A song of Ice and Fire 1. I

Through the faint snowfall that had graced the day of King Robert's arrival, Rena saw bright banners of red, gold and black flying proudly against the grey sky. A queer feeling of both excitement and shyness settled over her like a cloak. Not a league away, the King of the Seven Kingdoms rode to appoint her father Hand of the King.

It was not explicitly stated in the letter that had arrived from King's Landing a moon's turn past that Lord Eddard Stark was to be Hand, but its meaning was clear enough. The king would not have made such a taxing journey if he meant otherwise. Rena suppose she ought to have been sad that Jon Arryn had died, but she hadn't known the man.

As the royal party reached the gates, most of Winterfell's household lined up to greet them. Rena's lord father stood at the head of the household, as was his place as the Lord of Winterfell, with his wife Lady Catelyn at his left hand and his heir Robb at his right. His other sons, Hoster, Brynden, Bran and Rickon, stood to the side. Like Robb, they all wore white doublets embroidered with the Stark direwolf and smart grey breeches. Though she would have liked to stand next to her half-brothers, Lady Catelyn placed her behind them, almost out of sight.

At least she was also far from Theon Greyjoy. Her father's ward was a constant throne in her side. Since she was little, he had teased and tormented her, and discouraged Robb from playing with her because "she was just a stupid girl". Now he was always staring at her, and that vexed Rena as well.

The first man through the gates rode a great black stallion, a beast that bore his great weight without strain. His massive gut with swathed in gold velvet, a black rabbitskin cloak set around his broad shoulders. A heavy black beard, wet with snow, covered his pink face. On his head rested a golden crown of antlers.

'No, this could not be King Robert Baratheon.' Rena thought. The man her father told stories of was hard and strong, who could lift a massive warhammer than weighed more than most men did. The man in front of the looked like he rarely lifted anything heavier than a wine goblet.

Behind him were men in shining armor, their cloaks as white as the freshly-fallen snow. The Kingsguard had seven members, but Rena saw only four of its knights. She knew them by name, but not by face. Another man with a dog shaped helm hiding part of a badly burned face rode with them; he must have been the Hound. Forty horses pulled a great, golden wheelhouse into the courtyard and its occupants, the royal family, exited.

Queen Cersei was the first one out, a beautiful woman with hair as bright as sunshine. Her three golden-haired children, Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen followed her onto the snowy path. Rena looked again at the Kingsguard and recognized the Kingslayer, the queen's twin brother, among them. Her other brother Tyrion Lannister, a dwarf with pale blond hair over a deformed face, had made the journey as well, looking even less majestic than the king.

"Ned!" King Robert exclaimed, "So good to see that frozen face of yours."

"Winterfell is yours your Grace." Lord Eddard replied solemnly, though a thin smile was forming on his stern face.

The two men shook hands and laughed like old friends – which, in fact, they were. Jon Arryn had fostered them in the Eyrie together when they were just boys, and they'd been close ever since. They might have brothers had Robert married Eddard's sister, Aunt Lyanna, but Prince Rhaegar kidnapped her before they could be wed, and then died of a fever at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Robert had taken the throne from the Targaryens, but felt compelled to marry a Lannister woman instead of the girl he loved. That story always made Rena sad, because she would have liked to have known her aunt.

Introductions were made between their families. The Starks boys were always eager to make friends, especially Hos and Brynden, and Lady Catelyn was always a gracious hostess. The queen and crown prince regarded them politely but distantly, though the younger children seemed warm and sweet.

Rena felt awkward for a moment, wondering if her lord father would introduce her as well. She knew he loved her and was not ashamed to call her "daughter", but she was still just a bastard. Lord Eddard didn't have to, because Robert pointed her out to all those who were present.

"By the gods, is that her Ned, your bastard?"

Cringing at the vulgar way he referred to her, though she knew it to be true, Rena noticed all eyes turning to her.

But the king was not finished. "If I didn't know Lady Lyanna was dead, I'd say she was standing before us now, even more beautiful than ever."

By now, Rena had turned seashell pink from all the attention. For most of her life, she had faded into the background, but since she flowered she had been getting more long looks from men. It still required getting accustomed to. It was with a degree of timidity that she allowed herself to be introduced and thanked the king for his compliments. She felt the queen's gaze on her, and it felt cold.

Lord and Lady Stark held a feast in the king's honor later than night. Food was aplenty, for it was the height of summer, and wine flowed like red rivers from flagons to goblets. The Baratheons and Starks sat at the high table, raised upon a dias overlooking the whole hall. Knights, lords and courtiers had accompanied the king to Winterfell and it was among them Rena sat.

To her right sat a line of squires who asked her to dance all through the night, until her feet screamed and her lungs were out of air. When she sat down, she conversed with the girl to her left. Kaela Whitewater was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who controlled a guild of goldsmiths and silversmiths. Tall, brown-eyed, with wild cherry-red hair, Kaela was only two years Rena's senior and friendly, so they got along well. And unlike the squires, Kaela had no fear of Ghost.

"Where did you find her? I thought all the direwolves were dead." Kaela asked.

"There aren't any direwolves south of the Wall, at least not anymore, but my brother found her mother and brothers coming back from an execution." Rena explained as she leg Ghost a leg of chicken under the table. "The mother was dead, killed by stag, though she give him wounds that killed him in returned. My brother Hos convinced my lord father to allow to keep her pups."

Kaela petted Ghost's snow white fur. "You must have trained her well. She never barks."

"I have trained her well, but I can't take credit for her silence. She's never made a sound, not since Brynden found her; he almost stepped on her because he couldn't see her in the snow."

"Brynden in your fourth half-brother, right?"

"No, third. Bran is the fourth. And Rickon is the youngest. Robb is the heir, followed by Hoster."

"I can't imagine having so many brothers." Kaela laughed. "I have only one, and he's almost twenty years my senior. He spends all his time in his work, so I never see him or our father."

"If they're both busy with work, who are you here with?" Rena asked.

"My cousin Ava, but she's-"

A great laugh, deep and booming, from the high table rocked the hall for moment. Both girls turned to see what was so funny. It was King Robert who was making such a ruckus. A pretty young woman who was clearly deep in her cups sat in his lap - next to his wife and children - telling bawdy jokes. She looked long and slim, her hair the same cherry-red as her cousin's.

Kaela blanched with embarrassment. "I'm going to kill her. Truly, I am. Rena, if anyone finds her body, it will have been my doing."

Rena winced. "Is that your cousin Ava?"

"Unfortunately so. I told my father she wasn't responsible, but he refuses to listen. Next she'll come home with a royal bastard in her belly."

The musicians started another lively song. As couples began filling the dance floor, Rena was pulled out of her seat again, not by a squire but by a lion. Jaime Lannister all but swept her onto the floor without waiting for an answer.

"You're quite the dancer Lady Snow. My compliments to your dancing master." Jaime said with a beautiful smile. He was a comely as his sister, with hair like beaten gold and eyes like emeralds. Instead of the Kingsgaurd white armor, Ser Jaime wore the colors of his house, red and gold. It looked so fine on him.

Rena blushed brightly, having never been called Lady Snow in her life. "Thank you ser; and you as well."

She wished she looked more like a lady, but most of her wardrobe consisted of plain, dark-colored dresses. Her nicest gown, the one she currently wore, was made of velvet, but had little decoration. What made it special was that the deep purple color brought out her eyes, which were almost the same shade.

In the corner of her eyes, she could see Ava Whitewater still sitting in the king's lap drunkenly singing along to "Bessa the Barmaid". Rena felt a stab of shame not only on her new friend's behalf, but also on behalf of Queen Cersei. From her stony silence, Rena could tell she was not amused by the display, though the whole hall was laughing. To be saddled with such a husband, even if it came with a crown...

"I see Robert's found another friend." Ser Jaime noted, stretching out the word "friend" as though it were something dirty.

"Is his Grace always..." Rena wasn't sure how to finish the sentence without insulting the king, but Ser Jaime understood what she meant.

"Has been since even before he married Cersei." Ser Jaime answered. "Lord Jon, before his passing, told me of a bastard daughter he'd had in the Vale, when he was still betrothed to your aunt. No doubt your lord father knew of the girl."

This startled Rena. "But, King Robert loved his lady. He started a war to save her. He wouldn't dishonor their betrothal like that."

The way Ser Jaime looked at her made her feel like an ignorant child. "Yes. Perhaps he fell in love with her after she was gone. Who can really say? He liked the look of her, that's for certain, and you have her look; expect the eyes of course."

"They're my lady mother's eyes." Rena muttered shyly. To be honest, her lord father had never mentioned her mother, had even forbidden all talk of her in Winterfell, but everyone still knew that it was Ashara Dayne that had given birth to her, before throwing herself into the sea.

A softness came over Ser Jaime fine features. "Aye, I knew her. Not well, but I saw her often at court and Ser Arthur Dayne was always singing her praises. She was a good woman, your mother."

Rena couldn't help but smile. "Thank you for saying so ser. Do you like being in the Kingsguard?"

The question seemed to throw him off, as if no-one had ever asked him before. "Wearing a white cloak is the greatest honor a knight could ever hope for."

"Yes, but do you like it, serving the king I mean?" Rena blushed. "I'm sorry for asking such a silly question. You did just say it was an honor."

"Don't be sorry. I like being near the royal family, my sister and her children." Ser Jaime replied carefully. "I fought alongside the Sword of the Morning and the White Bull. My lord commander is Barristan the Bold. What more could a man want?"

"Thank you for your answer ser. I only ask because my brothers, Hoster and Bran, are both determined to be white-cloaks. Our father would tell us stories of great southron knights, some he knew, some he had only heard of. Robb is content to be Lord of Winterfell and Brynden wants rather be an explorer, traveling to the far reaches of the known world. Rickon, well, he's too young to know what he wants."

"And what do you want Lady Snow?"

She blushed. "When I was a little girl, I wanted to the join the Night's Watch, like my uncle Benjen. I cried for days when I learned that the Watch didn't accept women into their ranks. So now I just want a nice husband to give me lots of children."

"Right." Ser Jaime nodded. "What more could a girl want?"

The song ended shortly afterwards and the two of them parted ways politely. Rena felt a bit lightheaded as she sat down. A knight of the Kingsguard had treated her like a lady - called her a lady - even though he didn't have to. She was so happy she could burst with joy. Then she looked up at the high table to see Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn looking at her disapprovingly.

The next morning Rena wanted to sleep in a bit longer than she usually did, but her maid woke her up at the regular time so she could break her fast with her lord father and his lady wife. Bleary-eyed, Rena put on a simple black morning dress and pulled her hair back into a bun.

She knew she was in some sort of trouble from the way they had both looked at her the night before, but she couldn't guess why. Rena was the second to arrive, after her lord father. Then entered Lady Catelyn, looking as though she had just eaten something sour.

"Good morning." She said to Rena coolly. "I trust you slept well?"

"Aye, my lady. You hosted a wonderful feast last night."

Lady Catelyn sat down but did not touch her food. "Your father and I have spoken about you. It seems you've caught the eye of several people last night: the king, the crown prince, the Kingslayer-"

Rena pressed her lips together tightly, too polite to interrupt. She had only had a bit of fun, that was all.

"Catelyn please," Lord Eddard said exasperated, "You know Rena meant nothing wrong. She's just...becoming more of a woman."

"I'm aware." Catelyn replied dryly. A memory came to Rena, of her flowering a year past. Having her father's wife's explain the transition to womanhood had been uncomfortable for the both of them. "All I'm saying is that she ought be settled down quickly."

"Becoming a woman is not the same as being a woman." Lord Eddard countered. "An fourteen is too young for marriage."

"Not marriage perhaps, but a betrothal is long over due. Anyway, bastards grow faster than other children."

When her lord father did not reply, Rena dared to speak up. "Who am I to wed?"

"We've yet to reach a decision." Catelyn replied.

Rena felt a flare of angry toward her lady. Catelyn Tully had never wanted anything to do with her, was never anything close to being a mother; so by what right did she presume to have power over Rena's choice of husband? Her right as Lady of Winterfell. Rena deflated. "Who did you have in mind?" A hedge knight or blacksmith or innkeeper, most likely.

"I thought you might like to stay close to home, Rena." Father said. "One of the guardsmen perhaps? A younger son of one of my bannermen?"

"Judging from the turn events, I believe you could aim higher." Catelyn said, much to Rena's shock. "Your father is now Hand of the King and you are...very beautiful. A landed knight, even a minor lord, would be grateful for your hand. If you were to follow your lord father south, many a suitor will flock to you."

Suddenly all of Lady Catelyn's compliments sounded hollow. 'She only wants to get rid of me.' Rena fumed. 'Yet what she claims is not untrue.'

Father added, "We thought it would be best for you to decided if you wished to stay or go."

Go? The thought of leaving Winterfell had never crossed her mind. The gods fashioned her for snow and ice and cold; for racing horses across the barrows with Robb; praying in the godswood with Hos; playing pranks on the household with Brynden; yelling at Bran to come down whenever he climbed to high; singing Rickon to sleep when he had nightmares.

Rena looked at her sweet, gentle father, her only parent. She looked into Lady Catelyn's cold blue eyes, eyes that told her she was not wanted. All she had, all she was, she owed her lord father. Would she even still be welcomed in Winterfell once Lord Stark left through those gates? Especially when three of Lady Stark's sons would be leaving as well?

"I would like to attend court."

* * *

When Myrcella opened the door, her mother was arguing with her brother, Uncle Jaime.

"I don't know why you feel like this; she's just a child." Uncle Jaime said. He noticed her first and said stiffly. "Good morning my princess. Pardon me, I didn't hear you come in."

Mother looked irritated, but she brightened quickly and kissed Myrcella's cheek. "Good morning sweetling. Did you sleep well? I know you'd rather be in your own bed, but we're only here until the moon wanes again; then we shall return home."

"I am well Mother, Uncle Jaime. I wanted to ask if I could go hawking with Lady Stark and the ladies of Winterfell."

"I wasn't aware there were other ladies in Winterfell." Mother said dryly.

Myrcella explained, "Well, there's Lady Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter, and Lady Beth Cassel is the daughter of the master-at-arms. A few ladies came with us from King's Landing."

"A steward's daughter?" Mother scoffed, "That's what passes for a lady in these parts? Well, I suppose there is little else to do here. You may go, so long as take Ser Arys with you. When we return home, I'll take you to a nice murmmer's show, alright?"

"Thank you Mother." the little princess replied. Myrcella quite liked Jeyne and Beth, who were both sweet, if somewhat silly, girls. But she knew her mother misliked being contradicted. Myrcella kissed her back and took her leave.

While walking through the corridors of the great keep, Myrcella realized that none of the corridors looked familiar. She looked around for a passing servant to help her, but saw no one. Even the largest castles had to end, she decided, making sure she did not repeat her steps would ensure she would find her way eventually.

As Myrcella wandered the halls, she heard the sound of harp. She followed it, hoping to find someone who could help her. To her luck, it was Rena Snow, Lord Stark's illegitimate daughter, playing for a tutor.

"Princess Myrcella." Rena and the tutor stopped the lesson, stood together, and curtsied.

"Good morning." Myrcella said kindly, "Winterfell is a beautiful castle, but it is unfamiliar to me, and I fear I've lost my way. Lady Snow, could you help me to Lady Stark's chambers?"

With a nodded from her tutor, Rena replied, "I would be glad to my princess."

The two girls made their way down the winding, twisting corridors of the castle.

Myrcella complimented, "I heard your playing outside. It sounded beautiful. When did you begin playing the high harp?"

"Thank you my princess. I began playing the harp when I was seven. My lord father took me to White Harbor, when he had some business with Lord Manderly. There was a singer at the Merman's Court and he showed me how to play the opening cords to "The Bear and the Maiden Fair". I enjoyed it so much, I begged Lord Stark to hire me a tutor and he did."

Rena smiled slightly, which made her look even more beautiful. Lord Stark's daughter had the same hair as him, dark and straight as a needle, and many of his features, but there was something else in her face. It only made sense that Rena Snow was so comely, for her mother had been Ashara Dayne (or so it was rumored), the great Dornish beauty. She had the Dayne eyes, dark purple, kind and knowing. If she only she dressed like a princess, she would outshine everyone at court.

"Lady Stark is taking me hawking today. Would you like to accompany us?" Myrcella asked.

"I'm honored by your invitation, but I'm afraid I cannot. I have yet to finish my lessons for the day and I must see to my direwolf, Ghost."

Myrcella remembered that the Stark boys had spoken of their wolves at the welcoming feast, but she had yet to see one. Perhaps they were all too afraid of scaring her.

"After we return, may I see your direwolf? I've heard so much about them, but no-one has shown me direwolf yet."

"Of course, princess. I'm sure Ghost will be happy to meet you. She's gentle and peaceful, so you have no need to be afraid."

"That sounds lovely, Lady Snow."

Rena grimaced a bit. "If you don't mind my asking, why does everyone call me Lady Snow? I've always just been Rena Snow."

"Why wouldn't they? Though you aren't trueborn, you're half a lady already. In fact, you're more of lady than some ladies I know."

She seemed more embarrassed that happy, but Rena thanked her for the compliment.

Soon they arrived at Lady Catelyn's door. Myrcella was warmly received, though Rena was made to leave. Myrcella did not question it because even as young as she was she understood the dishonor Lord Stark had done his wife by bringing his bastard daughter to raised alongside their sons.

Lady Catelyn offered her some warm tea to drink while they waited for the other ladies and for their equipment and horses to be readied. She was a lovely woman for her age, her blue eyes almost youthful, though her kindness and cleverness were what charmed Myrcella. Her sons, all five of them, had more of her in them their father, it seemed. They all looked Tully and had her auburn curls, though their eyes were Stark grey.

Myrcella's hawk brought nothing down, but she had a nice time all the same. Jeyne and Beth were good company, and Lady Catelyn was easier to be around that Myrcella's own mother. Her warmth almost made up for the fact that it began to snow a few short hours after they had begun, and so they were forced to turned back. Some of the southron girls complained loudly about the unnatural weather, for it was still summer. Lady Catelyn looked rather amused by this.

They reached the castle long before dark, but had missed supper. The kitchen staff was roused to prepare more food for them. The girls feasted in a duck that Beth had caught in Lady Catelyn's solar. Remembering Rena's promise to her, Myrcella excused herself early and went in search of her.

Brynden, whom she learned was called Brynden Underfoot for his habit of running all around the castle, told her his half-sister was in her bedchamber and showed her the way before running off somewhere else.

"Hello Lady Snow." Myrcella smiled. She froze when she saw the direwolf curled on the floor. It was as white as bone, with eyes the color of blood. Though it had mostly the same proportions as regular pup, it was almost the size of a full-grown hunting dog. "Hello, Ghost?"

"Good evening princess." Rena said. "How was the hawking?"

"Poor," Myrcella replied, inching closer to the beast. "Only Beth Cassel caught anything, and the snowfall forced us to return early."

"I'm sorry to here that. Would you like to pet Ghost?"

Myrcella nodded and tentatively placed her hand on the animal's muzzle. Rena moved across the room and replaced the princess's hand onto the back of Ghost's neck.

"Farlan, our kennelmaster, explained to be that hounds don't like to be touched there. He believes the same to be true of wolves." She explained. "Avoid the face and head, he says. Try the neck, back, and shoulders instead."

Myrcella obeyed and was pleased to see Ghost relax. The direwolf moved her tail back and forth and tried to lick Myrcella's hand. "I've never spent much time with dogs, though my father has a dozen that he takes hunting with him. It is true each of your half-brothers has a direwolf too?"

"Aye my princess." Rena responded. "Robb has Grey Wind, Hoster has Hero, and Brynden has Greatheart."

"Like the Kingsguard of old?"

"Exactly. Bran hasn't found a name for his wolf yet and Rickon calls his Shaggydog."

"Father doesn't name his dogs. He thinks they're just dumb animals." Myrcella admitted. "Mother doesn't like having me around animals, except to ride horses. She thinks they're dirty."

"Oh. My lord father wasn't keen on bringing direwolves into our home, but he does like his dogs. He gave me a pup when I was little, but the poor thing died in an accident. I was so distraught."

In that manner, the two girls continued talking until it was late and Myrcella left to retire. In the quiet of her borrowed bedchamber, she dreamed that her parents had given her a little fawn to play to with.

The following week, Lady Catelyn requested Myrcella's presence in her solar shortly after the midday meal. As before, Lady Catelyn offered her some warm tea, though Myrcella politely declined.

"My princess," Lady Catelyn began. "I see you've been spending quite a bit of time with Rena Snow. My boys say you're her new best friend."

Myrcella tensed, afraid that she had done something wrong. Was Lady Stark upset that she had befriended her husband's bastard? She didn't look particularly happy about it. Myrcella recalled rumors that her mother had killed some of her father's bastards, but Lady Catelyn was too nice to do such a thing. "I do enjoy Lady Snow's company. She is like an older sister to me."

A faint line appeared on Lady Catelyn's forehead. "I'm glad to hear that. You see princess, Lord Eddard and I had a... disagreement about what to do with his natural daughter. He must go to the capital, as his new position demands, yet I must remain here with my eldest and youngest sons. Robb must hold Winterfell in his father's place and Rickon is too young to make the journey. I told him he ought to take his daughter with him, because it would be a great chance for her to see the world outside Winterfell, yet he insists that she would be shunned at court, and thus would be better off remaining in Winterfell. Since you are such good friends with her, I thought it only appropriate to request that you take her on as a lady-in-waiting."

"Yes, Lady Stark I would love to have Rena at the capital with me." The words came out before Myrcella could process all that she had heard. Lady Catelyn wanted to get rid of her husband's bastard, but she also had a soft-spot for her. To have Rena remain in her household and Lord Stark elsewhere would be too much of affront on the lady's honor, yet she could not bring herself to cast the girl out into the streets. Or perhaps Lord Stark simply would not allow it.

The more Myrcella got to know Lord Stark, the stranger a man he seemed. For one thing, the fact that he had brought up his bastard daughter alongside his trueborn sons, raised her like a lady, confused everyone. He had a reputation for being honorable yet cold, yet his children were always talking about his gentleness and generosity. He and Lady Stark clearly loved each other, which was more than Myrcella could say for some other marriages she'd seen, yet he continued to dishonor her by making her care for his natural child.

Lady Stark seemed to relax a bit. "That's good to here. We'll just have to tell your parents and Lord Stark to see if they approve."

When Myrcella told her parents that night over supper, Mother immediately refused. "You can do so much better for a lady-in-waiting that a baseborn slut. There are dozens of gently-born ladies that would fall over themselves to be you ladies-in-waiting. Rena Snow isn't even a lady."

"Do you do anything with your mouth but complain?" Father growled at her as he lowered his goblet. "Let our girl take her as a lady-in-waiting. What's the harm? It's not as though she's going to marry Joff and take your crown."

"I would never marry her!" Joffrey proclaimed. "She's not worthy of this family, not even of the Starks."

Mother beamed at him. "See, even Joffrey agrees with me."

"I like Rena Snow." Tommen added quietly.

"And both our other children agree with me." Robert laughed, giving his youngest son a firm pat on the shoulder. "I named Ned my Hand to heal the rift that opened up between our houses. I haven't seen him in almost ten years, not since the krakens thought to challenge my reign. I would have married Myrcella to one his sons, but you refused, so this is the next best thing."

This was news to the children. Myrcella wasn't sure which of the Starks boys she would have liked to marry. Robb was to be Lord of Winterfell after his father, yet Hos was the most handsome and Brynden was the most fun; Bran was the sweetest boy and Rickon was too young for her.

"I already explained this to you," Mother glared, "Winterfell is too far away. I don't want to travel through plains and swamps and hills for weeks on end just to see my daughter. This land is barbaric and they don't even follow the right gods. It snows in the summer. What kind of place is that for a southron princess?"

"There you go again, always complaining. Look, I didn't betroth Myrcella to a Stark, yet still you whine. Give me peace, woman! Either Myrcella takes Lady Snow as a lady-in-waiting, or she takes one of her half-brothers as a husband."

Mother was practically boiling with rage. Through gritted teeth, she acquiescence. "Sweetling, you may take Rena Snow was a lady-in-waiting. But her beast remains in Winterfell."

"But Ghost is harmless! And she likes me." Myrcella cried.

With wide-eyed disbelief, Mother hissed, "Myrcella, that's unbecoming of a princess. See, she's already ruined you."

"My apologizes Mother." Myrcella scrambled to remember her mother's favorite compliments and repeated them. "You may trust that Rena Snow would never allow any harm to come to me."

* * *

Bran had fallen.

Catelyn had always been afraid that his climbing around the castle might have a bad end, but now that it had happened she could scarcely believe it. She sat at his bedside in silence, clutching her son's hand with tears streaming down her cheeks, as Maester Luwin fed him a potion of herbs and honey to keep him alive. What if he never awoke, never smiled at her, or laughed again? Maester Luwin said that Bran would never walk again, but Catelyn didn't care so long as her little boy lived.

The trip south had been delayed several days, but Catelyn could not be bothered with that. She remembered Ned and her other boys coming into the sickroom to say goodbye, but those memories seemed to come from a hundred years ago. Her only focus was Bran, the gentle rising and falling of his chest.

"My lady..." The bastard was standing in the doorway, already in her traveling clothes and ready to leave. "I came to say goodbye to Bran."

Get out of my sight, Catelyn wanted to say. Rena Snow's presence was the blight of her life, the constant reminder that her husband had loved another woman. To make matters worse, Rena was the kind girl Catelyn had always wanted to have as a daughter, so dutiful and eager to please. Once, Catelyn had played at being a mother to Rena, knowing that she was not threat to Catelyn or her son, just a sweet, quiet girl without a mother. An insult to House Tully's honor, yes, but her big purple eyes had always softened Catelyn to her. But that was years ago, so long ago Rena likely did not remember it. As time passed, Rena Snow began looking more like her mother, and became harder to love.

"Be quick about it."

The bastard went to Bran's beside, kissed his forehead and whispered something in his ear. As she started to leave, Catelyn's bitterness got the best of her. Was it the gods' notion of fairness that Catelyn's favorite son lay dying while her husband's bastard got a position at royal court?

"Rena..."

Snow turned around, visibly surprised to be addressed by her in such a soft tone. Lips parted, eyes wide, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Just like another woman Catelyn had once known. Ashara Dayne.

"It should have been you."

* * *

Rena had been to only one other city, White Harbor. The largest city in the North had changed hands many times in its long history, and was now held by House Manderly. Aptly named, the whole city was made of white stone, all the buildings were laid out in neat squares and circles around tall, thin fountains. The air smelled of sea foam and and cooking seafood, cool and clear.

King's Landing was nothing like that. The streets had been thrown haphazardly together, it seemed, and the buildings were a motley of wood, bricks and different colored stones. The scent of waste, poverty and smoke permeated the air, though it was a little less bad around the Red Keep. Rena didn't know what Aegon the Conqueror had been thinking when he raised this city from nothing, but she thought he could have done a better job.

When the royal procession arrived in King's Landing, Rena felt disappointed that wavered as she entered the royal palace. The Red Keep was much small than Winterfell, being built on the edge of a city and not upon wild, open countryside, but thrice as opulent. The cobblestone path leading from the main inner gate to the front entrance shined like bronze. Dark pink bricks had been used to make the castle, the roofs capped with dark grey stone.

"It's beautiful, isn't it." Myrcella whispered to Rena. They had been riding together in the wheelhouse, looking out of a small window. Queen Cersei and Prince Tommen sat across from them, both half-asleep though it was early afternoon. King Robert was staring at Rena and drinking. "Though the area around isn't a nice as the northern landscape."

"Aye. Your home is so lovely." Rena nodded. Before long, they arrived at the palace. A footman helped them out.

"Ah, I never thought I'd be glad to be in this old shithole again." King Robert exclaimed, a deep laugh starting the escape his throat. "Well, what do you think Rena? Not bad for a king, eh?"

Rena smiled uncomfortably. "Aye your Grace. The Red Keep is a wonderful palace." She looked off to the side, where the queen was hugging her eldest son, Joffrey, who had ridden in on a red gelding. Her half-brothers were around him, still mounted, their direwolves at their horses' heels. Ghost walked up to her, which made Tommen back up nervously. The larger the direwolves grew, the more uneasy other people became around them.

"Hey girl, we finally made it." Rena ruffled Ghost's bone-white fur. Winterfell's steward, Vayon Poole, approach, gave a deep, respectful bow and announced that Lord Stark was already in a council meeting and wanted his children brought to the Tower of the Hand immediately.

It didn't take long for the Starks to settle into their new home. Lord Stark was often busy at work running the realm; it became clear to them that King Robert had little interest in the running of the realm, so Rena's father had to pick up his work. The boys spent their days with the princes, the Kingsgaurd or the sons of courtiers. Hos was a favorite among the court, for he was so charming and handsome and eager to please. Brynden, always wild and rebellious, was not quite as taken with the city, but he seemed to be doing alright. While Rena served Myrcella as a lady-in-waiting - helping her choose her wardrobe, taking charge of her servants, organizing her schedule - her brothers had all been taken as squires to Ser Barristan the Bold. They were all often so busy that the Starks only saw each other at supper.

A few days after their arrival, they got the news that Bran had at last woken from his coma. That same night, Lord Stark took his children to the castle's godswood. It wasn't a true godswood - no weirwoods, no gods - but a place for recreation and rest. But it was closest they could get to their gods here in the south. But for the weirwood grove on the Isle of Faces, all the weirwoods south of the Neck had been destroyed long ago by the Andal invaders that sailed to the kingdoms of the First Men. In place of a heart tree, they prayed for Bran's heath in front of an old oak tree.

The Starks prayed until the moon was high and bright, like some great white eye surrounded by darkness. Brynden was the first to fall asleep, then Hos, then Rena felt her eyes get heavy. The stars seemed to whispers as they slept.

Her father's hand shook her awake some time later, when he had finished his prayers. She felt embarrassed for not having stayed awake longer, but her lord father didn't comment on it.

"I dreamt of Bran. He was smiling." Hos whispered as they climbed the stairs leading up the Tower of the Hand. "I dreamt he was flying."

The Tourney of the Hand was a welcome distraction from all the work. Hos and Brynden were too young to take part, but they were to allowed to trail after Ser Barristan. Thousands of knights, freeriders, merchants and ladies had arrived from ever corner of the Seven Kingdoms for the event. Banners in every colors fluttered in the sky. Rena arrived with Jeyne Poole and her tutor, Septa Mordane, in a pretty ironwood liter with grey curtains. When Rena stepped out of the liter, she noticed many people staring at her or whispering behind their hands.

Rena had taken care to look her best that day. Most of her dresses were plain and dark-colored, but Princess Myrcella had gently nudged her into purchasing an gown of rich lavender velvet, helped her embroider it and lent her a silver necklace. Her maid had braided her hair in the popular southron fashion, which felt odd and vaguely uncomfortable. Even next to the colorful, richly jeweled ladies of court, Rena felt overdressed.

If Lady Catelyn's stares were cool, Queen's Cersei's were as cold as the Wall in winter. Myrcella had confessed that her mother wasn't happy with the arrangement, but there was little need for that. The queen was quite good at making her grievances known, even without saying them aloud. When they had arrived in the capital, Queen Cersei had lost no time in banishing the direwolves to the Kingswood, stating that wild animals did not belong in the city.

Just before the list were about to begin, a handsome young knight in sapphire armor rode to where Rena and her company sat. From his sigil, Rena knew at once that this was Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. He looked so beautiful, his golden eyes staring in hers, his soft brown curls catching the sunlight. Her heart beat a little faster as he begged for the honor of wearing her favor in the joust. Rena breathlessly answered that he could, and tied her favor onto his left arm.

Ser Loras rode brilliantly, unhorsing each of his opponents, even Jaime Lannister. Each time he won he would give a rose to Rena, and before long she had a bouquet of fresh white and red flowers in her lap. Rena felt a queer mixture of pride and embarrassment when she noticed the envious looks from other maidens in the crowd. Some of them were even noblewomen.

His final tilt was against Ser Gregor the Mountain, a beast of man who stood almost eight feet tall, with limbs like tree trunks. Ser Gregor's horse was behaving strangely, costing him the tilt as Ser Loras unhorsed him. Then, to everyone's horror, Ser Gregor raised his sword to kill him horse, then turned to hack Ser Loras in two. The Hound, the Mountain's younger brother, stepped between them and defended Ser Loras from his brother's blade as King Robert bellowed for order.

Rena was shaking badly after nearly seeing Ser Loras die. One man had already spilled his lifeblood on the tourney field, a newly-made knight from the Vale who took Ser Gregor's lance to the throat. In thanks, Ser Loras awarded to victor's crown to the Hound. Then he assured to Rena that he had remained unharmed. Later that night at the celebratory feast, Ser Loras sat next to her on a table just below the raised dias where the royal family, as well as Rena's half-brothers, were seated. He was attentive to her throughout the night.

By morning, Rena was in love.

* * *

"I won't have to marry her, will I?" Loras complained. He laid in bed with Renly by his side, both of them naked and sweaty from their love-making.

"I've never known you to do anything half-way." Renly replied, getting out of bed to put his clothes back on. "That would be the expectation. You could have made a worse match. She's kind, unassuming, tractable, and perhaps the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Are you trying to get me to fall in love with her?" Loras laughed. He got up and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. He gently nuzzled Renly's neck from behind.

"Loras, you know the expectations our families have us, regardless of our feelings. Marry a girl who won't make you miserable, before your father sets you up with someone like Cersei Lannister." Renly turned around to kiss Loras softly.

"I'd rather marry you."

* * *

Ned walked away from the Small Council meeting chambers with a headache beginning to bloom in his skull. Robert had been absent, as usual, so all the issues of the realm had been left to him alone. Varys continued his twittering, Littlefinger continued his sly, sarcastic remarks, Lord Renly continued his japes and mockery, though at one time he pulled Ned aside to show him a small portrait of Margaery Tyrell, younger sister to the Knight of Flowers. And still he was no closer to finding Jon Arryn's killer than he had been at when Lady Lysa's note had arrived in Winterfell.

At the moment, all he wanted was to return to the Tower of the Hand and eat supper with his children. By the time he got there the children were already finishing the first course, a thick orange soup. Ned opted to wait for the second course.

"My lord, there is something I must tell you." Rena said nervously. Her bowl was only half-eaten. "Today I received a proposal. Of marriage."

The table went silent. Hos and Brynden looked up abruptly at their half-sister. Ned was taken aback; he hadn't thought much about to whom he would give the hand of his only daughter. "Marriage? Who asked for your hand?"

"Ser Alyxander Templeton of the Vale. He's a cousin to the Knight of Ninestars. He asked me to marry him this afternoon and I told him I'd give him an answer at another time."

Ned looked at her, hardly believing that the little babe he'd found in a tower in Dorne was already old enough for a husband. "Do you wish to marry him Rena?"

She blushed, "He's...no, I do not. But I don't know how to refuse him. He's a knight from a noble house and I'm a bastard. He'd be terribly insulted."

"House Templeton is actually a knightly house." Hos corrected.

"But still, it would a great dishonor for him to be rejected by me." Rena lamented. "Father, could you decline his proposal on my behalf?"

"What do you have against Ser Alyxander? Does he drink or gamble? Is he a violent man? Has he an ill reputation?" Ned inquired. He shuttered at the thought that an immoral man might have designs on his child. He knew of the dangers that came when a girl was made to wed a man she had no love for.

Rena was looking more embarrassed by the minute. She muttered, "No, not that I am aware. I cannot marry Ser Alyxander because my heart belongs to another."

"She's in love with the Knight of Flowers." Brynden teased. "Snow and flowers don't go together well."

Hos looked pensive. "Ser Loras bestowed much attention to her at the tourney. If he had won, he would have crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. But I'm not sure if his family would let him marry you. Ser Alyxander could be the only man to offer you marriage."

"That's silly Hos." Brynden said. "Father is Hand of the King. He can make any man marry her."

As the second course was laid out for them, Ned pondered on his daughter's situation. Romance was a subject in which he hadn't had much study. He'd married Catelyn for an army and had known no other woman. "I could talk to Ser Loras, if that is what you wish. If he will accept you, you can tell Ser Alyxander that I've already made a match for you."

The relief in Rena's eyes melted his heart. "Thank you Father."

"Of course." Ned replied with a wan smile. She looked so much like her mother in that moment, he felt himself choke. "I would do anything for you Rena."

* * *

While Mace was glad his son had finally a girl he fancied (he was beginning to fear there was something wrong with that boy), he was ambivalent regarding the girl herself. It was said that she was the most beautiful flower in Westeros, graced with the best parts of Lyanna Stark and Ashara Dayne. Yet she was illegitimate, and it would not do for his son to marry so far beneath his station. Loras' letter had insisted he bring Margaery to court in hopes that she might replace Cersei Lannister. There was no love lost between the king and his wife, Loras wrote, and a new, young face might convince him to set her aside.

What a clever lad! Mace thought. They would have to do something about the Lannister woman's three whelps, but to put a crown on his dear daughter's brow would be the sweetest thing. The king would love Margaery, for she was a sweet, proper girl. Not quite intelligent, but then again Robert Baratheon probably didn't care if his wife was not too clever. Besides, he was clever enough for his daughter.

He had his steward call the rest of his immediate family into his solar, where he read them the contents of the letters. Willas kept a tight frown on this face throughout, clearly not enthralled with this plan.

"It's a fool's gamble." His eldest son scoffed. "Father you can't honestly expect Cersei Lannister to quietly surrender her crown."

"Of course not Willas." Mace snapped. "But should this conflict come to the field-"

Willas interrupted him, "You speak for war before Robert has even seen her? Are we starting another War of the Usurper? Cersei's Rebellion?"

Once, Mace had hoped that he had sired a second Leo Longthorn. Instead he got a sarcastic cripple who tested his authority at every turn.

"I don't want my precious son marrying a bastard." Alerie announced. "Everyone says she's the daughter of a noblewoman, but Ned Stark never made clear who her mother was. She could just as easily be the daughter of a fishwife or a shepherd girl or, gods forbid, a Flea Bottom whore. Are the shades of Highgarden to be thus polluted? And what of her character? Bastards are treacherous, wanton creatures. A girl like that will only bring him misery and ruin. She's a temptress, to be sure, or else he would fallen in love with a proper lady."

"Willas and Alerie have the right of it." His lady mother Olenna agreed. "The Lannisters are proud and dangerous, and likely to turn their claws on us when they sniff out this scheme. Best not underestimate what they might do. And if Loras weds that girl, any man Margaery marries will have a bastard for a goodsister. Do you think the king will want to call his friend's bastard "sister"? Foolish boy, he ought to leave plots and scheming to people with more substance between their ears."

Stung, Mace replied. "And are we to insult Lord Stark then? Loras has already made his affection for her well-known. And I don't wish to break my boy's heart." But he knew his heir, wife and mother were correct in their assessment. Off to the side, Willas and Garlan were suppressing grins.

"Go to King's Landing." Alerie said. "Tell Lord Stark in person that you do not wish for the match. Traveling the whole way will assure him that you do not wish to insult him. And have Margaery bring her little cousins. Offer one of them to Lord Stark for one of his sons."

"And what say you Margaery?" Mace asked his daughter.

Margaery considered her answer for a moment. "I want to be queen. We have the resources and connection to enact this plan, but only if we're careful."

Olenna regarded her. "Will being careful stop Tywin Lannister from slitting our throats while we sleep?"

"Mother!" Mace gasped.

"It's alright Father." Margaery soothed in a calming voice. "My lady grandmother raises a fair point. Dissolving King Robert's existing marriage will be difficult, but only if we go about it the wrong way." She and her grandmother shared a knowing look that Mace did not understand.

* * *

While Rena waiting for the Tyrells, she received a summons from Kaela, the girl she had met almost nine moons past at the welcoming feast for King Robert. It was so long ago, Rena felt a bit guilty for not keeping in touch better. Myrcella had been alright with giving her the day off to make the visit. With her lord father's permission and Alyn as an escort, she set off for her friend's home.

The Whitewaters were not a noble family, but they were overflowing with wealth. The Whitewater Manse lay in one of the nicer parts of the city, near the Iron Gate, where wealthy commoners, well-off but unlanded knights and lesser nobles lived. The streets were clean, but the stench of Flea Bottom carried over on the wind.

The three-story tall manse was made of a light pink-brown stone. Hired guards stood watch at the all the door, but stepped aside on account of the Stark direwolf on Alyn's surcoat. A tall, gaunt man greeted them in the parlor, his face stern. He looked just like Kaela and Ava, with the same bright red hair and brown eyes, though he had none of their warmth.

"Lady Snow, its an honor to have you in my home. My name is Gernon Whitewater. I'm the head of this household." he said with a bow.

"It is an honor to meet you as well Master Whitewater." Rena replied with a polite smile.

He seemed to puff up with pride at the title. "I understand my daughter and niece requested to see you. If I may ask, what is your prior acquaintance with them?"

"Kaela and Ava were good company to me during their recent visit to Winterfell and on the journey back to the city." Rena replied. So Ava had asked for her too? Kaela hadn't mentioned that in her note.

"The girls are upstairs with the child. Come, I shall escort you."

Child? Years of being forced to spent time around Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane had trained Rena to control the expressions on her face as well as she played the high harp. Gernon led her to a chamber on the third floor.

Ava, looking tired and pale, was propped on a bed, a pink, black-haired babe nursing at her breast. Kaela gave her a wan smile before signalling to her father to leave them alone.

"You both look well." Rena said. "I don't know you'd had a child Ava."

"A son." Ava replied proudly. Her loud voice, made for laughing, had grown quiet. "A good, strong son named Ormund Waters. Would you like to see him?"

Rena sat down on the edge of the bed and Ava put the child into her arms. Ormund had beautiful, bright blue eyes and thick dark hair. His features were somewhat familiar, though she couldn't quite place why.

"He looks like his father, doesn't he? Not a bit of me in him." Ava said wistfully.

Rena studied the babe closer, and remembered the feast at Winterfell. Astonished, she remarked. "He does. He's perfectly alike to King Robert."

"Are you sure?" Kaela said skeptically. A bit of bitterness laced her words. "Ava's had so many men in her bed its hard to tell."

"I've seen King Robert many times." Rena assured them. "Ormund is, without a doubt, his son."

Ava glowed with triumph. "I told you I knew who his father was Kaela. Lady Snow, you must tell Robert about him."

"Absolutely not!" Kaela explained, her face turning beet red. "You will not humiliate this family further by making the Hand's daughter your errand girl and having her tell the King that you had a bastard."

"His child." Ava whined. "He got a bastard on that Florent girl, and now the boy lives in a castle."

"Edric Storm? His mother was highborn, Ava, with a powerful name and an influential father." Kaela clenched her teeth. "Lady Rena, I swear if I had known what my cousin's intentions were I wouldn't have called you here. I didn't think she would insult you this way."

"I'm not bothered." Rena said quickly. She gave Ormund back to his mother. "I've always liked children. I suppose I could relay this information to the King."

"You don't have to." Kaela replied. She put a hand on Rena's shoulder.

Rena looked to Ava, then to Ormund. "I don't think he'll mind if he hears it from my lips. King Robert has always been...partial to me. My father is his closest friend."

* * *

Unexpectedly, Tyrell banners were flying overhead. Alyxander watched from his tower window in Maegor's Holdfast as the golden roses of Highgarden marched into the Red Keep. The Fat Flower himself had been ridding up the Roseroad for a fortnight, long after the Hand's Tourney. He could only have one cause for coming to King's Landing.

"She marrying the Knight of Flowers." He muttered dully to no one in particular. "She chose him."

His younger brother Baxton sat at the writing desk, writing another letter to their mother at Ninestars. "You don't know that for certain." He said gently.

"I proposed to her nearly a fortnight past, and still she's given me no answer." Alyxander sighed.

"Are you going to congratulate them on their upcoming nuptials?" Baxton folded the parchment and sealed it with button of golden wax.

"I suppose I have to." Alyxander closed his eyes, picturing Rena Snow in his mind's eye. The Hand's natural daughter had a stunning beauty, accentuated by her quiet, careful manners. He remembered the first time he saw her, while King Robert was holding court. She had been standing beside her father, Lord Eddard of Winterfell, a position that bespoke of his favor. Her dark grey dress was plain, but it looked more lovely on her than the Queen's elaborate cloth-of-gold gown. 'Had she ever even looked at me?' Alyxander was a comely young man; not as beautiful as Ser Loras, but handsome enough to catch the eyes of several women around the Vale. His hair was a vibrant shade of red, his eyes a cool pale green.

If only he had performed better at the tourney, he would have impressed her. It would have been him filing her arms with flowers, not Ser Loras.

"Do you need a drink?" Bax offered him a wineskin.

Alyxander declined. He sat by the window for another two hours while Bax worked on another letter to a friend of his in the Westerlands.

"I think I'll go down to the training yard now." Alyxander decided suddenly. "I need to clear my head."

"It's a bit late for that. The sun's close to setting." Bax observed.

"I'll go alone then." Alyxander shrugged. He took his black sable cloak and marched for the door. To his surprise, when he opened the door Rena Snow was standing behind it, her hand half raise to knock. She looked as poised as ever, but Alyxander noticed that her eyes were faintly pink.

"Lady Rena." He stammered. "I wasn't expecting you."

"My apologies ser. I came to seek an audience, but believe I've interrupted you."

"It was nothing important." Alyxander remarked. "Would you like to come in?"

"Your hospitality is appreciated Ser Alyxander." Rena Snow gave him a sad, half-smile.

He led her into the chamber where Baxton was writing his letter. The younger man looked up, surprised to see the object of his brother's affections, and greeted her politely.

"I'll leave you two to it." He smirked as he left the room.

When they were alone, Alyxander felt as though his heart was about to rupture. He nervously offered her some wine, but she declined.

Instead, she stated. "I must apologize for making you wait so long for an answer. I am grateful for your attention Ser Alyxander, truly, but this was not an easy decision to make."

He waited in tense silence to hear her rejection.

"I would be honored to become your wife."

* * *

I've wanted to do this idea for a while, but I never got around to it until now. It turned out a lot longer than I originally planned, and it's not ever close to containing all the ideas I had for it since I usually do one-shots. No promises on when I'll update next, but I am hoping to make the other chapters just as long, if not longer, that this one (!). Yes, Alyxander and Baxton are OCs. I wasn't really planning on making them; it just sort of happened. But I like them and hopeful I'll get to portray them better later, since they didn't show up until the last section. I'm probably going to have to make more OCs out of necessity, but the story will still mostly focus on existing characters as well as the Templetons.

Just in case you were confused, Hoster "Hos" Stark = m!Sansa, Brynden Stark = m!Arya.

Also, I changed fem!Jon's name from Lya, to Arsa, to Rena. If you're reading this again and noticed that the name is different, don't worry because its just me not being able to make up my mind.


	2. II

After receiving the letter from his cousin, Symond Templeton had half a mind to throw it into the fire. But instead he paced around the room, sat down and read it again. His cousin had always been a rash boy, less inclined to think with his head than his heart, or in this case his cock. For all his tourney wins and fights against the mountain clans, Symond could only see Alyxander as a child still. It must have been childish impatience that had led him to betroth himself to Ned Stark's natural daughter without consulting anyone. He called for the boy's mother, Lila Shett.

Lady Lila arrived at his solar an hour later, wearing riding clothes that smelled of horses and with her red hair disheveled. A woman of forty, she had the vitality of someone half her age. Her face wore a flushed, rosy hue, but she was grinning, all her straight, white teeth gleaming. "It's nice to know you remember my existence Ser Symond." she remarked sarcastically. "Have you made arrangements for my removal?"

"My lady, you became a Templeton over twenty years past." Symond answered stiltedly. "It would not be chivalrous to cast you from your home."

Nonchalantly, she picked up his helm from the table and began examining it curiously. "So, what mischief have my sons stirred up this time?"

"Alyxander has found himself a wife."

Lady Lila laughed loudly, "You know he never makes a decision without me."

"That's not what Baxton wrote." Symond handed her the letter and watched her humored expression fall.

"Well, I suppose I ought start packing and hire a fast ship to King's Landing." Lila crumpled the letter with a frown and replaced the helm on the shelf.

Symond stood up. "You'll do no such thing."

"Don't tell me you're happy about this Symond." Lila growled, her amber eyes bright with emotion. "I'm not giving up my son to a girl I know nothing of."

"Of course I'm not happy about this. We have no way of knowing the consequences of this match, but you cannot act without sense. The girl's father is Hand of the King and from what Baxton writes, he loves his natural daughter a great deal. He's already given his blessing and will soon ask for ours. It would be foolish to insult the man who speaks for the Crown."

Lila grumbled, "Fool child, that boy. Just like his father was. Is there any word on when the wedding will be?"

"Lord Starks wants them to wait a year before they wed. He doesn't think his daughter is quite old enough for the bedding, but she has flowered."

"A year..." Lila mused, "Yes, a year will do. That's enough time to get to know someone. I'm still going to King's Landing-"

"Lila-"

"-to better know my son's bride-to-be. But I won't break them apart unless I think it's necessary. Have faith in me Symond. You know I would never risk my children's future."

Black Berd, captain of the Templeton household guard, asked for entrance into the room. "Ser, my lady, Lady Lysa has summoned all the lords of the Vale to the Eyrie. She says she has the Imp in the sky cells awaiting justice."

"Justice?" Symond cried, alarmed by the news. The last thing he needed was a lion prowling his mountains. "For what crime?"

"She's accused him of Lord Jon Arryn's murder and an attempt of the life of Lord Stark's fourth son."

* * *

"Sit still!" Hos chastised his younger brother. "You look half a wildling. What will Lord Mace think of us if you appear with your clothes crooked and hair undone?"

They were suppose to be getting ready for supper with the Tyrell family, but Brynden was refusing to cooperate. Brynden pouted. "I don't care what that man thinks. He broke Rena's heart. I hate him."

"Indeed he did, but its understandable why he didn't want her to marry his son." He tried to comb down Brynden's auburn curls, but the young boy leaped out of his chair with an angry hiss.

"No its not! He's just being harsh because she's a bastard and its not fair. Rena is clever and pretty and nice. Why shouldn't she get to marry Ser Loras?"

Hos frowned, exasperated. "Lots of ladies are clever and pretty and nice. And those ladies are highborn. Rena isn't."

"Her father is a Stark and her mother was a Dayne. Or at least that's what everyone says. What does it matter if they didn't marry? She still has noble blood and acts like all the other ladies." Brynden continued to argue.

"Gods, you're so stupid." Hos snapped. "Even so, she was still born the wrong way. That's what matters, how you're born. Hopefully one day you'll understand that."

Red-faced, Brynden growled, "I don't care. And I won't be polite to the Tyrells. I hate them all. I hate what they did to Rena." He turned to run off again, running his hand through his hair in a deliberate attempt to mess up Hoster's work, but Hos caught him by the shoulders.

"Wait. If you don't care about polite to the Tyrells, then you don't care about embarrassing Rena tonight in front the man she loves."

Brynden looked at his brother, grey eyes flashing, but held his tongue.

"She won't like that. Even if she is to marry Ser Alyxander, you know she harbors tender feelings for Ser Loras. Do you want Lord Mace to have more reasons why he doesn't want her for a gooddaughter?" Hos continued, hoping Brynden's compassion for their half-sister's nerves would keep him quiet at supper. "Now sit down and let me finish doing your hair."

A quarter of an hour later, both boys were standing in the Small Hall, an eating chamber in the Tower of the Hand that could seat two hundred people without difficulty, introducing themselves to the Tyrells. Lord Mace was a fat, balding man who looked at though he was might have as handsome as Ser Loras in his youth. Ser Loras often glanced at Rena but to Hos it didn't seem that he was particularly unhappy with the change in their future. His beautiful sister Lady Margaery had ridden up from Highgarden with their father; she had a smile that never failed to make Hos' stomach flutter a bit. Accompanying her were three cousins from lesser branches of the Tyrell bush, Lady Megga, Lady Alla and Lady Elinor. The Redwyne twins, two knights who had competed in the tourney and were Lord Mace's nephews, had also been invited.

To Hos' relief, Brynden had taken his words to heart and tried to behave best that he could, though he still looked a bit sour. Rena served as a wonderful hostess. She wore a convincing smile, like the wore she often wore when Mother was in a foul mood. Hos' heart hurt at the sight of her like that, smiling because she was unable to cry. Perhaps Bynden had been right. If anyone deserved to be a sought-after trueborn lady, it was Rena.

'Ser Alyxander had better treat her well,' he thought to himself, 'or I'll gut him like a fish.'

As the supper party began eating their desserts, Lord Mace addressed Father. "You have such fine sons, Lord Eddard, such handsome, strapping boys. Your lady wife has done you a great service, giving you five wonderful children."

Father glanced at Rena, who was pretending to be deeply interested in her iced blueberry tart. "I thank you for your compliments Lord Tyrell. I'm sure you must be proud to have Ser Loras for a son. I've heard many good things of your two eldest sons as well."

Lord Mace nodded, his chest puffed up a little larger. "Yes, indeed. You understand then, as a father, that I have only the highest aspirations for my children; they shall have nothing less than they deserve."

Horrified, Hos glanced at Rena. She flushed pink, her throat tight, but her composure returned just a few seconds later.

"Yes," Lord Mace continued. "And I have lofty plans for my daughter's future, you see. As your loyal servant Lord Eddard, I would be distraught if a little misunderstanding caused by a young girl's folly were to cause a rift between our houses. I understand that the Reach and the North have not always had the closest relations, a fact that I wish to remedy."

"In what manner Lord Tyrell?" Father asked. His eyes were almost stormy, but the Lord of Highgarden did not notice.

"The marriage originally conceived to unite our houses was not an acceptable one, but it did have it's merits. For all their differences, the Reach and the North are two parts of one kingdom that have been too distant with each other. I would like to propose a different match: any one of my daughter's cousins as a bride for your heir, Robb Stark."

By now Rena could not control her blush. Her hands trembled with anger, her whole upper body stiff.

Father nodded, but looked at Rena worryingly. "I appreciate your offer, Lord Tyrell. Forgive me for I cannot yet give you an answer. But friendship with the Reach is a most wonderful gift. I shall write to my lady wife for her counsel on this matter."

Lord Mace smirked, as if amused that Father heeded his wife's words. "Of course. I have a wife myself, and a mother too, so I understand how those woman are."

Something about the way he said that made Hos want to kick his teeth out. He looked at the other Tyrells. Margaery was graceful enough not to smile, but she didn't look as though she disapproved of her father's poor manners. Ser Loras seemed completely indifferent. Did he not care about the insults directed to a woman he claimed to want to marry not a moon's turn past? How could Rena's heart belong to such a fickle man? The three girls cousins, one of whom might marry Robb, did look a little embarrassed, but only a little.

"Indeed." Father replied, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

Thankfully the rest of the evening passed without incident. After they all bade the Tyrells and Redwynes a good night, Rena ran to her bedchamber, unable to contain her tears as she slammed the door behind her. Brynden raced after her, with Hos right on his heels. They found her curled up on her bed, weeping.

"Leave me be." she cried, "I wish for solitude."

"Boys," Father came up behind them and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "I must speak to your half-sister alone. Go on to bed."

It was a little too early to go to bed, but they complied. That night Brynden and Hos spent the night in Hos' bedchamber, sharing a bed for the first time since they were little.

"Bryn..." Hos whispered against the pillow.

"What?"

"I hate Lord Mace too."

* * *

It was with great reluctance that Kaela accompanied Ava and Ormund to the Red Keep, if only to keep her cousin out of trouble. Lady Rena informed them that she could get them a private audience with King Robert. Her father and brother were out of the city meeting with some business partners in Rosby. Ava wore her best dress and had Ormund wearing new golden linen swaddling clothes.

"Time to meet your father, sweet boy." Ava giggled to her son. Kaela smiled despite herself. Seeing Ava so happy with her child made her want to have a child of her own. A trueborn child though, not a bastard.

Just as they were given entry into the gates, Ser Jaime Lannister and some of his men rode past them, hardly giving the Whitewaters enough to get out of their way. Ormund began to wail at the stomping of hooves and uprising of dust. Ava rocked her son gently, while Kaela held them closer. Pale, she scowled at the Kingslayer.

Through the open gates, she could see Lord Stark, some of his men, and Lord Litterfinger seated ahorse, having some argument with Ser Jaime. She could not hear them well, but Ser Jaime was yelling what sounded like accusations. Lord Littlefinger slipped through the Lannister man, past the Whitewaters.

"What's going on?" Ava gasped.

Kaela grabbed her and they ran to the Tower of the Hand, where Lady Rena was waiting for them. Behind them, the clash of swords and screams of dying men rang through the air. Kaela increased her speed, heart pounding fear for Ava and Ormund. She dare not look back. They were granted assess to claim up the tower of the Hand. The din ceased, but the Whitewaters continued their pace. By the time they reached the top of the tower, Kaela was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

"Kaela? Ava?" Rena looked incredulous at the sight of them frightened and tired. "Dear gods, what happened? Vayon, get them to a couch. And fetch some water."

After being given some time to calm down, Ava recounted their close encounter with the Lannister swords in between sips of cool water.

"And you're sure it was my lord father out there?" Rena asked, not quite believing it. Both young women nodded solemnly. "I had thought it would be safe for you here."

A half hour later, Lord Stark was lifted by several men into his own bedchamber, with Grand Maester Pycelle watching him like a hawk. He was unconscious, muttering nonsense in his milk-of-the-poppy haze, and his leg had been pierced by a spear.

"Oh gods," Hos Stark mumbled, his face stricken. Now doubt he had always seen his father as invincible. It was frightening to see the second most powerful man in the kingdom as helpless as a newborn babe. Kaela looked to her nephew.

King Robert came to the tower an hour after Lord Stark had been brought in and was ushered to the sickroom. He seemed to have gotten fatter since coming back to the city. Seeing that his friend still had not woken, he decided to leave not long afterwards. But before he could leave, Ava called to him. "Y-your Grace?"

The large man turned to Rena, but she directed his attention to Ava. He looked at her and the bundle in her arms and growled unhappily. Kaela felt a sense of deep discontent settle in her gut. "Ah gods. Whose daughter are you?"

Ava looked hurt that he didn't remember her. "My name is Ava Whitewater your Grace. I'm the daughter of the late Jayson Whitewater. My uncle Gernon leads the guild of goldsmiths and silversmiths of the Crownlands."

The king relaxed a bit, but Kaela didn't like that. He was no longer troubled because he thought they were unimportant and not likely to cause him trouble.

"Aye, yes I remember you. You came with us to Winterfell. And that child, yours?"

"And yours, aye." Ava added. "Its a boy your Grace, a strong, handsome son."

King Robert looked as remarkably uncomfortable as Kaela felt. "Let me have a look at him then."

Ava placed the child in her arms, clearly proud of herself. "I gave birth to him last the moon waned. The midwife said he was big for his age."

The king nodded, handed the boy back his mother, and said, "Well done." Then he left.

Ava stood staring at the closed door, gobsmacked. Though her shocked expression did not change, tears came to her eyes. Kaela wrapped her arms around her distraught cousin. Ava whispered, "No, that's not how this was suppose to happen. He was suppose to...He..."

But that was how it was suppose to happen. Kaela had known it all along; perhaps Ava had as well, but simply chose to ignore her better judgement. This was a king who paid no mind the bastards he begot on noblewomen. What could he possibly care for the child of a common girl, albeit a wealthy one?

"_I gave him a son._" Ava cried, her composure broken at last. Sobs shook her. She looked ready to buckle under the weight of her disbelief, so Rena took Ormund from her and let her rest on the couch. The boys awkwardly left the room. "That bastard!"

Rena said to Kaela, "Look after her. I'll take Ormund to another room so that he does not become distressed."

Kaela squeezed her arm in a show of gratitude. 'She would be a good mother,' she thought. 'Ser Alyxander is fortunate.' Among the smallfolk, the subject of Lady Rena Snow was coming up more often. Everyone had seen the favor bestowed upon her by the Ser Loras, Knight of Flowers, but it had recently been announced that she was to wed a little known Vale knight. Kaela cringed to remember her brother Molkon's guess as the change in suitors.

"Loras Tyrell only wanted her for her skill in bed, no doubt." he had said. "What else can you expect from a half-Dornish bastard slut? Lord Stark must have forced the poor lordling to save her honor, what little of it she ever had."

It made her feel sick that anyone could think that of Rena.

* * *

When Father awoke from his coma, King Robert left for a hunting, leaving his Hand to rule in his stead. Brynden could tell his father was not happy with the arrangement. His leg had not yet healed, causing him to walk with a limp. Lord Tywin had raised a host in the west, and was striking the Riverlands. Mother had taken his son Tyrion the Imp hostage and no-one knew where they were. King Robert didn't care.

Since Ser Barristan was to accompany the king on his hunting trip, he and Hos were also to accompany King Robert, but Father and Rena had admonished them to only watch and stay out of trouble. It was the first hunt they had ever gone to, since they were excluded from the hunt that took place the day Bran fell.

Traveling with them was Lord Renly, as well as the king's squires, both cousins to the queen. Lancel Lannister was the handsome but humorless young son of the queen's oldest uncle, Ser Kevan. At sixteen, Lancel was a little older than Robb and Rena. Tyrek was his cousin, son of the queen's second uncle, Tygett, and he was of an age with Hos. When the Lannister boys had first arrived in the city, Hos was quick to try to befriend them, but they were never more than cool civil. Brynden knew better than to try. They were just like Prince Joffrey, snobby and rude and proud. They were both terrified of King Robert, who didn't seem to be teaching them anything apart from which vintages were the best.

While the hunt for the white stag King Robert wanted as his prize dragged on, Ser Barristan entertained his squires with tales of the battles he had fought and the outlaws he had brought to justice. One band of outlaws, the Kingswood Brotherhood, made their living terrorizing any nobles living in or traveling through the woods during the reign of the Mad King. They had even been bold enough to rob the Mad King's own gooddaughter, Princess Elia of Dorne. They rode unopposed until the smallfolk betrayed them to the Kingsguard. Almost all the outlaws had been slain in battle or hanged for their crimes.

Lancel Lannister boasted that his cousin Ser Jaime had helped the Sword in the Morning defeat the Smiling Knight. Ser Barristan dismissed him, saying that at the time Ser Jaime had still been a green boy who was lucky Ser Arthur Dayne had been there to save him. Brynden tried not to laugh as both Lancel and Tyrek turned red. With their golden curls, it made them resemble their family sigil.

After four days of hunting, they found the remains of the white stag being picked at by carrion birds. Lord Renly determined that it had been gored by a boar and left for dead. The king burned bright with fury. In a booming voice, he declared his intent to feast on boar that night. He scourged the woods with new energy to confront the thief, downing wine at such rate that Lancel struggled to keep his wineskin full.

'He's a fool with a death wish,' Brynden thought as the king got drunker and drunker. 'Does he truly mean to take down a boar when he's this deep in his cups?'

Snarls and growls and howls rang though the forest, the sounds of a fight between animals. King Robert hurried toward the sound, the rest of the hunting party hot on his heels.

"Godsdammit!" The king swore in a voice like thunder. "Everything is hunting everything else today."

A great boar was charging at three wolves, only they were far larger than wolves had any right to be. Two of the wolves were silver, but one was as white as the bark of a weirwood tree.

"Greatheart? Hero? Ghost?" Brynden exclaimed. Their direwolves were standing before them, the same direwolves the queen had cast out of King's Landing. The boar turned to King Robert, who was getting out his spear, its mad black eyes burning like hot coals. Blood matted its fur from a gash on its leg. It limped; one of the wolves must have bitten it. The boar charge clumsily at Robert, its gait slow and awkward, bellowing savagely.

"Barristan, Renly, all the rest of you, away from me." King Robert roared. Reluctantly, they all moved out of the way to give the king his moment in the sun. Brynden looked briefly to the Lannister squires; Lancel was shaking with excitement. King Robert faced the boar head-on, driving his spear straight into its belly. The boar gave one last great bellow before falling to its side, dying. The boar's blood oozed like a swift-moving river, thick and black. It splattered all over the king, from his beard to his boots.

"Well done your Grace." Lancel said, now somewhat deflated despite the king's victory. "An excellent kill."

King Robert huffed, "Would have been better if those damn wolves hadn't gotten in the way. There's little joy in killing an already wounded foe. Had it been whole and hale, this fight would have been more exciting."

The direwolves stalked closer. Ser Barristan began to loose his sword from his sheath.

"Wait," Hos said to Ser Barristan, "There's no need for that. They won't hurt us."

Lord Renly shook his head, "They're wild animals boy. You may have played nursemaid to them once, but they're made to kill."

"They won't hurt us." Hos repeated. He stepped toward the direwolves, unafraid, and Brynden followed his lead. Everyone was staring at them as though they had gone mad. Hero and Greatheart, now as tall as men grown, leaned down to nuzzle their masters.

"That's not natural." Tyrek whimpered pathetically, disgust plain on his face.

"We have to go now, but we'll come back for you." Hos said to the wolves. He gave Ghost a pat on the neck for Rena.

* * *

Robert woke with a terrible pain in his head. When he tried to rouse himself, he felt like throwing up and sunlight was hot daggers in his eyes. He chuckled ruefully to himself; alehead was an old friend of his, but this morning it had come with a reckoning. He gave the command to let the rest of the party return without him, leaving behind only Ser Barristan and Ned's two boys.

"I want roast boar when I get back!" He roared to the two golden-haired shits Cersei had saddled him with. They scampered away like rats, those damn useless squires.

Hours later, Robert and his shrunken escort made for the Red Keep. During the ride back, Robert took some time to watch Ned's sons. What had had happened the day before with the wolves, it gave him a chill to think about. Those were not dogs to be called back at any time, but beasts with a taste for blood. It had been many months since they'd gone into the Wolfswood; they ought to have forgotten their previous masters by then.

But what unnerved him most was the total lack of fear in Hos and Brynden's eyes. Wolves as tall as men, blood on their jaws, and neither had even blinked (so far as he could remember). He wondered if he ought tell Ned, then decided that Ser Barristan or Renly or the boys themselves would do so anyway.

Ned must have proud of his sons, he imagined. Hoster was a fearsome thing in the training yard, more skilled and graceful than any of the other boys, including Joffrey. He needed some refinement and more force behind his strikes, but watching him handle a blade was like watching a work of art. Brynden was stronger than most boys his age, and unlike Tommen he didn't shit himself every time the master-at-arms put a sword in his hand. No, that boy was bold and fierce and utterly without mercy.

Honestly, he couldn't imagine what went wrong with his own sons. They were born with the blood of warriors, but they would never be more than passable swordsmen. Perhaps he should have sent one of them to be fostered with Ned all along; the harsh Northern cold might have been good for them. Aye, he should have, but Cersei would have gelded him for it. What a stupid woman she was, to coddle her sons like they were her daughters.

His thoughts turned to his friend's daughter, Rena Snow, as they often did these days. When he first saw her it was like seeing his dear Lyanna return to flesh, but the closer he got the more she became a stranger. Her eyes were the wrong color, her demeanor too cool and solemn. She walked behind Myrcella like a shadow or a doll, speaking only when spoken to. Lyanna had been lively, spirited and quick to smile, but Ned's girl was nearly as dour as Stannis.

But a poor copy was better than none at all. She was more beautiful than Lyanna had been, and she was right there at the castle, still warm and alive. The girl was nearly fifteen, close to the age Lyanna had been when she died. If she were just to smile a bit more, it could make up for her Dayne eyes. In any case, it wasn't her eyes that interested him. She was indeed a woman beneath her pretty little dresses and mantles. He'd have taken her to bed long ago if he didn't know that his Hand would unsheathe Ice for his daughter's honor.

Cersei did not come out to greet him when he got home, but Myrcella was at the gate waiting. Robert smiled at the sight of his sweet princess flanked by her ladies-in-waiting, Rena Snow and two blonde girl that looked faintly familiar. So, those were the Lannister cousins Cersei had picked out. Rena looked remarkably out-of-place among them; she was older, with darker hair, and less decorated. Perhaps that had been his wife's intent. Yet that only made her more beautiful. Robert felt his cock stirring at the sight of her.

"Did you have a good hunt Father?" Myrcella inquired. Out of all his children, she was the only one who showed in interest in hunting. It was a shame she was a girl.

He patted her golden curls, trying to focus on her instead of Rena Snow. "Aye. Got myself a boar. The bastard damn near killed me." He smirked the offended looks from Cersei's kin. "We'll have ourselves a fine roast tonight, for certain. Tell your mother I'm home. Go on now dear girl."

Myrcella curtsied, ever the lady, and took her leave.

Robert went to his own chambers for a long soak and quick rest. An hour before the scheduled feast, as his manservant dressed him for supper, the fighting broke out.

* * *

Rena had been having tea with the princess and her cousins when they heard the sounds of battle outside. It was not like listening to steel sing in the yard, with shouts of encouragement from bystanders. It was the sound of blood spilling, men dying. Cerenna and Myrielle ran to each other and held hands, frightened. Myrcella looked disturbed as well, but she hid it better. The fighting rang through the Red Keep for hours, until the odor of blood was overwhelming.

As the slashing and screaming grew closer to Myrcella's chambers, Myrielle began to weep loudly. Rena pulled her into her arms, then shot a worried look to Myrcella. But before the princess could say anything, the guards outside their door let out terrible shouts and fully-armed Tyrell men stormed inside. Their cloaks were soaked with blood, their swords red to the hilt. Myrielle vomited on Rena's dress.

"What is the meaning of this?" Myrcella demanded in a voice that was too young and high to command much respect. "Have you leave to enter this room?"

The man who stood at the head of the line surveyed the room and removed his helm. "Lord Renly and Lord Mace have given us the command to bring all Lannisters in the castle to them. Lady Snow is to be returned to her father."

"By what right?" Myrcella gasped.

The Tyrell man-at-arms sneered at her, "The queen is guilty of high treason and all her kin must answer for it."

The pieces began to fit. The fighting was between the queen's men and their enemies, and they had lost. Of what crimes had Queen Cersei been accused? How could King Robert allow such a thing to occur within his own halls? Rena looked over her shoulder, casting a worried glance to the three young girls.

'Be brave.' she mouthed to them as the Tyrell men led her away.

Her stomach rolled as she and her escorts traversed the Red Keep. Never in her memory had the name been so apt. Silent Sisters in the rough grey robes were collecting bodies and washing away the blood. The river of red soaked the hem of her dress, the smell of death choked her. She turned her face from the sight of one of her father's men laying haphazardly on a stairway, a blackened spear bursting from his chest.

'Desmond,' she realized sadly. 'He used to help Robb onto his horse, until he was old enough to get on himself.'

The body of another Stark man-at-arms blocked the door leading to the outer bailey. Cayn, who acted gruff but in truth had the softest heart in Winterfell, lay on his belly. The back of his head had been smashed in, probably by a mace, brains and blood dripping slowing into his beard. He had a son, Calon. Where was his son? One of the Tyrell men-at-arms dragged Cayn's body aside by his cape like he was garbage.

"Treat him with more respect! He was my father's man!" Rena protested. The Tyrell man ignored her indignation and urged her forward.

Outside Maegor's Holdfast, evidence of the fighting grew fainter. The Tower of the Hand had been left untouched.

Upstairs, all was as quiet as graveyard. Her half-brothers hugged her so tightly she could hardly breath, but felt heavenly to have them safe in her arms. At last, she begged for rest. After a long bath, she climbed into bed though it was still mid afternoon. Behind her eyelids she could see only the princess and her scared little cousins, pleading for her to come back, and all the poor souls laying broken in the bloodsoaked castle. When she woke, it was the hour of the wolf.

Rena lit a candle and went in search of her father. She found him in his solar; not working, not moving, just staring in the fire with an expression so cold and hard he looked like one of the statues in the crypts of Winterfell.

"My lord," she croaked. Her voice sounded weaker and more frightened than she had expected.

Her father bid her sit in the chair next to him. "When I retired tonight, Hos told me you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. How do you feel?"

"Worried for Myrcella and her cousins. The fighting...frightening me. I'm glad it's over."

"It might not be." Father replied bitterly, "Rena, you must know this was not my doing. My intention had been to tell Robert what the queen had done and let him dispense justice, but Renly and Tyrell took matters into their own hands. Someone heard something, somehow. I didn't know where you were or if...if you had..."

"If I had died like my mother?"

Shocked, he rasped, "Who told you she was dead?"

"I could see it in your eyes my lord." Rena whispered, hoping she had not overstepped herself. Father had never said a word of her mother, not even to suggest that she had ever been real. And now Rena knew that she would never meet her.

He turned his face from her, "Now is not the time to dwell on such things Rena. Robert is in a storm of rage the likes of which I have never seen. Lords Renly and Mace betrayed my trust, defied my orders, spilled blood when there had been no need. _Damn them!_ And damn Robert. He calls them truer friends than I, because they were glad to drag women and children from under their beds and I was not."

"Is the king angry with you?"

"No, sweetling; with the Lannisters, his queen most of all. She was unfaithful to him. Her children are all bastards."

Rena almost dropped her candle. "No! This cannot be so!"

"I've been studying this case for many a moon, my dear. I've seen his bastards, including your friend's son. How can all his bastards have his look, and none of the royal children? Jon Arryn thought the same, and for that they killed him. The queen had Ser Gregor kill his former squire, the knight who died at the tourney. I have no proof of that, but I'm sure its the truth."

Head pounding, she squeaked, "What will happen to Myrcella? And her brothers? The children, they are innocent."

Father looked back at her, tears upon his cheeks. Rena was mesmerized. She had seen men die, but never cry. "I petitioned for the children to be sent to the Wall or the Citadel, or the Faith, to the Winterfell, across the Narrow Sea. I fear Robert has gone deaf to all pleas of mercy."

All the blood rushed from her face. "He _can't_. They're only children, children he raised."

"I've said as much to Robert, but he's determined to have their heads."

Unable to respond, Rena fled the room in tears.

* * *

Lady Rena was most disheartened by the turn of events. Alyxander noticed her wandering the grounds often, a Stark guardsman by her side at all times, like a specter visiting old haunts. While never the most outgoing or cheerful girl, her melancholy was noticeably more profound. Three days after the queen and her kin had been arrested in Maegor's Holdfast, awaiting the king's justice, he worked up the nerve to interrupt her brooding.

"Good morning Ser Alyxander." She said politely. Standing beneath an old oak tree with the sunrise glowing behind her, she was a vision from a song.

He took her hand and kissed it, "It appears to me, my lady, that heavy thoughts weigh upon your mind."

"It is nothing you would be terribly concerned about ser." Rena blushed, "Do not be bothered on my account."

"On the contrary, your peace of mind is the greatest of my priorities."

Rena studied him for a minute, doubting his sincerity. When she saw that he was serious, she lowered her eyes, embarrassed. "Forgive me ser. I am not accustomed to sharing my thoughts. I worry for the queen's children and cousins."

"I understand Princess Myrcella is dear to you."

"She is my closest friend." Rena replied, her violet eyes glistening, "And only eight years old. I don't understand how the king can turn against the children who sat upon his knee, loving him as they would their true father."

"But their birth is a wound on his pride."

"Then he should execute Queen Cersei, and her alone." Rena snapped. It was the first time Alyxander had ever heard her raise her voice, "She is the only one to commit a crime. Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, they did not ask to be born. Cerenna, Myrielle, Lancel, Tyrek, they had no hand in this."

"You speak true, my love, but their birth is of great consequence. Queen Cersei did not ask to be born a highborn lady, yet she was. Her birth gave her privileges that she abused, duties that she spat upon. She must suffer the burdens of her position, as must we all."

Rena's eyes betrayed her disbelief. "Do you support King Robert's notion then? You believe the children must die?"

"No," Alyxander said, "Only that King Robert has every right to be enraged. His queen humiliated and betrayed him for many years, attempted to rob him of trueborn heirs."

After a moment of silence, she stated, "You speak true Ser Alyxander, that no man can doubt. I understand that child do suffer for the crimes of their parents, but I don't understand why it must be so."

* * *

After a week at sea, Lila was almost disappointed to find herself on dry land again. As a girl her father would frequently take her across the Narrow Sea to see her mother's Myrish family and from then on the open water had been a second home to her. _The Wind Witch_ was a good, study vessel, her crew a motley of sailors from both Westeros and the Free Cities. They were a boisterous bunch, and there was never a dull moment on board.

Lila had been to the capital once before. Alyx had been only five and Baxton was still a babe in her arms when she and her late husband attended Robert Baratheon's coronation. There had been a nervous excitement in the air that day. The end of war was welcome, but the lords and smallfolk alike were slightly wary of this new king. Oh, he won them all over soon enough. Robert cut a handsome figure in his black and gold, the crown of antlers on his head and his radient Lannister bride at his side.

Now, it seemed, she was stepping into an whole different realm.

From the ship, she could see the city swarming with gold cloaks and men-at-arms from Stark, Baratheon, Tyrell and other smaller houses. A man of House Stark accosted her at the dock, and demanded her name. Lila tensed. The whole city was on edge, she sensed, and her boys might have been in the middle of it. There was nary a smile to be found on the whole port.

"Lady Lila of House Shett. My son, Ser Alyxander Templeton, bid me to come to King's Landing to meet his betrothed, Lord Stark's natural daughter." She announced impatiently.

The man relaxed a bit, "So you are to be Lady Rena's goodmother. My apologies for my bluntness my lady, but the king has put the city on high alert. There have been...er, troubling developments in the last few days. Please allow me to escort you to the Tower of the Hand."

And so he did. As they passed through the Red Keep, Lila noticed the scent of cleaned-up blood. A lot of blood. It gave her a chill.

Lila had arrived an hour before supper, where she would meet with the Starks. In her new chambers she bathed and changed into a suitable gown. In the Small Hall, where the Hand and his family ate, she saw her boys for the first time in months and pulled them tightly into her arms. Alyxander had grown a short beard since she saw him last, and it framed his face handsomely. More surprising was that Baxton now towered over her; he was getting so big.

"Look at you." Lila smiled tiredly, "What manner of strife has taken hold of this city? When I arrived, everyone I saw look as though they were attending a funeral. And the castle reeks of blood."

Their smiles fell so rapidly it was almost comical. Alyxander explained the recent conflict to her, and of how it was upsetting his soon-to-be-bride. The Starks arrived not long afterwards and they were introduced to each other. When Lila saw Rena Snow she could see why Alyxander had fallen so deeply in love with her. But love alone did not make a happy marriage, much less when it was inspired by beauty. She knew many a man who had fallen into the bed of a woman, only to try to evade her voice come morning.

The meal was a quiet affair. Perhaps they were all afraid that if they spoke too much, the conversation would lead to events they'd rather forget. If only her ship had carried her to King's Landing sooner, so that she might see who they were beneath the veil of anger and fear. To keep the table from becoming too eerily quiet, Lila supplied them with news of the on-goings of the Vale. She told them of Lady Lysa's peculiar behavior, of Lord Robert's grief manifesting in strange way, of Lady Catelyn's disastrous trial, which freed the Imp. Not happy topics to be sure, but she understood that the Starks valued honesty almost as much as their honor.

Halfway through the meal, a squire from House Tyrell came running into the room, breathless. "A thousand pardons," he panted, his face ashen, "but the queen and her bastard children have escaped."

* * *

After a length of time - it might have been four hours or four days - Cerenna finally stopped crying. Perhaps she had run out of tears or out of hope; both, most likely. For all her life, her name had been a source of pride, proof that she deserved the best, but now it was her bane.

'They left us.' she thought numbly, over and over as she rubbed her sister's back. Lancel and Tyrek had been placed in another cell, but the boys had been so silent she wasn't sure if they were still there. When she closed her eyes, Cerenna could see the bald, rough-spoken turnkey opening Queen Cersei' cell, Joffrey racing up the stairs with naked fear on his face, Myrcella's golden curls as she shook her head in apology, Tommen crying in his mother's arms. 'They made us come here, and they left us. I should be in Lannisport with Father and Mother and Daven. Instead I'm laying in dungeon for a crime I didn't commit.'

Part of her understood the need for the more important members of her House to escape first. But then she'd lay back on the hard, cold stone floor and fall asleep on the pile of brittle hay that served as her bed, and she'd curse the queen again.

Time did not move beneath the Red Keep, for there was no sunlight to mark the passage of the hours, only low burning torches.

A turnkey, not the same one as before, descended from the stairs with several Baratheon guards at his back. Was it time for their trial? Cerenna didn't make a sound as the guards hauled her onto to her feet and marched her upstairs. In the same dress she'd wore when she was arrested, now dirty and torn, she walked through Maegor's Holdfast with Myrielle walking behind her. Both sisters were chained at the wrists and ankles.

The guards brought them to the throne room, but as small as she was Cerenna didn't recognize it at first. King Robert sat the Iron Throne; in his golden silks he looked like a lump of butter on a kitchen knife. His hard eyes burned blue. The king spoke in a booming, commanding voice, but Cerenna could not hear him. All his words slurred together, as dim and far away a ship on the horizon. She and her sister were led away, but not back to the dungeon. The world became fuzzy, then dark, and her legs gave out under her.

When she opened her eyes, Cerenna found herself on a small, but soft bed. She wiped her tears with a blanket, praying to the Mother that the nightmare was over at last. She found a plate of cheese and bread and a half-full skin of wine. She ate so fast she bit her fingers by accident. Her first meal since her arrest. It felt so nice to have something in her stomach again she started to cry again. When the food was all gone she went back to sleep.

Someone nudged her awake, "Cerenna? Sweetling, wake up." Rena Snow knelt at her bedside, worry wrinkling her brow.

"Lady Rena? Where am I? I don't remember what happened." Her throat felt so dry it caused her pain. Rena put a cup of water to her lips and make her drink.

"His Grace King Robert has made you a ward of his brother, Lord Renly. Myrielle has been given to the Tyrells." She paused, terrible sympathy on her features. Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper, "Lancel and Tyrek were executed. I'm sorry."

Cerenna waited, but no tears wet her cheeks; not from surprise nor grief. They shared blood, but Lancel and Tyrek were hardly family. "Why?"

"Lancel confessed to trying to kill the king. He gave Robert a skin of strongwine during the hunt, hoping to get him drunk enough that the boar would gorge him."

"The queen made him do it, I'm sure." Cerenna murmured, more to herself than to Lady Rena. It struck her that she wished King Robert were dead. If Lancel had not failed, she would be with her sister and the princess. She would not be a prisoner, a hostage.

"We're all sure." Lady Rena agreed, "But she's gone and the boys are dead, their heads upon Traitor's Walk. The king is trying to get the High Septon to annul his marriage, but its clear he intends to end it with a blade." She looked apologetic, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't trouble you with such thoughts."

"I don't mind." Cerenna replied. "Can I see my sister?"

"I'm afraid that's not up to me sweetling." Rena answered regretfully, stroking the young girl's hair.

Cerenna closed her eyes once more to hold back the coming tears.

* * *

Dawn was close to breaking when the battle ended at last. After over a day of fighting, Robb felt as though his bones were rubber and his muscles were falling from them, but he was victorious. Riverrun freed and the Kingslayer in chains. It was the stuff of songs, but he had never felt less like singing. The blood of his companions stained his white and grey surcoat; Torrhen and Eddard Karstark, whose father was maddened with grief; Daryn Hordwood, who was suppose to marry Lady Alys Karstark. They had given their lives for his. How many more might do the same before the fighting ended?

The Whispering Wood unnerved him ceaselessly, with its ever present, chilling mist, the echoes of ghosts past. Thick roots and foliage chocked the road underfoot, slowing the host's pace. In the dark of the early morning, Robb had the sense he was moving through a dream, as though the previous night have never happened. Theon rode at his side, grinning smugly. Robb wondered how he didn't seem to be at all bothered by all the blood spilled that night. Perhaps that was simply came with becoming a man.

Several figures on horseback appears on the hill in front of them, bearing the colors of Houses Stark and Tully. Among the men rode a woman, her auburn hair loosening from its braid. His lady mother. Robb wanted nothing more than to run to her and bury himself in her arms, he had missed her so much, but he can ill afford to unman himself in front of his men, and especially not in front of the Kingslayer. What a sight that would be, the Young Wolf (as the singers now called him) winning a great battle then rushing to hide in his mother's skirts.

"Robb, you're hurt." She greeted him as her party joined his. Her river blue eyes glistened with pride that warmed him like a hearth.

"No. This is...Torrhen's blood, perhaps, or...I don't know."

Jaime Lannister, pride of the west, was brought before them in chains, his armor and sword gone. He had not been allowed to change out of his battle-stained clothes and a day old beard was forming on his jaw.

'Did I bring him down to this, or my men?' Robb mused.

"Lady Stark, so lovely to see you once more." Ser Jaime remarked with sarcastic joviality. "I would offer you my sword, but it seems I've misplaced it."

Mother glared at him, "I want nothing of yours Kingslayer. Everything you touch is poisoned."

"Surely not," Ser Jaime jested, "Or else there are many who would be long dead. If I recalled, you kidnapped my brother for a crime he was innocent of. He was innocent, wasn't he? Else-wise why is he not your custody, unless a trial forced you to release him?"

"A trial did prove Tyrion Lannister's innocence," she replied stiffly, "but not yours."

The Stark and Tully forces moved on to Riverrun, where Uncle Edmure had been held captive. Jaime Lannister took his place in the dungeons. After seeing that his men would all have a place and a bite, Robb retired to a bedchamber that had been prepared for him.

He ought to have felt more at ease in Riverrun, but the castle was foreign to him. This was where he had been conceived and born, back in the early days of Robert's Rebellion. Since the day mother departed for Winterfell, he had not returned. The rooms were a bit too warm for his liking, but a soft bed was more welcome than sleeping in a tent or under the stars.

Several houses later, he awoke to a summons by his lord grandfather and lady mother. Hoster Tully lay abed in his bedchamber, unable to move. His age was catching up to him sooner than it did for most men. With him was Mother, her uncle Brynden the Blackfish, and her younger brother Edmure, heir to Riverrun.

"Look at you, a man grown." Grandfather Hoster smiled, "Last I saw, you were the size of a loaf of bread, still on your mother's breast."

Robb smiled back, though he'd already heard the same from his great-uncle.

"Onto the matter at hand." Grandfather Hoster continued, "We have received two letters. Both from Lord Eddard in King's Landing, but the older one was routed to us from Winterfell. In his first letter, he explained that Lord Tyrell wishes to betroth Robb to one of his nieces."

Mother frowned, "My lord, Robb has already promised himself to a daughter of House Frey."

"Indeed he did." Grandfather continued, "The Fat Flower didn't want to give us his own daughter because he has larger plans for her. The only reason he made this offer was to soften the wound caused to your lord husband. Lord Eddard gave his blessing for his daughter to wed the Knight of Flowers, but Lord Tyrell rejected that match in favor of this one. It shall be little trouble to reject him, though I can't say the same for the Late Lord Frey. Perhaps we can offer Lord Tyrell one of the younger boys for Robb."

"And the other letter my lord?" Edmure asked.

"Someone allowed Queen Cersei and her bastards to escape the Red Keep." Mother stated, her voice quiet but not calm. "King Robert is calling for their deaths; should anyone come across them, there are to be delivered to his justice."

Robb felt rather ill. He didn't like Cersei or Joffrey, but he had no desire to see their heads on spikes. Myrcella and Tommen were so innocent, so sweet.

But then again, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys had been innocent and sweet as well.

"So long as they live, Lord Tywin will fight for his grandchildren to sit the Iron Throne." the Blackfish mused, "Even if it means fighting the king himself. Queen Cersei's survival is most inconvenient, for Robert cannot take another wife or sire children that won't be accused of bastardy."

* * *

"Lord Eddard Stark." the royal stward announced Ned as he entered the Small Council chambers.

The last time he'd been in this room, Robert had ordered the death of Daenerys Targaryen, a child younger than his own Rena, for the crime of being pregnant. And there Robert sat, hunched and brooding in the seat he so often left vacant. Mace Tyrell had invited into the council, but Grand Maester Pycelle was gone. The old man had been loyal to the Lannisters, it was known, and for that Robert held him in the black cells.

"Ned, I was almost afraid you wouldn't come." Robert stated.

"I am your Hand, your Grace." Ned replied with a bit more bitterness than he had intended, "Why would I not come?"

Robert reddened at his tone. "Remember who sits above you Ned. Now, _who the hell opened that whore's cell_? Spider, explain yourself!"

"My sources have found that one of the turnkeys disappeared the night Cersei Lannister and her bastards escaped. As this was not our doing, it only stands to reason that the Lannisters paid him for their release."

"Or he may have taken the risk knowing he'd be richly rewarded." Lord Mace offered. "What say you Lord Stark?"

Ned frowned, "I know as much you my lords, perhaps less."

"Truly?" Lord Renly raised an eyebrow.

"You doubt me Lord Renly?" Ned challenged.

"All I know Lord Stark," Renly stated, "is that your bastard is overly-fond of the Lannisters. Did you know that she came to see my ward a few days ago?"

"Indeed I did. Myrcella, Cerenna, and Myrielle were her friends, long before the truth of the queen's infidelity came to light." Ned sighed in exasperation at all the raised eyebrows. "Do you honestly believe my daughter betrayed the crown because she showed concern for a scared little girl?"

"Even you must admit, my lord, visiting traitors is not often the behavior of the innocent." Littlefinger responded, a malicious glint in his grey-green eyes.

"Was it not the word of our king himself, Littlefinger, that declared Cerenna and Myrielle Lannister innocent of crimes against House Baratheon?" Ned snapped.

Robert shifted uncomfortably, "Aye that it was, but they're not to be trusted. I can believe that your girl meant no harm, but take better care with the company your children keep Ned."

Ned nodded stiffly. "Aye your Grace."

The meeting went on, the other lords arguing between them over the options of the queen's escape. Ned kept silent. Each meeting wore him down. He wanted none of this, the in-fighting and dishonor, the plots and schemes and secrets. Still, Robert spoke of killing the children, the little boys and girl he'd held in his arms. No words of mercy could touch his heart.

"When the queen and her bastards turn up alive," Renly stated, "Lord Tywin will keep his banners raised for them. I fear war cannot be avoided."

Ned almost scoffed. "The war began long ago Lord Renly, when the Lannisters took to burning my wife's homeland."

"Let's just hope they hadn't burned so much that Lord Tully cannot raise any more levies." Mace Tyrell added, "Have you written to your lady goodsister, Lysa Arryn? Lord Tywin remains trapped at Harrenhal. The knights of the Vale could force him from the castle will ease."

"Aye my lords, I've written to her twice, yet she sends no answer."

Littlefinger nodded thoughtfully, "I have great affection for Lady Lysa, but she is neither a brave nor obedient woman. Her fear of the lions might overpower her loyalty to the crown. Lord Stark, is your natural daughter Rena Snow not betrothed to a knight of the Vale?"

"Indeed she is Lord Baelish. Would you suggest that I should ask the Templetons to raise their banners?"

The Master of Coin shrugged, "It is their duty to the realm. Though merely a knightly house, they can raise more levies than many Vale lords."

"Write to your goodsister again Ned," Robert commanded, "And write to the Knight of Ninestars. This knight, Ser Alyxander, is the heir of Ninestars?"

"No your Grace." Ned replied. "Ser Alyxander is the son of a third son and has cousins with stronger claims."

Robert grimaced, "That low? You are Hand; you could have found better man for your daughter. A girl as beautiful as Lady Rena ought to have a keep of her own."

"Perhaps so your Grace, but many good folk aren't keen to follow a lord born of a bastard girl." Lord Varys twittered.

"Do something more useful with your tongue Spider," King Robert growled, "and scout out where the Whore of the West has run off to."

The eunuch nodded artfully. The sly sparkling of his eyes filled Ned with disquiet.

He longed for home, for Winterfell. He wanted to put his hands on Robb's shoulder and express his pride. He wanted to sit by Bran's bedside telling him stories and to show Rickon the proper way to string a bow. This city, this title, these men who sat with him, had done nothing but strain his heart and grey his hair. And now a war spilling over the surface. Ned had been a youth of nineteen when he fought in his first battle and killed his first man; Robb was but fifteen.

'You've already taken the innocence of my heir,' He silently prayed to the gods, though he knew they could not hear him, 'Let my younger sons remain children a while longer.'

A young maester, one of Pycelle's assistants, interrupted the meeting to deliver a parchment to King Robert. Annoyed, he broke the black seal and read. His eyes turned to Ned, wide with pity.

"From the Watch," Robert explained, "Your brother, Benjen, is lost beyond the Wall. They sent men after him, but they all returned as corpses. This maester writes the most ridiculous tale, that the dead men rose in the night and slew the lord commander, Joer the Old Bear. I remember that man; he was with us at Stony Sept. Gods, that was so long ago. The maester writes that a young recruit set the dead afire to stop them, but half of Castle Black went up in smoke."

Ned hardly knew what to think. Benjen, his baby brother, lost and possibly dying; the Old Bear; dead men walking; the Night's Watch in danger. "I must put the North in order my lords."

Before he could say more, Robert cried, "Your place is here. The realm needs you for the coming fight."

"Then I shall send my heir in my stead."

"Nay," Robert argued, "He must remain on the battlefield. The singers are already calling him the Young Wolf. What a name for a rising hero! Who shall turn against him to join the Lannisters? Nay, he will hold Riverrun and lead the northmen into battle."

Mace Tyrell stiffened, his neck turning pink. "All well and good. I shall my own sons to battle as well. My son Garlan can lead Highgarden's swords to the field, and Loras will be quick to join."

"Well that's good for your sons, but what am I do about the Night's Watch?" Ned snapped. By now his patience was as thin as a strand of silk. "I can't leave this task to my younger son Bran. He's only eight, and a cripple besides."

"But young Hoster is eleven. Send him." Robert answered nonchalantly.

"Indeed," Littlefinger smirked, "Eleven in a fine age to guard the realm from grumkins and snarks."

"Aye, and wildlings who raid villages and carry off the daughters of honest men. And deserters, many of whom were murderers and rapers before taking the black." Ned bristled. "Very well. If there is no alternate, I'll send Hoster to straighten out the North."

"It may be prudent to sent away Brynden as well," Lord Renly suggested, "Should the Lannisters lay siege to the city, I'm sure you won't want your sons within their grasp. In fact Lord Stark, a wise plan would be to marry your daughter to Ser Templeton now to ensure his cousin's swords to our cause, then send them all to the Vale. Ser Templeton will raise the banners and your children will be safe."

"And from there Hoster would continue north? A sound plan, I must say," Ned replied, "You have my genuine gratitude Lord Renly."

He did not want Rena wed just yet, not when her heart was still not fixed on her intended, but he feared he no longer had the luxury of waiting for things to turn out alright.

* * *

When the flame of the pyre died with the rising of the sun, Daenerys Stormborn arose from the ashes, and the morning air was alive with the song of dragons.


End file.

A song of Ice and Fire, Family, Romance