At first, Ren had not been quite sure what to do with the direwolf pup that now trailed him around like a furry shadow. It only answered to the name of Crow, though he didn't know what he would have called the thing anyway. Of the seven wolves, four were grey - Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria and Summer - two were black - Crow and Shaggydog - whilst Jon's wolf, Ghost, was albino white. At the feast the night before, he had fed Crow with scraps under the table, as the small wolf began to grow on him. By the time Ren got into bed, falling asleep with a warm, furry ball at his feet, he had won him over entirely.

Crow darted at his heels now, as Ren went to the yard to train after an early breakfast despite his pounding headache from all the drink last night.

"You can't follow me all day - you'll have to wait over there," He told the wolf, catching sight of Jaime already there. To his surprise, despite being untrained, Crow did not follow him into the yard, rather remained on the edge.

"Of course you've got one as well,"

Jaime seemed to be in a similar delicate state to Ren, judging from his unimpressed look at the direwolf. The training grounds were otherwise empty, most of the castle still at breakfast or in bed. A few servants milled around, but most of them were too busy to pay much more attention than some curious glances

"Don't you like him?" Ren grinned.

"How big does that thing grow? It's near the size of a hunting hound already, and it's only a baby,"

"Bigger than a normal wolf. A pony, I've heard some say,"

Jaime muttered something about 'bloody Starks' under his breath. "If it eats anyone, that's your shit to deal with,"

"You mean I can't accidentally set him on Joffrey?"

The man smirked. "As much as I'd like to say yes, not unless you want to keep your head,"

Their sparring that day was not the best either of them had ever done, with both nursing a hangover, but it was still good enough to be leagues above most men.

"Good," Jaime muttered as Ren deflected a particularly difficult blow.

He had yet to disarm the man, one of the best swords in Westeros - when Jaime fought with his right hand, that was - but he was improving at a considerable rate.

"Stop,"

He backed off at Jaime's order.

"You need to be quicker with that downwards parry or I could open up your stomach before you get the blade down. Try it again,"

This fight was fiercer. He could see Jaime's grin grow as he successfully blocked with the move he'd been lacking in, returning it with one of his own that almost - almost - caught Jaime by surprise. At this the grin was replaced by a smirk and his moves became more ferocious. Ren answered with a quick succession of complicated blows, succeeding in driving Jaime back a few steps before the knight responded in kind, using all the tricks and skills he'd taught Ren with before, which, to both of their satisfaction, Ren knew exactly how to block.

It was hard to tell how long their fight lasted, but it ended as it always did, with Jaime's sword at his throat. It remained there for a few seconds, both of them breathing heavily, before Jaime lowered it.

"Don't let this go to your head," He gave him a sideways look. "But I do believe you're getting quite good at this," He paused. "You could teach Joffrey a thing or ten,"

Joffrey had hated him ever since Ren had shown him up that first day they met.

"Not without him running to his mother and demanding me flogged,"

Jaime grimaced. "Like the brave, noble Prince he is," A pause. "Are your cousins any good? Your brother?"

"Jon's talented with a sword, but he won't be allowed to fight with Joffrey, obviously. Robb's almost as good a swordsman, but he's a better lance. Edrick's as good as Robb despite being younger, and he has a hell of a temper. Your nephew will have to watch himself. Prince or not, my brother won't take kindly to him if he acts like he normally does,"

"My nephew," There was a strange look on Jaime's face. "Why am I not proud?"

"They'll have trouble with the other two of your nephews," Ren said. "Robert'll let Loreon spar, just not with Joffrey, he's more than good. And Tommen's not bad for his age,"

Tommen, though he hadn't entirely shed that childhood plumpness yet, was decent with a sword. He would never be a prodigy, and hated violence of any kind, but was very diligent and didn't give up easily, which counted for something. Growing up around Joffrey had, by necessity, given him the determination to try at something he generally disliked.

"True enough," Jaime's expression suddenly lightened. "Now, let's see if you can beat me wrong-handed,"

That was something they had included in their training sessions almost from the first. Jaime, amused by his new left-handed squire, had wanted to see if the then ten-year-old Ren could beat him if they both fought with their left hands. He had. With ease. Outraged, Jaime then set out to learn to fight with his left hand as well as he fought with his right, which had been a harder process than he had expected, as though the reflexes were still there, they were wired to position the right hand to fight and the left to shield; unlearning that was more complicated than simply swapping hands. But Jaime had managed it, and though his left hand was not near as good as his right, he was a far better than average swordsman even when fighting wrong-handed.

*

Training in the morning with Jaime would be the only time that day that Ren would be allowed into that yard. The moment Joffrey emerged, he had best make himself scarce. Handling the Prince with Loreon in King's Landing was one thing, but in front of all his cousins, and his hotheaded brother, was quite another.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to watch Joffrey get shown up by Robb and the others, though. He had warned them about the Prince, but Robb, ever gracious, had given him the benefit of the doubt. Ren sat on a windowsill in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep, leaning against the wall. This seemed to be where the bastards of Winterfell came to commiserate; Jon was there too, one leg drawn up to his chin, eyes fixed on the training ground below, bitter about not being allowed to train with the others. Crow and Ghost were play-fighting on the floor below them.

"Well done Tommen," He said, watching the younger Prince win his first match of the session, getting a lucky strike in against Edrick (who had previously won three).

"I wish I was down there," Jon was barely listening. "I want to fight Loreon Storm,"

Loreon was showing off, as ever, having beaten Robb, Edrick and Theon Greyjoy in quick succession, before having a go with Tommen, then Bran to humour him (he'd done better than expected). They'd all taken it well, laughing and clapping each other on the back, though it was clear that Loreon was a head and shoulders above them all in skill.

"Ask him to spar with you, later," Ren shrugged. "He's not a Prince, just a bastard like us, no matter how his father parades him around - and he'll agree in a heartbeat. Says I'm too predictable now to learn anything from,"

Jon considered that. "I might," He paused, watching Loreon step up to fight Edrick.

It was jarring, how different the King's bastard looked to the others. Loreon was tall, with the same muscular build the King had had in his youth, the same dark hair and blue eyes. There was some Lannister in his face, but he took after his father much more. On the other hand, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen looked all Lannister, blonde-haired and green-eyed. Perhaps that was why Loreon was their father's favourite. Though Ren wouldn't be surprised it if was simply because the other three were Cersei's children, that Robert did not care much for them.

"How is he that quick?" Jon looked impressed. "Those with his build are normally slower. Not to mention that oversized sword,"

"That's nothing," Ren said. "You should see the greatsword he has back in King's Landing, I can barely lift it. He wasn't Barristan Selmy's squire for nothing,"

Jon's eyes widened. "Selmy's squire? Impressive,"

A few minutes passed in silence.

"It's no wonder Storm is the King's favourite," Jon narrowed his eyes. "That Joffrey is a prick,"

"Anyone who's met him would agree with you,"

The elder Prince had just been beaten by Robb and was now loudly proclaiming the victory unfair, despite Robb's good-natured attempts to smooth it over.

The padding of six feet come down the corridor, and Ren looked up to see Arya and her direwolf, Nymeria, approaching. Jon, as absorbed as he was, didn't notice until their wolves jumped up to greet their littermate, and gave Arya a curious look.

"Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?"

"And looking after the princess," Ren added.

Lady Catelyn had told her daughters and nieces to befriend Myrcella, and make her feel welcome. Sansa leapt at the chance, and Aileen would sit in the room for politeness' sake at least, but Arya had no patience for dainty little princesses; evident, seeing as she was here now. Morganna would be the real problem, however; she could be cruel, if she took a dislike to someone, and a lot to deal with to even if she did not.

Arya made a face. "I wanted to see them fight,"

Jon smiled. "Come here, then,"

The girl scrambled up to sit between them. It was still Edrick sparring with Loreon, a match that had been going for a while, yet the spectators were still calling out various encouragements.

"A shade more exhausting than needlework," Jon observed, as the round continued.

Edrick looked exhausted - but was too stubborn to yield - and even Loreon looked to be getting tired, having been fighting almost nonstop.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya shot back.

Jon grinned, reached over and messed up her hair even as Arya flushed.

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" She asked him.

"Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,"

"Oh," Arya looked a little guilty. She eyed her brothers down below. "I could do just as good as Bran,"

Ren didn't doubt that.

"You're too skinny," Jon took her arm to feel her muscle, shaking his head. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one,"

Arya snatched her arm back, glaring at him. Jon messed up her hair again and Ren thought she might hit him, but they fell into a comfortable silence.

"Joffrey's still harping on," Ren said with no small amount of scorn. "He didn't like Robb beating him earlier, and is claiming it was an unfair win,"

The Prince lounged against the wall, surrounded by all his lackeys, a lot of the younger squires of Lannister and Baratheon knights, and several knights and guardsmen themselves. The Hound, of course, was present as his sworn shield.

Arya wrinkled her nose. "What a baby," She said. "I could definitely do better than him,"

"Jokes aside, you absolutely could,"

"Look at the arms on his surcoat," Jon pointed out the crowned stag of House Baratheon and the lion of Lannister, disapproving. "The Lannisters are proud.You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother's House equal in honour to the King's,"

"The woman is important too!" Arya protested.

"Not that woman," Ren said. He'd seen the true colours of beautiful Queen Cersei when he'd been around Loreon. Why his mother was friends with her, he had no idea, nor any wish to know.

Jon chuckled. "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister," He suggested to Arya. "Wed Tully to Stark in your arms,"

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" Arya laughed. "That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"

"Girls get the arms but not the swords," Jon shrugged. "Bastards get the swords but not the arms," Arya scowled, and Jon smiled faintly at her. "I did not make the rules, little sister,"

Below, Loreon had beaten Edrick after a long fight, and both were grinning and shaking hands.

"Well fought," Ser Rodrik marched up. "Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armour." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

"This should be good," Ren muttered.

Arya's eyes were wide with anticipation. Robb moved forward eagerly. Joffrey, however, lazily got up, feigning an air of haughty boredom but not doing nearly as good a job of it as his uncle could.

"This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik," He said disdainfully.

"You are children," Theon snorted.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey, who was a year younger, said. "I am a Prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword,"

Loreon was eyeing his half-brother with dislike, but wisely kept out of it, Tommen edging closer towards him. Joffrey and his mother loathed Loreon enough as it was; everyone knew the only reason Loreon had survived a month in the Red Keep was that his mother was a Lannister and Lord Tywin - the King, too - would have the head of anyone who touched him, bastard or not.

"You just don't want to lose again," Edrick heckled from where he was being helped out of his armour, earning laughs from the Stark men watching.

Joffrey did not laugh. "If Stark had fought fairly - "

"You got more swats than you gave, Joff, there's the truth of it," Robb said good-naturedly, grinning. "Are you afraid?"

"Oh, terrified," Joffrey sneered at him. "You're so much older."

Some of the Lannister men laughed.

"Little shit," Jon frowned.

"I warned Robb," Ren said. "It was good of him to try, but the Prince is deranged,"

"What are you suggesting?" Ser Rodrik tugged at his beard.

"Live steel,"

Ren laughed lightly, shaking his head at the ridiculous request. Joffrey was brave, he had to give him that. Though was it truly bravery if he did not comprehend that with live steel, Robb would carve him in two? Perhaps it was simply stupidity.

"Do it, Robb, teach him a lesson," Edrick called, as scrappy as ever.

"Done," Robb shot back; it took a lot to make his easygoing cousin that openly angry. "You'll be sorry!"

"This isn't going to end well,"

Ren pushed himself off the windowsill. His presence wasn't going to calm the situation, but he wanted to watch the chaos unfold regardless. Jon and Arya followed him, direwolves at their heels, running the short distance to the yard.

"Oh look," Joffrey looked up as they emerged. "It's Winterfell's bastards. Such a shame you can't join us. If only you were allowed,"

Jon took on a dark expression and Robb and Edrick protested angrily, but Loreon said nothing.

"Lady Arya is trueborn," Ren said mildly, nudging a scowling Arya forward. "I'm sure she would make a worthy opponent for you if you'd rather not spar with her brothers, my Prince,"

The Stark men roared with laughter, Loreon grinned at him and Ren smiled with a cruel edge as Joffrey flushed in anger. He knew that the Prince wanted nothing more than scream at him for the disrespect, or worse, but he no doubt remembered the other times he had tried such things in front of an audience, all of which had ended in his own humiliation. Joffrey was stupid, but he was also selfish, and - like all those who picked on those presumed weaker than themselves - a coward at heart.

The Prince looked to the Hound to do his dirty work for him.

"This is your Prince," The huge man stepped forward, speaking to Ser Rodrik. "Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it," Ser Rodrik's face was stern.

"Are you training women here?" Clegane asked.

"I am training knights," Ser Rodrik said. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age,"

"How old are you, boy?" The Hound turned to Robb.

"Fourteen,"

"I killed a man at twelve," He said bluntly. "You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword,"

Robb bristled. "Let me do it," He said lowly to Ser Rodrik. "I can beat him,"

"You'd like to see that as much as we do," Edrick added.

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik was unmoving.

"Robb, leave it," Ren advised. As much as he would enjoy the sight, it wasn't worth the trouble.

Joffrey shrugged infuriatingly. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark," He started to wander away. "If you're not too old,"

There was laughter from the Lannister men and the Stark boys' equally furious curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock. Jon and Theon seized Robb's arm to keep him away from the Prince, whilst Ren and Arya grabbed the angrier but smaller Edrick.

"Come, Tommen," Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother with a smirk. "The hour of play is done. Let us leave the children to their frolics,"

His words brought more laughter from the Lannisters and more curses from the Starks, but Tommen didn't move from Loreon's side, looking embarrassed, even slightly angry. It seemed he'd finally grown a backbone. Ser Rodrik's face was red with rage and it was all they could do to hold Robb and Edrick back. Loreon looked irritated but did nothing, except clap Tommen on the shoulder.

Despite this, Ren thought the danger had passed. It would have, too, had Joffrey not dared to make one more comment, this time addressed to him personally.

"I was trying not to judge House Stark by the standards of you and your whore mother, bastard, but it seems in that I was sadly mistaken,"

This was nothing Ren wasn't used to from the boy, but before he could deliver a cutting retort and move on, Arya had stepped forward indignantly. She wasn't the only one; Robb and Jon were both furious. Edrick took the opportunity to wrench free and lunge at the Prince with a snarl, knocking him to the floor and punching every bit of him he could reach.

"Fuck," Ren sprinted forward.

The Prince was wailing, getting in a few weak hits that ultimately did nothing against his stronger attacker. As much as Ren would have loved to enjoy the glorious scene, that was out of the question. The first to reach the pair, he wrestled Edrick off, twisting his arm behind his back to restrain him.

"Stop," He hissed into his brother's ear. "Or do you want to hang?"

Edrick struggled against him, breathing heavily, so angry that he was shaking. "You heard what he said,"

"He's said much worse to me, and I ignore it, knowing that he's a rotten piece of shit. Grow up and calm down,"

Loreon was muttering something to Tommen, and the boy ran off towards the castle. Joffrey had been dragged to his feet by an unsympathetic Hound and gracelessly dumped him into the arms of his cooing lackeys. Now, the man marched over to them, sword drawn.

"Fucking brilliant, Bolton, well done," Ren heard Theon mutter as Robb and Jon stiffened, wordlessly shoving Arya - who looked more excited than anything, grinning at Joffrey - behind them.

Ren caught Loreon's eye - his friend had stepped forward - and shook his head. Loreon fell back.

"Now that," The Hound leered unpleasantly at Edrick. "Was a direct attack on the heir to the throne. Treason,"

"He's twelve," Ren released his brother, drawing his own sword to face Sandor Clegane. He had spoken with him on occasion, sparred often, and was probably as friendly with him as the surly man got with anyone, but he knew that counted for nothing. "He wasn't thinking,"

The man looked amused at the sight. "Put that down, boy, before you take someone's eye out,"

"And let you take my brother's head off?"

Clegane laughed at that but didn't deny it.

"Kill him!" Joffrey had recovered enough to screech across the yard. Despite the danger, Ren was satisfied to see the Prince had a bruised face, a black eye, a split lip and his fine clothes were torn and dirty. "How dare he attack me! Hound, I command you tear his head off and stick it on a spike on the battlements. His dirty bastard cousin too,"

Clegane raised a pointed eyebrow at Ren, darkly amused. The man might be disdainful of Joffrey's behaviour, but he still did his bidding. Ren didn't think the Hound would kill him, not just on Joffrey's orders, but he wasn't entirely sure. The Hound was a savage fighter, far less graceful than Jaime but stronger, more vicious and scarily fast, easily one of the most skilled people in the Red Keep. One of the few that Ren was not sure he could beat.

The stand-off was broken by a loud bellow across the yard.

"What in the seven hells is this?"

Robert Baratheon was storming out of the castle, dragging Tommen by the arm; Loreon must have sent him to fetch someone. Behind the King, Ren's uncle followed, less imposing but just as intimidating in his anger. They must have been having some sort of meeting, as two Kingsguard - Jaime and Meryn Trant - followed. Jaime shot Ren a sharp look, asking if he was alright. Ren nodded, once. He was still buzzing with adrenaline, blood pounding in his ears.

"That lowborn northern savage attacked me!" Joffrey was spitting, jabbing a finger at Edrick, who glowered indignantly. "I want him flogged! I want him dead! I want him hung from his own battlements - "

"Enough," Robert, though fat, still had the thunderous voice of the rebellion leader he had once been. Ours is the fury indeed. "Ned, explain the behaviour of the Bolton boy and how in the name of the Gods it ended in the Hound and your nephew drawing swords,"

Ren's uncle shook his head. "Edrick's behaviour is inexcusable," He spoke in the cold voice of Lord Stark; he must truly be furious. Edrick hung his head. "I had expected better from my sister's son. As to an explanation, your Grace, I know as little as you. Ser Rodrik, explain,"

Ren suspected their mother would take Edrick's side in this - Joffrey had called her a whore, after all, and she wasn't the forgiving type - though it could go either way in public.

"Yes, my Lord," Ser Rodrik stepped in quickly. "Your Grace, there was a... disagreement. Prince Joffrey felt that our current activities were for children and wanted to fight with live steel. I offered tourney swords on the grounds live steel would be too dangerous - "

"Damned right!" Robert interrupted, with a glare at his son. "You are the heir to the Iron Throne, gods help us all. Are you a lackwit, boy?" Joffrey flushed even more, about to speak. "Don't say a word,"

"Ser Rodrik, continue,"

"The Prince was, ah, unhappy with this," The man hesitated slightly. "He started... goading Robb, with taunts, I can only assume trying to provoke him into a fight. My Lord, your son and nephew kept their restraint well enough, however the last remark was enough to goad Edrick into attacking,"

"And what was this last remark?"

"It was..." Rodrik looked uneasy. "It was regarding your sister, my Lord, Lady Rosennis. It - it implied certain unpleasant things about her honour,"

Ren's uncle's expression grew even more grim, however this didn't seem to be directed at Edrick.

"You would insult the sister of your host in his own home?" Robert bellowed at Joffrey.

Ned placed a steadying hand on his arm and focused back on Edrick. "However much you were provoked, there is no excuse for attacking a Prince," He spoke in a steady voice with a steely note underneath that promised dire consequences. Like Robb, it was hard to make Eddard Stark even that obviously angry. Edrick knew this, and faltered, but then his angry expression returned and he glared at Joffrey.

"That doesn't explain this," Robert waved a hand at Ren, who had not sheathed his sword.

"Joffrey told the Hound to cut off my head," Edrick said. "And Ren's too. You heard him. And he would have done it, if you hadn't turned up!"

"Is this true?" His uncle asked Ren sharply.

"To a point," He said carefully. "I don't think he would have actually killed anyone,"

Clegane snorted but didn't disagree.

"But you drew your sword nonetheless?"

The Hound shrugged. "I follow orders,"

"Seven fucking hells, Clegane," Robert groaned. "Joffrey is a boy, a foolish one at that. He has no right to order an execution, let alone that of a lord's son!"

"I do what I'm told," The Hound said, unconcerned, earning him Ned Stark's glare.

Robert sighed heavily. "Ned, this can't go unpunished," The way he spoke, it was like the whole thing was too much bother. "I know my son can be a cunt, but your boy did attack a Prince. Just - oh I don't know, you think of something suitable. Punish him as you see fit. Joffrey, for Gods sake go find the Maester before your mother sees you. Now if that's all sorted, I've got lunch to get back to,"

"What about him?" Joffrey said petulantly, pointing at Ren. "He deserves punishment," For what, exactly, Ren wasn't sure.

Robert looked exasperated, just wanting the whole thing to be over with. "Kingslayer!" He waved impatiently, and Ren bit back a grin. "He's your squire, punish him if you want but I really couldn't care less. Now, anyone else disturbs me before I've eaten and I'll have them in the stocks for a week - that includes the Queen!"

And with that, the King of the Seven Kingdoms went back into the keep, followed by his guards, Joffrey and his lackeys. Loreon went with them, leaving only Stark men and Jaime in the yard.

There was a heavy, icy silence.

"Uncle, I'm sorry - " Edrick started.

Ned cut him off with a look. "Go to your chambers and stay there until I come for you," His voice was icy. Edrick made to protest but Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "Now,"

He went.

"You can't punish Edrick, father," Arya stepped forward. "Joffrey said awful things, and he's a craven, and a liar! He deserved - "

"Arya," Ned's voice was still cold. "Get back to Septa Mordane. You shouldn't even be here," His tone left no room for argument.

Arya found some anyway. "I hate needlework!" The girl protested, but under her father's stern stare she relented and stormed inside grumbling about unfairness, the she-wolf following with somewhat more grace.

"Jon, Robb," Ned turned to the two. "You can go. Thank you for trying,"

Casting a regretful look at Ren, Robb left, followed by Jon, Grey Wind and Ghost.

Then his uncle finally turned to him. "Ren, I have to - "

"Lord Stark, I do believe the King deemed Ren's punishment to be my responsibility," Jaime stepped forward, placing a hand on Ren's shoulder.

His uncle didn't visibly react, but Ren could tell this angered him. Then something seemed to change in his expression as he looked between Ren and Jaime.

"Aye, he did," He seemed almost... resigned. "You've more right than I, I suppose,"

Jaime's hand on Ren's shoulder tense, and there was a moment where the two men held eye contact for longer than could be deemed normal.

Then his uncle stepped back. "Lannister,"

"Stark,"

His uncle returned to the castle, and Jaime led him away.

"You're not actually punishing me, are you? I really didn't do anything except laugh at Joffrey," Ren asked, curious.

"Of course I'm punishing you, it's the King's orders," Jaime said. "You can polish my boots for tomorrow,"

"I was meant to do that anyway,"

"Ah well. Now," Jaime smirked. "Are you going to tell your mother you almost got into a fight with Sandor Clegane and your brother attacked a Prince, or are you going to let her find out herself?"

Ren groaned. "Can't you do it?"

The knight scoffed. "Think of that as your punishment," A pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was a little too light. "What did Joffrey say about her?"

"I can repeat it word for word," Ren said dully. "'I was trying not to judge House Stark by you or your whore mother, bastard, but it seems I was mistaken',"

Jaime said nothing. They continued to walk, then he abruptly broke the silence.

"What do you think about being a bastard?"

Ren was a little surprised by the unusually personal question. "It is what it is. The insults are... irritating, but less so since coming to King's Landing - now I know I could beat all of them into the dirt if I chose to. I don't care what people say about me anymore - it's worse when they insult my mother,"

"Funny," He said. "She said the same about you,"

That gave him pause. "You know her well, don't you,"

"There is a certain comradeship that comes from enduring a living hell with someone for two years,"

His mother had never phrased it quite like that. "She said you barely knew each other, in Aerys' court. Just met in passing,"

He laughed at that. "That doesn't surprise me. In all fairness, I hadn't seen Lady Rosennis for years before you came to King's Landing. Things were less... fraught, then. I like her. She has a knack for cutting through all the courtly horseshit,"

Jaime did not sound like he was lying. But Ren did not think he was telling the whole truth.

"Is it true?" He asked. "What people say about her and Aerys Targaryen?"

The knight's smile sharpened, though his eyes were dark. "That's not mine to tell, boy,"

*

Edited November 2024