A/N: Sorry for the wait. This one took a lot longer than anticipated to write up for a number of reasons. Also, I did a little comission for Cregan and I think it turned out great. All credits go to the artist ltvx on Artists & Clients, go check him out and send him some love if you're interested.

Chapter 3: The Riverside Bleeds

Westeros was not a place meant for travel. A large and hostile continent, its peoples were relegated to cities and villages since the coming of the Andals. Whatever noble lords, merchants or caravans deemed it worthy of their time to wander through the continent, it was most certainly always with a retinue of guards, trained or otherwise. It was not simply Westeros' cruel mother known as nature that would hunt its inhabitants however. Bandits, highwaymen, thieves and scoundrels, unwilling participants in what little grasp of society their people had. Cregan had wondered just how many highway bands and arrows to the neck he had avoided just for being part of this grand King's party.

It was a rather grim mindset, constantly pondering on every which way you could die, and he could not deny that he had similar thoughts on his way to Winterfell nearly a year ago now. 'Keeping yourself keen at all times will not do much save for predicting the knife slicing your throat seconds before it happens.' He repeated Olenna's words in his head, a snide remark at the child always seeming on-edge and aware, to the point of it seeming like a paranoia. The old woman did little to help him with his fears however, yet over time she did manage to guide Cregan to use that awareness into something useful. Listening.

He sat on a finely adorned wooden chair, overlooking the open window in his chambers. A suitable room, far less luxurious than what he was used to in Highgarden and not as rough as his own in Winterfell, yet more than enough for him. Between the four walls of his, Cregan sat in silence, patiently listening in to the sounds of the outside world as life began to spring forth. His wolf Sif lied lazily on Cregan's bed, no doubt tired from all the pacing around his chambers he had to do. Still, it was getting harder and harder to justify having him stay in Cregan's chambers. As more time passed, the direwolves seemed to be growing faster and faster, with only a few months passing, they had effectively grown to the size of an average wolf, yet personality wise they were still more than cubs.

Outside, the workers of Castle Darry continued with their business. He heard the pushing of carts, chatter amongst the metalworkers, smiths and shiners working on replacing the irons on horses, guards talking in groups of the next card game or night at the tavern. Somewhere farther, he heard the neighing of horses and barking of dogs, the houndmaster must be leading Lord Darry's muts out of their pens for the day. Meanwhile, a crow was cawing just outside his window on a nearby tree branch. Cregan leaned out of his chair to see if he could see it, but the crow flew away just at the moment he had managed to spot it, leaving the branch swaying up and down for a few moments as leaves slowly scattered from its reach.

"I suppose it didn't want to be seen…" he murmured to himself, falling back into the soft furs of his chair. A knock came from his door, "Come in." Cregan replied.

"M'lord..." Tor slowly entered, a studded grey doublet and a pair of hosed pants laid neatly across his arm. "Your clothes, as requested."

"Well done Tor, you can place them on the bed over there."

"Yes m'lord." For his brutish and rough appearance, Tor was far more meticulous and precise than most anyone in Winter Town could give him credit for, save for perhaps Willy.

He was afraid at first how the direwolves would react to people constantly being around them, much more how they would react to them. Sansa agreed upon keeping Lady in the kennels along with the other dogs upon the Queen's command, layered with honey in the form of a polite request of course. With Sif it was not quite as much a bother, the wolf kept himself to Cregan's chambers or by his side whenever they would leave anywhere, he may not be as well behaved as Lady, but he was far better than Nymeria or Summer. Arya and Bran were of a different mindset however, and would often sneak into the kennels to let their wolves out and have them follow the Stark children around. Speaking of…

"Have you seen my sister anywhere Tor?" he asked the barrel of a man who was in the process of neatly laying out his clothing for the day.

"I have m'lord." Tor replied simply. A man of few words as always.

"Where?" he continued to pry.

"Out with the prince m'lord. Seems they've goin out on a walk."

"How quaint. It's nice to see she has been hard at work with improving further relations between House Stark and Baratheon."

"I do not think that is the reason m'lord."

"Willy will have to teach you sarcasm one day Tor." he put a hand to his chin, thinking if he himself had been neglecting his own duties. Though perhaps it would be a bit demeaning to refer to princess Myrcella that way. Ever since that dance in Winterfell, the two exchanged nary a word between one another. Yet that would have to wait unfortunately, "And what of Arya and Bran Tor? Where are they?"

"Lady Arya is in the courtyard right now m'lord. Teaching Nimmy-... er, Nymeria, some new tricks." Tor explained, yet Cregan couldn't help but hold back a chuckle, the direwolves had grown a fondness for the young man, and he to them it would seem. "And Bran said he would come up to meet you now m'lord."

"Now?" he raised his brow. "Why didn't he come up with you then?"

"I didn't say he would come up with the stairs m'lord."

Just then he had managed to spot a head of dark auburn hair peeking out from the window, and the sounds of a little Stark struggling to firmly place his foot on any which stone.

Cregan sighed and got up from his chair. "Of course…" he murmured while quickly going towards the window. "Bran!" The sudden shock from the boy's face was obvious, as was his hand slipping. Had he not grabbed the boy by his collar there was no doubt he would have fell, though that was his plan, if he didn't wish to listen to reason, then a little bit of fear might be good to put some sense into the child.

With one hand Cregan easily pulled the boy through his window, compared to carrying Sif off his bed every evening, Bran might as well have been a feather. The boy grunted as he fell flat on the hard wooden floor. "Never slipped once, eh?"

"Well of course I'll slip if you scare me like that!"

"Good, remember that feeling the next time you think of doing something like that. Because next time I won't be there to catch you should you bugger it up."

The boy got up from the floor and dusted off his clothers. Like his father and brother the boy was dressed in attire befitting of a son of nobility. In a grey tunic and dark brown pants he carried with him both the colors and sigil of House Stark embroidered on his chest. While Cregan himself would have liked a far more simple form of attire to wear, the wrath of his twin was something he would be wise to avoid, especially if her precious prince saw him in a simple wool shirt.

"I never fell off Winterfell's walls…" Bran mumbled to himself, clearly intent on proving his acrobatic skills were up to par. That was not the issue however.

"For the last time Bran, Castle Darry is not Winterfell." he grabbed his brother by the shoulder, helping him wipe off whatever dirt he still had on his tunic. "You may know those stones better than anyone, know every nook and crevice to put your feet into, every hole to slink those fingers in, which ones to avoid, which are sturdy, which are loose. Here that knowledge means nothing. What do you know of Castle Darry?"

"Not true!" Bran interrupted him, his voice cracking. "That's why I'm doing it, so I know where to climb and where not to!"

"Is that so? And I assume today wasn't the first time you've been pulling this foolishness right under father's nose? Despite the promise you made to mother?" That got him to mind his words at least. If all those stories of knights and adventuring had any worth, it was to instill in Bran a sense of honesty and integrity, one that proves useful when trying to guilt a child into a confession. "Well Bran, have you been going against mother and father's wishes again?"

The boy looked down, trying to avoid his brother's gaze as much as he could. "No…" Bran murmured as softly as he could. Before he could pressure the boy any further however, sounds of scratching at the door. He seemed to have forgotten their entire conversation as Bran immediately began to light up. "Summer!" he said instinctively.

'Of course, would he go anywhere without him?' Cregan often asked the same for his own direwolf, but perhaps the better question was if Sif would ever get bored enough to stop following him about.

Tor opened the door and the silvery grey direwolf quickly rushed to his master's side. "You've finally named him then?" Cregan asked, to which the boy nodded and scratched the wolf standing eagerly by his side. "Well, it's as good a name as any I suppose."

"Why did you give Sif the name you did Cregan?" the boy asked, trying his best not to divert the conversation back to what it originally was.

"It's from an old story I heard of, one I was told back during my days in Highgarden."

"Really? Can I hear it?" That got him excited, if there was anything his little brother was more passionate about than knights and adventuring, it was hearing about it through stories. Robb would often tell him how Bran had longed since winded out Old Nan's tongue with retelling the same stories over and over again. It made him wonder how the boy and prince Tommen did not come about one another yet, he may have been a bit younger than him, around Rickon's age more like, but the two were practically the same. Well, save for the climbing.

"You can, and one day I might be willing enough to tell you." He opened the door to his chambers. "Now get out, all of you."

Tor was the first to leave, hopefully to reunite with Willy, he was not good by himself for too long, that he knew at least. Bran pouted stubbornly, clearly intending to get out the same way he came in. That was not a possibility now of course so the Stark boy quickly conceded, with Summer and Sif close behind. "Not you, you damn mutt." he stopped the direwolf with his foot. "Of all the times you choose to get up…"

Dressed as lavishly as rough travel would allow, Cregan and his wolf walked about the courtyard. Though they may have been staying here a few days now, there were still those who would gaze at the Starks, from a distance and when they were sure they would not notice of course. Cregan would always notice however. Sif did not care for it however, he was a passive animal all things considered, perhaps the exact opposite of ones like Shaggy Dog or Nymeria, yet that did not stop Cregan from attempting to train him as best he could. The best he could entailed teaching the wolf to sit when commanded and not pounce at any horse or dog he deemed fit as a fine meal, so far he was mostly successful.

Nymeria or Summer did not have those problems it seemed, and mainly kept themselves beside their masters, save for their tendency to go out and hunt for their own food. Lady was practically born trained, so there were never any worries for her. She suited Sansa well in that regard.

Speaking of the direwolves, Cregan and Sif both quickly spotted one, Nymeria, standing dutifully beside Arya. It was not an uncommon sight, were it not for the red-haired boy standing opposite her. They were searching for something, talking and laughing, and it was clear the girl was having fun for once. And from her dress being utterly worn out and dirtied, he could easily figure out why.

Unlike his twin, Arya was a wild spirit through and through. While Bran was interested in the more chivalric side of exploration and adventure, Arya did not follow any of those kinds of dreams. If one were to ask Sansa, she would describe her as uncouth and completely un-ladylike, something that more often than not proved to endear her to the more common people. It helped that she had no problem making new friends quick.

"And just where have you been?" he approached the two and asked his sister, who turned in a panicked motion towards him. It didn't take much to sneak up on her, which was why he was glad Nymeria often stayed beside her, as the wolf's nose and hearing were far better than hers. The only reason she did not begin barking now was because she knew Cregan well enough to not consider him any kind of threat, as she also considered all the Starks.

Arya quickly got up from her crouched stance, hands filled with autumn leaves. "None of your business."

"That's where you are wrong dear sister. I can't expect Nymeria to be with you everywhere you go, and not even a direwolf can beat back a hungry bear, least not with their current size." he turned to the red-headed boy. "And who might you be?"

"He's my friend." Arya answered angrily, not even letting the boy open his mouth. Despite her clear stand off with the elder Stark, Cregan ignored the girl completely, nodding to the peasant boy to finish his sentence.

"Mycah, m'lord." the red-head answered in a shaky voice. "I'm-" before he could finish what he was saying, Cregan raised his hand as a realization came upon him.

"The butcher's boy, correct?" he asked and the boy nodded. "I remember now. Your father sold us some meat during our trip back to Winterfell, salted pork, and enough to last us a good few weeks from the terror of eating stale bread."

"Aye, m'lord." Mycah seemed to perk up for a moment. "Me pa and I, we go 'round on our meat wagon and sell goods to anyone who buys."

"He does good work then. I've never tasted pork so salty, that's probably why it lasted so long." Cregan said, before turning back to his little sister still standing defiantly between the two, yet her expression quickly softened upon hearing their conversation. "What, did you think I would punish you somehow?"

"No… it's just… I don't know." the girl answered indecisively.

"Well you were wrong either way. Now answer me this." he pointed to the two's pockets. "Why in Seven Hells do you two have pockets full of leaves? Did you think it would make you float or something?"

The two younger children looked at one another, giving away their intentions almost instantly. Cregan sighed, "You really should stop listening to Old Nan's stories Arya. You're not Bran…"

"But she said-"

"I know what she said, Gods do I ever. And I am saying that you two get those leaves out of your pockets before father sees. Why were you planning on swimming anyways? There are no lakes or ponds anywhere near here, besides…" he pondered on it for a moment, before the realization soon came. "Ah, so that's what you were after."

"Old Prince Rhaegar's rubies m'lord, we wanted to go and search for 'em." Mycah explained the epiphany out loud.

"Yes I'm well aware of the legend. And that's what it is, just a legend." he turned to face Arya, crouching down to eye level. "One you'd be wise to stay clear from little lady, last I remembered you could barely swim in a barrel of water, much less a running stream."

"That's what the leaves were for…" she spoke dejectedly, emptying out an unusually large amount of crushed leaves from the tiny pockets of her dress.

'Mother had that sewn specially for her. At least she's putting them to use I suppose.' Cregan rose up from his crouch and put his arms around his waist. "Well, let's go then."

Arya and Mycah looked at him both with raised brows, though Arya's was more of suspicion while Mycah's was that of fear, it seemed the butcher's boy was still not too comfortable around him as he was with Arya. "What do you mean, m'lord?" Mycah asked with a weary voice.

"To the Trident's course. We'll not be hunting for rubies, but it's a good enough way for me to keep an eye on the both of you. Now come, we'll be back before sundown."

"Shouldn't you be with Sansa and the little boy prince of hers, and what about your betrothed?" her voice was squeaky and caddy, resembling more of a farmer's daughter than that of a Stark noble. Still, Cregan much preferred it to the grim and sweet honey words he had grown so accustomed to over the years.

"You ask too many questions little sister." Cregan had already passed both of them and was making his way to the two's intended destination, not even slowing down his pace for them to catch up. "Now come, before I tell father you've been trying to drown yourself with pockets full of leaves."

The Ruby Ford as it was called only encompassed a rather small area around the neck of the Trident, and was called such during Robert's Rebellion, when the King fought and defeated Rhaegar Targaryen, crushing the Prince's chestplate with his hammer, sending the many rubies it was adorned with flying into the river. There have been those who have managed to find some of these famous rubies, and sold them for a rather large sum of gold, however all these years later it is rare to find them at the actual Ford, many of which having followed the Trident's course for so long. Still, that does not stop superstitious people from spreading legends about. It did not matter that they were not actually at the Ruby Ford, they were close to it, and Mycah and Arya were hungry for some adventure, as children are all want to do.

While he didn't allow them to actually swim in the ford, Cregan and the two still went along its side, the two direwolves following from across the rows of wayward trees. He held his hands to his back, slowly observing the stream as it peacefully went along. The birds flew to and fro, descending quickly to catch a small fish here and there, while the winds lightly blew leaves away from branches close by. With the sun out and clouds nowhere to be seen, it reminded him quickly of the many days he spent lounging on the grassy fields near Highgarden.

The calm was quickly interrupted however as he began to hear strange noises from behind. Arya and Mycah were not too fascinated with the scenery, but rather seem to have taken up arms against one another with large sticks.

"What are you two doing?"

"What does it look like? We're sword fighting, hyah!" Arya threw a swing at Mycah, who barely managed to block it in time.

"Truly you are the most fearsome little wolf on this continent." Cregan said with a sigh, no point in trying to argue with them. And what's the harm that will come of it? "Fine, you two have your fun. It's best we not go any further either way." he began looking around for a nice tree or oak to lie under. The Riverland's terrain was more muddy and soft than the Reach, yet there were still places like this one that had fields reminiscent of those grassy plains.

"Wait!" Arya quickly stopped him dead in his tracks, the sparks of an idea quickly forming in her mind. "You trained with knights and soldiers, didn't you Cregan? Just like Robb and Jon did with Ser Rodrik!" her eyes shone with a new purpose. "Can't you teach us how?"

"What?"

"Teach us how to fight with swords. Like all the knights do!" The excitement brimming from the girl was almost poisonous, and while Mycah was of a much more reserved nature it was clear he shared in Arya's enthusiasm.

Cregan sighed.

"Left foot forward, right one back… remember, don't slouch too much." he repeated the same commands for what felt like the tenth time in a row. "Grip it harder or it'll begin slipping when you swing."

Mycah was a fast learner, however his talents were wasted as a soldier. As he swung an overhead strike towards Cregan the Stark merely stepped to the sides and knocked the stick out of the boy's fingers with a quick jab. He did his best not to give the boy too many bruises, but it was clear he needed some form of tutelage aside from mere words and demonstration, so pain might just be the next best thing.

As the two boys continued their little training session Arya sat lazily to the sides with as much patience as the girl could muster, waiting for her turn. Though the girl was not that impatient in reality, that only applied to things she was not passionate about, sword fighting, unfortunately, was not one of those things. To the sides Nymeria was busy sniffing about the area, occasionally finding the odd mushroom to lick and then run away from. Sif meanwhile was too busy lounging himself on the warm grass and letting his furs soak up the Sun's gentle warmth.

"Right, pick it up again. I'll show you something."

"Yes m'lord." From the tone of the boy's voice he was growing quite frustrated, what with the dozen or so bruises forming around his hands Cregan could not quite blame him. One does not become a master overnight however, he himself learned that the hard way many times.

As he picked up his stick that lay strewn near Arya, Cregan once again took up a stance, this time facing to the boy's side. Mycah's face immediately let out a mental sigh, no doubt thinking he was about to get the stick flung from him again. "I want to show you something. Just pay attention to what I do." Cregan spoke calmly. Truthfully he was getting rather tired of this whole thing, but it was a good way to pass the time, and they did both ask him so who was he to say no to Lady Arya Stark and the famed butcher's boy of the meat wagon.

"Watch where my hands are." he slowly raised the stick just near the level of his eyes, and then with the speed of lighting struck the stick down to his waist, bringing it up once more faster than when he had struck it down. "You put too much effort into your blows, swing them back far more than you should. I can already tell where you are coming from before you've even begun swinging it. Have some more control, both of your weapon, and yourself."

The boy watched intently and soon readied his weapon, doing his best to imitate Cregan's movements. It wasn't anything special, yet it was clear he kept the instructions to heart.

"Good, now come at me one more time. Remember, no large swings, try and hit as fast as you can." He readied himself and faced the boy, their sticks facing towards one another. While Mycah himself was staring at Cregan intently, looking for any opening to strike, Cregan spotted something at the corner of his eyes. Just as he took his eyes off the butcher's boy, Mycah lunged the stick forward to his head. A quick jab, just like he had taught him.

The strike, however, was too quick for him to react to. He swung his stick up towards Mycah's just barely managing to shove it away from his temple, yet the boy's weapon still struck Cregan's head to the sides, causing him to stumble backwards. A sharp pain began forming to the side of his head, and with a touch he could see blood.

Immediately the boy began to panic, dropping his stick to the ground as he and Arya both ran to Cregan who clutched the point of impact. Through the panicked sounds of footsteps coming towards him however he heard something else. A girl's shocked gasp, followed soon after by a boy's laughter and then slow clapping.

Sansa and Prince Joffrey both stood some twenty feet away from the three, one with a look of horror, the other of amusement. 'Of course, he most likely dragged her here for the same reason these two wanted.' The Prince did not seem like the type to be ready to impress others, he had a rather haughty and prideful attitude about him that way, same as his mother.

"It would appear the peasantry has begun revolting again." Joffrey said in a sneerish tone as he approached them, a hand clasped down on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "I had heard tales of your prowess with a blade good-brother. No doubt they were all baseless rumors as I see now that even a lowborn pig herder can best you."

"It would appear so." Cregan said dejectedly, the two had not spoken even once before, and he had a feeling this would not be a good introduction.

"F-forgive me m'lord! I didn't mean to! You… you alway managed to get out on time I-..." Mycah scrambled to find his words, furiously apologising to the Stark before he stopped him.

"It's fine Mycah." Cregan managed to get himself back on his feet again. "I was distracted, and you pushed the advantage. Well done." he reassured the boy.

"Yes, well done indeed." the prince continued. "Though it is a shame we will have to cut off the hands of such a promising future soldier."

Mycah's eyes widened in shock, and he was not the only one. As Joffrey walked around the three, a hand on his chin and with a grin that could only be described as evil, Cregan observed the prince's hand that was gripping the sword. Ornately forged and perhaps costing more than what the average guard will make in his entire lifetime, it was a weapon made for a warrior and a nobleman, yet Joffrey looked to be neither unfortunately.

"I-... No, m'lord! No! I didn't mean it!" Mycah's fears all came back in a second as he now began groveling to the prince rather than to Cregan.

"I am not your lord peasant." Joffrey said, a scorn in his voice. "I am your prince. Are you so daft you do not know that? If anything I should cut your tongue out right now for your insolence."

Sansa quietly managed to get by her twins' side during the exchange. "What were you doing here?!" she whispered to him. "Father told us not to leave the Keep unless it's with him."

"I could say the same for you."

"That's different. You know it is." her voice could barely be described as a whisper by this point, yet still, she continued, not wanting their words to be heard by the prince.

"Yes well we shall debate differences later Sansa, as well as why I can smell wine from you." that got her to be quiet at least, yet not there was one more crisis he would have to deal with. The prince himself had redder checks than Sansa right now, and it was clear the boy was rather drunk. 'She's too prim to go against Father's wishes, and wine is something she never enjoyed. This is his doing, no doubt about it.'

"Leave him alone!" Arya shouted as she stood in-between the prince and Mycah.

"And who are you now?" Joffrey unsheathed the sword and pointed it to the little girl. The hilt by itself seemed about two sizes too big for him, yet the weight must have been ever harder for the prince to handle as he quickly went from wielding it with one-hand to two-handing the blade. "Another peasant girl intent on the rope?"

"Prince Joffrey no! That is my sister!" Sansa was the one who intervened this time. The relationship between the two had always been strained, but Sansa had too much of a gentle heart to ever allow her own kin to come to harm. Though Cregan could think of more reasons as to why she would stop this whole madness. "Please, there is no need to trouble ourselves with this nonsense. Come, let us continue our walk, please." her voice was soft and her words filled with grace.

As his sister slowly approached the prince, her attempts to calm him were only met with a scornful gaze, one she seemed to either not notice or did not care enough to interrupt herself. However, it gave Cregan the opportunity to jump in himself.

"Indeed, your Grace." he grabbed Arya by the shoulder and pulled her out of the way of the blade while he walked past the prince. The eyes were on him now, those same emerald green eyes the Queen possessed, yet with more vengeful hate than with luxurious poison. "Tell me, how well versed are you with that sword?"

"What?" the prince's brow raised as his sword began to descend lower.

"My brother Robb and I would often spar, back when we were in Winterfell. He and I often used practice swords, and fought another near every morning." Cregan said as he wiped off the new trickle of blood slowly running down the side of his head, the wound itself was nothing too major, simply a cut, yet it did still sting due to its freshness.

"Yes, and I see now that it did you no good."

"Then what say you and I have a bout then?" he crouched down to pick up the stick Mycah had dropped and then turned to face the prince. "I do believe I could use the practice."

The prince grinned, clearly amused at the little challenge Cregan was posing to him. "Very well then, good-brother. Allow me to show you then how it must be done."

"You have my eternal gratitude, your grace." Cregan bowed elegantly before putting himself into a stance, his left hand forward with the right one behind his back, holding the other stick right in its middle. "So then, shall we go for first blood?"

"Well seeing as how you are already one wound deep it would appear I'm already at an advantage then."

"No fair!" Arya jumped in at that point. "You can't beat him with just a stick!"

"Shut it!" he could hear Sansa tell their sister as she held her back from making things any worse.

"Don't worry, I'll manage…" he managed to comment through gritted teeth. The sting on his sides was getting harder and harder to ignore, but it was nothing he had not dealt with before.

As the prince soon gripped his sword against Cregan, the Stark once more readied himself. Sword and "Sword" both readied, they maneuvered around one another. To successfully manage what he was planning to do, he would have to lead the prince on a rather dangerous dance. As they circled around, not breaking eyes, Cregan could spot Sif watching the two, licking his snout, yet his tail was not waging as it often did when he would do such things. He trained the wolf well enough not to attack without his command, but he needed to be careful even more now.

All odds were against him now. The prince was a prideful one, more so than Lannisters usually are, and it seemed he inherited one thing from his father, a short temper. Anything could set him off now, and that would mean doom to Mycah, but that did not mean he was about to just let him have his way. Either way, Cregan will have to bleed, but that does not mean he won't be going down without a fight.

Joffrey was quick to make the first move. Mycah, while untrained and rather sloppy, still had experience with chopping things, whether that be firewood or meat. The prince however managed to somehow be worse than him. The blow was incredibly easy to predict, had he actually gotten an actual sword, any sound opponent would have killed Joffrey here and now.

A quick step to the sides and a tap to the back of the boy's knee sent him to the ground quickly. The prince did not relent however, faster than when he had fallen he was already back up and attacking Cregan again. Once again, had he an actual weapon, or even a practice sword, this would not be even a struggle; however he had only a flimsy stick. To account for this, Cregan did not block any of the prince's blows, rather choosing to deflect them along the arch they were already heading towards, simply away from him. He did his best to aim for the sides of the blade, as one direct hit would have no doubt split it in half.

The prince continued his rampage, if one could even call it that. Relentlessly, he attacked Cregan with blow after blow. 'I can't bruise you prince, you'll remember that too spitefully, but I can give you something else to remember, pain.' he thought to himself, dodging a side strike from Joffrey's blade.

From the sides Sansa, Arya and Mycah all began to slowly move away further and further from the two, it was beginning to show that it was not safe to be near them. Still, his plan was working at least, and the prince was getting winded. 'Just a little more, come on. And then I'll end this farce.' Cregan mentally goaded the prince, lowering his stick to show himself to be even more wide open.

The duel had quickly devolved into Cregan leading Joffrey around in a haphazard circle, trying to keep him as far away from three on-lookers as possible. Still, even he was getting tired of this, both emotionally, mentally and physically. It was a rather pathetic showing, one that Joffrey was no doubt aware of, however it will be worth it if he managed to perform this well enough.

The prince did a lunge with his blade, stabbing clearly toward Cregan's heart. 'Good enough…' he positioned the stick to beat back the blade, praying to the Old Gods and the New that he wouldn't cut his hand off with this. The stick bounced back off the blade, just enough for him to position his forearm at the tip. The prince was sent tumbling forward from his overreached attack, yet finally, it connected, and the steel cut clearly through both his clothes and his skin. A better outcome he could not have hoped for.

Yet no matter how planned out it all was, it did not change the burning sensation now running through his arm. The prince heaved and struggled to pick himself up from the ground, the eloquent and finely woven crimson clothing ordained in gold embroidery being overtaken by the wet mud long ago. At the same time, Cregan dropped both sticks from his hand and dropped to his knees. Gritting his teeth he clutched at the wound with his free hand. Just as Mycah's blow, the wound itself was nothing too deep, and thankfully only cut the tip of his skin. Yet the blood was clear to see.

"Well done, your Grace." Cregan spoke calmly through tired breaths as he slowly got up.

"Wh-what?" the prince also managed to get back on his feet it would seem, chest heaving up and down and sweat running down the boy's face.

"It appears you were right when saying I was not of any martial prowess." His voice not giving anything, Cregan slowly let go of the wound to show the prince his victory. "A battle well-fought, your Grace. We should do this again."

"Yes…" Joffrey's voice was unsure, indecisive to say the least. For a moment, Cregan thought the young prince had caught on to what he was doing, but his fears were soon dashed aside. "I shall give you this Cregan; you are of finer stuff than your brother. When the two of us sparred, he refused to duel with live steel. It seems you do not share his fears."

"That was incredible, my prince!" Sansa quickly came to the tired prince's side, not even sparing a glance to her bleeding and battered brother. "The blood of King Robert is strong with you, he would be proud of this victory I am sure." She coated the prince with honeyed words and for a moment, he saw the boy even crack a smile.

'Well done…' Cregan thought.

"You must be tired though, come, let us go back to the keep." she reached her hand up to the boy's shoulder, slightly nudging him away from the trio of Arya, Cregan and Mycah.

He turned to look at Sif and saw the direwolf was standing on all fours again. His tail low and eyes towards the prince. And though no one else seemed to have noticed, he could hear a low growl coming from the wolf. "Shh…" he reached out his arm towards the wolf to stay his teeth, the last thing he needed after all of that was Sif gnawing the prince's throat out.

"I suppose you are right." Joffrey clumsily sheathed the blade back in its scabbard. "It's not befitting of a prince to be playing in the mud with the commoners." he took another look at Mycah and Cregan silently cursed himself, all of this was meant for the prince to forget about the butcher's boy. Had his efforts been in vain?

"And you, peasant boy." he pointed at Mycah, who froze almost instantly. "I shall forgive your transgressions this time, both to my name and to my good-brother here. Do not let me see your face ever again."

"Y-yes m'l-... your grace!" he bowed to the Prince, who slowly walked off with Sansa.

For a moment, Sansa turned her head back to her twin and they gave each other a quiet nod. A catastrophe was avoided, and a measly cut was more than a fair price for it to be that way.

Cregan sighed and walked to the running river, washing his face and the wounds with the cooling water as Arya quickly ran over to him.

"You let him win?" she asked, an innocence about her soft tone. Whatever fierceness remained in her was long since buried.

"There was no way I could win."

"But, m'lord." Mycah said with uncertainty as walked over to him as well. "You let him cut you… I saw it, saw it with me own two eyes, I did."

"You did?" Arya asked on top of Mycah's words.

"Yes, I did."

"Then that means you did let him win!"

"No." he got up from the stream to look at the two. "Letting him win would mean I intended it to be a fair match in the first place."

"But you could have easily hit him and knocked him out on his arse!" Arya spoke dejectedly, the fire of frustration slowly beginning to rise in her once more.

"I could have, yes. So many times I could have knocked him 'on his arse'. And then when we would have all gone back to Castle Darry and receive lashings from both the Queen and Father." he turned to Mycah. "And you would be fed to the dogs."

Mycah gulped in fear as Arya sounded herself once more, "But-" she tried to yell out but Cregan stopped here.

"Enough." he said in a near whisper. "What happened has happened. What matters is that Joffrey will return to Darry with no slashes to his pride, and father and the King will be none the wiser." he splashed another rinse of water on his forearm to clean the cut, blood slowly trickled down towards the riverside, merging slowly into the water before disappearing down the stream. "Now go, both of you. Arya, take Mycah to the wagon and bring Nymeria with you. Mycah, for your sake I think it is better for you to stop being around my sister."

The two looked at each other and then back to Cregan, who paid them no heed. It was clear this matter was not up for dispute, and so his little sister and the butcher's boy went back to Castle Darry, Nymeria leading their way, a handful of chewed mushrooms stuffing her mouth. Their leave had left only him and Sif remaining at the Ford.

Sif approached his master and sat beside him. "What do you think boy?" he asked the wolf, showing off the cut. "Think it'll heal in time for my wedding?" Sif merely snorted in response.

The two sat there for an hour or so more before the sun had begun going down. He ripped a part of his shirt sleeve to bandage the wound, ruining the finely sewn doublet he had prepared for today, but that was the least of his worries.

He looked on at the running stream of water in front of his feet, the image of his own blood running down it embedded into his mind. The pebbles down under it shone like rubies in the Sun, one of them in between some dirt seemed to even glimmer like a true gem would. Yet the water's purity now seemed ruined, what little it had that is.

'I wonder… did Rhaegar's blood flow so smoothly along the current when he died.'