The sounds of the tourney were tremendous. The roar of the crowd, the splintering of lances and the thunder of hooves and metal. Morganna was more than glad she was stood down near the gate, not in the stands with the lords and ladies. With her uncle absent that day, and Septa Mordane preoccupied with getting Arya to sit still and behave, Morganna had been able to slip away with some vague excuse about the Princess wanting to see her. She hadn't, of course - the Queen would hardly let her sit with the royal family - and had instead made her way to her brother. Ren wasn't competing until the melee the next day, however his friend Loreon Storm was due to ride in the next few rounds, as was Ser Jaime Lannister, whom her brother was here to assist.

They had a good view from here, even though it was a short way back from the tilts. Loreon was in full armour astride his horse. Ren stood on the ground beside him, as Morganna stroked the nose of the beautiful destrier, a powerful beast, worthy even of her mother. She understood it had been a gift from the King for Loreon's sixteenth nameday. The Queen can't have been happy about that.

Today was Morganna's twelfth birthday, and she was enjoying pretending the tourney was all in her honour. That morning she had received several gifts from her family; Sansa had made her an elegant green dress - Arya was credited with sewing on the fastenings at the back, with Septa Mordane's help - and Lord Stark had gifted her a new cloak, far lighter than her heavy northern furs and perfect for the southron climate. He had also carried a gift from her mother down from the North, a silver pendant that Morganna fell in love with immediately and was wearing now, as well as a present from Aileen (and supposedly Edrick, though he would not have had a hand in chosing it) of an ornate hand-mirror made of bone.

She wished the rest of her family could be here now, of course, but Morganna wasn't exactly alone. She could pick out Sansa's red hair in the crowd from here, Jeyne Poole beside her, and then Arya and Septa Mordane; both of Morganna's cousins were excited for different reasons. Sansa loved the pageantry, the displays of gallantry and courage, whereas Arya was here for the blood and danger of the contest. Morganna was, as usual, somewhere in between.

Of all the Winterfell men, only Jory remained in the competition - Alyn and Harwin had both been unseated in their first matches - and Morganna found herself paying attention to the more likely contenders for the prize, helped by Ren and Loreon's careful assessments of all the other competitors. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain-That-Rides, was an obvious choice, though his brother Sandor, the Hound - still a big man but nowhere near the size of Gregor - seemed to have more skill, rather than brute strength alone, decimating his opponents with brutal efficiency. The young Loras Tyrell, as girlish as he looked with his brown curls and flowery armour, was also a clear talent. Morganna had laughed to see him present a blushing Sansa with a red rose; she had heard the crude rumours about the Knight of Flowers from Ren and his friends, but her cousin clearly hadn't. Other strong contenders were, of course, Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, both in the white cloaks and armour of the Kingsguard.

But Loreon had yet to joust himself. Morganna had not known the young knight before the court came to Winterfell, but her brother considered him a close friend. Ren didn't trust easily. At a first glance, Loreon looked like a young Robert Baratheon, however he seemed more careful and calculating than the King, and tried to treat people with respect. King Robert had been born the elder son of a great lord and had had opportunities handed to him on a plate his whole life, but Loreon had to be taken seriously. There was something in him that the King lacked; a certain glint in Loreon's eyes whenever he saw his father drunk in public, or making a fool of himself, or shirking responsibilities. It was even more pronounced when he was around Joffrey. It was easy to forget what family the young man's mother came from, unless you were sharp enough to catch the ambition in his stare. Him and Ren were well-matched.

It was now Loreon's first match. Ser Jaime had just won the previous tilt with a practically lazy ease, and Ren left to take his horse.

"Good luck," Morganna looked up at her brother's friend with a grin.

Loreon nodded in thanks, face set in determination, lowering his visor. He did look a fearsome sight in his grey armour. Much older than seventeen. His horse was decked in similar colours, greys and blacks, though the lance he carried bore stripes of red, gold and black. Lannister and Baratheon colours. Brave of him. A glance up into the stands saw the King roaring with laughter at his bastard son's choice of lance, as the Queen pursed her lips. Myrcella was smiling beside her mother; she loved her half-brother/cousin dearly, as much as Morganna loved Ren, regardless that he was a bastard who her mother despised. Myrcella would like it down here on the ground. Her new friend knew how to play the perfect little princess, but slowly Morganna was revealing more and more of what the girl was really like; adventurous, brave and fiercely clever.

Loreon was pitted against a household knight from a minor house. The man didn't even last the first tilt. One moment, Loreon's horse was thundering towards him; the next, Loreon had knocked him off his horse and into the dirt with barely even a splinter from his lance. The Ling and the crowd cheered as Loreon removed his helm and smiled widely, waving at the crowd and soaking up the praise. Queen Cersei glared.

"Jealous?" Morganna smirked at her brother as he came to stand silently next to her.

"Hardly," Ren looked down at her, unsmiling, but there was amusement in his tone as Loreon rode out of the arena up to them. His horse hadn't broken a sweat.

The next match of note was Gregor Clegane's second round, considerably more gory than Loreon's. As Ser Gregor galloped towards his opponent, a young knight from the Vale, the huge man's lance rode up suddenly and struck the man under his gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, a mortal wound. The youth fell, the point of Clegane's lance buried in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before, staining his cloak and the sand around him muddy red. Morganna had seen a man die before, but they had been executions at the Dreadfort or Winterfell, beheading by her father's or Lord Stark's sword, never so brutal or unexpected. She watched with an appalled kind of fascination, even as Loreon swore and Ren's lips pressed together into a thin line just like their mother would've done.

Morganna was struck by how... pointless it was. If someone was going to die in a horrible way like that, at least on a battlefield their death would count for something; they would be remembered, mourned as a hero. But this was... meaningless, just entertainment. That young knight would be forgotten before the day was out. Men came and carried the body away, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shovelled dirt over the bloody spot, and just like that the jousts continued. Like it never happened.

She mentioned it to Ren, who shrugged.

"He knew what he was getting in for," Her brother said, rather coldly. "He shouldn't have been jousting in this company if he wasn't good enough,"

Jory Cassel lost after two more tilts. Renly Baratheon was unhorsed by the Hound, so violently that one of the golden antlers snapped of his helm; the King's brother laughed and gave the antler to Clegane, who threw it into the crowd, nearly starting a riot. Barristan Selmy fell to the Kingslayer much later on in the day, one of the last matches, for a place in the semifinals, but it was a hard won match. Loras Tyrell had won against opponent after opponent, eventually facing Gregor Clegane. It was almost laughable, seeing the slender young knight, only sixteen, on his pretty white mare covered in blue flowers, facing down the Mountain and his enormous destrier.

Ren gave a short laugh. "His mare's in heat," Her brother said, and sure enough, Clegane's stallion was clearly getting restless. "The Knight of Flowers has his thorns," He seemed rather appreciative of Tyrell's strategy, yet at the same time scornful of his need to win through tricks.

"Bloody Tyrell," Loreon scowled. "It's a smart move, but if I end up against him I won't be able to ride this one," He nodded to his own beautiful stallion. "Is that ugly horse of yours trained to tilt, Ren?"

"You're not having her," He said. "I need her undamaged for the melee, she's trained for that. You're too heavy for her, besides, you great lump,"

Loras won the match - though whether he cheated or not was arguable - which the Mountain did not care for. Clegane yelled for his sword, and beheaded his screaming horse with one stroke. Morganna flinched at that - it was somehow more horrible than seeing the knight die earlier, and there was a lot more blood - as the Mountain swung around to face the Knight of Flowers, knocking him off his pretty mare. She was sure they were about to watch Loras Tyrell be split in two, but then out of nowhere the Hound lunged forward to intercept his brother's blade. The rumours the two hated each other were clearly true; there was genuine loathing in the younger Clegane's eyes as he fought his brute of a brother, keeping pace against the larger man with a relentless savagery that should've killed most men. They only stopped when the King yelled for them to cease their madness, and Gregor stormed away in fury.

Loreon won every match put against him, with apparent ease. That left a final four of Jaime Lannister versus Loras Tyrell, and Sandor Clegane versus Loreon Storm. The jousting would continue the next day, along with the melee. Morganna wasn't sure who the crowd favourite was between Ser Loras and Loreon. It definitely wasn't the scowling, scar-faced Clegane, despite his earlier act of rage-fuelled heroism against his brother that had earned him a few minutes of favour. Nor was it the infamous Kingslayer, beyond the common women swooning over his good looks and golden armour.

Lord Stark didn't even join them for the feast later that evening. To Morganna's disgust, she and Sansa were all seated at the high table for the feast. That in itself wasn't the problem. Not only did Loreon and Ren have to sit away from them with the household knights and minor nobles, whilst Arya was considered too young to attend, but to Sansa's right sat Prince Joffrey.

The Prince was positively sickening the entire night - someone had obviously told him to make up to Sansa for the incident at the Trident - and Sansa lapped it all up. Morganna couldn't help herself muttering several snide comments to her cousin during the feast when the false sweetness got far too much, earning glares from Sansa. It was quite funny, watching Joffrey try to keep his facade in place when he clearly wanted to snap back at her. One particular favourite of hers (concerning something unflattering about men who hit little girls) had even made Sandor Clegane, standing guard over Joffrey's shoulder, give a dark snort of laughter.

"Gods, you've got a mouth on you, girl," The man grunted.

"Which would be improved if it stayed shut," Joffrey scowled petulantly. Sansa primly agreed with him.

Morganna just grinned in a deliberately infuriating way, getting up from her chair with her usual swagger, which she knew irritated most people. "I'm off to find better company," She said. "I want to enjoy my birthday,"

Septa Mordane tutted. "Morganna, sit down!" The old woman hissed through gritted teeth. "It is an honour to sit this high. What would Lord Stark say to this rudeness?"

Morganna acted like she hadn't heard, unconcerned. She swept down from the high table, moving through the mingling people, intending on finding her brother, curious if any of his friends would recognise her as the squire from that night in the city. The feast was crowded with people, however, and it was hard to squeeze through the crowds. An ill-timed movement shoved her right into a Kingsguard knight.

"A shame a fine horseman like Elbert Arryn can't be here to joust - oh, my apologies," Ser Barristan Selmy looked down at her.

"No need to apologise, Ser Barristan," Morganna acted the innocent little lady for now, bobbing a quick curtsey. She could be as good as Myrcella, when she wanted to be. But she wasn't in the best of moods.

The old knight looked at her curiously. "Forgive me, my lady - are you Lady St - Lady Bolton's daughter?"

"Yes, Ser," She let an edge creep into her tone. "I'm Morganna Bolton. Lady Rosennis is my mother,"

"You look a lot like her," The knight said.

Morganna raised an eyebrow. "Do I?" All she had from her mother was dark hair and grey eyes, as well as a slightly longer than average face. Her mother said she looked like her dead aunt, Lyanna, but Morganna had seen the statue of Lyanna and she didn't think there was much resemblance there at all. She wasn't sure who she looked like in truth, for she definitely did not take after her father.

Ser Barristan looked somewhat taken aback by her bluntness, frowning slightly. "No, I suppose you don't," He said slowly. "I remember you father's face clearly. He advised the King to kill me, you know, after the battle of the Trident," He seemed to realise then that he was talking to a twelve-year-old girl, and shut his mouth.

A pause.

"Do you remember my mother's scars?" Her words were about before she could consider if they were a good idea. The shocked look on his wrinkled face was worth it, but she barely knew the man. He was also the most respected knight in the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Well, she had started now. Might as well see it through. "You should. You were there when she received them,"

A heavy silence. Jaime Lannister was glancing their way in interest from where he stood behind the King a short distance away. Why was he paying them any attention? She wondered if he could hear them or not.

"I... regret how your mother was treated," The old man suddenly looked tired, though he didn't back down. "But the sworn brothers of the Kingsguard live to serve the King. No matter who or what that King may be,"

"Coward," She replied.

The old knight straightened up then, both shocked and angry. He opened his mouth to reply, but Morganna turned on her heel and walked off. Someone laughed behind her, but she didn't turn to see who it was. Her brother sat somewhere near the back, and she made a beeline for him. Ren and Loreon were more than welcome company. Sat in between those two, none of the others dared say anything against her joining them. It was much more pleasant than being stuck at the high table with Sansa and Septa Mordane.

Whilst Ren had been taking away every cup of wine after the first that Morganna tried to sneak past him, the King had been getting louder and louder as the night went on, consuming more and more drink. At one point he staggered to his feet, anger clear on his red face.

"No," He thundered at the Queen, a goblet of wine in one hand, which sloshed all over the place as he swayed. "You do not tell me what to do, woman. I am King here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!"

Everyone was staring, all conversation having died out. No one moved to interfere. The Queen's face was a mask, but she was unmistakably furious as she rose from the table with admirable dignity, gathered her skirts and stormed off without a word, servants trailing behind. For a horrible moment it looked like the King would follow her, and no one would move to stop him, but then his brother Renly came forward, smiling like nothing was wrong and letting Jaime Lannister, who had started to step forward, move back to his place without anyone noticing.

"You've spilled your wine, Robert," Renly said. "Let me bring you a fresh goblet,"

And that was the end of that.

At some point Morganna noticed that Sansa was gone from the high table, but had managed to sneak several gulps of wine past her watchful brother, so was feeling too light-headed to care, apart from laughing at the sight of Septa Mordane asleep with her head on the table. As she glanced in that direction, she saw Myrcella, who made a small 'come here' gesture to her; now the Queen was gone, and the King (and everyone else) was drunk, there should be no problem. Morganna made her way to the table, sitting down in the vacant seat beside her friend. They talked and laughed for a time - Myrcella had gotten her a ring as a birthday present, fairly simple but lovely all the same - but then Myrcella's father, the King, noted her presence.

"You're Ross' daughter, aren't you," He said, in a hard-to-understand voice, thick with wine. His face was an alarming shade of red, and he had split his drink down his doublet. Behind him, Jaime Lannister stood looking mildly bored, in his usual way, although his eyes showed interest.

"Yes, your Grace," Morganna nodded politely. "Morganna Bolton,"

"Let's get a look at you," Morganna's eyes widened as the King grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He stank of wine. "Heard you look like my Lyanna. I can see it... plain as day. A true beauty,"

From what her mother had told her, no one could call her aunt 'my Lyanna'. And unless Morganna had been looking at a portrait of a different woman before, she definitely did not look look like the long-dead Lyanna Stark. Hells, she even looked more like Myrcella than her aunt.

The King didn't let go of her face. If anything, he held on tighter, face staring at hers. Morganna didn't know what to do, it was getting ridiculous. But one did not just tell the King anything. She settled for glaring at him as he stared at her, trying to imitate her mother's best cold stare - the King left her alone, after all - but it didn't seem to have any effect.

"Your grace," Jaime Lannister cleared his throat.

The King turned to glare at him, thankfully letting go of Morganna's face, though his hand found her shoulder, large and heavy. She quickly turned away, taking a drink so she didn't have to look at him. Myrcella's eyes were wide in shock, her hand finding Morganna's under the table in comfort.

"Why must you always... interrupt me, King-Kingslayer?" Robert was grumbling irritably. "You... you did that when. I ask-asked Ross to... to marry me," Morganna choked on her drink, Jaime Lannister's eyebrows rose and even Myrcella's eyes widened. "Now you... you won't let me talk to... her daughter,"

"You weren't planning on proposing to Lady Bolton as well, were you?" The Kingslayer's voice was dry, and he was lucky the King was so drunk or else he might've taken more offence. "She might be a little too young, at twelve,"

Morganna wondered why he cared. Though Ren had been his squire for years, and he had known their mother for longer. Perhaps that was enough. Or perhaps he was one of the apparent few who wouldn't let a King get away with groping a young girl.

The King glowered, about to reply.

Myrcella cut in first. "Father," The Princess spoke up, smiling less sweetly than usual. "Lady Bolton mentioned she was feeling unwell earlier. We were just about to return to the castle,"

The King blinked, only then seeming to notice his daughter's presence, letting go of Morganna.

"Yes, yes," He waved a hand, eyes unfocused. He seemed to have slipped into melancholy after his previous rambunctious, then angry, mood.

"Your Grace," Morganna curtseyed as they stood, but the King didn't seem to notice.

Myrcella took her arm and they left, several guards following them as a safe escort back to the castle. The moment they were out of sight of the table, Ren appeared at her shoulder like a shadow, having clearly been watching the whole scene. He fell in step beside them, expression dark; even without the escort of guards, Morganna thought it likely everyone would move out of their way from that alone.

"What was that?" He nodded backwards at the King, irate enough to not care that the Princess was right there.

"I don't know," Morganna snapped back. "He just said I look like Aunt Lyanna," She wasn't going to mention that bit about asking their mother to marry him. When in hells had that happened? "Why do you care? The King didn't mean anything by it, he's roaring drunk. Sorry,"

She cast half a glance at Myrcella, who smiled faintly, wisely keeping quiet.

"You're naive," Ren said. 'He wouldn't have done that if Lord Stark was around, believe me,"

"Ren," Morganna was annoyed by him talking down to her, but nodded at Myrcella, not really caring about propriety herself - it was unlikely the Princess would mind - but wanting to shut her brother up. Ren looked angry still, but fell silent, and was silent the whole way back to the litters that would take them back to the Red Keep.

"Make sure you don't go wandering off anywhere," Her brother warned her as they got into a litter and he bade them farewell. "There's all sorts out tonight, go straight back to the tower,"

"Yes," Morganna rolled her eyes. She would've wanted to stay longer, but after Myrcella's quick lie, they couldn't exactly do that. "Go and drink some more, and find a girl, or whatever you do,"

"You're eleven," Ren looked amused by that. "Twelve, even. You shouldn't be giving advice like that,"

"Trust you to forget my birthday," She said, laughing. "You still haven't given me your present,"

"Later," Her brother promised. "Off you go,"

She and Myrcella started talking the moment the curtains of the litter closed.

"Did you know about your father and my mother?" Morganna asked her.

"No," The Princess pulled a face she never would've pulled where anyone could see. "I don't think anyone does - you saw how surprised my Uncle Jaime looked that he mentioned it,"

"I'll ask Ren about it tomorrow, after the tourney's over," Morganna decided. "Do you think - no," She broke off.

"What is it?"

"I was wondering if the King could be Ren's father, but the timings don't match up,"

"When was your brother born?" Myrcella asked. "Loreon was born nine months after the tourney at Harrenhal, but your brother is younger, isn't he?"

"Over a year,"

"Lucky him," Myrcella elaborated at her confused look. "Joffrey's definitely not his brother, then,"

They both laughed at that.

*

The next day dawned cloudy, but the crowd clamouring to the tourney were unaffected. The final tilts of the jousting were soon underway. Jaime Lannister - whose dazzling smile was still present, but a lot more focused and determined than in previous rounds - beat Loras Tyrell in the first round of the semi-finals.

"He looks like the cat that got the cream," Morganna said, of his smug victory smile.

Loreon snorted. "He's wanted to knock Tyrell into the dirt for ages, since the boy beat him last time,"

"Thank the Gods," Ren muttered. "I won't have to deal with the foul mood he was in after he lost,"

Loreon got considerably louder as the match against Sandor Clegane drew closer. The man was formidable, even bigger than he was, and the young knight's bravado was to make up for any nerves he might be feeling. After all, if he lost, it was in front of his father and what seemed like half the kingdom. If he was a Prince, he would've got many more chances to prove himself. As a bastard, not so much. As Loreon grew louder, Ren grew quieter.

This round was fast-paced and brutal, more so than any other, even the match between Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy. There were more tilts and broken lances than Morganna could keep count of - the pile was large enough to climb - and although Loreon won, it was more by chance than anything as he and the Hound were so evenly matched. Clegane took the loss in his usual darkly amused manner, shrugging and stomping off; to drown himself in a vat of beer, as Morganna had heard a squire chuckling (very quietly). That left Loreon versus Jaime Lannister.

This match was equally as hard fought. Ser Jaime clearly wasn't pulling any blows just because Loreon was his nephew, and both had been riding brilliantly for the whole tourney. Lances splintered again and again, the thunder of hooves seemed never-ending, until finally the victor emerged, and the Kingslayer picked himself up from the floor with good humour, shaking Loreon's hand as he rode to claim the prize, the crowd cheering and clapping their new favourite, the underdog, the handsome young bastard knight who had defeated the Kingsguard and famous warriors to win the prize of twenty thousand gold dragons.

Morganna returned to sit with her uncle and Sansa for lunch. Arya was absent, and Lord Stark merely said that she was having a dancing lesson, which was more than strange, but Morganna put it out of her mind as they went to watch the melee together. The competitors - forty men ranging from freeriders to knights to squires like Ren - all rode in. Their weapons were blunted, but enough damage could be done. The King, in the end, did not enter. Morganna suspected Lord Stark had a hand in that. Her brother did not stand out in the slightest. Plain armour, dark colours, a sword that was unremarkable until you looked closer and realised it was extremely well-made. Not to mention that ugly mare of his.

The horse turned out to be a good choice. Whilst he wasn't as good a rider as their mother, he knew what he was doing. Thoros of Myr, the red priest, was competing using his flaming sword, which spooked several better quality mounts, costing their riders the prize. Ren's horse was nothing special to look at, and not so fast, but was surprisingly agile and barely batted an eyelid at the clashing of steel, shouting and fire.

Her brother chose a good strategy, too. Instead of diving right into the middle of the fighting like most of the more confident fighters, he hung back. The first few minutes were when the highest proportion of men fell, he had told Morganna earlier that day. In the first ten minutes, over half the competitors had been weeded out, leaving the arena battered and bruised, more often than not with broken bones. Ren stayed around the edges, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Whenever anyone tried their luck with him, however, he disarmed them with astonishing efficiency. As the numbers continued to fall, the crowd did begin to notice him for being one of the only ones left who wasn't an obvious favourite.

The other competitors started to notice him as the only easy target left. Two of them came at him at once, big, muscled men that must've weighed twice as much. Yet they too were disarmed, one on the ground groaning, and the crowd roared in approval. Sansa was gasping at every blow struck even slightly near her cousin, and Lord Stark was sat stony-faced and tense. Morganna was not worried at all. She had absolute faith in her brother, he wouldn't let fools like these defeat him.

Ren was not just on the defensive now, he was attacking, skulking around like a lean shadow, picking men seemingly at random. These last fighters were clearly more talented than the rest to have lasted so long - many were knights, even, or if not then hardened freeriders and mercenaries - and all had more strength than her brother. But although strength was important, Ren fought with a deadly sort of elegance that couldn't entirely be learned. He didn't win these with the same ease as he had the first, but he always won in the end.

It came down to the last two. The strong-looking knight seemed rather surprised to be facing a young man half his size, but didn't make the same mistake many of the others had of underestimating him. They dismounted for this last battle, and the fight began. The knight was extremely good to be keeping up for this long. Both of them were tiring - the melee had gone on hours - the knight's swings were getting clumsy, Ren seemed slower on his feet, but in the end it was Morganna's brother whose sword disarmed the knight, knocking him to the ground in a well-timed movement as the big man staggered slightly from the blow. The crowd roared. Ren didn't help the man up, and only nodded to the crowd, raising a hand in thanks once, before looking straight up at the King.

Robert was on his feet, bellowing his approval.

"A fine end to the tourney," The King laughed uproariously, as everyone settled down. "A Baratheon bastard takes the joust, whilst a Stark one wins the melee. Renan Snow, winner of ten thousand gold dragons!"

Ren nodded in thanks, but Robert wasn't done.

"Kingslayer!" He roared. "Why isn't that boy a knight yet?"

Jaime Lannister, stood behind him, shrugged, saying something but Morganna was too far away to hear.

"Well we can't have a squire as the champion," The King scoffed, getting to his feet and walking down the steps. Morganna was surprised they didn't bend under his weight. The man entered the arena, facing her brother. "Give me your sword, boy, and kneel,"

"Gods," Her uncle smiled, as Sansa practically swooned in excitement at seeing her cousin become a proper southron knight, even if he was a bastard.

Ren wiped the bloodied steel on his cloak, handing it to Robert hilt-first, and kneeling in the sand. His face hadn't changed. Morganna knew he had always hoped to be knighted in a real battle, not a tourney.

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave," The King said in his great booming voice. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden I charge you to protect all women..."

And so the knight's vows were said, and her brother rose as Ser Renan Snow. A few quiet words were said between him and the King, and then Ren bowed respectfully in thanks, before leaving the arena. Morganna hurried down to meet him, not waiting for the rest of her family to keep up. She saw her brother be clapped on the back by an enthusiastic Loreon Storm, as several more eager squires followed behind.

"Ren!" Morganna grinned. "I'd hug you, but you're covered in blood," He was also very sweaty, and likely exhausted. "You won,"

Ren looked her, not smiling, but his eyes alive with... something. "I told you," Was his reply, with a note of satisfaction.

Morganna had never doubted him herself, but she didn't think she was the only one he was talking to. "I should call you Ser, now," She laughed. "About time. You've been a squire for ages,"

That got a laugh out of him.

"Sixteen is young to be knighted," Ren said, shaking his head at her. "I beat him," He nodded at Loreon, who frowned.

"How hard did that last one hit you on the head?" The young man asked. "I've been a knight for months now,"

"You're older than me, though," Ren smirked. "I'm barely sixteen, you were almost seventeen,"

"Gods sake," Loreon rolled his eyes, shoulder barging Ren, who was still amused.

"Boy," Jaime Lannister was approaching them, cutting a path through the surrounding people as they saw his Kingsguard armour. His smile, as usual, cut like a knife, but seemed genuine as he spoke to Ren. "You might be useless at the tilts, but I suppose that performance makes up for it. Between the two of you and Loreon, you might just get a decent warrior. Stick together in battle, perhaps?"

"Thanks," Her brother said, but he clearly appreciated the sarcasm more than the flurry of compliments and congratulations. "But I think the proper form of address is Ser Renan now, Ser, not boy,"

"Little shit," Ser Jaime remarked, smirk growing. "I suppose I'll have to find someone else to scrub my armour and polish my boots. You know, the important work,"

"Tommen?" Loreon suggested.

Ser Jaime looked at him, tilting his head slightly. "Hm," He considered. "That's not a bad idea. You two have already toughened the boy up a little. Although you can be the one to suggest it to my sweet sister,"

The idea was ludicrous.

*

The feast celebrating the end of the tourney went on well into the night. The next morning, Morganna was woken far too early by a knock on her bedroom door. Opening it revealed her brother stood there. Of course he was up now, after such a late night.

"Don't you sleep?" She asked incredulously.

"I've come to give you your present," He said, ignoring her question. He held out the bundle of rags in his hands. "Unwrap it. Carefully,"

Morganna did so, and was astonished to find that they concealed a knife. A proper dagger, not an eating knife. It was nothing fancy, a small steel blade with a plain bone handle, but looked well made and strong.

"Ren, what - ?"

"Don't show it to anyone," He said. "You shouldn't have this, really. Sorry it's so plain, I had it made by an apprentice smith before I won ten thousand gold dragons. Just... keep it on you,"

"Is something going to happen?"

"No," He said firmly. "But you never know. I thought you might enjoy it, anyway. Mother always carries a knife - "

"She does?"

"She has done since the rebellion. I might be paranoid, but I'd feel better knowing you had it,"

"Fair enough," Morganna hugged him. "Thank you,"

His words about their mother had reminded her that she still needed to ask him if he knew about the King's proposal to her, whenever that may have been. Now didn't seem like a good time, however, so she kept quiet.