They arrived in King's Landing a month after leaving Winterfell. As always, Ren both welcomed and resented the return to the city. The imposing walls of the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill came into view first, a vague shadow on the horizon over the trees, followed by the rest of the city, a sprawling mass covering the three hillsides and spilling down to the Blackwater river. It looked impressive from here, and intimidating; both of which it was built to be, of course. Though the Targaryen sigils had been replaced with stags, gold banners replacing red and black, and the dragon skulls moved to below the castle, the spirit of the dragons who had ruled there for hundreds of years was never truly erased, worked into the walls of the castle itself.

Ren fell back into routine of being in the city. He woke early, did any squiring duties that were required, then sparred in the practice yard until past midday, Jaime often coming down to join him, whether that was to spar with him or other Kingsguard knights. Then lunch with Loreon and several of the other squires their age, sometimes Tommen too, depending whether his mother was looking for him or not. Ren's afternoons were his to do with as he pleased - half the time that involved another hour or two of practice - which now included the added presence of his family there.

Arya, Sansa and Morganna were staying in the Tower of the Hand along with his uncle. He didn't see Lord Stark much in those first few days; if the man wasn't in small council meetings, then the King demanded his presence, or he was meeting privately with certain characters like Littlefinger or Varys. About what, Ren wasn't certain, but he had his suspicions, and it could be nothing good.

A letter from his mother arrived three days after they reached the city. All letters from his mother came through Jaime - apparently the Grand Maester read through all letters that were not addressed to a Lannister - so it was no surprise when the knight handed him two unopened envelopes one morning, one for him and one for his uncle.

"Courtesy of Lady Bolton,"

"Thanks," He hesitated. "Why do you let her send her letters through you?"

"Why do you ask now?"

"The more I think on it, the more... unusual it is,"

"My uncharacteristic kindness, or her trusting a Lannister with private correspondence?"

"Both,"

The knight shrugged. "It started before the rebellion. I'd send ravens to Winterfell with her letters, before it became too risky. Seemed petty to stop,"

"I thought you said you barely knew her in the Rebellion?"

"She said that, not I,"

Ren gave up after that. There was something odd about the whole thing, but nothing he cared to dig too deeply into. Letters in hand, he bade Jaime goodbye and set off for the Tower of the Hand.

"From Mother," He handed the letter addressed Lord Eddard Stark to his uncle.

"So soon?" The man opened the letter in front of him, frowning. That frown only deepened as he read what was written in it.

Ren hesitated. "What is it, Uncle?"

"An assassin tried to kill Bran," He quickly added, "The man did not succeed, of course. Bran lost some fingers on his right hand,"

Lord Stark's tone was cold, his eyes angry, but Ren knew that masked the pain of knowing something so awful had happened to his son. Bran had wanted to be a knight. That seemed unlikely, with a crippled right hand, though he was young enough to learn with his left. Still; a horrible experience for an eight-year-old boy.

"Why would anyone try and kill Bran? Surely this means that his fall wasn't an accident, either?"

"It does seem that way," His uncle said, scanning the rest. "Your mother tells me my lady wife was most disturbed by the incident. She is on her way to King's Landing by sea - " He broke off, pausing. "What I say now cannot leave this room, Ren. Not even your friend Loreon Storm,"

"Of course,"

"Catelyn is convinced it was the Lannisters who tried to kill Bran. And that they also murdered Lord Arryn,"

"Which Lannisters?" Ren raised an eyebrow. "Because Tyrion, Ser Jaime and Lady Giana are not on speaking terms with the Queen, and I believe she has told each of her siblings she wants them dead at some point of other. And why on earth would Cersei want to kill Bran?"

"Perhaps he heard something he wasn't meant to hear," His uncle said darkly. "Your mother's thoughts on the matter are more... cautious. She said the same as you - not all Lannisters are Cersei or Tywin. And, when it comes to those two, to be extremely careful. If the Queen has a secret big enough to kill for, she will lash out if threatened,"

"She knows Her Grace well," Ren said. "Accusing Cersei of anything will ensure a knife in our backs. There will be no justice for anyone if we get ourselves killed," He hesitated. "Sending an assassin after a Stark is a crude, desperate move. Lord Tywin is neither of those things - if it had been anyone who wasn't panicking would have poisoned the food, or at least drugged Summer and come in the night. The Queen, however..." He trailed off.

His uncle raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought Cersei a calculating woman?"

"Outwardly, perhaps," He said. "She's... cunning, and good at charming people to get what she wants. Though from everything I have heard, from Mother, Jaime, Loreon, his mother, Tyrion - her own family, and people who know her well - underneath all that, she is reactive, hot-headed and thinks she is a lot cleverer than she really is,"

"A dangerous combination," His uncle considered that. "Very well. I will deal with Catelyn, when she arrives. No doubt she is angered over Bran - I can't say I feel differently - but you and your mother are right. We will have to tread carefully,"

*

Once back in the small sleeping cell he shared with Loreon and two others, Ren lay back on his bed and read his own letter. His mother told the same story she had told Lord Stark, however there were a few key details she had not mentioned to her brother.

Do not tell anyone this, Ren - I don't want to fan the flames any more - but I did manage to get some useful information out of the assassin before he died. The one who hired him was Lancel Lannister, or else someone else perfectly matching his description. Lancel did not go on the hunt that day, nor did Cersei. Tyrion was in the library when Bran fell, and I spoke with Jaime five minutes before in a different part of the castle entirely, but no one could tell me where either of those two were. As there is no motive to kill an eight-year-old otherwise, Bran must have been climbing and come across something he shouldn't have. I believe that he was seen and tried to run, his haste causing him to slip - there was no chance he was pushed from that low a height.

All this tells us is there a secret that Lancel - likely on Cersei's behalf - is desperately trying to conceal. It seems too convinient that this comes just after the death of Lord Arryn. I had wondered what on earth Cersei would gain from killing the Hand, but if he had discovered the same secret, that would be motive enough. I need you to be my eyes and ears in King's Landing. Stop your uncle from doing anything to provoke her, if you can. Accusing her of anything, without irrefutable proof and ironclad support from the King and strong allies, will end extremely poorly. And, if the worst is to happen, tell Ned to just take the girls and come home, at once. Whatever this is, it is not worth dying for.

*

His uncle summoned him some days later.

"I've just spoken to my lady wife," He said, as Ren sat down in front of his desk. "She was held up at White Harbour for days by what she insists was your mother's meddling,"

Ren fought the urge to smile. His mother and Lord Manderly had been in correspondence in the past over various matters; together, they had resolved a trade route to the Karhold through Bolton lands, which the Boltons had previously objected to. Manderly thought highly of her, and owed her a favour.

"Catelyn confirmed everything in your mother's letter, though had a rather more... confrontational approach to matters, which I believe is best avoided. She is on her way home, now,"

That was for the best. "Have your meetings with Littlefinger been productive?" Ren dared to push a little further. He didn't know much about Lord Baelish, only that he seemed sharp of wit, humble, good with money, and friends with just about everyone. In other words, too good to be true.

"Careful," Lord Stark warned. "You'll do more harm than good getting caught up in matters like these. You're my sister's son and as good as a Stark as far as I'm concerned, but others won't see it that way,"

"Yes, Uncle," Ren nodded. "Though if my mother was here, she would tell you to be careful,"

His uncle inclined his head tightly, his usual faint smile - which tended to be reserved for family only - pulling at the corners of his mouth. "She would. But that's not for you to worry about," He made his voice brighten a little. "There's a tourney soon, you'll be better off practicing your lance than dealing with southron politics," The tone of his voice made his distaste for such matters evident.

Ren was somewhat irritated at being treated like a green boy, given he had lived in this city for over five years and had plenty of insight about the key players, but didn't let that on. "I don't joust," He said instead. "I'm only entering the melee,"

Fighting a group of unknowns in disorganised chaos, enclosed in a limited space, was more like battle than riding at a single knight with a long, pointy stick covered in pretty colours. True though that was, the main reason he didn't joust was because he wasn't particularly good at it. There was something about riding straight towards danger for the sake of it that didn't sit right with him; how that differed from entering a ring of fierce fighters determined to win, he wasn't sure, but it did in his head. Ren was a competent horseman, but didn't feel like getting knocked to the ground in front of the whole court. Bloody Joffrey would rub it in his face for months, despite barely being able to lift a lance himself.

"Gods," His uncle grimaced. "Try not to lose an arm,"

"No one will get that close," Ren smirked, despite himself.

A strange look passed through his uncle's eyes, the same look from the incident at Winterfell with Edrick and Joffrey. "I'm sure they won't," Lord Stark said, honestly. "You're one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen, never mind your age,"

Such praise from his reserved uncle was rare, but Ren preferred that to false platitudes and constant attention. With Lord Stark, you knew you'd earned it.

"My mother would tell you not to make me cocky,"

His uncle gave a short laugh. "If you've spent this long with Jaime Lannister and haven't got an ego the size of Casterly Rock yet, I don't think she needs to worry,"

Ren hesitated. "Do you know much of the strange friendship between him and mother?"

Lord Stark frowned. "You should ask your mother about that, Ren,"

"I did," He said. "She said they barely knew each other during the Rebellion, and now only speak with regards to me. So I asked Jaime,"

"What did he say?"

"He laughed. Said something like 'being in a living hell with someone gives a strange sort of comradeship', and that was it,"

A silence.

His uncle sighed. "Ask your mother," He said. "Or Lannister, even - he's more likely to tell you, in truth. I won't say anything more on the matter," With that, he was as good as saying 'I won't lie for her'.

Well that was decidedly unhelpful. And caused that creeping, absurd suspicion in the pit of his stomach to grow considerably more weight.

*

Even Ren could see that Sansa was in her element, in King's Landing. Though she was still furious with Arya over the matter of the direwolves being sent back to Winterfell, she loved everything about the capital, and was practically ecstatic when she heard there was to be a tourney held in her father's honour. Joffrey's display of brutality towards her cousin had not seemed to diminish her awe of the brat, either, though Ren was just waiting for the time the Prince inevitably showed his true colours again.

Arya was not so enamoured with court life, and he didn't blame her. Ren could pass most lords and ladies by, invisible, and no one cared where he went or what he did, so long as he was at Jaime's door first thing in the morning. That gave way to plenty of drunken nights with his friends outside the castle walls in the seedier parts of the city. Arya, however, was a lady, one of the highest born in court despite appearances. Though she was used to avoiding her mother and septa in Winterfell, no one else there really minded that she was more scruffy little boy than noble lady. Here it was different, and it was evident that his cousin found it stifling, and would much rather be back in the North.

With Morganna, it was harder to tell. She clearly liked the glamour of court, the fact that all the young boys looked at her with mouths hanging open as she passed (Ren's answering glare soon shut those mouths as fast as her father's reputation ordinarily did in the North) and how many more people there were here to play mind games with. She also enjoyed the company of Princess Myrcella. But he could also tell that Morganna missed Edrick and Aileen, missed their mother (though perhaps not her father) and missed being free to go out riding without the huge organisation that came with gathering a guard down here.

He should have been surprised, when she snuck out to meet him in the middle of the night, but somehow he wasn't.

"Ren,"

He was already awake, having heard the soft footsteps padding across the floor of his sleeping cell. At the whisper, he let go of the knife under his pillow, sitting up in bed. "What are you doing here? It's past midnight,"

His sister had a dark brown cloak draped over her slender shoulders, pale face peeking out from under the hood. How had none of the Winterfell men noticed her leaving the Tower of the Hand? A glance to his left confirmed that the other two boys sharing the room were still dead to the world. Loreon slept elsewhere, now he was no longer a squire. These two were younger, twelve and thirteen, and seemed scared of him.

"I want you to take me out into the city. I want to see what it's really like, without all the guards," Even in the darkness, her eyes were agleam with that excited, reckless glint she got sometimes, and he knew there would be no reasoning with her. Not that he wanted to. "You can't lecture me about being responsible. I saw you sneak that girl into your tent on the road - "

"Not tonight," He cut her off. "Day after tomorrow. Me, Loreon and a few others are going out, I'll dress you as another squire,"

He didn't mention that he didn't want to take her out on his own in case some of the less savoury characters in the pubs they visited realised she was a highborn girl, and a beautiful one at that. Whilst he could certainly handle a handful of drunks from Flea Bottom, he couldn't do that and keep an eye on his sister at the same time. Morganna was proud, and unlikely to keep her head down and let him deal with it if trouble did start.

"I don't think I'll make a very convincing boy," She didn't look put off by this at all.

"A big cap, some mud on your face and baggy clothes?" He smirked slightly. "No one'll look twice. You don't look quite like a woman yet, not matter how many spotty little boys gawp at you,"

"Shut up," She grinned nonetheless. "They're getting braver, you know. One of them came up to me earlier and asked if I was betrothed yet,"

"Charming," Ren's eyes narrowed. "Who was it?" Gods sake, his sister wasn't even twelve for a moon's turn.

"Your age, slightly shorter, brown hair," She shrugged. "I can't remember his name, but his breath stank like high heavens,"

"Hogg," He would deal with him later. "Alright," He got out of bed, being sure not to wake the others. "I'm taking you back to bed. If you get caught by the guards out at this time, they'll throw you onto the street. They won't believe you're a lady dressed like that, trust me,"

"Won't two of us be more obvious?"

"They know me," He shrugged, not particularly wanting to explain to his sister why seeing him escorting an unknown cloaked woman out in the middle of the night would not be a surprise for any of them. She could probably guess, anyway, she wasn't Sansa. "You keep your hood up, though,"

*

"Seven hells," Loreon swore as Ren approached the gates, his sister at his side. "You look awful. No offence, Lady Bolton,"

"Yes, but no one looked twice at her on the way here," Ren said. "That's what matters,"

Morganna grinned. Compared to usual, she did look awful, in one of Ren's old shirts, much too big for her, and some baggy breeches he had taken from the laundry house. Her oldest, most faded green cloak was draped around her shoulders, and though she wore her own boots, they were mostly covered by the trousers and Ren had told her to cover them in mud for good measure. As promised, a cap cast most of her face in shadow, and a short training sword hung from her belt. Of course, if you knew she was a girl then it was obvious, but to most onlookers she would just appear to be a very pretty, if scruffy, page boy.

"Won't your friends notice?" Morganna asked, not seeming to care either way.

"Not a chance," Loreon snorted. "Bennet's as thick as a castle wall, Cass will be too busy looking for, ah, female company," He shared a look with Ren, and Morganna rolled her eyes, clearly knowing what he meant. "I'm pretty sure Gillan's a sword-swallower, so he won't care. And the other two'll turn up drunk, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you or a pig in a dress,"

"Charming,"

"The light's fading, anyway," Ren glanced to the side, seeing the setting sun was well below the castle walls. "It'll be impossible to tell by candlelight,"

He was right. When they turned up, none of their friends - and Ren used that word in the loosest of terms - looked twice at Morganna. As they descended down Aegon's Hill into the city, Gillan asked why the boy was with them; Ren told him the lad was from Winterfell, and painfully shy so they decided to take him out for a few drinks to loosen him up. He saw Morganna shaking her head and smirked, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Come on, Morgan," He said, steering her carefully around a group of scantily-dressed whores calling out to them from a corner; that was where they lost Cass. "I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself if you try hard enough,"

The night, surprisingly, didn't end in disaster. There had been an uncomfortable moment when a drunken gold cloak (off-duty, not that that made much difference) mistook the 'young squire', who had wandered off, for a pretty young whore, but before Ren could get over there and salvage the situation, Morganna had done a good job of waving the short sword around and yelling that she was a boy. The man's friends laughed at him, Ren gave them a cold smile, before grabbing his sister's wrist and pulling her down next to him sharply.

"You sounded like Arya," He said.

She smirked. "Where do you think I learnt it from?"

That had been the only trouble - a miracle in itself - and as the other squires trailed off, Ren and Morganna walked back to the castle.

"I hope you've thought up a good excuse," Ren was light-headed from the drink, but hadn't let himself get too drunk in case things went downhill. He probably should have thought of this earlier. If Morganna hadn't concealed her disappearance, half the Winterfell guard would be out looking for her by now.

"Of course I have," The girl snorted. "My bed's stuffed with pillows, to look like I'm under the covers,"

Ren smiled. "I shouldn't have doubted you. How did you even get out of the tower?"

His sister gave him a wicked look. "That would be telling,"

*

"I went into the city today," His uncle said one evening, both of them sat in his solar after the girls had gone to bed. "To Tobho Mott's shop - do you know it?"

"The armourer?"

"That's the one. Both Lord Arryn and Stannis had been there, shortly before Jon died. They were there to see an apprentice smith, a boy named Gendry,"

Odd. Ren let him continue.

"One look at the boy, and it was obvious he was one of Robert's,"

Loreon liked to joke he had a dozen half-siblings in each of the Seven Kingdoms. Ren wouldn't be shocked to learn that was an underestimate, considering the King's proclivities.

"That makes four we know about, then," He said, amused. "Loreon, Edric Storm, this boy, and the girl in the Vale,"

"Mya," His uncle smiled. "She was the first. I remember her. A sweet girl. Robert loved her, or so I thought. I doubt he's seen her since she was five years old," His smile faded. "I just want to know why Jon was looking into Robert's bastards, with Stannis of all people,"

"He summoned me and Loreon, before he died," Ren's eyes widened in alarm and horror. "He was asking questions about my father," Surely not...

His uncle laughed. "Robert is not your father, I can promise you that,"

"Are you sure?" He had to elimate all doubts before they took root.

"If you're not convinced by the fact that Robert would have had to sneak into Aerys' court at the height of the Rebellion - "

That was a good point actually. Ren should have thought of that.

" - there is nothing Baratheon in your face, lad. Not to mention, your mother barely tolerates Robert as it is,"

"What is there in my face?" He dared to ask.

His uncle did not humour him. "There is a looking glass in Morganna's room, if you wish to check for yourself," He said, sounding rather like his sister, Ren's mother, for a moment.

"You're scared of Mother finding out you told me anything," Ren grinned.

"Shouldn't I be?" Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "

*

Ren was in the yard, sparring against Tommen. The boy was eleven, and had lost much of the chubbiness he'd had as a younger child; he was still stocky, but more muscle than fat now. Though he would never be a great warrior - he disliked having to hurt people, even in training - he would last in a fight against an average swordsman, having had Ren, Loreon and often his uncle, Ser Jaime, train with him at various points, along with other members of the Kingsguard. In time, he would grow to be better than average; he was only a boy, after all, and as Jaime had told Loreon in a rare moment of sternness, it wasn't normal for a boy of eleven to be able to beat men twice his age.

But looking at Tommen at afternoon, something was nagging at the back of his mind. Ren had just flicked the Prince's training sword out of his hand, again, when he noticed the morning sunlight glinting off the boy's golden hair.

"Again?" Tommen was saying, picking up his sword, clearly tired but not letting his lack of enthusiasm show. The boy was good like that, knew what he had to do to get better no matter how much he didn't enjoy it. He looked up at Ren, and it suddenly struck him how little like his father Tommen looked.

Gendry Waters, Loreon and Edric Storm - who he'd met once when the King went to Storm's End, bring Loreon and most of the Kingsguard - all had something in common, besides the fact they all shared a father. The girl in the Vale too, Mya Stone. They all had dark hair and blue eyes, and more than a few Baratheon features.

Tommen wiped his blonde curls out of his green eyes, and all Ren could do was stare.

"Ren?"

He realised he'd never answered the boy's question. "Yes," Ren said a little sharply, shaking the thought off. "Yes. You need to work on the force of your blow. Your reactions are good, you're quite quick and you aim well, but your attacks are too weak..."

Despite the teaching, his mind was elsewhere. It felt dangerous to even think it. Though it wasn't necessarily true. Perhaps Lannister traits were stronger than Baratheon traits. What about Loreon? his mind whispered, but he ignored it resolutely, pushing the thoughts away and suddenly feeling rather cold, despite the warm day, right in the pit of his stomach.

Ren stepped back into his fighting stance, glancing at Tommen critically. "I've told you before. I'd rather bear a few bruises now than deal with the Prince dying in battle because he was too craven to actually fight his foe,"

Tommen's eyes narrowed. There was a time where talk like that would've sent the boy off in tears. Ren had slowly increased it over time, and some anger was good to see in him now. The boy lunged at him with a lot more force than before, and he smiled in satisfaction, spinning away from the blow and lashing out with one of his own; if he'd wanted to, the boy wouldn't have been able to block it, but he timed it just right that Tommen would be able to see it coming. He blocked it, just, but Ren was already striking again, giving the Prince what would be a nasty bruise on the upper thigh. Tommen yelped, but instead of backing off - as was his typical reaction - he lashed out. Ren had underestimated him, and was too slow to move away from the blow he hadn't seen coming. Tommen caught him on the right forearm with surprising strength.

"Good. Not if you're fighting me," Ren was left-handed. "But that would've disarmed a lot men,"

Tommen looked pleased, which was unusual for him in the practice yard, and just showed how he'd improved.

"You're doing well, little brother," Loreon came over. He was near a foot and a half taller than Tommen, broad-shouldered and bulkier. The only facial features they shared was the elegant Lannister nose, and something about the way they smiled. "Your brother will be King, sitting on his arse giving orders, but everyone will know you as the one winning his battles for him,"

Ren laughed at the look of distaste on Tommen's face.

"Don't worry," He said. "We'll do all the fighting for you, if you want, and give you the credit - which Joffrey will then steal,"

Even Tommen smiled at that.

"You were right about just hitting him," The Prince said. "He hasn't come near me since we arrived back here, not since the Trident and the direwolves,"

Loreon laughed. "I'll have that story spread around the city. Joff will be King one day, but everyone will know that his little brother - and sister, too, probably - can beat him into the dust any day,"

It was all very well laughing with Loreon and Tommen, but when Ren was alone, polishing Jaime's armour for the tourney, it was a different matter. The King's three trueborn children looked nothing like the King. Nor did they look anything like the bastard son of the King and the Queen's sister, which was most telling of all.

It could all be nothing. It could quite easily be nothing. Ren had no desire to even discuss this with anyone. There were eyes and ears everywhere, and words like that were practically a death sentence to speak if the wrong person overheard. It wasn't worth it, not for a theory that could potentially amount to nothing.

Although it did make sense. Fuck, Stannis and Jon Arryn had been to the armourers, and they both knew what Loreon and Edric Storm looked like. Arryn would have even seen Mya, too, the bastard girl in the Vale.

That was a secret the Hand could have died for. A secret that had Stannis in self-imposed exile on Dragonstone. A secret that meant sending an assassin after an injured eight-year-old boy.

But who could the Queen have had an affair with long enough to produce three very similar-looking children? It wasn't like she had unlimited access to anyone. Cersei would never be left alone with a man who wasn't family or her husband. She would always be surrounded by her ladies, handmaids, various other courtiers, and even when she was alone there was always a member of the Kingsguard close by.

It really could only be a member of the Kingsguard, then. Not Jaime, for obvious reasons. Ren doubted that Boros Blount, old and fat, would be attractive to the proud, beautiful Queen. Barristan Selmy was too honourable, and too old besides. Meryn Trant, again, was ugly, and Mandon Moore was too dead behind the eyes. Preston Greenfield, possibly, although he was rather dull, and last Ren had heard he was sleeping with a draper's wife. Arys Oakheart was looking like the most likely option so far, being young and reasonably good looking; he did seem honourable, but that could easily hide any number of things.

Ren shook his head. Honestly, did it even matter that much? So long as everyone else believed the children were Robert's, for all intents and purposes, they were. He would much rather some knight's bastard sat the Iron Throne masquerading as a Baratheon, than a war taking place that would tear the Seven Kingdoms in half. If the King found out Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not his, his rage would be terrifying. In all likelihood, he would execute the Queen, and then where would they be? Lord Tywin would go to war over his grandchildren being disinherited alone, let alone his daughter's death. The fact was indisputable.

Although, if Robert were to declare Loreon his heir... Loreon was his favourite son, a grown man, capable and strong. Rather than waiting nearly two decades for the King to find a suitable new bride and bear him sons that grew to adulthood, was it possible that the easier route could be taken..? And then where would Lord Tywin be? He could enter a war against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms that he would surely lose through numbers alone, for a matter of pride, which would likely end in the destruction of his legacy and dreams of his grandchildren on the throne. Or he could accept that his younger daughter's bastard, a boy he had mostly ignored his whole life, was going to be King instead.

The possibilities were intriguing, but Ren was getting far too ahead of himself. He had suspicions, that was all, which had surely been voiced before by anyone who had seen Loreon anywhere near his trueborn siblings. For now, Ren would focus on the tourney, the melee, and winning. That was what squires were meant to be concerned about, wasn't it? Not plotting, murder and adultery.

He brought out a quill and ink, and began writing a letter to his mother.

*

Edited November 2024