Ren was there, when Robb read of his father's arrest. His cousin's face had darkened the more he read, and when he looked up, eyes steely cold, he looked more of a lord than he ever had done. More of a Stark. He hadn't had to consult Ren's mother, or the Maester. His mind was made up already. Call the banners, and make the Lannisters pay for the great disrespect they had done House Stark.

Treason. His mother had scoffed at the word. Lord Stark was not capable of treason against Robert. His supposed son was a different matter, as Joffrey wasn't the true King. The irony was not lost on Ren that the boy who had mocked him for years for his illegitimacy had turned out to be nothing but another bastard himself.

He and his mother had ultimately decided to keep Joffrey's true parentage from Robb, for now at least. A war fighting for the rightful return of Eddard Stark was one thing. A war to topple the King from the throne - as his cousin would feel duty-bound to do - was quite another.

Ren regretted leaving King's Landing. But even he had to acknowledge that if he'd been there, he would most likely have died in the massacre. He hardly would've let the Lannister men take the girls without a fight, not to mention he was worth little as a hostage. The new King also despised him, and was (quite literally) enough of a bastard to kill him for that alone. It was unlikely he'd have done more good there than he would here. Still, though. It was not a good feeling, knowing he had all but left his sister and cousins to their fate, along with Loreon and his uncle.

Not to mention, Joffrey despised Loreon even more, never mind Cersei. Ren hoped his friend had managed to get out of the city before the killing started. Surely Winterfell would have heard if the new King decided to stick his baseborn brother's head on a spike, but news wasn't so reliable these days.

At least no harm would come to the three girls; surely the Lannisters had learned from the Targaryens' mistakes, if nothing else, although this was heading worryingly in that direction. Cersei is not Aerys, he had heard his mother say recently, more to remind herself than anyone.

She was sleepwalking again. Ren had come across her himself a few times, muttering nonsense about wildfire and sharp nails, tears wet on her cheeks that she never would've shed whilst awake. Once, still asleep as he led her back to her rooms, she had clung to his arm tightly, calling him 'Jaime' in a mumbled voice. Ren had stopped dead, and decisively not mentioned it the next morning.

Over the next few weeks, every bannerman of House Stark arrived at the gates of Winterfell. The lords were given chambers in the castle, whilst the camp in the town and outside the walls grew larger and larger. Robb played the part of lord well, greeting every new arrival graciously and thanking them for bringing their men. Ren always stood to his right, some way behind him.

"They all think you're my sworn shield," Robb said one evening, amused. "Or else, my shadow that glowers at everyone,"

"I might as well be, to them," He shrugged. "A sworn shield, that is. No one will question why you are bringing your bastard cousin to every council,"

"You know, that's not a bad idea," Robb said. "You don't have to do the whole kneeling and swearing performance, but as far as they all know, you did. You've got a reputation already as some sort of prodigy with a sword, they know you trained in the south. It might help some of them shut up every now and again,"

The northern lords were a proud bunch, and a challenge to deal with all at once. Greatjon Umber was a domineering force of nature, who, though he respected Lord Eddard immensely, had little respect for his son, and Rickard Karstark was a proud, prickly old man who offended easily. The worst, however, was Ren's mother's husband.

Roose Bolton spoke little, watched a lot, and unnerved most people as a rule. Robb was no different - hells, Ren's mother was no different, and she was married to the man - although he did a better job than most of hiding it. Ren remembered the days of his own childhood, where Lord Bolton was a feared figure, one to never look in the eye or be noticed by in any way. The man had never shown anything towards him more than mild disdain and disinterest, but those pale eyes had given Ren many a nightmare as a boy. He had walked in on the man being leeched once, when he was seven, and had been unable to forget the sight since.

His mother hardly felt much better about her husband did he did. There were few people that scared her, Ren knew that, but he had seen the wary look in her eyes sometimes around him. The reunion of Lord and Lady Bolton after over half a year apart was hardly a loving one. His mother came out to greet the party as she had done with all the lords, but there were no fond words or embraces between those two, merely a mutual incline of the head, and a slight amused smile on Bolton's part. Everything seemed mildly amusing, mildly irritating, for that man, almost like a distraction, a game. From what, no one knew.

"The one silver lining," His mother scowled into the fireplace that evening, as the family gathered in private after dinner, once Bran and Rickon were in bed. "Is the excellent news he brought about his wretched mother,"

"Mother!" Aileen scolded.

"You're only sad because you were her favourite," Edrick said. "You're not even that sad. You're here celebrating with us, aren't you?"

"Perhaps, but still - you shouldn't speak ill of the dead,"

"We spoke ill of her all the time when she was alive - I hope she hears us now,"

"Was the woman truly that bad?" Robb asked, seeming a little disturbed by what passed as family loyalty in House Bolton.

"Pure evil," Ren said, sipping his wine. They had sent for a flagon from the kitchens, for the occasion. "Lady Margaret once told me that bastards should be left out in the snow as infants, and that Mother was planning to do it to me. This was after she tripped me up with her stick, outside in the yard," He showed them the scar on his palm where he'd split it open on a sharp stone. "I think I was five at the time. One spiteful story amongst many, many more,"

"Gods," Robb laughed. "Fair enough,"

"Here's to no more of the old witch pretending to mistake me for a stable boy and asking what in hells I'm doing in the castle," Edrick raised his cup. "No more being told I'm a stupid oaf, and that Stark blood is only good for war and brawling,"

Their mother joined him. "No more petty insults to my bony figure, my immoral character or how poorly I am ageing,"

"That's rich," Edrick snorted. "She looked as though someone had dug her out of a crypt, but only a month or so after burial,"

All of them pulled a face at the imagery.

You really are vile, Edrick," Aileen said, then smiled slyly. "She said I'd make a better heir than you,"

"That's hardly something to be proud of," Her twin replied without missing a beat.

Ren and Robb both laughed.

"She tried tripping me with that awful stick, once," His mother mused. "I threw it in the fire. Then she had the nerve to say I'd clearly caught Aerys Targaryen's madness from spending so long in the south,"

"To Margaret Bolton," Edrick grinned. "Loving grandmother, gracious goodmother and a sweet, gentle lady, all agree,"

His mother scoffed darkly, but they all drank.

"I don't know what I'd have done, if I had nowhere to be except the Dreadfort," She said. "Killed her, probably. Going between Winterfell and King's Landing made it bearable,"

"It was good of Lord Bolton to let you travel so much," Robb said.

It was an innocent remark, he meant nothing by it, but Ren winced all the same.

"Yes, wasn't it good of him to let me," His mother's tone was scathing. "I'd have gone regardless. I might be his wife, but Stark still outranks Bolton," And she has always been fiercely Stark.

Robb's eyes widened. "Of course. Forgive me, Auntie,"

She smiled. "No matter,"

It was a good point Robb had raised, though. Ren often wondered why Bolton permitted his wife to spend so long away from the Dreadfort, not only at her childhood home of Winterfell, but also travelling with her own handpicked guards to King's Landing and back, especially given that she had a bastard son. Despite the fact her beloved was brother Lord of Winterfell, Roose Bolton was not a man who did anything he did not want to. He could have prevented her leaving, or at least limited her travels, as most husbands would have done. It made Ren think that he appreciated her being away; what did the man do, that made him go to such lengths to avoid his wife's scrutiny.

"Gods Edrick, I'd better not end up carrying you upstairs again," Aileen was eyeing their brother dubiously as he drunk another cup of wine.

Ren had noticed how much the boy was drinking several minutes ago, but letting him vomit himself to sleep and wake up with a pounding headache seemed a more effective lesson than chiding and nagging, which he would only ignore.

"You're my sister, not my mother," Edrick glanced at their mother with a daring look.

"Drink if you like," Their mother said. "But I'll be sure to tell the servants not to clean up any mess you make, and don't expect Robb to let you sit in on his war council smelling like vomit and ale,"

Edrick slowly drained the goblet, looking her dead in the eye. She arched an eyebrow at his insolence, which had no effect, to Ren's surprise. As wild as his brother was, that look should still have him jumping to obey his mother. Even Aileen looked a little shocked, though she narrowed her eyes at her twin, as though trying to work something out.

"Pleased with yourself?" Their mother was unimpressed.

"Very,"

Ren realised that Edrick did not even look that amused, despite the mocking grin. If anything, he seemed... angry? He's drunker than I thought.

His brother wasn't done. "What are you going to do, set your dog on me again?"

Their mother's eyes went cold then. Almost as cold as they had during her argument with Ren after he arrived in Winterfell. But Ren was more interested in what his brother had to say. So was Aileen; she was watching like a hawk.

"You're drunk," Their mother said icily. "But if you continue acting like a child, I will treat you like one,"

"He didn't care I was a child," Edrick said.

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Aileen, Robb, but would you excuse us? Edrick seems to have forgotten he is three-and-ten, rather than three,"

"Of course, Auntie," Robb looked curious, but got to his feet.

Before either of them could leave, or even reach the door, Edrick had continued, on his feet now.

"He had a sword at my throat. He would've killed me, if not for you. Yet you still - " He broke off, angry.

Ren suddenly realised what was going on. He glanced to his mother, who met his eyes with a sharp look. Yes, he knows. Aileen was looking intently at each of them in turn. Edrick hadn't even told his twin. At least he could keep the secret. Until he has a few drinks, that is. Robb looked bemused, concerned, but could hardly leave now that was out in the open.

"Who would've killed you?" Aileen pushed. "This is why you've been acting strangely all this time, out with it!"

"The Kingslayer,"

"What?" Robb asked, alarmed. "Lannister tried to kill you? Why?"

"I saw - " Edrick glanced at their mother, who was not making any move to speak. Whatever he saw in her expression was enough to stop talking abruptly.

Ren could not say he blamed him. It was not often he himself earned the woman's anger like that - usually it was reserved for Edrick and Morganna - and when he had confronted her about Jaime, it had been... unpleasant.

What the boy had already said was enough, however, especially coupled with the look towards his mother. Robb's eyes widened, and Aileen's face went blank in shock.

"Enough," Their mother said, with enough force that no one said a word. "Renan, take your brother to his chambers,"

"Edrick," Ren said quietly. "Come on, get up. It's late and you've drunk too much,"

The look in their mother's eyes was dark as she leant back in her chair, her face half hidden in shadow from the firelight and candles. Edrick let Ren take his arm. Aileen and Robb watched, silent, as they left.

"Do you know?" The boy looked up at him, drunken but fierce, as they walked down the dark corridor. "About the Kingslayer?"

"Yes. I can't say I was best pleased. But you don't see me blurting it out in front of your half-brother like a fool,"

"You're as bad as she is," Edrick mumbled. "What's so great about Ser Jaime Lannister? He's cocky, violent, careless... rude... he broke Uncle Ned's leg... he ... " Sired three children on his twin sister and passed them off as the King's?

"You're not wrong," Ren couldn't help but smirk as his brother continued to list Jaime's many flaws, doubting his mother would disagree with many of them.

Having settled Edrick in his rooms, propped onto his side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit in the night, Ren returned. He passed Aileen on the way, heading after her twin. His mother hadn't moved from that chair, torchlight flickering across her face.

"We're riding to war against the Lannisters," Robb was saying. "I'm sorry, Auntie, I have to ask - "

"It makes no difference," She said without hesitation. "Though I would rather, Ren, that you did not try not to kill each other on the battlefield, at least,"

"He'd slaughter me in a real fight, if he wanted to," Ren said. "I might be as good as he was at my age, but he's had seventeen years more experience. And thirty-three is hardly decrepit,"

A pause.

"I don't think he'd do it," Her voice was quiet now, softer. "Kill you, I mean. Whatever his flaws - of which there are many - he does... care,"

Ren hadn't even considered that as a possibility, and it was rather discomfiting to realise she had. "No, I don't think he would kill me," He had seen Jaime Lannister nearly every day since he was ten years old. Father or not, that should count for something.

"Would you?" She asked. "In the heat of it all. You've never been in a true battle. Say he's cut down Northmen around you, dozens of them, men you've fought with, men you're friends with. Would you be fighting to disarm, or fighting to kill?"

"Not to kill," Ren said after a moment.

His mother nodded. "Family first, though. Always family first,"

Her meaning was clear, her tone steady, and Robb looked more at ease.

"You know, I can see it," His cousin appraised him, the heavy mood lifting a little. "Skill at arms aside, there's something in your face Ren, if you're looking for it..."

"More as you grew older," His mother added. "Character-wise, you're not that alike,"

"Thank the Gods," Robb said, grinning. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be able to stand the Kingslayer, Auntie?"

"You never saw them in King's Landing," Ren muttered. "I should have known long ago. You don't laugh like that with anyone,"

"The man is unsufferable, Auntie!"

She smiled. "If you'd met at the same age, you'd have got along well," The smile faded. "Boys grow up, however. I am... furious with him. Boys, I know it's meant to be noble to die in battle..." She looked between him and Robb, reaching out with a tentative hand on Ren's arm. She shook her head. "Just... Please don't," Her words, close to vulnerable, coupled with the uncharacteristic display of affection, made any reply he might have thought of die in his throat.

All Ren could say was, "I won't,"

Robb likewise shook his head.

It was an empty promise, and all of them knew it.

*

The march for Moat Cailin left the next morning.

Ren rode at Robb's side as his cousin led the Stark forces, Grey Wind and Crow running at their feet, Nymeria and Lady too. The bellowing of Greatjon Umber could be heard even from where he was directing his own men further back, and looking over his shoulder, Ren saw the small party heading north east for the Dreadfort, Edrick and Aileen amongst them.

"Edrick's furious at being sent back," His mother said from where she rode beside him. As unlikely as it was that the North itself would be attacked, it would be folly to have all those of Stark blood under the same roof, and the Dreadfort needed a Bolton presence.

"He was already furious at not being allowed to come south," Ren said.

"He's thirteen," She said. "How well would you have taken being sent back home when there were battles to fight?"

"That would never happen," He said. "At thirteen I was Jaime Lannister's squire, I would've been sent to war with him if I liked it or not, and who would object? It's not like I'm heir to anything,"

"The woes of being a lord's son," She gave a short laugh.

Even before the reveal, there had been a long debate over whether his mother would be riding south with them. She was torn over whether she would be more useful as a strong Stark presence to hold Winterfell. On the surface, it seemed unlikely that she could do much to assist Robb, who had his lords to counsel him, but ultimately it was Ren who had persuaded her to come with them. Who in the North knew the Lannisters better than she did? And Robb needed another person in his retinue who was on his side, family. Besides, they would likely meet Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik whilst crossing the Neck; it was better that Lady Stark would be the one to return to hold Winterfell and see to the Stark children, rather than Lady Bolton.

Sure enough, whilst they were camped at Moat Cailin, the wayward pair joined them. The atmosphere in that first meeting had been tense, Ren's mother still being furious with the woman for kidnapping Tyrion Lannister and kicking off the whole mess. Lady Catelyn also had no intention of returning to Winterfell, and wished to join Robb in the south.

"My son needs me," She insisted, glaring at Ren's mother in the gloomy Gatehouse Tower of the ancient stronghold. "He is barely five-and-ten, leading an army, with his father imprisoned - "

"Robb is almost a man grown," His mother had said coldly. "Your other sons are eight and four respectively. They haven't seen you in months, and I was a poor replacement. More importantly, do you think the men will respect Robb, if he fights a war with his mother trailing after him?"

"And I suppose an aunt is much better," Catelyn had said. "How will you help him in ways that I cannot, exactly, my lady?"

"I'm not his mother," She said. "And I'm capable of separating emotions from logic. A skill which you clearly do not possess, given that you've torn your father's lands apart on the vague suspicion that the Imp tried to kill your son. Which I can tell you he categorically did not,"

"Enough," It was Robb who spoke then, as Catelyn bristled with fury. He looked tired, older, as he sat in the chair at the head of the table. "Mother, my aunt is right,"

"Robb, if you mean to punish me then you don't have to do it like this,"

"The men won't show respect if they see me as a boy hiding behind his mother's skirts," He insisted. "Bran and Rickon need you. Winterfell needs you. Not that I don't, but you can't ride south with me. Aunt Ross is family, on my side but not so close as to hold back the truth to spare me. She also has an insight into the Lannisters that may prove valuable,"

"An insight," Lady Catelyn gave his mother the same look she gave Jon Snow whenever he dared to make a sound in her presence. "Is that what you call it, my lady?"

Robb and Ren shared a wince at that.

His mother's face darkened. "You met Varys in King's Landing, then," She said icily. "Your hear all sorts in that city. I spoke to Petyr Baelish when I was there last. He had things to say about you that would make your son's ears curl. Whether they're true or not, I do not know, nor do I care. His words are as true as we make them, as are the rumours and conjecture you're spouting now,"

"Enough, please," Robb said again, uncomfortable with the situation. His lord's voice wasn't quite as good as Lord Stark's yet, and some of his agitation showed through. "Mother, I'm sorry. Ser Rodrik will escort you north to Winterfell, whilst we ride south to Riverrun,"

Lady Catelyn's expression faltered into hurt for a split second, before the mask of a perfect lady took over, the only weakness being her glassy eyes. "As you wish, my lord," Holding her head high, she left the room at a brisk pace.

Ren's mother's jaw set as she turned and strode over to the window without a word.

"You did the right thing," Ren said quietly to Robb, who just ran a hand through his red-brown hair, looking weary. His eyes seemed more grey than blue, in this light.

*

Marching towards the Trident, their situation did not look good. All reports showed that Jaime Lannister had shattered the Riverlands forces at the Golden Tooth, capturing Edmure Tully as he did so, before laying siege to Riverrun itself. Lord Tywin's host was moving east, capturing castles along the way and closing the Kingsroad. The only way for the Northern army to enter the Riverlands thus lay with the Trident crossing at the Twins.

Many things were said about Lord Walder Frey, none of them particularly good. For this reason, most everyone advised Robb against entering the Twins himself to discuss terms for using the Frey's bridge. That duty ended up falling on Ren's mother, the only one highborn enough for the old man not to consider their choice of envoy an insult. Ren walked beside her as they entered the castle.

The majority of Lord Walder's vast family had a similar weak-chinned, weaselly look to them, he noted as the entered the hall to find them all assembled there. Lord Frey himself was a repulsive creature, old and shrivelled with a wife over seventy years younger than him. She was the eighth Lady Frey, and walked beside her husband, who had to be carried into the hall on a litter.

"My lord," Ren's mother inclined her head.

The old man squinted at her suspiciously. "Is that it? No sweet words and a curtsey for an old man, Lady Rosennis? Why are you here? Is the Stark boy too proud to come before me himself? What am I to do with you?"

His mother's eyes narrowed.

"Father," Ser Stevron Frey said reproachfully. "You forget yourself. Lady Bolton is here at your invitation,"

"Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I'll hear no instructions from you,"

"This is no way to speak in front of our noble guest, Father," One of his younger sons said.

"Now my bastards presume to teach me courtesy," Lord Walder complained. "I'll speak any way I like, damn you. I've had three Kings to guest in my life, and Queens as well, do you think I require lessons from the likes of you, Ryger? Your mother was milking goats the first time I gave her my seed. Danwell, Whalen, help me to my chair,"

Ren glanced at his mother, whose eyebrow was raised. Two of Lord Walder's sons carried him to the high seat of the Freys, where the old man beckoned Ren's mother forward, clearly intending to kiss her hand.

"There's no need for such courtesies," She said coldly.

Frey laughed at that. "A woman as uncourteous as I am," He said. "Perhaps now my sons will do me the honour of shutting their mouths. Who's this?" He turned to Ren abruptly.

"Renan Snow, my lord,"

Frey leered at that. "Your bastard, my lady. Heh," Neither of them said anything to that. Frey, realising that he wasn't going to get a reaction, scowled. "Why are you here?"

"To ask you to open your gates," Ren's mother said. "My nephew is fighting a war, and must be on his way,"

"To Riverrun?" Frey sniggered. "Oh, no need to tell me, no need. I'm not blind yet. The old man can still read a map," It might have been asked why Lord Frey was not at Riverrun himself, given that he was still a bannerman of Hoster Tully, but that question would have led them down a route none wished to spiral into.

"To the other side of the river," His mother didn't trust the man, hence the vague reply. "We want to cross,"

"Oh, do you? That's blunt. Why should I let you? The Starks are no friends of ours,"

"If you don't, we will remain on this side of the river," She said. "Twenty thousand men eat a lot, my lord, and don't think we'll be wasting our provisions when there's plenty of fresh food around your castle, ripe for the taking.

"You think to threaten me?" Lord Walder said irritably. "If you wish to starve yourself against my walls, so be it. We have food plenty on the other side,"

She smiled faintly. "A long summer means a long winter, all know that, none better than the Starks. You also know, as well as I do, that we can't siege your castle without crossing the river, but we can forage our way through half of your lands easily enough, leaving your winter supplies severely depleted. When your smallfolk rise up, we'll come to you again, asking to cross,"

"Your boy lord's bannermen won't content themselves to waiting that long," Frey sneered. "They'll storm the walls in the end, mark my words, and leave twenty thousand corpses to feed the fishes,"

"The North is patient," She replied simply.

There was a silence, that stretched far too long to be comfortable. After what had to be a full minute, Frey seemed to realise then that she wasn't going to haggle.

"I will have Robb Stark take a Frey bride," He said, taking up her bluntness. "Two of my sons will be wards at Winterfell. Four more will squire for Northmen, one being Robb Stark. Then you can all cross my bridge. I'll even give you men,"

His mother smiled again. "So long as I gets to pick out my nephew's bride myself, now," It was an odd request.

Robb would not appreciate being betrothed to a Frey. Looking around at the young women present, Ren could see why. Not only were they... less than comely, it was not an advantageous match at all. He hoped his mother knew what she was doing.

Frey laughed. "Quite right, quite right," He leered toothlessly. "Can't have the boy disappointed. I'll admit mine is an ugly brood, or most of them anyway,"

All the Freys were present in the hall as they had been speaking, and soon all the eligible young ladies were lined up for inspection, like horses at a market. The girl his mother picked was not beautiful. Lady Marianne was a girl of fourteen, and had the Frey look, with a small chin and mousey brown hair, though she was somewhat less weaselly than many of her cousins, and her big brown eyes were even, daresay, pretty. She was also remarkably tiny, with a skinny build, no breasts to speak of and narrow hips.

Ren thought back to Lord Walder's earlier words about the girl, then remembered the passing comment that her Vance mother had died in childbirth along with her second child, after a difficult first birth. He realised then what his mother had done, and wasn't sure whether to be disturbed or impressed.

"Why that one?" Even Frey was surprised, and somewhat suspicious. "Not Fair Walda? Roslin? Arwyn?"

"Arwyn is a child, my lord," Ren's mother said without missing a beat. "And Fair Walda is too old," Too old at nineteen? Hardly. "Lady Marianne is much closer in age to my nephew, and a granddaughter of your heir, Ser Stevron, is she not? If House Stark is to entwine its fortunes with such a large house as House Frey, I'm sure you appreciate a preference of wedding into the main branch?"

Frey grumbled a little at that, but couldn't find any more obvious holes to pick in her explanation.

Robb took the news of his betrothal remarkably well, though asked Ren afterwards whether the bride his aunt had chosen for him was comely or not.

"She looks like a Frey," Was all he said, and his cousin grimaced.

They crossed the river at evenfall, though it took hours to get the column across, despite a large portion being left with Lord Bolton on the east bank to march south to confront Lord Tywin's force. His mother had had misgivings about giving her husband control of half their army, but he was admittedly a better choice than the Greatjon. More careful, more subtle. Ser Brynden Tully joined them on the other side, and he was invaluable in concealing their march south from Jaime's army camped outside Riverrun, as he and his outriders picked off any Lannister scouts he came across. Marq Piper was sent to harry the baggage train.

"I must ask you, Auntie," Robb said in private to Ren's mother as they drew further south. "Is Lannister reckless enough to be tempted out of his camp by a raid led by the Blackfish?"

His mother closed her eyes for a moment, hesitating. "Yes," She said, the words coming out sour. "He is,"

The Lannister host outnumbered theirs almost three to one, making clever strategy essential. The plan was a good one, Robb's idea. Whilst the Northern army hid in a wooded valley, the Blackfish led a raid on the Lannister camp, bearing Tully colours. A large portion of the Lannister forces were lured into chasing them north of the Tumblestone river.

From where they were hidden in the trees, Ren could see the column moving. Even in the moonlight, Jaime was unmistakable. He's not wearing a helm. Then Maege Mormont's war horn sounded, a long, low sound that signalled the last of the column had entered the valley.

The four direwolves began to howl. It was a truly eerie sound, but only made Ren's blood race even faster, the hair on his neck prickling as he imagined how it would chill the Lannister men below. He glanced to his left, where his mother was sat stiffly on her horse, surveying the valley with sharp eyes, which looked black in the moonlight, though her pale grey dress appeared silvery-white. She would stay on the ridge whilst the battle raged, waiting, and he didn't envy her that.

The Greatjon's horn blew from the far ridge, Mallister and Frey from the east and west, Karstark from the north. Arrows flew whistling through the trees, and the screams of the men below could be heard. Ren glanced at his mother; she gave him a stony look. A warning, not to get himself killed. Her knuckles were white on her horse's reins. Then Robb yelled, and they charged.

It was a bloodbath.

Ren had never been in a true battle before. He had fought outlaw bands and lone criminals in the Kingswood, but never anything like this. He was part of Robb's personal guard - along with two dozen or so others, generally the sons of the bannermen - and Robb made sure to position himself in the thick of the fighting. It was chaos, steel clashing, blood splashing, men yelling in pain, horses screaming as archers killed them underneath their riders. And Ren had never felt more alive.

There was fear somewhere, of course there was, but it was a somewhat distant, detached feeling, buried under the wave of adrenaline and battle-lust that filled him. His sword was an extension of his arm, cutting a bloody path ahead of Robb. Crow was at his side, lean, lethal and savage, a dread beast, never straying too far from Ren's side. Like Grey Wind, Nymeria, even Lady, the rangy wolf tore of limbs with ease, savaged faces, and every now and then let out another mournful, chilling howl along with his brother and sisters.

The battle could have lasted minutes or days for all Ren knew. Time went strangely in the heat of it all. But soon he noticed, with vicious satisfaction, that the Northmen were winning. The Lannisters had been outnumbered as it was, only expecting to fight a small raiding force of three hundred. All around him men died, and most of them wore red.

He saw Jaime many times during the fighting. The man had ridden at the head of the initial column, of course, but the next time Ren saw him, his horse was being killed underneath him, and he disappeared into the fray, sword whirling above his head. Angry at the man though he was, Ren hoped to Gods he wasn't dead.

As more and more Lannister soldiers fell, Jaime suddenly appeared again, a flash of gold to Ren's right. He saw the look in the man's eyes. Jaime knew they were lost, and was heading straight for Robb, having gathered what men he could for one last, mad push. As Ren watched, Eddard Karstark was cut down by a golden sword, and his brother Torrhen, with a furious yell, leapt in to finish his fight despite having lost his shield. Fool. Jaime was the best swordsman in Westeros, Karstark had no chance. The boy would fall, as would Dacey Mormont, Darryn Hornwood, Wendel Manderly, the rest of Robb's battle guard, and then Robb himself.

Before he thought about what he was doing, Ren had leapt off his horse and into the fight, not in time to stop Jaime's sword cutting Torrhen's left hand clean off as the idiot tried to block the blow with his shield arm, but managing to deflect what would have been a killing blow to Karstark's chest. He found himself crossing blades with the man who had taught him to fight. He and Jaime looked at each other for a moment, green eyes on green. He thought of his mother's words from Winterfell... what would you do? What would he do?

His father's eyes glinted. And then the fight began.

It wasn't in earnest, Ren could tell from the moment they started. They'd had training sessions where he'd pushed him more than this, admittedly without the battlefield backdrop of death and chaos. Once, a display like this would have easily beaten Ren, and would surely be the death of most men, but now...

To onlookers, it must have looked strange indeed. Ren tried to provoke him into trying harder by slashing him across the face, an irritating minor wound he should've blocked, but it didn't work. There was an odd sort of smile on Jaime's face, almost the equivalent of a shrug, asking what the hell he expected him to do. So Ren won, of course, and a ragged cheer went up at the sight of the Kingslayer disarmed and defeated. It was a hollow victory. Jaime had let him win, after all, none too subtly. He gave Ren a wry grin as he sank to his knees, sword as his throat.

As the sun rose, the sounds of battle died away, and all that was left was the howling of the direwolves.

Ren, limbs aching and a golden sword stuck into his belt, found his horse trotting around the stream with broken reins and a snapped arrow in her hindquarters. He managed to catch the mare's reins as she blew and snorted in pain, and rubbed her neck absently. Best leave that arrow in for now, it'll only start bleeding. A moderate wound to his leg he didn't even remember receiving had started to hurt. It had been done by a morningstar, so the armour was dented too, digging in.

"Easy," He soothed the horse as Crow appeared at his side, black fur matted with blood and gore. He threw his head back and let out another howl, and the mare skittered sideways. "Quiet," Ren muttered irritably to the wolf, more than feeling the weight of his sword arm and the heaviness in his eyelids now as the horse tugged at the reins. He drew the golden sword, eyeing it distastefully for a moment before strapping it to his saddle.

He forced himself to appear more awake as Robb came trotting up on a piebald gelding, different to the stallion he had ridden into battle. A mob of exhausted men trudged behind him, bloody, dented and dirty like he was, but all grinning and clapping each other on the back. Theon and the Greatjon were amongst them, and between them they dragged Ser Jaime Lannister.

"Come on, Snow," His cousin called as they approached.

Wordlessly, Ren checked the girth before swinging himself carefully onto the mare's saddle, making sure his leg didn't disturb the horse's arrow wound and wincing slightly as his own injury was stretched. He rode beside Robb as they made their way back up the sides of the valley, to where Lady Bolton waited with her guards.

His mother was pale in the morning light, showing no signs of tiredness as she sat tall on her horse, barely seeming to notice how it skittered under her at the sight of the approaching party. She shared a look with Jaime as they threw him to his knees in front of her.

"The Kingslayer," Hallis Mollen, one of her guards announced unnecessarily.

Jaime raised his head. "Lady Stark," He said, blood running down one cheek from the gash across his scalp. "It's been a while since I saw your face. I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it. Your bastard saw to that,"

Her lips twitched slightly, sadly, as she saw Jaime's golden sword strapped to Ren's horse. "Beaten by your own squire, ser?" She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I should be glad it didn't end with my son's leg being shattered under a falling horse,"

He actually smiled at that. "I forgot how you hold a grudge, Ross,"

"A pity,"

"You address her as Lady Bolton," Robb cut in.

He laughed, hoarse. "I'll address her how I like, boy,"

"Kill him, Robb," Theon Greyjoy urged. "Take his head off,"

"No," Ren and his cousin both spoke at the same time. Everyone gave him a curious look, which he glared at, replying sharply. "Do you want Cersei Lannister to murder Lord Stark, his daughters and my sister?"

"He's more use alive than dead," Robb agreed. "And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle,"

"A wise man," Jaime said, mocking. "And honourable,"

"Get some irons," Ren's mother spoke over him. "Greatjon, he's eyeing your sword like the direwolf does a steak,"

Jaime had the nerve to laugh at that, and she shot him a glare.

"Do as my lady aunt says," Robb commanded. "And make certain there's a strong guard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike,"

"That he will," The Greatjon agreed.

"Goodbye, my lady," Jaime smiled at Ren's mother as he was led away.

She glanced at him but said nothing. "Why would Karstark want him dead?" She asked them instead. "Besides obvious reasons,"

Robb looked away into the woods, with the same brooding look that Lord Stark often got.

"He... he killed him..."

"Lord Karstark's son," Galbart Glover explained.

"Eddard," Robb said. "He crippled Torrhen and injured Daryn Hornwood as well,"

"No one can fault Lannister on his courage," Glover said. "When he saw that he was lost, he rallied his retainers and fought his way up the valley, hoping to reach Lord Robb and cut him down. And almost did,"

"He mislaid his sword in Eddard Karstark's neck, after he took Torrhen's hand off and nearly split Daryn Hornwood's skull open," Robb said. "All the time he was shouting for me. If they hadn't tried to stop him - if Ren hadn't gotten there in time..."

"Hornwood is fine," Ren said a little harshly. "Torrhen isn't, but he'll live, and it was his own fault for forgetting he'd lost his shield and trying to deflect a blow with his wrist. As for Eddard, well. He fought well. Rather him than you,"

An uncomfortable silence followed his words.

"He's right," His mother spoke. "They were sworn to defend you, and they did your job. Grieve when Riverrun is won, Robb. This was one battle, it won't win the war,"

Judging from the expression on Robb's face, he agreed. As Theon Greyjoy eagerly recounted the glorious battle to Ren's barely-listening mother, Ren tuned out. Until his own name was mentioned.

"Why did Lannister let you win, Snow?" Theon asked, half curious, half smirking. "I saw him fighting four knights at once at one point, and cut them all down too. You're better than most, but not that good, he was holding back for you,"

Ren gritted his teeth, seeing the look on his mother's face. This is how rumours start.

"The battle was lost, he was dead or a captive regardless," He said. "He's a cocky prat, but he's not a monster. Maybe he preferred to sacrifice some small pride than kill a boy he taught to fight,"

Greyjoy shrugged at that, soon moving on.

*

That night, as they sat around the fire outside Robb's tent, there was a commotion as a lone rider was dragged into the camp by several suspicious sentries.

"Just came riding up, milord," One of them said to Robb. "No livery, no arms, nothing. Says he's got a message,"

"Let's see it, then," Robb frowned, getting to his feet. "Let him go,"

The sentries stepped back, and the messenger straightened up.

"Beg pardons, milord Stark," The man was rather unremarkable, but Ren eyed the scroll of parchment he drew out of his pocket, sealed with plain grey wax. "The message is for Renan Snow alone,"

All eyes turned his way.

"Give it here," Ren stepped forward, breaking the wax seal and unrolling the message. Then he saw the familiar, surprisingly neat handwriting and smiled So you head isn't on a spike after all. 

*

Edited November 2024