They arrived in King's Landing a month after leaving Winterfell. Ren had always both welcomed and resented the return to the city. The imposing walls of the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill came into view first, a vague shadow on the horizon over the trees, followed by the rest of the city, a sprawling mass covering the three hillsides and spilling down to the Blackwater river. It looked impressive from here, and intimidating; both of which it was built to be, of course. Though the Targaryen sigils had been replaced with stags, though the dragon skulls had been moved to below the castle, gold banners replacing red and black, the spirit of the dragons who had ruled there for hundreds of years was never truly erased, worked into the red walls of the castle itself.

Ren fell back into routine of being in the city easily. He woke early, did any squiring duties that were required, then sparred in the practice yard until past midday, Jaime often coming down to join him, whether that was to spar with him or other Kingsguard knights. Then it tended to be lunch with Loreon and several of the other boys their age, sometimes Tommen too, depending whether his mother was looking for him or not. Ren's afternoons were his to do with as he pleased - half the time that involved another hour or two of practice - which now included the added presence of his family there. And Lizzie, of course.

Arya, Sansa and Morganna were staying in the Tower of the Hand along with his uncle. He didn't see Lord Stark much in those first few days, as if the man wasn't in small council meetings, then the king demanded his presence, or he was meeting privately with certain characters like Littlefinger or Varys. About what, Ren wasn't certain, but he had his suspicions, and it could be nothing good.

A letter from his mother had arrived three days after they reached the city. All letters from his mother came through Jaime - apparently the Grand Maester read through all letters that were not addressed to a Lannister - so it was no surprise when the knight handed him two envelopes one morning, one for him and one for his uncle.

"I'd deliver that now, if I were you," Jaime said casually, sharpening the blade of his own sword for once. "It's not exactly good news,"

"You read it?" Ren raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed.

"Only yours,"

"I didn't know you had so much respect for Lord Stark," Jaime snorted at his flat response, and Ren smiled as he took the letters and left, reopening his own as he walked. His walk soon quickened, eyes narrowed in anger, heart racing as he read his letter then opened his uncle's too for good measure. Both said largely the same thing. His mother's tone was clipped and cold as she recounted the events that had taken place at Winterfell shortly after they left.

A fire in the library tower. Aileen barely got out unharmed. An assassin tried to kill Bran, succeeding in crippling his hand so that he'd never be a proper knight. Lady Catelyn gone, tearing off to accuse the queen's family and start a war, and was probably already in the city given the date the letter was sent. His mother told him to make sure his uncle saw sense where his wife was concerned, and not to assume that the incident was anything to do with the Lannisters. It all felt too convenient, she said, like someone was deliberately trying to lead them down a certain path. Ren agreed, though who that might be he did not know. He didn't know what he was supposed to do about all this, though. He was barely sixteen, and still a bastard, no matter how highborn his mother was, and though his uncle showed no less respect to him than he did towards Ren's true born half-siblings, there was definitely a line he shouldn't cross. Telling off Lord Stark's lady wife on behalf of his mother seemed to be a step too far.

When he entered the Tower of the Hand, Ren found his uncle had just got in himself, taking off his cloak. Wordlessly, Ren handed him his sister's letter, which Lord Stark read with narrowed eyes. There was a long silence.

"I've just spoken to my wife," He said eventually. "She was held up at White Harbour for days by what she insists was your mother's meddling - " Ren fought the urge to smile, knowing that his mother and Lord Manderly had been in correspondence in the past over various matters - together they had resolved a trade route to the Karhold, which the Boltons had previously objected to - and had got along well on all such occasions. " - and told me everything that this letter contains. Well," He scanned the parchment again. "Almost everything. She did not mention how reluctant your mother was to act on this information,"

"My mother is right," Ren knew he was speaking out of turn, but as of a couple of weeks ago he was no longer a child, and understood the gravity of the situation well enough. "Accusing the Lannisters - the queen - of anything, let alone treason, will see all our heads on spikes one way or another," If they had tried to kill Bran, he would make sure they paid for it, but there was a time and a place. No point in vengeance if it gets us killed too. He had learned that lesson from his mother; she had had plenty of chances to stab Aerys Targaryen before the end of the rebellion, but had not done it despite loathing the madman, as she would surely have been executed for treason herself.

"I'll agree, there's more going on here than there seems," His uncle frowned. "But nothing you need to concern yourself with,"

"Is it to do with your meetings with Littlefinger?" Ren dared to push a little further. He didn't know much about Lord Baelish, only that he seemed sharp of wit, good with money, amiable and friends with just about everyone. In other words, too good to be true.

"Careful, boy," Lord Stark warned sternly. "You'll do more harm than good getting caught up in matters like these. You're my sister's son and as good as a Stark as far as I'm concerned, but others don't see it that way,"

"Yes, Lord Stark," Ren nodded, knowing all this already but tactful enough not to point that out. He was about to leave but then stopped. "If my mother was here, she would tell you to be careful," His uncle inclined his head tightly, his usual faint smile, that tended to be reserved for family only, pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"She would," He said simply, grimly. "But that's not for you to worry about," He made his voice brighten slightly. "There's a tourney soon, you'll be better off practicing your lance than dealing with southron politics," The tone of his voice made his distaste for such matters evident. Ren riled slightly at being treated like the green boy he was, but didn't let that on.

"I don't joust," He said instead. "I'm only entering the melee," Ren told anyone who questioned that decision that fighting a group of unknowns in disorganised chaos, enclosed in a limited space, was more like battle than riding at a single knight with a long, pointy stick covered in pretty colours. That was true, but the main reason he didn't joust was because he wasn't particularly good at it. There was something about riding straight towards danger for the sake of it that didn't sit right with him; how that differed from entering a ring of fierce fighters determined to win, he wasn't sure, but it did in his head. Ren was a competent horseman, but didn't feel like getting knocked to the ground in front of the whole court. Bloody Joffrey would rub it in his face for months, despite barely being able to lift a lance himself.

"Gods," His uncle grimaced. "Try not to lose an arm,"

"No one will get that close," Ren smirked, despite himself. A strange look passed through his uncle's eyes, the same look from the incident at Winterfell with Edrick and Joffrey.

"I'm sure they won't," Lord Stark said, honestly. "You're one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen, never mind your age," Such praise from his reserved uncle was rare, but Ren preferred that to false platitudes and constant attention. With Lord Stark, you knew you'd earned it.

"My mother would tell you not to make me cocky," His uncle gave a short laugh.

"If you've spent this long with Jaime Lannister and haven't got an ego the size of Casterly Rock yet, I don't think she needs to worry,"

Ren almost asked him there and then. He was so close to just asking - did he know that it was highly likely that the Kingslayer was his father. But he didn't, which in hindsight was a good decision. He could figure the answer out himself, really. Lord Stark hated Jaime Lannister. Surely if he'd known that the man had left his sister with a bastard son, something would've happened. Like getting himself killed trying to stab Jaime for it, or at least not speaking to Ren's mother for a few months.

"That's good to hear," Ren smiled, moving towards the door. "My lord," He gave a quick nod, then left the Tower of the Hand.


The different ways his cousins and sister adapted to life in King's Landing was rather amusing to watch.

Sansa was in her element, clearly. Though she was still furious with Arya over the matter of the direwolves being sent back to Winterfell, she loved everything about the capital, and was practically ecstatic when she heard there was to be a tourney held in her father's honour. Joffrey's display of characteristic brutality towards her cousin had not seemed to diminish her awe of the brat, either, though Ren was just waiting for the time the prince inevitably showed his true colours again.

Arya was not so enamoured with court life, and he didn't blame her. It was alright for Ren, he could pass by most highborn lords and ladies completely invisible, and no one cared where he went or what he did, so long as he was at Jaime's door first thing in the morning and didn't steal anything. That gave way to plenty of drunken nights with his friends outside the castle walls in the seedier parts of the city, often involving a brothel or two, or at least a willing serving maid. Arya, however, was a lady, one of the highest born in court despite appearances, and though she was used to avoiding her mother and septa in Winterfell, no one else there really minded that she was more scruffy little boy than noble lady. Here it was different, and it was evident that his cousin found it stifling, and would much rather be back in the North.

With Morganna, it was somewhat harder to tell. She clearly liked the glamour of court, the fact that all the young boys looked at her with mouths hanging open as she passed (Ren's answering glare soon shut those mouths as fast as her father's reputation ordinarily did in the North) and how many more people there were here to play mind games with. She also enjoyed the company of Princess Myrcella; how his sister hadn't driven the princess away in tears yet, Ren would never know. Perhaps Myrcella was less perfect than she appeared. But he could also tell that Morganna missed Edrick and Aileen, missed their mother (though perhaps not her father) and missed being free to go out riding without the huge organisation that came with gathering a guard down here.

That fact was proven when she snuck out to meet him in the middle of the night.

"Ren," He was already awake, having heard the soft footsteps padding across the floor of his sleeping cell. At the whisper, he let go of the knife under his pillow - which he had kept there ever since his first week as a squire, when a few of the highborn-ish squires he shared a room with had taken a dislike to him for his bastard name and sharp tongue - sitting up in bed. Beside him, Lizzie stirred, huddling up closer to him, her long hair tickling his chest.

"What are you doing here?" He raised an eyebrow at his sister, who had a dark brown cloak draped over her slender shoulders, pale face peeking out from under the hood. "It's past midnight," More importantly, how had none of the Winterfell men noticed her leaving the Tower of the Hand? A glance to his left confirmed that the other two squires sharing the room were still dead to the world.

"I want you to take me out into the city. I want to see what it's really like, without all the guards and ladies," Even in the darkness, her eyes were agleam with that excited, reckless glint she got sometimes, and he knew there would be no reasoning with her. Not that he wanted to. "You can't lecture me about being responsible," She nodded at Lizzie with a smirk. He felt like rolling his eyes, but didn't.

"Not tonight," He said, anticipating her protest by quickly continuing. "Day after tomorrow. Me, Loreon and a few others are going out, I'll dress you as another squire," He didn't mention that he didn't want to take her out on his own in case some of the less savoury characters in the pubs they visited realised she was a highborn girl, and a beautiful one at that. Whilst he could certainly handle a handful of drunks from Flea Bottom, he couldn't do that and keep an eye on his sister at the same time. It was one thing taking Lizzie out with him, she was used to being around people like that, could handle herself and knew enough not to cause trouble. It would be quite another taking Morganna.

"I don't think I'll make a very convincing boy," She didn't look put off by this at all.

"A big cap, some mud on your face and baggy clothes?" He smirked slightly. "No one'll look twice. You don't look quite like a woman yet, remember, not matter how many spotty little boys gawp at you,"

"Shut up," She grinned nonetheless. "They're getting braver, you know. One of them came up to me earlier and asked if I was betrothed yet,"

"Charming," Ren's eyes narrowed. "Who was it?" Gods sake, his sister wasn't even twelve for a moon's turn.

"Your age, slightly shorter, brown hair," She shrugged. "I can't remember his name, but his breath stank like high heavens,"

"Hogg," He would deal with him later. "Alright," He got out of bed, being sure not to wake the others. Lizzie immediately rolled into the middle of the small bed. "I'm taking you back to bed. If you get caught by the guards out at this time, they'll throw you onto the street. They won't believe you're a lady dressed like that, trust me,"

"Won't two of us be more obvious?"

"They know me," He shrugged, not particularly wanting to explain to his sister why seeing him escorting an unknown cloaked woman out in the middle of the night would not be a surprise for any of them. She could probably guess, anyway, she wasn't Sansa. "You keep your hood up, though,"


"Seven hells," Loreon swore as Ren approached the gates, Morganna at his side. "You look awful. No offence, Lady Bolton," He was looking at his sister, who grinned. Compared to how she usually did, he supposed she did look awful. She wore one of Ren's old shirts, which still was too big for her, and some baggy breeches he had taken from the laundry house. Her old faded green cloak was draped around her shoulders, and though she wore her own boots, they were mostly covered by the trousers and Ren had told her to cover them in mud for good measure. As promised, a big cap cast most of her face in shadow, and a short training sword hung from her belt. Of course, if you knew she was a girl then it was obvious, but to most onlookers she would just appear to be a very pretty page boy.

"Yes, but no one looked twice at her on the way here," Ren said flatly. "That's what matters,"

"Won't your friends notice?" Morganna asked, not seeming to care either way.

"Not a chance," Loreon snorted. "Bennet's as thick as a castle wall, Cass will be too busy looking for, ah, female company," He shared a look with Ren, and Morganna rolled her eyes, clearly knowing what he meant. "I'm pretty sure Gillan's a sword-swallower, so he won't care. And the other two'll turn up drunk, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you or a pig in a dress,"

"Charming,"

"The light's fading, anyway," Ren glanced to the side, seeing the setting sun was well below the castle walls. "It'll be impossible to tell by candlelight,"

He was right. When they turned up, none of their friends - and Ren used that word in the loosest of terms - looked twice at Morganna. As they descended down Aegon's Hill into the city, Gillan asked why the boy was with them; Ren told him the lad was from Winterfell, and painfully shy so they decided to take him out for a few drinks to loosen him up. He saw Morganna shaking her head and smirked, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Come on, Morgan," He said, steering her carefully around a group of scantily-dressed whores calling out to them from a corner; that was where they lost Cass. "I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself if you try hard enough,"

The night, surprisingly, didn't end horribly. There had been an uncomfortable moment when an extremely drunk gold cloak (off-duty, not that that made much difference) mistook the 'young squire', who had wandered off, for a pretty young whore, but before Ren could get over there and salvage the situation, Morganna had done a rather good job of waving the short sword around and yelling that she was a boy. The man's friends laughed at him, Ren gave them a cold smile, before grabbing his sister's wrist and pulling her down next to him sharply.

That had been the only trouble, however - a miracle in itself - and as the other squires trailed off, Ren and Morganna walked back to the castle.

"I hope you've thought up a good excuse," Ren was a little light headed from the drink, but hadn't let himself get too drunk in case things went downhill. He probably should thought of this earlier. If Morganna hadn't concealed her disappearance, half the Winterfell guard would be out looking for her by now.

"Of course I have," The girl snorted. "My bed's stuffed with pillows, to look like I'm under the covers," Ren smiled.

"I shouldn't have doubted you," There was a pause. "How did you get out of the tower? You never told me," His sister gave him a wicked look.

"That would be telling,"


"Ren," He had just beaten his sparring partner, resoundingly, and looked up at the familiar voice catching his attention.

"Lord Stark," He nodded to his uncle, as his opponent quickly scrambled to his feet and bowed, wincing slightly at the bruises Ren had given him.

"I need a word," His uncle took him by the arm and led him away slightly, to an alcove where they couldn't be overheard. "I need you to go into the city," The man said in a low voice. "Go to Tobho Mott's armoury, and have a look over the apprentice smiths," Ren frowned.

"I will," He said. "But... can I ask why?" Tobho Mott was one of the best armourers in the city, but Ren knew his uncle would have little patience with his flashy and intricate designs; plain and strong steel was favoured up in the north. This wouldn't be to collect anything or request an item to be made, so what in hells was it?

"You'll know why the moment you see it," Lord Stark said. "Don't ask any questions, don't make yourself noticed, but there's a boy there, Gendry. If anything happens to me - not that it will," He fixed him with a steely look. Ren said nothing. "Then can I trust you to sure that boy isn't caught up in it," Not knowing why an apprentice smith would be caught up in any business of significance, Ren just nodded. "Good lad," His uncle clapped him on the arm. "I'll see you at supper. You join us, tonight,"

Ren did know what Lord Stark was investigating; the letter from his mother had made that perfectly clear. The death of Jon Arryn had not been an accident, and his uncle was trying to uncover the truth. What some poor boy in the city had to do with any of that, Ren didn't know, but he found that he desperately wanted to.

He visited the shop later in the day. He had been in there before with Jaime, and later to pick up his famous lion-head helm, and Master Mott recognised him as Jaime Lannister's squire, eagerly approaching to see if he had another order from the richest family in Westeros. Ren said he was just there to get a nick in a sword fixed - it did need to be fixed, just not necessarily from the finest armourer in the city - and brushed the man off with some vague comment hinting the shop may see their business some time in the future; that might not have worked had another customer not entered, a knight preparing for the upcoming tourney no doubt, and distracted him. As the two pored over various sketches and took measurements, Ren took the opportunity to enter the forge, glancing around. Men and boys were everywhere, hauling buckets of water, stoking fires and hammering out a cacophony of steel. Lord Stark had said he should look for an apprentice boy, but Ren had no idea what else.

"What do you want here?" A rather gruff voice asked him. Ren turned and took a double take. He had thought it was Loreon at a first glance, but his friend was taller, older and a little thinner in the face, with a more delicate nose and less sullen expression. But apart from that, this boy could be his twin. The same blue eyes stared out of his face, his mouth was set in the same sullen twist and he looked even more like the king than Loreon did. He had a King's Landing accent rather than one from the Westerlands, but the similarities were uncanny.

"Can you fix this?" Ren managed to get out, holding out the sword and speaking as normal automatically.

"Easy," The boy - he couldn't be more than a year younger than Ren himself - shrugged, taking the sword from him. "That'll be five silvers, for a good blade like this," Ren nodded, watching the boy work. He knew exactly why Lord Stark had sent him here, knew exactly why this boy could be in all sorts of trouble. Because if something happened to his uncle, something would likely have to have happened to King Robert, making Joffrey the king. Between that vicious little shit and his mother, no bastard of Robert Baratheon would live to even think the words rebellion.

"You look like someone I know," Ren said. He knew his uncle had told him not to ask questions, but he still wasn't sure how (or if) this boy linked into the matter of Jon Arryn's death. Because Lord Stark would hardly be going around the city looking for his old friend's bastards, someone or something had sent him here.

"Who's that then?" The boy, Gendry, he remembered, looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Just one of my friends," Ren shrugged. The boy didn't look any less suspicious.

"I've seen you before," He said. "You were here with the Kingslayer," He seemed to remember himself then, muttering an unconvincing, "'Pologies, I meant Ser Jaime. You a cousin or something? You look quite Lannister,"

"Really?" Ren raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm Ser Jaime's squire. Stark, not Lannister. Well, Snow - I'm the Hand's sister's bastard," The boy gave a dark chuckle.

"Bastard? Me too, but I don't have no fancy lady for a mother,"

"Maybe not," Ren smiled tightly. "Your father could be highborn, for all you know," It was too tempting not to hint, there was no chance Gendry knew what he was talking about. The boy snorted.

"Would explain all these high-up lords poking around," He muttered. Ren's ears perked up.

"Lords?"

"Both Hands came to see me," He shrugged. "Lord Stark, and before him Lord Arryn, 'long with Lord Stannis," Lord Arryn? Ren understood Gendry was one of Robert's bastards, but that hardly warranted the Hand coming down personally. And that wasn't even mentioning Stannis. It didn't take a genius to work out who the boy's father was; anyone who had ever met Robert would be able to. Just like everyone knew Loreon was the king's son, even though he never wore anything with the Baratheon crest (when they were younger, they had joked that if he ever did, his aunt the queen would rip it off with her clawed talons).

"Strange," Ren said honestly, as the boy plunged the sword into cold water. He lowered his voice, leaning in slightly. "If anyone ever comes looking for you, anyone... unfriendly," He had the boy's full attention now, suspicious glare and all. "Don't go to the city guards or anyone like that. Try and find me. Renan Snow. Or," He paused, considering whether to say it. "Loreon Storm,"

"The king's bastard?" Gendry looked surprised.

"Yeah. Can't miss him, he's built like a house," Ren smiled faintly. "Not saying there will be trouble. But if there is..." He trailed off, taking the finished sword from the boy's slack grip. "Thanks," He dug out five silvers and handed them over with a tight smile.


It was the next morning that the realisation came to him.

He had been sparring in the yard, against Tommen. The boy was eleven now, and had lost most of the chubbiness he'd had as a younger child; he was still stocky, but that was more muscle than fat now. He would never be a great warrior - he still disliked having to hurt people, even in training, with blunted swords - but he would last in a fight against an average swordsman, having had Ren, Loreon and often his uncle, Ser Jaime, train with him at various points, along with other members of the Kingsguard. In time, he would grow to be better than average; he was only a boy, after all, and as Jaime had told Loreon in a rare moment of sternness, it wasn't normal for a boy of eleven to be able to beat men twice his age.

But looking at Tommen at afternoon, something was nagging at the back of his mind. Ren had just flicked the prince's training sword out of his hand, again, when he noticed the morning sunlight glinting off the boy's golden curls.

"Again?" Tommen was saying, picking up his sword, clearly tired but not letting his lack of enthusiasm show. The boy was good like that, knew what he had to do to get better no matter how much he didn't enjoy it. He looked up at Ren with those green eyes of his, and it suddenly struck him how little like his father Tommen looked.

Gendry Waters, Loreon, Edric Storm - who he'd met once when the king went to Storm's End, bring Loreon, Jaime and most of the Kingsguard - all had something in common, besides the fact they all shared a father. The girl in the Vale too, who his uncle had described as dark-haired. They all had dark hair. All had blue eyes.

Tommen wiped his blonde curls out of his green eyes, and all Ren could do was stare.

"Ren?" The prince asked him, and Ren realised he'd never answered the boy's question.

"Yes," Ren said a little too sharply, shaking the thought off. "Yes. You need to work on the force of your blow. Your reactions are good, you're quite quick and you aim well, but your attacks are too weak," Despite the teaching, his mind was elsewhere. It felt dangerous to even think it, and it wasn't necessarily true anyway. Perhaps Lannister traits were stronger than Baratheon traits. What about Loreon? his mind whispered, but he ignored it resolutely, pushing the thoughts away and suddenly feeling rather cold, despite the warm day, right in the pit of his stomach. He stepped back into his fighting stance, glancing at Tommen critically. "I've told you before. I'd rather bear a few bruises now than deal with the prince dying in battle because he was too craven to actually fight his foe," Tommen's eyes narrowed. There was a time where talk like that would've sent the boy off in tears; Ren had slowly increased it over time, and some anger was good to see in him now.

The boy lunged at him with a lot more force than before, and Ren smiled in satisfaction, spinning away from the blow and lashing out with one of his own; if he'd wanted to, the boy wouldn't have been able to block it, but he timed it just right that Tommen would be able to see it coming. He blocked it, just, but Ren was already striking again, giving the prince what would be a nasty bruise on the upper thigh. Tommen yelped, but instead of backing off - as was his typical reaction - he lashed out. Ren had underestimated the boy, and was too slow to move away from the blow he hadn't seen coming. Tommen caught him on the right forearm with surprising strength.

"Good," Ren smiled grimly. "Not if you're fighting me," Ren was left handed. "But that would've disarmed a lot men," Tommen looked pleased, which was unusual for him in the practice yard and just showed how he'd improved.

"You're doing well, little brother," Loreon came over. He was near a foot and a half taller than Tommen, broad-shouldered and just generally bulkier. The only facial features they shared was the elegant Lannister nose. "Your brother will be king, sitting on his arse giving orders, but everyone will know you as the one winning his battles for him," Ren laughed at the look of distaste on Tommen's face.

"Don't worry," He said. "We'll do all the fighting for you, if you want, give you the credit, which Joffrey will then steal," Even Tommen smiled at that.

"You were right about just hitting him," The boy said to them both. "He hasn't come near me since we arrived back here, not since the Trident and the direwolves," Loreon laughed, and Ren smiled in satisfaction.

"I'll get that story spread around the city," He said. "He'll be king one day, but everyone will know that his little brother - and sister, too, probably - can beat him into the dust any day,"

It was all very well laughing with Loreon and Tommen, but when Ren was alone polishing Jaime's armour for the tourney, it was a different matter. The king's three trueborn children look nothing like the king, nor do they look anything like the bastard son of said king and the queen's sister.

It could all be nothing. It could quite easily be nothing. Ren had no desire to even discuss this with anyone. If Lord Stark had seen Gendry, surely he had suspicions of his own, and wouldn't appreciate them being spoken aloud by his own nephew. There were eyes and ears everywhere, and words like that were practically a death sentence to speak if the wrong person overheard. It wasn't worth it, not for a theory that could potentially amount to nothing.

Although it did make sense. Fuck, Stannis and Lord Arryn had been to the armourers, to the brothel, and they both knew Loreon. That explained why Arryn had been killed, he knew the (hypothetical) truth, and someone had found out. It also explained Stannis' current self-exile on Dragonstone. But who could the queen have had an affair with long enough to produce three children? It wasn't like she had unlimited access to anyone. Cersei would never be left alone with a man who wasn't family. She would always be surrounded by her ladies, handmaids, various other courtiers, and even when she was alone there was always a member of the Kingsguard close by.

It really could only be a member of the Kingsguard, then. Not Jaime, for obvious reasons. Ren doubted that Boros Blount, old and fat, would be attractive to the proud, beautiful queen. Barristan Selmy was too honourable, and too old besides. Meryn Trant, again, was ugly, and Mandon Moore was too dead behind the eyes. Preston Greenfield, possibly, although he was rather dull, and last Ren had heard he was sleeping with a draper's wife. Arys Oakheart was looking like the most likely option so far, being young and reasonably good looking; he did seem honourable, but that could easily hide any number of things.

Ren shook his head. Honestly, did it even matter that much? So long as everyone else believed the children were Robert's, for all intents and purposes, they were. Ren would much rather some knight's bastard sat the Iron Throne masquerading as a Baratheon, than a war taking place that would tear the Seven Kingdoms in half. Because that would be the outcome. If the king found out Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not his, his rage would be terrifying. In all likelihood, he would execute the queen, and then where would they be? Lord Tywin would go to war over his grandchildren being disinherited alone, let alone his daughter's death. The fact was indisputable.

Although, if Robert were to declare Loreon his heir... Loreon was his favourite son, a grown man, capable and strong. Rather than waiting nearly two decades for the king to find a suitable new bride and bear him sons that grew to adulthood, was it possible that the easier route could be taken..? And then where would Lord Tywin be? He could enter a war against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms that he would surely lose through numbers alone, for a matter of pride, which would likely end in the destruction of his legacy and dreams of his grandchildren on the throne. Or he could accept that his younger daughter's bastard, a boy he had mostly ignored his whole life, was going to be king instead. It was hard to tell which direction he'd turn.

The possibilities were intriguing, but Ren was getting far too ahead of himself. He had suspicions, that was all, which had surely been voiced before by anyone who had seen Loreon anywhere near his trueborn siblings. For now, Ren would focus on the tourney, the melee, and winning. That was what squires were meant to be concerned about, wasn't it? Not plotting, murder and adultery. Tourneys, melees, winning.