to know that?

"How long were you watching, Uncle?" Loreon asked.

Uncle? Ren's eyes widened a fraction. That meant this boy, the boy that he had been sparring with was a Prince, for Ser Jaime was the Queen's brother. But the Prince was younger, surely. There was no way in seven hells that this giant had just turned eight.

"Long enough," Lannister said idly, eyes still on Ren. He smirked, as though reading his mind. "Don't worry, boy, he's not the Prince,"

Loreon looked at him, anger at losing forgotten. "You thought I was Joffrey?" He grinned, shaking his head. "My mother is Ser Jaime's sister, the younger one, Lady Banefort. Formerly Giana Lannister. I'm the King's bastard. Storm, not Baratheon," He said this matter-of-factly, but Ren saw through his cheer, to the resentment beneath.

Jaime Lannister still hadn't taken his eyes off of him. "Snow... I haven't seen you since you were a year old. I knew your mother during the days of dear old Aerys,"

His smile wasn't a pleasant one. Ren could easily believe that this man had slashed a sword across the throat of the Mad King he was sworn to protect. He himself didn't quite understand why his Uncle Ned despised the man so much for that act; from the little he had heard of the old King, from his mother and various others, the man had been a true monster.

"I saw you walk for the first time, before you fell flat on your arse,"

Loreon sniggered at that and Ren scowled.

Lannister grinned. "Let's see how far you've come," He held his hand out to Loreon.

The boy understood what he meant, handing over his blunted sword, grinning as Ren's eyes widened in realisation.

"Good luck. I don't last a minute," Loreon's words weren't exactly encouraging as Lannister turned to him, intentions clear.

Ren raised his sword in time, and Lannister smirked, striking at his left, then his right, testing him, how he moved. This is one of the most skilled fighters in all Seven Kingdoms. That thought didn't make him nervous, rather sent a cold thrill up his spine.

Jaime Lannister was unlike anyone Ren had fought before. The knight was holding back, that was plain to see, and despite Ren's best efforts - which had disarmed grown men before in the yards of Winterfell and the Dreadfort, to much astonishment from onlookers - he remained irritatingly relaxed, barely even breaking a sweat to keep up. He was faster, more agile, better than anyone Ren had ever seen before, and he wasn't even trying. At no point during their spar did Ren have the upper hand; it was like a cat toying with a mouse.

After some time - though Lannister had drawn it out, challenging him, the fight was still annoyingly fast - the inevitable happened, and he was soundly beaten, sword at his throat. He stood, breathing heavily whilst Lannister looked as unruffled as before.

"I don't feel as bad about losing to you now," Loreon laughed, then added. "Though I bet I'm a better lance,"

That was doubtlessly true, as Ren had never tried jousting in his life, but he was hardly going to tell the boy that.

"Bet you're not,"

"Have you even got a horse that can tilt?"

"I've got a seventeen-hand courser,"

Lannister laughed at that.

"Your mother rides the courser," He corrected. "I'm guessing yours is the shaggy garron stabled beside it?"

Ren scowled as Loreon leered.

"I can still ride the courser. I can show you tomorrow,"

That was a lie. Though Ren was a capable horseman, he wouldn't dare ride his mother's horses. The beasts tended to look calm enough when she was mounted atop them, but turned half-wild the moment anyone else tried to do the same. He was starting to think she trained them that way.

"No," Lannister said, and both of them turned to him in confusion. "You'll be reporting to me tomorrow, as my squire,"

Loreon's mouth dropped open.

Ren couldn't believe he was serious. "I'm not even one-and-ten," He spoke after several seconds of dumbstruck silence. "And I'm baseborn. And - "

"You're better than someone twice your age," Lannister cut him off, holding up a hand to anticipate his protest. "It doesn't matter that you're a bastard, any man can become a knight,"

Ren broke off, but was still uneasy. He had never thought about being a knight; there were very few in the North, as they didn't follow the Faith of the Seven. Lannister muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath about Stark stubbornness, before raising his voice to a normal volume again.

"Would you rather spend your days being looked down on as a bastard in your mother's husband's castle?"

That struck close to home. He had thought about what he'd do when he came of age, for Lord Bolton would not suffer his presence in the Dreadfort from the day he turned sixteen. The best option he had was looking for a position at Winterfell, Master-of-Arms perhaps, household guard, or even steward. It was that, the Maester's Citadel in Oldtown, or the Wall, none of which sounded at all appealing.

"Alright," He said slowly. "But... why?"

"Like I said," Lannister's tone was light. "You're better than someone twice your age. You could be one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, with proper teaching. It would be a waste, to let such talent squander in the North,"

*

"Did you ask him to do it?" Ren pushed open the doors to his mother's horse's stable, knowing he'd find her here, since she wasn't in her rooms.

"Ask who what?" She frowned, not looking away from fitting the new bridle the King had gifted her with to the horse. "Speak clearly, Ren,"

"Ser Jaime,"

Her fingers stilled on the noseband, and she turned back to him, face blank.

"He asked me to be his squire,"

His mother just stared at him.

"Did you ask him to?" He pressed. "I know you knew each other. I didn't know it was well enough to ask favours like this of him,"

"I asked nothing. He offered of his own volition,"

"But why would he?"

She had returned to the bridle, fingers gentle with the head-shy animal, murmuring soothing nonsense in the Old Tongue when it shied away. As she did so, her sleeve slipped down her arm, revealing several nasty-looking bruises and a few minor wounds. What could she possibly have been doing to get those? They were almost like the marks he got from training; he eyed the outline of the long dagger she always kept hidden in her skirts suspiciously.

"Has he seen you fight?"

"Yes,"

"Then there's your answer. He's not one to play favourites - if you were bad, he would not have considered it. Nor am I one to scrape around asking favours for my son,"

"You do know each other, though?"

"Vaguely," She shrugged. "He was a Kingsguard during the Rebellion. We lived in the same castle, were forced to be around the same King,"

Nothing in her tone suggested falsehood. If she was lying, she was very good at it. Knowing he'd get nothing more out fo her, Ren left his mother with her horse, stewing in his own thoughts. He did not even dare let himself get excited at such an opportunity, lest it all be snatched away as easily as it had been granted.

*

Giana Banefort was not a common face in King's Landing. If Jaime was to believed, she had only been to the city once since the Rebellion; and that fateful occasion was when she had caught him with Cersei. Yet here the lady was, travelling with her father's party from the Westerlands to come for the tourney. Perhaps it was because her son, Loreon - who was fast becoming friends with Ren - was now living in the Red Keep to squire for Barristan Selmy, that Giana was willing to brave the sticky situation here.

The way that Cersei had looked at Ross when they first met at Riverrun was nothing compared to the hate she directed towards her own sister. It was clear the Queen had not been informed of Giana's presence in Lord Tywin's party. Had she known, she would have certainly done her best to stop it. Cersei greeted Giana in public with a gracious smile, but the look in her eyes was poisonous.

"How dare she waltz in, batting her eyelashes and giggling, when she knows exactly what she did with Robert," The Queen snarled.

She and Ross were sat in the Queen's solar, Cersei drinking red wine from a goblet and ranting. All the woman spoke about in private these days was how angry she was that Giana had come here at all. Ross found it both amusing and irritating at the same time. The Queen wished her sister was gone, but all Ross wanted was for her own to be standing beside her.

"In all fairness, I don't think she does it on purpose," Ross said.

She did not get the impression that Giana was trying to lead Robert on. She was managing to, though. Perhaps the King was attracted to her simply because he saw her as a better version of Cersei - in a similar way to how he idolised Lyanna - or perhaps he just wanted to spite the Queen. Regardless, he wanted her, that was plain for everyone to see. Robert doted on Giana like he had never doted on Cersei.

"In which case, she must be entirely empty-headed," The Queen said. "Acting like everyone's little darling, knowing exactly what people say about her. Is she truly that naive? I find it hard to believe. And Robert laps it all up like the fool he is,"

Ross did think that Giana was that naive, though Cersei had decided her sister had some grand plan, the goals of which ranged from upsetting her marriage - though was there really anything left to upset? - to stealing her crown. That was exactly what Cersei would do in the same situation, hence her paranoia.

"Be angry at Robert, who deserves it," Ross shrugged. "From my outsider's view, Giana is a fool, but not a spiteful one. She most likely just wanted to see her son, and thought nothing of coming in person,"

That gave Cersei something else to latch onto.

"Speaking of bastards," She said. "I hear that yours is now my brother's squire," The words 'my brother' were practically spat, as though they left a bad taste in her mouth.

This was dangerous territory. "Yes, I'm still unsure how that came about," Ross said casually. "Renan is talented, true, but I was not expecting the tutelage of a Kingsguard knight for him. I was hardly going to forbid it - my husband grows more weary of his presence in the Dreadfort with each passing day,"

"How did you persuade him to allow that in the first place?" Cersei asked, genuinely curious. "If Robert brought any of his bastards here, I would have them killed,"

Ross smiled, remembering the knife in her hands, rain hammering on the window. "Many Northern lords would do anything for a Stark bride,"

*

At the tourney's opening feast, Ross saw Jaime's smile tighten as he stood on duty behind Robert's chair, whilst the King dishonoured both his sisters at once by blatantly flirting with Giana the entire night. The one thing that kept it as flirting, not openly propositioning her, was that Lord Tywin was sat nearby, staring daggers in the King's direction. Even Robert was not so stupid as to cross that man to his face.

Ross left the feast late. The halls on the way back to her chambers were mostly deserted, which is why she chose that way; at least her years here during the Rebellion had taught her the best ways to go to remain unbothered. She came across a strange scene, however, not too far from the great hall, but a good enough distance to not be overheard.

"Come on, you enjoyed it the first time,"

"Robert, no," The dainty form of Giana Lannister was stood beside a shadowed alcove, looking exasperated as she tried to remove the King's enormous hand from her waist. "I've told you, I'm married now,"

Stood slightly further back was a Kingsguard knight, Barristan Selmy. He wore an uncomfortable expression on his face, staring at a point halfway up the wall. But as ever, Barristan the Bold did nothing in the face of a King behaving poorly.

"So am I," Robert grunted. He was drunk, yes, but not as drunk as he could've been. Sober enough to know better.

Ross narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, and you're very handsome, but I actually like my husband," The woman tried again to squirm out of his grip, going for the nice, flattering refusal so as not to let him down too hard. That was not going to work here. "And as much as I love Loreon, I don't particularly want to give him a black-haired brother or sister - oh!" She suddenly noticed Ross standing there.

Robert looked up at her exclamation and straightened, though kept his arm around Giana. Selmy's expression became even more uncomfortable. Good. They had shared memories, the two of them, that Ross wanted him to remember. Now, in particular.

"Ross!" The King had no trace of shame on his face, offering a charming smile. "Tell Giana how lovely she looks this evening,"

"I'll tell Lady Giana that we are starting to make a habit of this," Ross raised an eyebrow wryly, and Giana's lips twitched; at least she had a sense of humour about the last and only time they had spoken, when Ross was blackmailing her. "All due respects, your Grace, but get off her,"

Robert looked shocked at her bluntness, though that quickly turned to anger.

"This is none of your business, Stark,"

"You're right, it's not. But do you really want to go down in history as the King who got not one, but two bastards on his wife's younger sister? Lord Tywin would hardly be pleased. What is it he likes to say? A Lannister always pay his debts," Forget Lord Tywin, Jaime would readily become a Kingslayer twice over if this man got his sister pregnant again, never mind unwillingly.

Robert scowled, as he tended to do when he realised she had a point.

"I'm glad I never married you," He mumbled. "You're too much like Ned by half," He let go of Giana, who stepped away, brushing down her skirts. Robert eyed her darkly. "I wish I'd married you," He swayed slightly where he stood. "We'd have had five more children, just like Loreon. And you're not a poisonous bitch like your sister,"

Giana opened her mouth, but the King was already stumbling away down the darkened corridor. Selmy hastened to follow, but Ross stepped into his path.

"Well done, Ser Barristan," She pulled the sleeve of her gown slightly up her arm, revealing the ends of the white scars from years ago, the deeper scratch-marks that had never quite healed fully. "I'm glad to see that standards of knightly honour are as high as they ever were round here," Her tone was mocking but her expression was cold.

"Apologies, my lady," The old knight sighed, regretful but stepping around her regardless. "I have to go after the King,"

She stood in the same spot for a few seconds, glaring at the space where his head had been, before she remembered she wasn't alone.

"What was that?" Giana frowned slightly as she lowered her sleeve.

"A token from the Mad King," Ross didn't especially fancy elaborating on that. If the woman was too slow to work it out, she wasn't going to walk her through it.

Unfortunately, however, Giana wasn't as dim as she came across. "Oh - " She cut off her shocked exclamation. "That's - I'm so sorry. Just then, with Ser Barristan... Did he know about - you know,"

"Of course he did,"

"And he just let it happen?" Giana looked aghast. She might have grown up after suffering the shame of a bastard, but she had never known what it felt like to watch your family burn to death before your eyes, dread every footstep in the corridor, to hate a man more than death itself. In truth, not many highborn ladies had, so Ross could hardly hold it against her.

She nodded, once.

"The Kingsguard serves the king," Her tone was hoarse. "They don't judge him,"

Giana was silent for a moment. Just a moment, however. "Did Jaime - " Her green eyes widened again in horror.

Ross cut her off with a look. "Jaime would've slit his throat any time during that last year if I'd asked him to," She smiled slightly, then realised that was probably revealing too much. "Robert's no Aerys. Though if he does anything at all to you, come to me. I won't kill him like Ser Jaime will, but I can berate him more than anyone else would get away with - Robert loves my brother too much to harm a hair on my head,"

Giana's brow furrowed. "But... I thought you were Cersei's friend?"

"Does Cersei have friends?" She smiled, and Giana laughed. "Take it as an apology for blackmailing you, years ago,"

The other woman looked like she was about to say something, but Ross had already left.

*

"Ser Jaime to see you, my lady,"

Ross, sat at the table writing a letter to the Dreadfort's steward, glanced up to see Wylla smirking at her from the door. Alys - who had begged to come to King's Landing too - looked up from Ross' wardrobe, confused. It was the evening, and though her chambers were in a quiet part of the keep, but hardly the most inconspicuous timing.

"Let him in,"

Jaime stepped inside, crossing the room liked he owned it and sitting down in the chair opposite Ross. Alys was blinking in astonishment from the other side of the room, though she could hardly send her maids away, or else this would looked even worse. A pointed look from Wylla sent Alys back to her work.

"Please," Ross said, tone dry. "Take a seat, Ser. And truly, don't bother wiping your boots before tracking dirt in here. I love my rooms to look like a pigsty,"

He laughed. "As warm a welcome as ever, Ross,"

"I've been here a week already,"

"Yes," He tone became more polished, though his eyes were mocking. "Lady Stark - "

"Bolton,"

" - Lady Bolton, I wished to enquire about taking on your son as my squire,"

"My son has been acting as your squire since the day after we arrived, Ser,"

"Then I take it you have no objection?"

"I have several, though I will not voice them. And I won't stop him. It's a better future than any other he'd have ahead of him,"

"You could have just asked me, you know," He lowered his voice, with a glance at the maids, who were both pretending not to listen.

"They won't talk," She said of his concerns. "And did I know?" Despite previously not caring what Wylla and Alys overheard, it was Ross who now lowered her voice, so only Jaime could hear. "For all I knew, you could have left Riverrun and gone straight back to... her. Or found another,"

"Would you believe me if I said I hadn't?"

Her mouth opened to immediately reply with 'no' but something in his expression made her pause. "... Really? Why?"

His lips twisted into a smile. "I missed you," He was joking, repeating what they had said in Riverrun, but there was a hint of sincerity there, for her to take if she did not want to pretend it was a joke.

Ross struggled to find the words to respond to that. "I had another child," Was the foolish thing she settled on.

He frowned. "I hardly expected you to refuse your husband for my sake - "

"She was born nine months after Riverrun," That silenced him. "Her hair is dark and her eyes are grey, but she looks more like you with each day that passes. I wasn't sure, at first, but there is no chance that beautiful girl came from my marriage,"

That silenced him for a long moment.

"What's she like?"

"A menace. She says what she thinks, tells lies without batting an eye, and doesn't know when to stop talking,"

Jaime laughed, sounding a little choked, but then there was another knock at the door. Alys opened it before Ross could say otherwise. She quickly leaned back from the table, as did Jaime.

"Lord Stark for you, milady, with Ren,"

Ned was unused to needing an invitation, so had already stepped inside. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of Jaime already there. Ren slipped in behind him, hanging back slightly in a way that made her wary.

"Lannister," Her brother said, with some dislike.

"Stark," Jaime was wearing that smirking mask that infuriating Ned so much, lounging back in his chair. "Lady Rosennis and I have been discussing the details of her son becoming my squire," He inclined his head towards Ren.

The quill and paper in front of Ross helped that story. It wasn't entirely a lie, either. Such a meeting would have had to take place, though usually during the day rather than the evening. Wylla and Alys being here also showed that nothing inappropriate was going on. Unfortuntely, Ned had seen how the two of them interacted after the sack of King's Landing, and his suspicions were already high. This did not help matters.

"At this hour?"

"Ser Jaime is on duty during the day, Ned, when else was he supposed to discuss it?"

"In the presence of a family member. My sister is married, Ser,"

Jaime smiled sharply, about to reply, but Ross got there first so things did not escalate.

"Ned, Wylla and Alys are stood right over there, and Ren was likely to come back at any moment. What exactly are you imaging has been going on?"

"I'd rather not imagine anything at all," He grumbled. "You have suffered enough from cruel rumours - I don't wish to see them reignited,"

She glared at him. "Enough from you. What was it you needed?"

"Ren has been fighting," Ned pushed her son forward into the light, and she saw the cuts and bruises on his face and arms.

"With who?" Ross' eyes narrowed.

"Some Rykker lad. I caught them in the courtyard, swords thrown to the side, rolling about on the floor like scrapping dogs,"

"Who was winning?" Jaime asked, seeming to find the whole thing amusing.

Ned shot him a dirty look, but replied anyway. "Your new squire, Ser. In the time it took me to reach the boys, Ren had forced Rykker's head into the wall with his arm twisted behind his back," He looked at Ren in stern disapproval.

"He insulted Mother!" Her son spoke for the first time, in indignant exclamation. "He deserved it, for saying that any number of Targaryen guardsmen could be my father,"

A silence, after that. Ross was well aware of the uncomfortable situation those words had put her in, given who sat with her now.

"The Rykker boy is thirteen and built like a lumbering ox," Jaime broke the silence with a smirk. "And a cocky little shit to boot. Congratulations for humbling him,"

Ross shrugged at Ned. "I can't say I feel too sorry for the boy, given his delightful speculations,"

"Of course not," Her brother said. "If I'd have heard him insult a lady like that, I'd have cuffed the boy around the head and dragged him by the ear to his father. But Ren, you must be careful. Rykker is a lord's son - "

"A lord's brother's son," Jaime corrected, earning a glare.

" - and his family may not take well to you hitting him,"

"He won't tell anyone," Ren mumbled. "He was embarrassed that I made him cry,"

"You shouldn't find that funny," Ross said, though couldn't help but smile herself. "Look, just don't go getting into fights for my sake. I appreciate that you care, but I've heard much worse than that,"

"From who?" Jaime asked lightly, his eyes dark.

"Your sister, for one,"

He laughed. "Of course,"

"I thought you and Her Grace were friends?" Ned frowned. There was no need to clarify which sister they were talking about.

"As it turns out, Cersei is almost as vile to people she likes as people she doesn't," Ross said.

*

"Be good," His mother said, the day she was to return North with his uncle and the guards. "And do write to me, often. I will try to visit once or twice a year, at least. I can get a ship from White Harbour and it will take less than two weeks,"

A year suddenly sounded like a very long time. Ren had never been apart from his mother. She took him with her wherever she went, even where she left Aileen, Edrick and Morganna behind, for fear of Lord Bolton making him disappear if he was left at the Dreadfort alone. Ren hated the Dreadfort, hated Lord Bolton and his awful mother, hated the guards and servants who looked down on him for being their lady's bastard. Winterfell was better, but it was not his home. He had always thought he would be delighted for a chance to leave, which he was, it was just.... now, he was realising exactly what it would be for his mother to be in the North whilst he stayed in King's Landing.

"Goodbye, Ren," His uncle smiled. "I am sure you will do your family proud," Lord Stark was a stern man, who people hastened to obey - his children included - but he was a kind man too, and had never treated Ren any differently to his trueborn siblings.

His mother hugged him, then, tighter than he could ever remember her doing. "If anything happens," She murmured into his ear. "If anything goes wrong, or you need help quicker than I can travel south, go to Ser Jaime. I trust him with you,"

She drew back, eyes dry. Lady Bolton was not one for tears; Ren did not believe he had ever seen his mother cry. There was something in her eyes, however, that said however hard it was for him to be left here, it was much harder for her to leave him in the Red Keep.

"Goodbye," Ren said, and it didn't feel like enough. But he was a squire now, destined to be a knight in several years. Knights did not cry like babies over being separated from their mother. Besides, he had Loreon here, who was a better friend than any he ever had before. He loved his Stark cousins, and would miss his siblings terribly, but Loreon understood what it was like to be a bastard.

Watching his mother ride through the gates, Ren did his best to shut off the part of himself that was sad to see her go, and embrace the part that was excited for what was to come.

*

He hadn't quite known what to expect after his family had left. Ren had been given a tiny sleeping cell near the White Sword tower, which he shared with the squires of the other Kingsguard knights. There were four of them in total; himself, Loreon, and two others, a Rosby and Brune, who squired for Ser Preston Greenfield and Ser Mandon Moore. Those other two boys were highborn, and had known each other for years. Neither of them paid Ren or Loreon much attention at all, aside from to sneer at them to keep their things on their side of the room.

Loreon seemed delighted to have someone who wasn't either of those two to talk to. Since he had arrived here, little over a month ago, he had earned a reputation. He was the King's son, so naturally attracted a lot of attention; whilst some seemed determined to put him in what they considered to be his place, many others went out of their way to be nice to him. The first time he saw this kind of lickspittle behaviour, it took Ren aback. Not least for how Loreon responded.

"I've learned, since coming here," His friend grinned at the look on his face. "To just let them lick my boots if they want to. I hated it, at first - back in Casterly Rock, no one had anything good to say to me, and I thought here they were playing some sort of trick or making fun of me - but it does help having people at your back, when the others decide to cause trouble. All I have to do is be nice to them,"

Ren was fascinated. Loreon was indeed well-regarded amongst the other squires and young boys in the Red Keep; someone to respect, despite his bastard name and young age. Though prone to the odd fit of sullen moodiness, Loreon had a good sense of humour and was not afraid of giving advice to the others where needed, making him well-liked. Equally, it was best to avoid getting on the wrong side of his Baratheon temper and skill at arms.

It was in that first week after his mother had left, that Ren met Prince Joffrey. From the moment Loreon's half-brother opened his mouth, Ren hated him.

"Are you my uncle's bastard Northern squire?"

Joffrey had to be two years younger than Ren, and yet spoke to him like he was dirt on his shoe. The Prince was escorted by Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, one with the dead fish eyes.

"Go away, Joff," Loreon, walking beside him, rolled his eyes. He got away with talking to the Prince like no one else did, as King Robert much preferred him to any of his trueborn children.

"Who asked you, bastard?" The child sneered. "I want to see if this boy is worthy of being my uncle's squire," He raised the practice sword he was holding.

Loreon laughed. "What are you going to do with that, tickle him?"

Ren had not seen the Prince in the training yard at all in the weeks he had been in King's Landing, despite being beyond the age to start learning to fight.

"I'm going to beat him!" The awful child proclaimed, waving the sword around in the air.

Ren glanced at Loreon. "I'll get in trouble for fighting with the Prince," It was less of a concern the more the Prince spoke, however. He was dying to put the little brat on his backside in the dirt.

"Not if it's a proper spar," Loreon looked vindictively eager to set him on Joffrey. "Get Ser Jaime, he can oversee it,"

That was how Ren came to be stood across from the Prince in the practice yard, all the other boys gathering around to watch. Jaime, looking amused at the whole thing, was there too.

Once Joffrey started to fight, Ren wondered if the Prince was mad, or just stupid, to have demanded a match so publicly. The boy couldn't spar. That was no exaggeration. All he did was flail around with that sword of his, impassioned but clumsy and unpracticed. He was eight-years-old, true, but most boys his age had some idea of the proper form.

He let the boy embarrass himself for ten times longer than it would have taken to merely disarm him. By then, many of the other squires were snickering behind their hands, and Loreon was openly grinning. Joffrey was growing more and more angry, his strikes getting wilder and more clumsy, until Ren easily flicked the sword out of his hands.

What followed was what could only be described as a tantrum. Joffrey kicked and screamed and claimed Ren had cheated, that the bastard had hurt him. Ren was taken aback by the behaviour; you couldn't have paid him to act like this in front of an audience.

Jaime looked on in evident disdain. "If you don't want to lose, Joff, then put some effort into training, and don't challenge those you can't win against. What did you think was going to happen? Renan has been training every day since he was five years old, whilst you pick up a sword for half an hour, once a month, because you like bullying the smaller boys,"

That only made the Prince scream harder, a level of fury that Ren had not even seen between his mother and Margaret Bolton.

"His sister Myrcella would be better with a sword, if we gave her one," Loreon muttered in disgust.

Having seen the dainty, golden Princess, Ren had to agree. "Is he not embarrassed?"

His friend grimaced. "You'd think," Loreon raised his voice over the din. "If you go to the Queen, to get Ren in trouble, then I will go to Father and tell him you screamed like a baby for losing,"

"I hate you!" Joffrey rounded on him, but the mention of the King seemed to put the fear into him. "Don't you dare! When I'm King, I'll have all your heads cut off and stuck on spikes,"

With that, he left. From that moment on, the Prince absolutely despised Ren, though because he had the protection of the King's favourite son, could do nothing about it. Ren wasn't quite sure this was what his mother had meant when she told him to be good, but there wasn't much else he could have done in that situation. Other than let Joffrey win, which was not going to happen.

The elder Prince might have bullied anyone he thought he could get away with picking on, but his favourite target was his younger brother, Tommen, who had just turned six. Tommen was a placid boy, with few ambitions other than playing with whatever pet caught his interest (a fawn, this week).

A few months into living in King's Landing, Ren and Loreon were sat on the steps outside their room, polishing the armour of their respective knights, when Tommen ran around the corner. He was alone, which was unusual; the Queen liked to keep him wrapped up in padding. Not to mention, he was crying his eyes out. Ren was never one for tears, having put up with far too many from his sister Morganna - the girl liked to turn them on to get what she wanted - but thankfully Loreon was there.

"What's wrong, Tom?" He was concerned right away. "Sit down with us,"

"Joffy," Tommen sobbed, throwing himself onto the step between them; Ren winced as he left a footprint on the freshly-polished breastplate. "He - he k-killed my fawn. I screamed and screamed, but he j-just laughed, and said he'd t-tell Mother I was being a baby again. So I ran away,"

The two older boys looked at each other.

"Why didn't you hit him?" Loreon asked. "If he'd done that to me, I'd smash that pretty face in,"

Ren didn't doubt it. Loreon would be happy to do that anyway.

"He's b-bigger than me," Tommen sniffed.

"Hits like a girl, though," Ren said.

"He's right. I bet if you learnt how, you could hit him harder,"

Tommen was only two years younger than his brother, and whilst Joffrey was tall for his age, he was skinny too, where his brother was more sturdy. Well, plump, at the moment, but even so.

The little prince looked between them with wide eyes. "I don't want to hit anyone," Gods save us. "Not even Joff - "

"Do you want him to kill one of your kittens next?" Loreon interrupted.

Tommen shook his head, looking like he was going to start crying again, lip trembling. Ren would've thought that no one had spoken harshly to him in his life, if he hadn't seen the Queen constantly snapping at him, whilst she cooed over her precious Joffrey

"Then don't let him. Because he will, Tom, you know that,"

"Don't think of it as hitting someone," Ren said, when the boy still looked unsure. "Think of it as protecting your other pets," It would be worth teaching this pampered prince how to fight, if only to rub it in Joffrey's stupid face that his younger brother was better than him.

Tommen considered that. "I... s'pose," He wiped his nose on his velvet sleeve, nodding quaveringly. "But what about Mother? She doesn't want me fighting,"

"Just tell Father you want to learn how to use a sword and he'll be delighted," Loreon shrugged. "She can't stop him," He eyed Tommen doubtfully. "Actually, I'd better mention it to him first,"

That was for the best. When Loreon did tell King Robert that Tommen wanted to start training, he responded first by laughing his head off. Though that was followed with a grunt of agreement, and 'perhaps the boy will amount to some sort of soldier after all'.

It was clear that Robert Baratheon had little time for his trueborn children; he actively disliked Joffrey, had no patience with the placid Tommen, and didn't know what to do with a dainty princess like Myrcella. It could have been that the man was just not interested in his children, if he hadn't delighted in his bastard son. Loreon went on every hunt the King held, regularly sparred with his father and was loudly proclaimed as 'a son I can be proud of'. That stupid greatsword Loreon insisted on using when the master-at-arms wasn't there to make him put it down, had been a gift from the King.

If the Queen hadn't disliked Loreon enough for being the child of her husband and her younger sister, the blatant favouritism of him over her trueborn children only made her hatred of him worse. Loreon himself had said matter-of-factly that if he wasn't half-Lannister, then Cersei would have had him killed long ago. Lord Tywin protected those of his blood, even bastards he resented the existence of.

Nonetheless, Tommen joined them in the training yard a week or so later, wrapped up in enough padding to make him almost completely round. Ren and Loreon both snorted at the sight of him, and many of the other boys also laughed, though somewhat more subtly. The boy was hopeless when the master-at-arms gave him a wooden practice sword and set him against one of the younger boys around his age, but not for lack of trying. Despite his timid disposition, Tommen showed more grit than Joffrey did, getting up doggedly off the floor every time he was knocked over. He might have been openly sobbing as he did so, but at least he kept going.

"I hear Tommen made it to his first training session today," Ser Jaime said later that day. "How was the boy?" His tone was doubtful.

The two of them had just finished a sparring match; Ren was breathless whereas, frustratingly, the knight hadn't even broken a sweat.

"He got knocked over at least once a minute," Ren said. "And cried the whole time. But he got up again and again. He'll have plenty of bruises, but he's better than Joffrey already - "

He broke off, remembering he was talking to the Prince's uncle. To his surprise, however, Ser Jaime laughed.

"It doesn't take much to be better than Joffrey," He shook his mane of hair. "His mother asked me to teach him how to fight before you arrived - the master-at-arms was always so unfair to him," His expression showed exactly what he thought of that. "He's my nephew, so I tried to teach him. It only took five minutes before he threw the sword down and stormed off,"

Ren wrinkled his nose and Ser Jaime laughed.

"Back to it, then," He grinned. "I don't know what you were laughing at Tommen for, you'll have just as many bruises before the day is out,"

Ren's sword was already in his hand, rising to block the knight's oncoming strike.

*

Edited November 2024