"Stop complaining Tris, you're riding as well as you were before."

Tristan grumbled at Dom's remark as they closed in on Riverrun. They'd just set off again after another break on the journey, and as always, Tristan had had to work the reins between the nearly clenched fingers of his claw. In the North it hadn't been such a problem, he could use his right hand to control his horse, but now they were south of the Twins, there was too much danger from robbers and broken men, so Tristan needed to keep his sword hand available, which meant he spent too long fumbling around with the reins on the road south. And it seemed that Dom had heard enough of it.

"I haven't had to fight for real since Theon did this, hardly enough to say that I am as good as before, that will be the real test."

"Stop trying to forget how far you've come Tris, or you'll end up being a complete sour puss," Daryn grinned from his other side.

"Elmar, hit Daryn for me," Tristan told his squire who raised his riding crop and laid a blow on Daryn's forearm.

"Couldn't do that yourself?" Daryn asked, grin still plastered to his face.

"Not worth my time, besides, you and Elmar is a much fairer fight." A crack on the air and a jolt of pain shot through his left shoulder.

"That must make me your equal," Cley said, bringing his own crop back, but he recoiled as Shield, slinking his way between the horses growled at him.

"Don't make me come over there!" Dom scolded them. "Bloody children, the lot of you."

Daryn spurred forward and laid his own blow on Tristan's right arm, Cley doing the same to his left. "Alright I warned you!" Dom raced forward, seized Cley's reins and dragged his horse away.

"Everyone should stop!" Elmar piped up, glaring at the three of Tristan's companions as only a child trying to be an adult can, but he was still clearly enjoying it all.

"You're right Elmar, we should," Daryn said, moving his horse away from them.

"Yes, sorry Elmar," Cley bowed his head in mock shame.

"So you'll listen to the boy but not me?" Dom demanded.

"We're afraid of the boy Dom," Tristan replied and all of them burst into laughter.

With the silence that fell, Tristan looked around at the land they were riding through. It had been untouched by the war since Robb had defeated Jaime Lannister right at the outset, but even so it was not recovered. Fields still showed the scars of fire and plunder, and those that weren't were only being tilled by half the farmhands, the rest were trying to rebuild homes and lives, or watching out for wolves and bandits. Or soldiers, they shied away as Tristan's host approached, watching them with fear and hatred in their eyes. "Why do they look at us that way?" Cley had asked at the first village, not having seen the war so far.

"They've had bad experience with soldiers," Daryn replied sorrowfully. "We didn't protect them the first time, why should we be trusted to do so this time?"

"It's not just the Lannisters that have taken," Domeric said. "Wars need food, coin, soldiers, who do you think has been taking them, and how politely do you think they were asked?"

"They have a duty to their liege, we needed them for the war," Tristan said, but something about it felt hollow.

A silence fell upon them as they and the army moved on, the trump trump trump of their boots thrumming in his ears like a slow ponderous heartbeat. That made him think of Robb. Did his heart still beat? Was he lying dead at Riverrun? Was it Robb waiting for him, or Robb's crown?

"Are we there yet?" Elmar asked to break the silence.

"That stopped being funny at Moat Cailin Elmar," Tristan said.

"Are we there yet?" Daryn asked.

Tristan twisted in his saddle to glare at the Lord of Hornwood.

"Are we there yet?"

"I'm warning you Cley?"

"Are we there yet?"

"Dom, you as well, or you may fall off your horse again."

Domeric raised an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

"Fall off his horse?" Elmar asked, "but Lord Domeric is the best rider I've ever seen."

He glanced at Dom. "Shall I tell the story?"

Dom waved his approval. "He's your squire."

"It was at my time at the Dreadfort. Dom and I had had an argument."

"Who could imagine that?" Daryn asked drolly.

Elmar spoke up before Tristan could continue. "What about?"

"A woman... I think." He glanced at Dom.

"Most likely, knowing you. And I did see her first."

"This is how it began," he said, turning to look at Elmar again. "Anyway, we were back in the Dreadfort, still couldn't decide what had actually happened. So we started yelling."

"Yelling, that's it?" Daryn commented. Of course he'd already heard the story, but he was asking the right questions for Elmar.

"Yes, yelling, such a commotion, it drew Lord Bolton."

"What happened?"

"I pointed at Dom's very heavily bruised face and explained, perfectly rationally, how he'd fallen off of his horse."

"And landed on his face?" Cley asked.

"Exactly." Tristan said, but still we were yelling.

"Okay," Daryn said, fixing him with a knowing gaze. "And you of course didn't fall off your horse."

Tristan nodded. "That's right, brilliant rider that I am."

"And exactly how many times did Dom fall off his horse?"

"Oh, you know, heat of the moment... I lost count."

"Did Lord Bolton ever suspect what happened?" Elmar asked.

"What, no questions?" Daryn asked the squire in reply.

Elmar shook his head. "People have 'fallen off horses' at the twins before. Usually because the guards catch them before they keep doing it."

Tristan was reminded again how lucky he was to grow up in Winterfell, compared to the Twins. "He knew full well," he replied. "Especially the next morning."

"What happened the next morning?" Elmar asked.

"Tristan misplaced his clothes during the night," Dom explained with a smirk. "As we all found out during breakfast."

They laughed, even Tristan, the memory of walking stark naked into breakfast at the Dreadfort lightening the mood on this long, dolorous march, even Shield barked out in a kind of laugh.

As the army settled down for the night, Tristan stood at the edge of the camp, looking south, towards Riverrun, they'd failed to make it that day, slowed by the disruption the war caused to the roads, but tomorrow they would and he'd finally learn what happened to Robb.

"Tristan, you have to rest at some point." Domeric approached, his pale eyes soft in the gloom and ringmail hard and dark.

"I can't, not while Robb-"

"We don't know about the king," Domeric said, taking his shoulders firmly. "We've come as fast as we could and-"

"Left behind men. If there'd been time, I could have brought more to aid the fight." There were six thousand men behind him. The men they'd taken north when they heard of the ironmen invasion were coming back with them again, a hard core. Joining them were wolves of winter, men who would only be another mouth to feed in winter, and came south looking for death. Older, but in driven, fierce and ready to die.

"War doesn't let us set the rules. This time speed mattered more. You needed to get to Riverrun, and we had to leave some men behind to watch the North anyway, you never know how Balon Greyjoy will react to your demands, he might comply, or he might double down and return with more ships. We've done the right thing Tristan, trust me."

His demands to Lord Balon had been simple. All ironmen were to leave the North, and Balon was to launch attacks on the southlands still holding to the Iron Throne. If he did this, then Tristan would order the release of his sons remains, and his daughter, whom Ser Rodrik had captured at Deepwoode Motte. Another thing to wait and see. He needed something he could do now, but all that was left was the cold and dark of the night.

"I know, Dom, I'll be there soon. I promise."

Dom patted him on the shoulder and, trusting in his word, left Tristan to his thoughts for just a few moments longer.

()()()

They made it to Riverrun shortly passed midday. Outside the castle was the army of his brother and the riverlords. Thousands of horses tethered in horse lines more than a mile long, tended to by grooms and squires and horsemasters. Men in fur lines cloaks sat around on the riverbank, or tested their steel against each other while other northmen and rivermen cheered and jeered and placed coppers on one fighter or the other. Teamsters drove wagons along paths beaten hard by thousands of hooves and boots, carts with swords and spears and arrows, carts with salted meat and bundled wheat and barley. On the riverbank pages and squires with nothing to do skipped stones across to the Rivermen on the eastern bank, who skipped more back with gusto.

The rivermen camp was larger, around twice the size of his brother's host of horsemen. He saw the banners of Mallister and Frey and Blackwood, of Bracken and Piper and both houses of Vance. Where horselines stretched on this bank it was pavilions on the other. Tent after tent for the men in the field, many of them on the bank. Young spears drilling under grizzled serjeants and men at arms. Youths who had come with dreams of adventure armed with sticks strapped with stones were now clutching spears of ash and oak set with a metal point in the shape of a leaf or arrowhead, glinting the fresh autumn sun like a thousand diamonds. He heard shields crashing together as they held they were taught to hold. This was his grand uncle's work. The Blackfish was using the time he had while the army was still to drill it as much as possible, make these levies be worth something. Men in metal caps and mail shirts marched in an attempted lockstep while outriders sped along the banks to keep their saddle legs or returning from a ranging to make sure the enemy were kept well away.

As he rode down the road through the northern camp men bowed to him and whispered to each other at the sight of the second wolf among them again. Some called out to him or to each other but he paid them no heed as he approached the castle.

Riverrun's drawbridge was lowered, men and women moving along it in both directions as messengers and servants moved one way or the other to deliver baskets of food and fruit or letters from one lord to another. "Make way for Prince Tristan!" Cried his men as he and his riders crossed the bridge to enter the castle of his mother's family.

Inside he was met by Uncle Edmure and a dozen knights in mail with swords at their belts. Edmure's blue surcoat with the trout on it leaping across the water. "Nephew!"

Tristan smiled as he dismounted, gently working the reins from his claw. "Uncle Edmure," he replied, greeting the man with a fierce embrace. "I hear you had quite the victory here".

Edmure's smile was half hearted. "Aye, but your brother was not most pleased. Apparently I was to let a Lannister army cross my land unmolested."

"And miss a perfect opportunity to spill lion blood?" Tristan asked. Why would his brother deny that, every victory worked in their favour. If the Tullys could spill their blood just as the Starks could, surely that would only put more fear into the hearts of their foes. "But speaking of my brother," he said before Edmure could continue on the topic. "I would see him now. And mother too, and Arya".

Edmure nodded. "Of course, they are all together. Your mother and sister have been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

His uncle led him inside Riverrun.

His family was in a large bedchamber, given over to them by uncle Edmure while Lord Hoster was confined to his bed in his own chambers. This castle is full of the infirm and dying, he thought as they opened the door.

He froze at the sight. His brother was lying confined on a bed, shirtless and sweating, eyes closed and hair matted Beside him his mother knelt and prayed while Arya sat on the other side, holding Robb's hand. Standing behind Cat was the Blackfish and next to Arya was Lord Umber, his brother's most trusted men. Grey Wind was curled at the foot of the bed, a silent sentinel of his master. They all turned when he entered. "Tristan!" Arya and his mother cried in unison. Arya reached him first, slamming into his middle and hugging him tightly. His mother joined her moments later, hugging around his neck and holding him close.

He wrapped his claw around his mother and stroked Arya's hair with his hand. "I'm here," he said. "I'm back". Shield bounded past him, leaping at Grey Wind and Nymeria who through themselves at him in a tumbling mass of grey and silver fur.

"You saved them," his mother whispered. "Bran and Rickon... you saved them".

He nodded. "They're safe, and they'll never be in danger again."

"My Prince," said the Blackfish. Unlike his mother and sister, he did not seem relieved, but concerned. "What happened to your hand?"

Their eyes were all dragged to his claw. "Theon," he replied, holding it up, his rage burning at the mere thought of the turncloak. "His last mad act against House Stark was to give me a claw. I took off his head as payment for that."

"Good," Arya replied fiercely. "He deserved to die".

"And die he did sweet sister," he replied. "I'll tell you all about it later, for now, my brother, what happened? Your letter was vague mother."

"His grace led an attack on the Crag. The castle fell soon enough, but a luck crossbow bolt found its mark in the King."

"We urged him to wait until he was fully recovered, but he insisted on riding, he had to return to Riverrun. The journey was hard on his leg and he fell at the end. He's been abed ever since".

"The maesters say that he has past the worst stage, as long as we keep cleaning and tending to the leg it shouldn't become infected, and he should recover, but it may be some time," his mother said. He had seen the look in her eyes before, when Bran fell from the tower. Thank the gods, his brother waited for him, not the crown... never the crown.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Robb will recover," he swore. "He's stronger than Bran, and Bran recovered. And he would never abandon the North to my hands."

They glanced at each other. "That's why we called you here Tristan," his mother said. "We need you to take your brother's Kingdom and rule it until he returns t us."

"What?" Tristan gasped.

Brynden Tully took up where Catelyn had left off. "You are the only one who can," he explained. "Your brother has the loyalty of both Rivermen and Northmen, but your brother is the only one who could be assured of the loyalty of both."

"There is treason in the air?"

"No, but there are disputes over who should be in command, and your name is the only one that they settle on."

But I have nothing – no victories, no patience... no talent. "What about you mother, or you Ser Brynden, all know your reputation, surely they would follow you? Or you Greatjon! You were my brother's greatest champion?"

They all shook their heads. "They respect me as your mother and your father's widow, but this is war, they cannot follow a soft woman into war. Especially not since I pushed for peace before Robb was crowned."

"I would love nothing more than to lead the men, my prince, but I would have half the northern lords competing for the position, and all I can be sure of from the Riverlords is uncertainty." Said Greatjon, his eyes filled with longing for battle and command.

"And I am old, my rank is nothing more than household knight, and I am a riverman besides. It is not enough. You are the only one who can keep this all together."

"You must take up Robb's mantle. We cannot afford a debate on the matter, you have his authority and blessing to serve. The men will follow you. When the Lannisters march, you will need to face them," his mother said.

"They haven't marched already?" They should have marches as soon as word reached them that Robb was injured, why hadn't they.

His mother shook her head. "We've kept the news as secret as possible. We had to buy time for you to get here. Most are unaware that Robb is injured. But that will soon change."

"Why?"

"There's a pet of Lord Tywin's stalking the castle, he's been here three days now, waiting for an audience with the King. We've denied him so far, soon he'll know or guess the real reason why."

Tristan was confused. "Lord Tywin's pet?"

"A negotiator," his mother explained. "Sent to haggle for Ser Jaime's return."

"Bloody Kingslayer."

"Well Tywin can't well have him, not unless he gives us what we want," Tristan said. He knew that much at least.

GreatJon slapped him on the back. "You've got the right of it prince."

"And now we have the authority to tell him that," his mother said.

"We can have him summoned here when you're ready, my prince."

"Wait, I-"

"No we should do it in the main hall, for all to see, as Robb did last time."

"Yes, it would be a good way to ensure that the lords are with Tristan."

"Is he ready for that though?"

"He has to be, we have to."

"We must do it soon, we can't remain complacent forever. Soon the army will have to march."

"Against what target?"

"That's for Prince Tristan to decide."

"When?"

"As soon as he is able?"

"My prince when will you-"

They all fell silent as they caught sight of Tristan's cloak whipping around the door.

He gasped for air as he burst out onto Riverrun's battlements. He gripped the stone barrier tightly, fingers whitening and cold air flooding into his throat as he looked out over the flowing waters of the tumblestone bent into the red fork of the Trident.

"Tristan." He turned around to see Arya hurrying after him. "Are you okay?" Concern was etched on her face, behind her, Shield and Nymeria followed, jaws low to the ground. Nymeria nearly as tall as she was now, and instinctively Arya wrapped her arms around Nymeria's neck when the wolf pulled up beside her.

"I just needed air," he said, bowing his head between his arms. "It was too loud, too hot in there."

Arya walked over and tucked herself into his side. "They've been like that ever since Robb came back, arguing, fighting, waiting, never shutting up when we need it."

"And now they want me to stop them?"

Arya looked up at him, grinning. "You could just beat them all until they shut up."

He raised his eyebrow. "It worked for Tywin Lannister's men in Harrenhal."

"I'm not Tywin's men, I'm better than that at least."

"So you could beat them more."

He frowned. Had Arya been so broken by her journey through the war? "Are you seriously saying you want me to beat our mother into unconsciousness?"

"I hope not." They looked back at the door they'd come through. Their mother stood there, blue dress wrapped around her and a heavy fur cloak draped over it. Despite it she had allowed herself a small smile. "I'm sorry Arya, can I speak to your brother?"

"What do you want from him?" She stood between him and his mother like a guardian.

"It's okay, Arya," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Go back to Robb, we'll be there soon, I don't doubt."

Arya looked back at him, not moving until he looked her in the eye and nodded. She and Nymeria moved off, slipping past their mother without a look.

"What happened to her?" He asked.

Catelyn looked after Arya, pain in her eyes. "She's not happy that we've kept her hidden from the negotiator."

He walked over and hugged his mother and she nuzzled her face into him. "Thank you, for Bran and RIckon, I thought they were gone, I thought-"

"They're okay mother," he told her, rubbing her back as well as he could with his clenched claw. "Theon has been punished and the ironmen driven from the North, now there's only the Lannisters to be concerned about."

"And the Tyrells."

His lips thinned into a line. Together the Lannisters and Tyrells were strong, but not unbeatable. All they had to do was hold out until Robb got better, then he'd find a way to win.

"I'm sorry," she said, stepping back and wiping a tear from her eye. "Tristan, we got too loud in there. If you're to step into Robb's place-"

"I can't step into his place! I'm nothing compared to Robb."

She smacked his chest. "I spent as much time squeezing you out as I did Robb, you are not the same person, but don't think you are lesser than him."

"I'm am lesser, he's a king now."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "He is, though I'd much prefer it if he wasn't and we were all at peace."

"And let father's killers get away with it?" He demanded.

"For Sansa, for every one of you, my children, I would in a heartbeat."

"I can't let that happen." He said. "If I have my way, I'll do to all of them what I did to Theon." Shield nibbled at his hand and he knew to calm himself down. "Mother, I can't fill Robb's shoes. I just can't."

"You have to."

"How?"

She took his hand. "Tristan, I will help you however I can."

"I haven't commanded a war before."

"No, but you don't have to, not right now."

"What do you mean?"

Catelyn released his hand. "You have plenty of time to prepare for war, listen to those with greater experience than you, as Robb did, and then make the best decisions. But right now, the only matter that requires you to act now is this matter with Tywin's negotiator. Summon him, deal with his demands. Then we can move on to war."

He nodded. It was just one negotiator, he could do that, couldn't he?

"Will you be there?"

She shook her head. "No, I will stay with Robb and my father. If you are to truly be Robb's regent, you cannot be seen to be mothered, by either your enemies or your lords. I told you, they respect me, but they do not wish me to rule, or even be seen to."

"So I have to do this alone?"

She smiled at him, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Oh Tris, when have you ever really been alone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Boys," her mother called over her shoulder, and Dom, Cley, Daryn and Elmar emerged, looking at him with smiles and friendship.

"You didn't think we'd leave you alone did you?" Daryn said, cocksure as always.

He couldn't help but smile.

"Let it be known when you are ready to meet with the negotiator, and everything will be handled from there." Catelyn said before turning and moving past his friends. "Keep looking after him boys, or I feed you each other's balls."

"We don't doubt it my lady," Cley grinned back.

When his mother was gone and he was alone with his friends did he let himself fall to his knees. "I can't do it," he said. "How can I hold all of this together?"

"Because you're Tristan Stark," Domeric said, striding over and pulling him to his feet. "Son of Lord Eddard, brother of King Robb, that alone will have your people at your back."

"And anyone who isn't, we'll beat into line," Elmar piped up, flexing his boy muscles.

Maybe you and Arya are better suited than I thought.

"But I can't be Robb."

"Obviously you can't you're you. I can't be you, why should you be Robb?" Daryn asked.

"You can't be him because your sword arm is too dull," Cley commented.

"And my wit too sharp Cley."

Even Tristan smiled. "So what do you suggest I do?" he asked.

Domeric folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you can't be like Robb, so don't, we need to decide on our path forwards, and if you are to lead us, you must be confident that you know what you're doing."

"So."

"So you must embrace that you are not Robb. You told me once that you were his dark mirror, the shadow of his sword. Embrace that. Be Robb's darkness, so that when he returns, he can bring them back to negotiation and they will long to talk with him."

He could do that at least, he always had a penchant for violence that Robb never did. But... "There is already a negotiator here, sent by Lord Tywin, I'll have to deal with him in some way."

"Just send him away, let him know that we aren't talking unless they offer us what they want," Daryn said.

Tristan shook his head. "He's not here to end the war, only to negotiate for the release of Jaime Lannister."

"What is this negotiator suggesting?" Dom asked. "He must have something to trade if he thinks we'll be willing to give Ser Jaime up."

Tristan thought back to the meeting. "A trade, Sansa for Jaime Lannister."

"Just Lady Sansa?" Dom asked.

"Well they offer Arya as well, but we have her."

"They offered lady Arya when they didn't have her?" Cley asked, confused. "How can they do that?"

"Because the shame of trading one girl for Jaime Lannister will likely outweigh any loss of face for their lie, so they see it anyway," Domeric said.

"So what, reveal their lie?" Tristan said.

Domeric nodded. "We can hardly keep it hidden forever anyway. This way we can control when it reaches King's Landing, and the manner in which it does so."

Tristan nodded. "I suppose."

"And we should punish them," Cley said.

They all looked at him. "How?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but they should be punished. My father used to say that negotiations cannot be trusted if not made in good faith. If we want the Iron Throne to accept an independent North and Trident, they'll have to start treating us with respect." They looked at him stunned. "What, my father taught me some things."

"Evidently, remind me never to try and fleece you at cards," Daryn said. "But how do we punish them, what weapons do we have for it?"

"Tywin Lannister's favourite son," Tristan said.

()()()

The great hall was crowded with the lords of the North and Trident. Men of snow talked and laughed with men of water and river to either side of the hall. On the whole there were men of the north to the left and men of the trident to the right, but he noticed that a good few had switched to sit with men of the other side.

Tristan had changed for the occasion, a thick tunic emblazoned with the Direwolf of Stark and a cloak of the blue, red and white colours of Tully made up his wardrobe, and black leather gloves covered his hand and claw. Better not to show that particular deformity yet. Elmar was dressed in his finery, but his friends were in ringmail and carried their blades, they were to be his guard of honour for this occasion.

All talk ended when he entered the room, flanked by his friends and by Shield. He marched down the hall, feeling the eyes burning into him, but he kept his head forwards, heading towards the heavy wooden chair that had been set before the Tully seat. He turned when he got to it, took a breath and looked out over them. All of them were looking at him, judging. This was his first time at their head and every one of them was looking to see what kind of regent he would be. Cley, Daryn and Domeric took up position behind him as his guard of honour and Cley stood to his side to attend him. Shield, who had walked up beside him curled up at the base of the chair, head raised and fixing his lords with his golden predator eyes. "My Lords," he said nearly coughing over the words. "It is time for me to confirm what many of you have suspected. King Robb is abed, and unlikely to rise in any time. In his place I will stand as his regent, to speak in his name until he is returned to us. I do not wish my regency to be marked with opposition to you, so I ask you all to stand by me in this, do I have your support?"

A deafening silence met him. From the corner of his vision, he saw Elmar nod at the GreatJon, as he had been instructed.

"Aye, Prince Tristan, until King Robb returns to lead us, I will support you."

He stood alone, whispers and mutterings beginning to circle the room. This time, Elmar nodded at Stevron Frey, the heir to the Crossing. "Aye, I say we cannot afford division now, as King Robb's brother and heir, I say that Prince Tristan is the only choice before us."

He saw Lord Blackwood shoot a venomous word and harsher look at Ser Stevron and glare intently. He turned his head, scanning the lords for Lord Bracken, hadn't they had a rivalry or something? Sure enough he found Lord Bracken on the other side of the hall, caught his eye, before looking at Lord Blackwood to draw his gaze.

Seeing a chance to outshine his rival, Lord Bracken got to his feet. "Aye, Prince Tristan, I pledge my men and swords to you in these dark times, until the king is returned to us."

Not to be outdone, Lord Blackwood also got to his feet. "Aye, and I. We must be led as one or all is lost."

"You are the Stark before us now," Lady Mormont and her daughters stood as one. "We are yours, my prince."

They had enough now, others were getting to their feet and he nodded subtly at Elmar, who beckoned Daryn to step forward. "All pledge loyalty, to Tristan Stark, Prince-Regent of the North and Trident!"

"To Prince-Regent Tristan!" The lords and ladies around the room called, and those that didn't at first were quickly shamed into following suit. No one wanted to make an enemy out of the regent it seemed.

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. They were his, for now at least. Holding out his hands, he silenced them. "My lords, we have been still and impotent for too long. My slow return is partly to blame, but it must no longer be, I propose that we hold a council of war this very evening. Bt before we do, there is only one last matter to decide. Bring in the negotiator."

He took his seat and the lords around the hall followed suit. The door opened and, escorted by two Lannister guardsmen and a dozen riverrun guards, Lord Tywin's negotiator entered. He was a tall man, with copper bronze hair, a clipped beard and a man in a hood stitched into his robes.

He had been informed of the change in power just before the meeting and, though trained enough to hide it on the surface, the look of surprise and anger at what had been hidden from him had been delicious to see. Tristan couldn't wait for what was to come next.

"Please, my lord, may I ask your name?" He asked him.

"I am Lord Hester Banefort, emissary of Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and Hand of the King. Here at his personal request to negotiate for the release of Ser Jaime Lannister."

Tristan nodded slowly. "A hard demand for me too match, what terms do you offer for his release?"

"Lord Tywin agrees to uphold the Queen Regent's offer, the return of Lady Sansa and Lady Arya for Ser Jaime."

"Does he?"

"He does Prince-Regent, he gives his word as Hand of the King." With that, Lord Hester drew a piece of parchment from his shirt, waxed shut with a red button. "This is his offer in writing." Tristan gestured and Elmar strode forward, chest puffed out in pride, took the letter, and brought it back to Tristan. He broke the seal and read the letter. Sure enough, there was Lord Tywin's offer, in black and white. As black and white as truth and lie."

"I cannot accept this offer, my lord," he said simply, folding the letter and tucking it away."

Lord Banefort nodded, as though he had been expecting it. "I see my lord, if only I were empowered to offer more, I would, but Lord Tywin sees no reason to do so."

"Perhaps he should," Tristan said, his voice as cold as ice. "Offer more and stop lying to us and I might consider Tywin's letters as more than papers to wipe my arse with on the privy."

A chuckle went around the room. Lord Banefort, to his credit, did not flinch at all. "You have a problem with Lord Tywin's offer Prince-Regent. If so I will take it back to him."

Tristan got to his feet. "I do have a problem with it, and so do you. You have made an offer you could not possibly fulfil."

He saw a flicker of confusion and wondered just how much Tywin had told his emissary. "How so, Prince-Regent?"

Tristan turned his head over his shoulder. "Oh Arya!" He called, and a side door opened. Escorted by two Stark guards and Nymeria at her feet. Mother had been able to convince her to wear a dress for the occasion and she and the maids had been able to make her look the princess she was. "Lord Banefort, this is my sister, Princess Arya, and her wolf, Nymeria." She grinned at Lord Banefore, who was notably able to keep his face still, though he saw the muscles twitching under the skin. "You see, my sister has told me the story of how she escaped King's Landing when my father was imprisoned by Joffrey. This means that both Lord Tywin's offer, and that of Queen Cersei, is worthless."

Cheers from around the room rained down on Lord Banefort who, to his credit, still did not flinch. "I have just been proclaimed Regent of my brother, Lord Banefort, this puts me in a good mood, so, bring him in!" He called again. From a door on the other side of the room, four men dragged a shaggy haired, rotten clothed Jaime Lannister forward to more jeers from the surrounding lords. Jaime Lannister looked him in the eye and, even now, had the gall to smile. "Hello Stark, have you missed me?"

He bit back his retort and turned back to Lord Banefort. "My Lord, half of what Tywin offered me has been returned without his doing anything at all, so I am of half a mind to give back half of what Lord Tywin wants, for free. So tell me, Lord Banefort," he got to his feet and walked slowly over to Ser Jaime. "Which half of Ser Jaime would you like?"

There was a deathly silence. "Prince-Regent," Lord Banefort said, hands extended in a placating manner. "There is no need for this, I will return to Lord Tywin at once and inform him of your... displeasure with his terms."

"Yes you will," he growled, Shield advancing on Lord Banefort, fangs bared. "And you will tell Lord Tywin that he is to treat us with the respect we deserve and start negotiating in good faith."

"I will, Prince-Regent."

"And I need to make sure that Lord Tywin understands this, so, Elmar," he turned to his squire and nodded. "Fetch me my sword, and bring me one of those benches!" A bench was carried over as Elmar brought his new sword over. He drew the blade, the steel shining in the room. With the point of the blade he gestured for Jaime to be taken over to the table.

"You wouldn't dare Stark!" Jaime said, all humour gone, replaced with rage. "You think that my father will let you get away with this?"

"Ser Jaime, I need to let your father know that he can't get away with this. He has taken the north for granted despite us defeating his armies and burning his lands. I have decided that a sharper lesson is needed."

Cheers rolled out across the room. Calls of 'kill the lion', 'slay the kingslayer' and 'stick the sisterfucker' could be heard and above them all, Arya crying out in glee for him to take his head, like the Lannisters had done to their father.

"Prince-Regent!" Only now did alarm filter into Lord Banefort's voice. "Ser Jaime is your prisoner, you cannot kill him, you are required to treat him with respect."

"Respect?" Tristan asked as Jaime was forced onto the table, cheek pushed against the wood. "Like the respect that Tywin has shown me? Like the respect he demands but refuses to give."

"You cannot kill him!"

"Kill him?" He held out his arm for silence. "Whoever said I was going to kill him?" He looked down at Jaime, almost piteously. "Put his hand on the table."

For the first time, Jaime's eyes widened in fear as his right hand was forced onto the surface of the wood.

"Prince-Regent!"

But Tristan wasn't listening to Lord Banefort, instead he turned to the lords, who were nodding eagerly. "Let this be a lesson that Lord Tywin never forgets!" He brought his sword down on Jaime's wrist. With a scream and a spray of blood, Jaime's hand was separated from his arm and lay on the table like a dead spider, bone poking from the wrist and blood pooling on the wood beneath it.

"Take him away." He said to the guards and they dragged the whimpering Jaime, still dripping blood, out of the room. He then seized the hand and held it in front of Lord Banefort's face. "You will take this to Lord Tywin, I have a box all ready for you to carry it in. You will take it to him and tell him that the next time him I await his next envoy, he is to treat me with the appropriate respect. If he does not, am happy to send him more of the Kingslayer in the same manner."