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.