A/N: This chapter starts before Myrcella's perspective in Ch.58.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

60: None so Dutiful

Kevan:

He frowned at the map before him. The pieces sculpted to represent houses of both ally and enemy were spread out to give an appropriate estimate of location and force.

We are stuck in a bad way.

He could not mince his words. It was laid out for all to see. Even one of the camp followers could see that. One look at this map to see they were truly fucked.

A feeling the camp follower would surely understand.

His wry thoughts could not temper his mood.

Kevan Lannister waited patiently in his tent for word of the Stark riders. He understood what was at stake in these talks. His brother's instructions replaying in his mind. Tywin had given him absolute power and authority to insure a successful agreement.

I will not fail you, brother.

The pieces of wolf and trout were at Riverrun

Where they're holding my boy.

He closed his eyes. That only seemed to make the matter worse. Images conjured before him of his son, Willem frightened and alone. In chains in the dark, alone, scared, and possibly injured.

Kevan let out a shaky breath and tried to push away those thoughts. I cannot serve the family in such a state.

Willem had been so honored to be able to fight for their house, and their family.

I will not shame you, Father. I will show these wolves not to fight the lion. I will do you proud, Father. I swear it.

Those were their parting words. Kevan tried to assure him that he was proud, but he would not forget the determined glint in Willem's eye. The look all young men have when they see themselves in their armor for the first time, riding their horses and preparing for war-The thirst for glory.

I was no different.

He would not forget his time in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Nor would he forget he and his brothers' determination to prove that the Lannisters were still fierce.

The call for war had been answered by the lion's roar. Kevan thought proudly at how Tywin had come back from the Stepstones to do what their father should have been doing-Rule the Westerlands.

I gladly served him then. Just as I serve him now.

Tywin saved their family. He then served the Seven Kingdoms for years and what did he get for it? Scorn and mockery, Kevan shook his head at how his brother could be treated so poorly by the very men who benefited so much from Tywin's leadership. Baratheon or Targaryen it did not matter.

Now, Tywin was needed again to insure peace within the Seven Kingdoms. Kevan was proud to say his brother did not hesitate before doing what he must to protect not just the Lannister name, but the Iron Throne itself.

The threats to their rule were numerous.

His eyes drifting away from the trout and the wolves to the south where at Highgarden, roses and stags sat above its marker. Renly Baratheon had crowned himself king and now had the might of the Reach and Stormlands behind him.

We must treat with the Starks before we can turn south to Renly. We must be quick before he can march from Highgarden.

Kevan felt his lip curl in distaste at what Renly had done: Rising and moving against his own older brother. It did not sit well with him. He was no supporter of Stannis nor did he like the man, but Kevan respected the law and the laws of both man and gods were clear when it came to the rights of succession between brothers.

Renly's disregard for such laws only helps our cause. Kevan was no fool. He saw the benefits of the brothers being split. A united Pride will easily trounce divided stags.

Still, he could not get over such a move by the youngest Baratheon.

If my brothers let our selfishness and vanity get in the way, our family would have been ruined. Kevan did not want to think about not following Tywin or worse moving against him, his own blood. We were a lowly lion then, but at least we were united behind Tywin. If we had allowed such petty glories divide us then we may have lost everything.

It does not matter how they rebelled, Kevan could not allow himself get distracted. What matters is that they've rebelled.

Tywin had told him that he sent new instructions back to the Westerlands. With the possibility of the Starks being dealt with, it was prudent to look elsewhere on how to direct the fresh levies that Tywin had called for. They were to be raised by their cousin, Stafford Lannister.

A fresh army marching down the Ocean Road will give Renly and his allies pause. Tywin had said, We will use that to solidify our forces and bring them back to the capital to prepare for a siege from either Renly or Stannis.

His brother's suggestion had merit. Renly could not ignore an attack to their northern borders. His Reach allies which made the bulk of his army would not accept their lands being burned and their castles being besieged.

He'd have to do something, turn his army north and wait to take the capital or split their army to try to handle both. Regardless of the pretender's decision it could only help their cause and entrench their position in the Crownlands.

It only works if I can deliver on the Starks and the Tullys.

"Uncle Kevan?"

A smile was quick to come to him at the sound of his niece's voice. He looked up from his table to see Myrcella stand before him, looking radiant in her dress. She is as lovely as her mother with none of the poison that lurks beneath.

"Princess," He greeted her, "You look stunning." He was pleased to see she had picked a dress in the colors of her Father's house. A needed reminder that she was Myrcella Baratheon, the Princess and daughter of King Robert.

"Thank you, Uncle," She smiled and dipped into a flawless curtsey.

"Dressed in such a way how is Lord Robb to concentrate on the talks ahead of us?" He saw her cheeks go rosy at his jape. "He will see himself the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms to have such a wife waiting for him." He moved around the table to properly greet her, kissing her still red cheeks. He did not miss the hazy look in her green eyes which he knew were due to thinking on a certain Stark.

"Thank you, Uncle," Her eyes then shifted to what he had been looking at-the map. He did not miss how they lingered on Riverrun as well as the flicker towards Winterfell.

"Do not worry yourself with such things, my dear," He guided her away from the table, and out of the tent. "We are suited for the challenges ahead of us."

She nodded, "I am glad for my brother's sake."

He nearly chuckled at how the two could lie to one another, both wanting to believe in what was said. Him, in thinking they were in a secure situation and her for wanting to make sure her brother's crown was secure.

Lies are easier to swallow than some truths, He took in his niece's golden hair and green eyes. "Your brother is no longer your concern, Princess. Your uncle, Tyrion will bring him to heel." He did not miss the smile that got from her. It was not one of her demure or dainty smiles, but sharp like a knife or a lion's claw.

"I am glad to know he is in the right hands." To most it would sound innocent and sincere, but he was not fooled by it. "When do you think Robb and I will marry?"

"It depends, my dear," he picked his words carefully, shielding her from a blunt truth she did not deserve.

Damn you, Lord Stark. Damn you, and your precious honor. Myrcella deserved happiness and you could not give her that? Your son would be happy. Their children would still be Starks. And she was worthy of Winterfell.

He knew she wanted to marry Robb Stark, but Kevan knew the possibility of that arrangement was dwindling.

There are plenty of others who would happily accept what the Starks so coldly reject.

There was Lord Redwyne's son and heir who was being held as a guest to the crown. A match between them could bring the powerful Redwyne fleet into the Iron Throne's fold. The Lady of the Arbor was a prestigious title, and she'd want for nothing.

Prince Doran had a second son, who better for a princess than a prince? Dorne was no friend to either the Throne or the Lannisters, but they held little love for either the Reach or the Stormlands.

"Uncle?"

"Yes, my dear?" He blinked back to see her worried look. "I am sorry," he patted her hand, "The talks ahead have distracted me of late."

She nodded in understanding, even while her green eyes held concern. "I was just asking about what you said in terms of my marriage to Robb Stark."

"Oh yes, I meant that the initial agreement required you to foster at Winterfell for an additional year, but with this unexpected conflict having risen across the Seven Kingdoms. It may be wiser to hasten your betrothal and secure the match."

"Be married sooner?" She flashed an excited smile and her eyes lit up like sparkling emeralds.

"It is to be considered," He despised himself for giving her such false hope. I will do everything I can to try to insure the match will happen, princess. You have my word, he silently vowed, but he could not escape the truth of the situation even if the lies were more comforting.

In the moment that followed all he could do was curse the selfishness and stupidity of his niece, Cersei.

The stories of the direwolves were not exaggerated.

He had heard the accounts of frightened, injured, and dying men of these creatures that the Starks unleashed in their armies. It was one thing to hear, believing men were prone to exaggerate after the battle to either save face from their defeat or to try to sell their courage, but taking in the direwolf, Kevan's doubts were put to rest.

I must write to Tywin, he knew his brother would want to know as much of the creature as they could to help try to counter them if this peace failed. Afterall, the Starks were currently using three of them. It would be unwise to not look to try to find a suitable means to deter the beasts' effectiveness.

Nearly all thoughts left him when he saw Myrcella actively encouraging the wolf to approach her. He heard the noise that escaped his mouth, the cautioning calling back of the Princess that went unheeded.

His wariness of the direwolf abated only a little when it seemed receptive of the Princess and her touch, who smiled and cooed at it as if it was a fresh pup and not a man-killing wolf.

Unhappy, he turned to the encroaching riders, and even though he never met the young man, he spotted Robb Stark on sight. All Tully, he watched the boy dismount from his horse. He was dressed for war, in battle leathers with the direwolf emblazoned on his chest. He had auburn hair, a growing beard of the same color, and blue eyes that were currently taking in the sight of his wolf and his betrothed.

Kevan saw little of his father in him. Evidence that children can take after one parent, he'd make sure to use this example if or when Myrcella's parentage was questioned. He was too far away to hear what was being said between his niece and the heir to Winterfell, but he saw little affection from Lord Stark's son to his betrothed.

Lord Stark must have told his suspicions to his daughter and bastard son before they left the capital, Kevan guessed, and they told him.

"Ser Kevan," His tone was tight, and his blue eyes did not veil his dislike for all things Lannister.

"Lord Robb," Kevan inclined his head towards the heir to Winterfell, who could not mask his thoughts. He seemed to wear them on his shirt for all to see. "Thank you for coming. I pray that we may find peace between our families."

He gave a stiff nod. "Thank you for the delivery of Ice, the bodies of our fallen household and of Jeyne Poole. She's a friend of my sister's."

"You are welcome." In truth Ice had been difficult to give back, he knew how much his brother coveted a valyrian steel sword, but Kevan knew the importance of peace. A deal with the Starks was more important than a sword no matter how valuable. "It should be said that it was the Princess who brought my attention to the young Jeyne's survival. If not for Myrcella's intervention, I fear what would have happened to the poor girl."

Kevan did not miss how the young man reacted to the mention of the Princess and her thoughtfulness. There's something lurking behind those eyes, he was certain of it. Mayhaps our cause is not lost.

"Ser Kevan."

He filed that away and turned to see Lord Stark's eldest daughter, Sansa Stark.

She was tall and graceful with thick auburn hair and blue eyes. High cheekbones and porcelain skin which only highlighted her beauty. Her plain blue dress could not hide her alluring curves. Her striking beauty reminded him of Cersei when she had been of a similar age. One that outshone all those around her.

"Lady Sansa," he took her offered hand and placed a light kiss. "Be welcome," he gestured for the servants to come forward with bread, and wine. "Eat, drink, and know you are under my protection as my honored guests."

Guest right should put them at ease, Kevan watched them partake. Hopefully it will dull their terseness and give them calm heads and open minds.

"Ser Kevan," Sansa said once she sipped from her glass, "Thank you for such open hospitality and of your overtures of friendship." She then looked back and raised her hand to one of the guards, who was still on horseback. He nodded and trotted off. "We too wish to show our gratitude as well as our intentions."

Oh, this was unexpected, but he carefully kept his face blank, not wanting to show that he was caught slightly off guard.

"Father!"

"Willem." He watched his son riding towards him, flanked by two Stark guards. His heart filled with relief at just the sight of him. Kevan looked for any shows of poor treatment, but saw none. Nor did the boy's kind eyes and growing smile reflect on someone who was handled poorly by his captors.

From the corner of his eye he was certain he saw a flicker of a smile on Sansa Stark's face. Her brother's remained stern, while his wolf moved to stand beside him.

"You have my thanks," He was careful in his tone. It proved a difficult feat for a father who missed and worried over his son.

It was the Lady Sansa who replied, and he was quick to notice that she was the one he needed to watch.

"A Lannister is not the only family who pays their debts, Ser Kevan." A threat or an assurance it was difficult to decipher. "You showed my family kindness, and we pay it in kind."

When he was close enough, Kevan took his son in his arms, "Willem," he held him tightly. Afraid this was some tempting dream and he'd wake any second.

"Father," Willem smiled. He was still shorter than him. His hair was longer and messier. "I am sorry," His eyes dimmed, "I-I failed the family."

Kevan hushed that nonsense by hugging him once more. "Speak no more of such foolishness, son."

"Ser Kevan?"

He turned to see the watchful Tully blue eyes of Lady Sansa Stark regarding him. "We wonder if it possible for us to see our Father?"

In her request did he see the cunning beneath her gesture. How can I refuse them a reunion with their father when they gave me one with my son?

He had been outmaneuvered. It will not happen again.

"Of course," he smiled, one to match the polite one Lord Stark's eldest daughter wore. "Mayhaps a short reprieve before we speak?" He suggested, despite his concern of what an unattended meeting between Lord Stark and his children would entail.

If they do not know the truth now Lord Stark will surely tell them. Then he got his own idea. "Since you have allowed me such a gesture of seeing my son, one of your prized hostages. To continue to show our good faith, Princess Myrcella will accompany you to see Lord Stark. She is to be your family soon," Kevan watched the heir to Winterfell carefully at his words and he did not disappoint.

"To repay your gesture and to show that I have no intention of taking my son from your lawful grip."

"We will gladly accept the Princess' company," Lady Sansa did not seem bothered by the request. The smile that followed looked genuine. "I count her as one of my closest friends and would love to have her with me."

You may, he thought, but your father will not. Lord Stark will guard his tongue in her presence. Kevan was certain of it.

"Wonderful," He had one arm around his son's shoulders. "I'll send a messenger to retrieve you two shortly."

It's begun, He watched Lord Robb, Lady Sansa, and the Princess leave, And the first moves have been made and countered.

"They are treating you well?"

"They are."

He had seen and suspected as much, but it still calmed him to hear it from his boy's own mouth. "And the others?"

"Tion is well. We share a room." A look of guilt passed over his son's square face.

He is free and with his father while his cousin remains in a cell.

"And Ser Jaime?"

Willem shook his head. "I have not seen him since the battle. I heard a guard say that they've insured that none of the cells near him are occupied. They want him to be alone."

Kevan would do something similar with such a valuable hostage. "Are you not hungry?" He watched Willem pick at his bread.

"I am not," He answered, "As I said, Father, the Starks and Tullys have treated us well. Tion and myself," he clarified, "I cannot speak on how the others are."

"Then what is troubling you?"

"My failure, Father."

"Nonsense," He dismissed that idea as soon as he heard it. "I said before, there is nothing wrong in a defeat."

His face was painted in wounded pride that could only be conveyed on the young who had not weathered the years of hardship. "Defeat is not serving, Father."

"Willem-"

"I will do better, Father," Willem vowed, "Once I'm free, I will fight harder! I will show the strength of the lion!"

"Enough," Kevan said sternly, "There is more to life than your pride, Willem. Do you think your mother or myself want a corpse for a son? You think it will comfort us knowing you died bravely as we bury you?" He shook his head angrily. The sight of his son on a stone slab, pale and still, had him blink away tears. He quickly pushed those haunting images away.

Not my boy, not any of my boys. Let them be men, let them be fathers and not corpses.

He looked down at his arms as if imagining he was holding Willem as a babe, and the feeling of pride that swelled in his heart at the boy who had fit so well in his grip. He felt more in those moments than he ever did, running through brigands.

How fast they grow, the babe who once was in his arms or tugging at his hands as a boy was now a young man standing in front of him.

"I understand, Father," Willem's tone was wooden. He could not hide the determined glint that lingered in his eyes.

"Thank you," He smiled, feigning to believe his son's words, but silently considering he may need to send his son to the capital with his older brother, Lancel.

Sometimes our worst enemies aren't the soldiers in front of us, but the lust for glory that lurks within our hearts.

"I will write to your mother, she will be gladdened to know you are well and have shown your strength in such trials." He missed his Dorna terribly, who was back at the Rock with their daughter.

"Have you heard of Martyn?"

"Yes," Kevan needed to pick his words carefully as Willem's older twin was with Stafford Lannister, who had been ordered to raise new levies. Information, that he did not want the Stark guards to overhear. "He is well."

Willem looked satisfied at that. "Good, I thought of him and Lancel often. As well as Janei," his green eyes brightened at the mention of his youngest sister. "I promised her an extravagant name day gift."

Kevan smiled at how his son indulged their youngest, a girl of three. He could give her some trinket or even something as silly as a button or rock and Janei would treasure it with all the awe and love that a three year old had when given a gift from an older brother.

His wife and daughter were safe and together. While he and their sons were split. Lancel was in the capital having served as the king's squire. Martyn at Oxcross with Stafford, and Willem here, a prisoner for now, but one who would be freed soon, and want to throw himself back into the battle.

My boys are fighting this war while their cousin, Joffrey sits safe on a Throne surrounded by a fabled order of knights and within an impenetrable castle. Kevan sighed at the unfairness of it, but knew better than to try to pick at it.

Willem is safer a Stark captive than a Lannister soldier, A father's worry never ended. However, despite the temptation, Kevan knew he could not hold his son back. I must allow him to grow and be the good and strong man I know he will be.

"Tell your cousin, Tion, he is not forgotten and that I hope soon to have you both free."

"I will, Father," Willem's earnest expression was of a young man who still thought a father's word was unbreakable.

"Good," Kevan hugged him. "Now no more fretting about believed failures. Your uncle Tywin does not consider it as such and neither should you." He knew it was smart to enact his brother's name seeing it had the desired effect on his son.

"I won't, Father," He straightened up.

"Good lad," he clapped him on the shoulder as the Stark guards arrived.

Willem held his head high when they escorted him out, and to Kevan's pride but grief, his son never looked back, only forward.

Let us bring an end to this, he prayed. Let my family survive so that we can be together again.

He prepared himself for what lay ahead, knowing what was at stake. Knowing what he needed to do.

The Iron Throne is depending on me. My brother is depending on me.

Robb:

He walked behind them.

It was the only way to try to keep his thoughts and focus clear.

Her beauty, her scent, her smiles, it was so hard to ignore.

This is not a bastard, when he admired her, this was a princess. She was to be my wife.

In seeing her kindness, in listening to her voice, in watching her with Grey Wind, the truth slipped away.

He noticed how she looked in the dress she wore and the tempting glimpses of pale skin that teased him. Nor could he ignore her golden crown of hair or her green eyes that sparkled like emeralds.

The eyes of her mother. The eyes of her father.

He looked forward.

Abomination, The voice of Septa Mordane emerged in his head, as cold as winter snow. She is a bastard born of incest.

"Robb?"

I cannot marry her. I am the heir to Winterfell. She is a bastard born of incest.

"Yes, Princess?" He saw the flicker beneath her green eyes at his tone, and his stomach clenched.

"I prayed for you," she confessed. Her hands wringing in front of her. "For you to survive," she clarified, but then her eyes darted to see if the three of them were being watched or not.

As bright as emeralds, he marveled.

The eyes of her mother. The eyes of her father, the voice insisted, Abomination.

"For your victories," she admitted quietly. A touch of guilt softened her tone, but the shine in her eyes trumped it.

Robb was caught off guard at such a declaration. She is kind. She is loyal. She is good.

She is a bastard, the voice was trying to tear away at all the good and beauty he saw in front of him. Abomination!

"Thank you, Princess," He smiled at her for the first time since they were back at Winterfell. When they were newly betrothed and practically strangers to one another.

She returned the smile, and a sparkle played behind her eyes before she turned away and back towards his sister who had watched the exchange in curious silence.

His smile dipped when he was no longer staring into her eyes.

I am the heir to Winterfell. I cannot marry a bastard. Her parents were brother and sister.

So, he thought with increased confusion, why can I not stop thinking about it? About her?

Robb smiled while watching the emotional embrace between his father and sister. Off to the side was the Princess who watched the exchange with a longing in her eyes, and a soft downturn of her lips. The look of someone who had little experience in what she was seeing.

Grey Wind offered comfort to the envious princess by licking her hand which earned a soft giggle. The smile she gave the wolf in appreciation was enticing and it took some of his discipline to turn away from the beautiful princess.

Robb refocused his attention on his family.

It had been nearly a year since he watched his Father depart Winterfell. Ever since that day Robb tried to lead by his father's example. He tried to rule in the manner he saw Father do it. Recalling their lessons and recalling his times Robb would simply watch him when visiting bannermen came to Winterfell.

Everyday I try to live and lead by it, he thought, and every night, I feared I fell short.

"I'm proud of both of you."

"Thank you, Father," Robb felt something in his throat at his Father's praise.

"I have much to discuss with you-"

"We know, Father," Sansa interrupted him, "We know."

Robb waited silently to see if he understood their meaning. They did not want Myrcella present to that. Nor did they want to tip the Lannisters off with what information they had before speaking with them.

The less they think we know, the better, Sansa had told him, and Robb had agreed.

Father's grey eyes flicked to her, holding her stare for a few heartbeats before he nodded, "I am glad." He then turned to their guest.

"Myrcella," he inclined his head to her, "She has been good company and has treated me well."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," She sounded surprised but grateful for his kind words.

Again, Robb could only marvel at how she had done so much for them.

"She has also kept me apprised of what is happening in the Riverlands," Father moved to walk to the small table in his tent. He winced in his walking, and did not fight Sansa who offered to guide him to a seat.

Robb followed his father and sister's example in moving to take a seat while quietly questioning the honor of the Lannisters and fuming of their attack on his father while he was in King's Landing.

"She tells me that you've done remarkably well, Robb."

"I've had good counsel, Father," Robb deflected, "Uncle Brynden has been vital to our success against the Lannisters as have many of our bannermen," He saw an approving nod of Father before he sat down, "Sansa too has given me good advice throughout."

Father looked pleased, but also surprised. He turned to Sansa to confirm Robb's words which she did with a swift nod, before taking her seat next to him. "Robb is modest, Father. The men call him the Young Wolf and for good reason. He leads them with honor and respect."

Robb was touched by his sister's endorsement and could not deny the pride and relief he felt at seeing how father took in those words with an approving smile.

"And Jon is a knight?"

"He is," Robb was proud of his brother's achievement.

Father smiled, "Good."

"There is something I need to tell you, Father," Robb began delicately, after receiving a pointed look from his sister.

"Oh?" Father's smile dipped, "Is something wrong?"

"No," Robb answered, "After we took Riverrun, I wrote a letter to Winterfell. I summoned Mother, Arya, and Rickon to us." Seeing him take in what was being said in stony silence, Robb quickly added: "I thought it was wise to invite them so as to secure the betrothal between Stark and Bolton."

Father didn't speak for a long moment. "That was wise, Robb."

He let loose a breath he didn't realize he was holding upon getting Father's approval of the decision.

Father's smile returned when he looked towards his daughter, "I trust that this meets with your approval?"

"It does, Father," Sansa was quick and confident in her response, but it was her smile that was the most telling.

Father chuckled, putting one of his hands over hers. "Good, I am glad." He then looked between the two of them, "Now, tell me everything you can, and leave nothing else."

Robb and Sansa exchanged smiles, "Gladly, Father."

"That is unacceptable."

Robb's head throbbed, but he tried to ignore it.

How long have we been here? Hours?

It was a good thing Grey Wind did not join them. He left his wolf to keep Father company while he and Sansa spoke with Kevan Lannister in the hopes of coming to some agreement in freeing their father from this unrightful punishment. In all this time they were still no closer to any deal.

Each offer the Lannisters made was similar to the one before it. It was just dressed in a different coat, and Robb was tired of it. He looked over to see his sister didn't look pleased, but she also wasn't growling like Robb did when he gave his answer or frowning like he was currently doing.

She is the shield, and I must be the sword.

"My Father will not take the Black," Robb said slowly, "And I will not fight for Joffrey Baratheon."

Kevan pursed his lips, undoubtedly not fooled by the tone Robb used to say the king's name.

Robb decided to try a different approach to try to get the man in front of him to see that these demands were too steep.

"You think the north will respect us if we fight for the king who arrested our father? My men have died to free him, and not only would you send him to the Wall, but then you'd have us fight under the banner of the very king who did that."

"Pity," Kevan's face conveyed no such emotion, "We're clearly at an impasse then."

Even cornered the Lannister arrogance was a sight to behold, Robb had to give them that. They have Renly in the south. Stannis was threatening their seas and they wish to stand and argue on a position of strength that did not exist.

This illusion fools no one save for them. It's time they saw that too.

"Very well," Robb shrugged, turning to his sister in a slow deliberate motion, "Then we shall send ravens to Lords Renly and Stannis when we return to Riverrun." He ignored whatever reaction his words got from Ser Kevan to keep his eyes remaining on his sister, "Who do you think is more likely to reach the city first, Sansa? Renly from Highgarden with the Reach and the Stormlands or Stannis from Dragonstone with the Royal Fleet?"

"I would think Renly," Sansa said simply, "That should help us. I dined with him many times during my stay in the capital. He considered me a friend."

"Then its settled," Robb loudly pushed his chair away from the table, "We'll have our fastest ravens go to Renly."

She looked agreeable, giving him a slight nod, and moved to slip out of her seat with quiet grace.

"You would end these talks so abruptly?" Even in their own failure, the Lannisters seemed to shift the blame to others.

"We're not ending them, Ser Kevan," Robb pointed out, "You are,"

"You must understand," His tone seemed to lose its rigidness. "The Crown and my family cannot just roll over and watch you join our enemies."

"What of a more simpler truce?"

"A truce?" Kevan repeated, unable to hide his interest in the idea.

Robb looked down to hide his smile. Allowing his sister to broaden the conditions of her sudden idea.

"A truce between Joffrey Baratheon's Iron Throne, Lannisters, Starks, and Tullys. A promise that we do not fight one another over an agreeable period of time."

"A year," Kevan said far too quickly.

In a year we're more likely to treat with Renly and not the Lannisters.

"Six months," Sansa countered, "With the promise that we can meet before it expires to extend it."

Six months or a year, Robb knew the Lannisters were interested: They had two armies in the south that were threatening the capital.

Robb stood behind his chair. "There would be no fighting in the Riverlands, and Tywin Lannister must withdraw from Harrenhal. No forces would be allowed to enter my grandfather's lands without his or my uncle's approval or leave."

"My brother and the Iron Throne would ask for similar conditions within the Crownlands and Westerlands. And that no northern or Riverland force allowed to cross those borders within the said period of peace."

"The north will be included too," Robb was not going to overlook his own lands. Just because they were not threatened now, did not mean they couldn't be in a few months. I'll not underestimate Tywin Lannister nor his grandson, both of whom will look for ways to reassert themselves and recover their pride.

It wasn't surprise but respect that flickered over Kevan's face at Robb's added condition. He nodded in agreement.

"The riverlords have grievances against your brother and what he did to their lands and people," Sansa had returned to her seat. "They will want gold to be paid to them for such unwarranted damages."

"Absurd," Kevan dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Unwarranted damages?" He scoffed, "This is war."

"You can clean it up however you want, Ser," Robb's hands clenched into the backframe of his chair, "but your brother broke the King's Peace when he invaded my grandfather's lands without cause."

"Those were brigands."

"That was the Mountain and the Bloody Mummers," Robb dismissed that lie and refused to let it breathe more than a heartbeat.

"I can discuss it with my brother," Kevan amended, "I am certain something can be agreed to. Gold has that way about it." His lips curved upwards slightly with his last words, "And what of the prisoners and ransoms?"

"My Father for the Kingslayer," Robb would not balk at this. "Nothing else. No oaths, No Black."

"What of your Father?" Kevan frowned, "If he is free then he is Lord of Winterfell once more and his rule supersedes either of you," he gestured to them. "What stops him from deciding that he is not abided by an agreement he had no part in?"

"My father is a man of honor," Robb would not have his character questioned or challenged especially by a Lannister.

"Our Father will agree to these terms himself," Sansa put forward in a more polite tone. "We will speak to him on that, and have him understand the importance of this peace. And not just my father, but my grandfather, and uncle too." She rested her hands on the edge of the table, "We need the same assurances from your brother, Ser Kevan as well as the Iron Throne not to change their minds and renege on our agreement."

"I speak on their authority, and their behalf," Ser Kevan said, but his tone conveyed that he knew that they'd expect more, "However, I will insure letters and seals be given and delivered with their agreement and my role and the power vested in me in this matter."

Father will agree, Robb was certain of it.

In terms of the peace, Robb was not sure how Davos would accept this, but neither Ser Davos or Stannis was his concern. This had been about his father. That was why he called the banners. It was always about freeing Father.

Their bannermen marched south with that purpose. They did not want to fight for Joffrey or Renly, or Stannis. They would accept this brief peace if it allowed Robb's father to be returned to his rightful place as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

I would put away my sword if it means Father gets to return to Winterfell, alive and free. He felt no hesitation on his part too, Let the south squabble, and for us to go home.

"That will be acceptable," Sansa looked over to him, who nodded in agreement.

"However, if Lord Tywin remains in Harrenhal or your armies under your nephew's banner or the Lannister banner or an ally's banner, march into the Riverlands than this truce is over," Robb warned.

"I understand the severity of that risk," Kevan told them. "I will make sure King Joffrey does as well."

Robb suspected Joffrey to be the real problem in keeping this peace. The little shit was spoiled and arrogant, and in a few months he would no longer need a regent, but could rule in his own name. Robb could only wonder how long the lions could keep him leashed.

We may not have to worry, he thought, the Lannisters may not have a kingdom to rule over in a few months if Renly or Stannis advance and win.

"What of the matter of the betrothal?" Kevan reminded them, "Peace is made not just in words or swords, but also in weddings." He turned to Robb, "A marriage between yourself and King Joffrey's sister and Lord Tywin's granddaughter could only strengthen the bonds we've agreed to this day."

I am the heir to Winterfell. I cannot marry a bastard. Her parents were brother and sister.

If the capital falls than what happens to her? Thinking back on Joffrey was overthrown. He felt no sympathy for him, but for Myrcella...

"She is welcomed to foster in Winterfell," Robb suggested, "That was the agreement between our fathers. A year there before any wedding between us." He pointed out in an effort to defend his choice or to deflect if needed.

"A hostage," He said suspiciously.

"A friend," Sansa corrected.

Ser Kevan shook his head. "I am sorry. That is not good enough. Princess Myrcella will stay with us." He did not look pleased, but he seemed to decide not to press it further. "What of the other prisoners?"

"They can be ransomed and exchanged once the outlines of our peace is official."

"To show our sincerity, we shall waive the ransom for your son, Willem, in the promise of this peace," Sansa offered.

Robb was silently impressed at not just his sister's offer, but the sincere display she wrapped it in. Once more showing her deft touch and talent as he watched Ser Kevan react accordingly to such a gesture.

"I will not forget that," He stood up, blocking the roaring Lannister lion stitched proudly into the red tent, and refilled their glasses. "I believe we can have an agreement on these terms."

Sansa's face remain poised, a slight upturn of her head and a restrained smile as she took the offered glass. "That is good news, Ser Kevan."

He returned her smile and turned to Robb where he handed him a glass.

Robb didn't care too much for the wine. He found this vintage too sweet to his taste, but he accepted it without complaint.

"To the peace," Kevan held up his glass to them.

Robb and Sansa raised their newly filled ones and joined him, "To the peace."