The news was all around the court almost as soon as it had happened, as most important things tended to be here, although it wasn't like anyone involved had bothered to keep their voices down. As far as Ren had heard it - from, but not limited to, a serving maid, stable boy, several squires and Renly Baratheon himself, who had been laughing loudly about the matter in a courtyard - the Hand had resigned, only slightly before the furious king ordered (yelled) his dismissal, in protest against killing Aerys Targaryen's exiled daughter, pregnant with a Dothraki horselord's child.

Ren understood where his uncle was coming from, he really did. It wasn't a pleasant subject matter even considering the murder of a young girl, only a year older than his own sister Aileen, particularly one who was with child. Daenerys Targaryen had even not proven to be a threat yet, although by her very existence she was a potential one, and had been her whole life. Ren also understood Lord Stark's distaste at sending a nameless assassin to do his dirty work for him, he'd feel a similar way if it were up to him. He wasn't sure if that was a Northern principle, or just one learned from all the people he'd grown up with. Jaime was another one who would insist on swinging the sword himself, although that was more a matter of pride than one of respect. Both men's motivations - ironically, considering they hated each other - were also a matter of honour.

Despite all this, however, the girl had to die. It wasn't a nice or easy solution, but it was a practical one. Daenerys might not be a threat yet, but who knew where they'd be in a year, five years, even ten? Ren would willingly go and stab the girl in the heart himself if it eliminated the possibility of forty thousand Dothraki screamers crossing the Narrow Sea and wrecking havoc, destroying the Seven Kingdoms like they had wiped out so many cultures and civilisations in Essos, killing and raping for the sake of killing and raping, blood for the sake of blood. And as his mother would say, the Targaryen's blood itself was tainted with madness and cruelty, fed by power and unfit to rule. His mother was not an unreasonable woman, and had good reasons to hate. No dragon would ever sit the Iron Throne whilst Rosennis Stark lived, that was for sure. If Daenerys ever became queen, Ren wouldn't put it past his mother to kill the girl herself.

But what was done was done. Robert would send assassins after the Targaryens regardless of his friend's views, as Lord Stark was Hand of the king no longer. Which, in all honesty, was a blessing, given the nature of what the man was investigating. Continuing down that route would end in chaos one way or another. Best that didn't happen whilst Sansa, Arya and Morganna would be caught right in the middle of it all. Initially Ren had enjoyed having his family here, strange as it had been to have his two worlds meet, but now it was increasingly seeming to be too much of a risk. If he was alone, it would be fairly easy for him to slip out of the city unnoticed if it came to it, but it wasn't so easy with an entire household and three young, highborn girls. Allow his family to be shipped off back to Winterfell, far out the way of everything, and then let the whole court implode.

Ren had learned not to rely completely on court gossip, so had gone to the Tower of the Hand to try to find his uncle, to ask him himself what had happened. It couldn't have just been a simple argument to have the king removing his closest friend from office, the one person save perhaps his brothers and Loreon who Robert actually gave a shit about in this place.

Upon arriving at the Tower of the Hand, though, Ren was surprised to find that none of the Starks were even there. Arya was probably off having her dancing lessons; he was still surprised not only that she'd agreed to have dancing lessons, but that his tomboyish cousin actually seemed to be enjoying them, going for hours every day and talking excitedly about her dancing master every time he saw her. Sansa would be with the Septa and her friend from Winterfell, the dark haired girl, Jeyne. Morganna was likely with the princess. The two had grown to be even closer friends in the months they had been in the city. Which was unfortunate, given the suspicions Ren was starting to have about the queen's children. Another reason his sister should be far away when things kicked off.

It was Lord Stark's whereabouts that troubled him now, however. His uncle had supposedly left the small council chambers in a fury with the king's angry words at his back, and should be here, wound up and making preparations to leave for the North as soon as possible. But he wasn't anywhere to be found, and Ren checked the whole tower. He probably didn't need to be looking around quite so intently - it was unlikely that his uncle was hiding under the desk - but was curious, and the big heavy book on the desk in the Hand's solar couldn't help but catch his eye. It hardly seemed like material for light reading, even if you enjoyed books, which he knew his uncle did not. All in all, an odd thing to keep out. Out of curiosity, Ren glanced at the cover. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, by Grand Maester Malleon. Well that looked absolutely anything but interesting. Why would Lord Stark be reading that? He was hardly someone to care about the lives of long-dead lords and ladies.

With nothing to do but wait for his uncle to come back, Ren opened the book part way in, turning a few pages, and saw that it truly was just a description of every single member of each Great House; their name, when they lived and their appearance. Gods, that was truly it. Why anyone would dedicate time to reading - let alone writing - this book was beyond him. It didn't look like there was anything entered sooner than a hundred or so years ago.

Ren had opened it onto the Baratheon chapter, and scanned the text to see if there was anything he was missing. There had to be some reason why the thing was here, and sure enough, after several pages, there was. He soon realised exactly why Lord Stark had picked this book out, and the realisation was not a welcome one. Barely noticing that he was slowly sinking down into the chair - there was probably some sort of rule against a bastard sitting in the Hand's chair, but no one was there to complain - Ren turned to the beginning of the chapter and quickly flicked through each page. The names of long-dead lords and ladies flew past his eyes, forgotten as soon as he read them, but it was impossible, once you were looking for it, not to see that every single person born into House Baratheon was listed as 'black of hair'. Gods, I was right.

To make sure, Ren turned back in the book, now searching for the name Lannister. Gowen Baratheon married Tya Lannister ninety years ago... their son had black hair. Even earlier than that, a Baratheon girl married a Lannister lord... their three sons and one daughter were all black-haired. Every single example, going back to Aegon's conquest and the formation of House Baratheon, whenever a Baratheon had married a Lannister, the children always had jet black hair, and usually blue eyes. Until Cersei Lannister and Robert.

There was no way this was a coincidence, not with Ren's own closest friend as living proof of the queen's adultery. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not the king's children.

What to do now?

On the one hand, Joffrey, despite only being thirteen, was a cunt who would drive the kingdom into ruin if he ever became king. The little shit had made countless mocking comments and insults about Ren's mother, and lack of a father - not to mention what he said to Loreon, his own brother (or cousin, really) - and Ren truly wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.

The viciously satisfying irony that the supposed prince was a bastard himself hadn't escaped him. He could just see the look on Joffrey's face if he found out, and smirked at the thought.

On the other hand, Tommen was nothing like his elder brother. Ren actually liked Tommen. He'd all but taught him to use a sword, seeing him grow from a chubby little crybaby who was constantly bullied by his brother, into a boy more doggedly determined than most, who had reasonable skill with a sword and had actually learned to stand up to Joffrey. Myrcella, too, was nothing like her twin. Ren didn't know her well, but by all accounts (well, Morganna's) the princess was witty, kind and clever, with an adventurous streak. If Joffrey went down, so did his brother and sister. Ren had no idea what the king would do to them if he knew they weren't his. It could be anything from sending them to Casterly Rock to live out their lives in peace and quiet, to sticking their heads on pikes on the walls of the Red Keep, next to their mother's. Either way, their lives would likely be ruined.

It would be easy to go to Lord Stark and tell him what he'd realised. Lord Stark would then doubtlessly go to the king. The link would be made with Jon Arryn's death - surely the queen had him killed for investigating the children, as who else would have reason to want such an old man dead when he was nearing the end of his life anyway? - and the Lannisters would fall from grace in court and Westeros itself.

And that would surely mean war.

Ren had made his mind up already. It was better to have a bastard (in every sense of the word) on the throne than have the respective fury of Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon tear the kingdom apart. For now, he would keep quiet. Although surely his uncle was close to figuring it out himself. He had the book, he'd seen Robert's bastards, and there was surely more he knew that Ren didn't. The only reason Lord Stark hadn't seen it already was because he'd been distracted with managing Robert's kingdom for him, as well as every other thing that had come up since they got here. But now he was Hand no longer. Which meant Ren's problem now was to stop him working out the truth before they returned North, which they inevitably would, and soon.

He should write to his mother. Someone more important than a newly made bastard-knight should know, and he trusted her not to do anything rash. Who else could he trust to do the same? Loreon? Ren wasn't sure. Whilst he could normally restrain his friend's more impulsive tendencies, this was hardly a normal situation. If Cersei's children were all bastards, that did make Loreon the heir to the Iron Throne. He was the king's eldest son, born from two powerful noble houses - the exact same houses as the princes and princess - he was strong, capable, charismatic, loved by the commons after all those tourneys he'd excelled in, and even somewhat experienced in real fighting given the number of petty bandits groups they had gone out to dispel as squires to members of the Kingsguard.

Loreon would make a better king than Joffrey for sure. That didn't say much - a decomposing severed head would make a better king than Joffrey - but he would also make a better king than his father. Ren knew that Loreon liked Robert, respected him as a warrior even though his skills had gone slightly to seed in the last few years, but he knew his friend well enough to see the looks of disdain in his eyes when his father got completely drunk in public, or blew off his responsibilities as king to fuck a whore with little to no discretion, or steadily plunged the throne into more and more debt with all the money he spent on tourneys. Loreon took after his father's family in looks and temper, but he was just Lannister enough to have that ambition, hidden and forbidden though it might be, those quiet thoughts that he could do it better if someone, at some point, gave him the chance.

Ren felt himself be tempted.

It was a dangerous thought. If he could find a way to bring down Joffrey, ensuring Tommen and Myrcella wouldn't be killed for it, and minimising the chance of a war, then who knew... Because Loreon was as much Tywin Lannister's grandson as Joffrey was. However, orchestrating such a situation without starting a war would be nigh on impossible. Once again, Ren was thinking ahead. He quickly penned a letter to his mother, hoping his uncle wouldn't miss a sheet of parchment, and got up from the Hand's chair, setting off to find Jaime so it could be sent without any prying eyes. No one could read this, he couldn't risk giving it to Pycelle. It was stupid and risky enough writing it down at all, a death sentence if he was caught, but if he didn't get any more advice on what to do with this information he was likely to follow his own ideas, and his worst, more ambitious instincts were already nudging him towards a course of action that was almost certainly the wrong thing to do.

Jaime wasn't at the training yard, nor the White Sword Tower, and when Ren asked his fellow Kingsguard Ser Arys Oakheart if the knight was on duty that afternoon, he was given a negative answer. A passing serving maid had stopped, then, and to his surprise told him that Jaime had packed a bag. He was a Kingsguard and the king was here, where in hells would he be going? Ren went to investigate the stables to see if his horse was there, only to find that it was gone. He asked a stableboy about it, who had told of how half an hour ago the Kingslayer had stormed down to the yard in a rage, yelling for his horse to be saddled and taking over himself when it took too long. Near two dozen Lannister men had been with him, all armed and armoured, with saddlebags of packs and provisions.

What the hell was going on? With a bad feeling in mind, Ren returned to the Tower of the Hand, speeding up when he saw a flurry of activity around the base of the tower. Two men were being carried up the narrow stairs by Stark guardsmen, both appearing to be unconscious, as two more men in Stark livery, clearly dead, were laid out on the ground. A dozen or so goldcloaks hung around the base of the tower.

"Hey," Ren got their attention, walking over. "What's happening here?"

"High lords quarrelling. The lion bit the wolf's tail," One of them chuckled, until his companion elbowed him in the side pointedly.

"That's the Hand's bastard, Martyn," He muttered. "You know, Snow. The one that won the melee,"

"Shit," Martyn swore eloquently. "No offence meant, Ser," Ren just waved him off, not even bothering to correct him when he said Lord Stark was his father.

"What happened?"

"It was Lord Littlefinger what called us," One of them said. "We found Lord Eddard in the gutter, his horse fell in the fighting and crushed his leg. He got himself out, was trying to crawl over to one of his men what died," He waved a hand to the two bodies lying there, which were just getting covered with a dirty sheet, and Ren tried to pick out who they were but it was impossible from here. He hoped it wasn't anyone he liked. "So we took him back here. He's alive, but I don't envy him that broken leg. One of his men lived, the captain, though he's in a bad way too,"

"Why was there a fight in the first place?"

"Thought you would've known?" The man raised an eyebrow at him.

"Clearly not,"

"Ah. Well it was the Kingslayer what did it," The man grimaced, and Ren felt his face darken. "I know one of the whores in that brothel, she was hanging out the window 'n heard him saying something about his brother. Think Lady Stark took him prisoner. Obviously the Kingslayer didn't like that," Ren was silent for a moment.

"Thanks," He turned away abruptly, anger building inside him.

"Aren't we getting no coin for this?" One of the men grumbled.

"No," He snapped, walking away towards the entrance to the tower without another word.

"You won all that money in the tourney," One of them yelled after him, but he ignored them. Ren was angrier than he had been in a long time. He went not to his uncle's chambers, but to the guards quarters, where Jory had been laid out on his bed, one of the other men cleaning and bandaging his wounds. He truly wasn't in a good way, but was able to speak, and upon Ren's asking, told him exactly what had happened, which also explained exactly what Lord Stark had been doing outside a brothel. Visiting a young whore to see her child, an infant girl, with a head of dark hair. His uncle was getting closer and closer to the truth.

Jory finished with telling of the fight, of the Kingslayer's order to kill the men but leave Lord Stark alive. The other two Stark men-at-arms who had gone with his uncle turned out to have been Heward and Wyl. Both were dead, at the Kingslayer's command.

"And then he just left," Ren asked in a low voice as Jory finished.

"Fled," The man's voice was hoarse; he looked close to dying as he lay there on the bed, bandages already blood-soaked. Hopefully his wounds were better than they looked. Ren knew some men could survive horrific injuries with few consequences, whilst others died of apparently minor ones.

"Fled," He echoed the word. Blood was pounding in his ears, as he turned to leave.

"Don't you go doing anything stupid," Jory warned him, voice too weak to be taken seriously. Ren ignored him. He looked in on Lord Stark, who was still unconscious in bed, leg bent at a horrific angle as Grand Maester Pycelle tended it, and dosed up on enough milk of the poppy to knock out a horse. Sansa and Arya were at his bedside, tears running down both their cheeks although Arya tried to hide it when he came in.

"I knew the Kingslayer was no good," His cousin said accusingly, at him, jumping up with anger twisting her young face. "I knew it. Look at what he did to father!" Ren had no answer to that, just placed a hand on her shoulder and watching his uncle for a few moments.

"He'll need to let that leg heal properly," He said eventually. "Make sure he doesn't get out of bed too soon and damage it permanently. You look after him, both of you," It wouldn't do much, but hopefully his daughters fussing would delay Lord Stark's progress in finding the truth at least slightly.

Ren left the tower, heading straight for his sleeping cell. He gathered everything he owned together in a pack, which wasn't much. A warm cloak, two extra sets of clothes, his knife, blankets, waterskin and his prize money. Ten thousand gold dragons. He had invested a good portion of it already, given that he was a knight now, on a decent set of armour, a pair of sturdy boots, a new longsword and shield, and a good horse of his own with saddle and bridle, all of which should last a long time and would doubtlessly serve him well. But he couldn't take all the money with him, that was asking to be robbed and left in a ditch somewhere. His new things were plain enough to pass by unnoticed. The sword was unadorned, a simple blade and dark scabbard. The armour was plain grey, as was the shield, given that he hadn't decided on a sigil yet, and the horse's tack was practical, hardy but not flashy. It was only when you looked closely that you realised they were high quality, expensive.

He would take as much money as he could hide on his person, Ren decided. He'd had hidden pockets sewn into the lining of his clothes and boots, as well as his pack, and this was where he hid as much of the money as was practical.

"You're leaving?" He heard someone at the door and had already looked up when Lizzie spoke.

"Aye,"

"Where to?"

"North,"

"Oh," There was a short pause.

"I'd ask you to come, but you can't ride,"

"No, I know," She smiled, slightly sadly. "Shame I wasn't born a lady, riding before I could walk,"

"I think that's just the ladies in my family," His mood was growing slightly calmer now. He wasn't sure if that was her or something else. "Besides, if you'd been a lady, I wouldn't have been allowed near you,"

"That's probably true," She moved closer, sitting on the bed. "I don't suppose you can tell me why you're going,"

"No," He said. "I can't," Another pause. "The Starks will be going north soon, anyway, likely as soon as Lord Eddard wakes up and can hobble about with a cane. If they go by a ship, convince Morganna to make sure you're on it and not travelling by road with the rest. I'll be seeing you again soon,"

"Couldn't you just wait til then, then? Why do you have to leave now?" It was a fair question

"No,"

"Why?" Because he didn't trust himself.

"Just no," His tone was final, and she clearly got the hint. "Here," He held out a small but heavy bag. She took it with an odd look at him, only for her eyes to widen as she looked inside.

"Don't be stupid, I can't take this," She stared at more gold dragons than she'd ever seen in her life. "These are your winnings,"

"Trust me, that's only a small portion. I've already spent a lot of it, and I'm taking as much of the rest as I can with me," He shrugged. "I'd rather you had it than the next person to find it under this bed. It's not charity," He gave her a sharp look, anticipating her protests. She shook her head weakly.

"Ren, it's too much,"

"Get yourself a nice dress. A pair of shoes, maybe," He smirked slightly, and she elbowed him, a small laugh coming from her lips. "Honestly though, just take it, and buy a knife. Knowing you, you'll get into trouble the moment I'm gone,"

"Fine," She still didn't look entirely comfortable with the idea, but then laughed. "Look at you, so much money you're giving it away,"

"Makes a change, doesn't it," She hugged him then, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I always knew you'd move up in the world," He didn't reply, just held her tightly.


Ren made his way to the stables. He passed a burning brazier in one of the courtyards and drew the hastily scrawled letter to his mother out of his pocket, carefully placing it into the fire and staying to ensure it burned to a crisp. He'd be telling her the news himself, soon enough. Hopefully by then the entire Stark household would be on a ship to White Harbour, if not already at Winterfell waiting for him, and he wouldn't have to.

His new horse was a fine animal. He had liked the one he had ridden before, but that was taken from the stables of the Red Keep and technically belonged to the king. This one was his. Many knights preferred to ride stallions; Ren's mother had always said that where you tell a gelding what to do, you ask a stallion, and discuss it with a mare. For this reason, Ren had chosen a steel grey female palfrey, of reasonable size at just over sixteen hands, but fast, agile and with good stamina. It looked rather like his mother's latest horse, the one she'd ridden back to Winterfell, except nowhere near as highly strung or excitable. Not quite a warhorse, but good for what he needed her for. He saddled the horse himself, strapping his packs to the saddle, along with his sword.

"Where are you going?" He turned around to see his sister stood behind him, peering over the stable door with narrowed eyes. He hadn't heard her approach. If he had, he might've hid behind the horse. Morganna was the last person she wanted to see, as she would ask the most questions and would be the hardest to placate with half-answers and assurances. And where Lizzie wouldn't talk to anyone - the only Starks she had contact with were Sansa and Morganna, as their lady's maid - his sister would let everyone know where he was going and what she thought of it.

"Away," He went back to fastening buckles and straps.

"Good timing," Morganna said sarcastically. "Uncle Ned hasn't even woken up yet,"

"He won't be awake for days at least," Ren had seen his injured leg, and hoped for his uncle's sake that they kept him knocked out with milk of the poppy for most of the week. Morganna looked unimpressed at the deflection. "I'm going north," He relented. "Winterfell, or the Dreadfort, depending where mother is. There's a message I need to deliver,"

"Can't you write?" She looked skeptical. "It takes two months to ride there,"

"It took two months with an enormous wheelhouse and enough supply wagons to feed an army," Ren corrected. "A single rider heading up the Kingsroad on a fast horse? I could do at least forty miles a day and be there in under a month, easy,"

"And what's so important you can't just write it down?"

"None of your business," He took his horse's reins, leading it out into the yard as Morganna opened the stable door. "Besides, there's nothing left for me here. Although, I have a favour to ask you,"

"And what's that?" She crossed her arms.

"There's a book, on Lord Stark's desk in his solar," He said. "A thick book, old, about the lineages of the great houses, you can't miss it. I need you to return it to Maester Pycelle before our uncle wakes up," He should've done that himself, really, but it gave her something to do that would hopefully placate her a little.

"Alright," She seemed unperturbed by act itself, but clearly still found his motives confusing. "That's it, is it? You're running off without a word to anyone, the same day our uncle is attacked in the street - by your Ser Jaime - to deliver some mystery message to mother that you won't tell me about?"

"Yes," Ren said flatly, tightening the girth again and checking the weight was distributed evenly so as not to injure the horse. "It's not a particularly urgent message, or I might have no choice but to risk sending a raven. I just can't stay here. Try to keep Lord Stark in bed as long as you can, remind him that he must rest his leg properly for it to heal. And try and get Sansa away from Joffrey,"

"No need to ask me twice," She muttered. "Well, try not to get yourself killed, I suppose. What have you done with your prize money?"

"Spent a lot of it," He gestured to the horse stood beside him. "Here's the rest," He threw a small bag similar to the one he'd given Lizzie at her. Morganna caught it with a grin, but didn't look twice at it, turning her attention to the animal for the first time.

"She's beautiful," The same small smile their mother wore when she saw a horse she liked was forming on her face. She didn't often resemble their mother much at all, but wearing that small smile was one of the few times they looked alike. "You don't often see a coat that dark a grey without any dapples," His sister ran a hand down the horse's neck. "She needs a name, I know you won't have given her one,"

"It's a horse, not a child," Ren shook his head.

"She still needs a name," His sister protested. "It'll stick in your head even if you try to ignore me, just like with Crow,"

"A direwolf called Crow," He scoffed. "You'd better not call this one Mountain Lion," She laughed.

"If it's accuracy you want then call her Grey Mare and have done with it," She tilted her head. "That's not bad, actually,"

"Grey Mare?"

"Grey Lady,"

"So long as Robb doesn't get confused with his direwolf, that'll do," Ren said dryly. "Or Sansa, for that matter. You're very original, sister,"

"Thank you," She grinned.

"Now, are you going to let me go, or are you waiting for me to ask you to come with me?"

"Would you let me come with you?"

"Not a chance,"

"Fine then," Morganna pulled a face at his blunt response, giving an overly-exaggerated curtsey that would've made Sansa's Septa proud. "Goodbye then, brother," She looked up with a grin. "I'll tell Sansa and Arya you wished them a loving goodbye too. And Lizzie, for that matter," He didn't tell her he had already said goodbye to Lizzie, she'd only go and try and wheedle more information out of her. Lizzie would likely have the sense to play along. "Give my love to everyone back home,"

"I hope you don't mind if I leave your father out," She laughed at that, straightening up. "I'll see you when you go back north. Lord Stark isn't Hand any more, so it shouldn't be long. If you go by sea, you might even get there before me," His sister hugged him then, very tightly, resting her head against his chest. She was definitely taller than she been only a few months before. He hugged her back for a few seconds, before stepping back, swinging himself up into the saddle and tightening the girth again.

"Goodbye," She gave him one last smile. He nudged the mare's sides, raising a hand in farewell as they set off out of the yard.

He'd been born this city, Ren remembered as he rode out of the Red Keep. He had never really thought about that much, that the first time he passed through these gates was coming the way he was now, leaving. Although then he wasn't even two years old, sat on his mother's lap as she rode beside her brother, Lord of Winterfell, and her sister's bones. Of course, he didn't remember any of that. The next time he had returned to the city had been aged ten. He'd had no idea then that he wasn't going to be riding back to the Dreadfort a month later with his mother after their business in the city, but rather squiring for one of the most talented and infamous knights in the realm.

This time, he was a knight himself.

Ser Renan Snow rode out of the gates of King's Landing, alone on his steel grey horse, heading north.