The raven arrived a few days later, in the early morning. By nightfall, half the ravens in Winterfell's rookery had been sent flying.

Ren had been there to watch as Robb read the letter, the words of Cersei Lannister in Sansa's handwriting. His cousin's face had darkened the more he read, and when he looked up, eyes steely cold, he looked more a lord than he ever had done, more a Stark. He hadn't had to consult Ren's mother, or the Maester. His mind was made up already. Call the banners, and make the Lannisters pay for the great disrespect they had done House Stark in arresting his father.

Treason. His mother had scoffed at the word. Lord Stark was not capable of treason against Robert, though his supposed son was a different matter. That wasn't treason, however, as Joffrey wasn't the true king. The irony was not lost on Ren that the boy who had mocked him for years for his illegitimacy had turned out to be nothing but another bastard himself. He and his mother had ultimately decided to keep that information from Robb, for now at least. A war fighting for the return of Eddard Stark was one thing, whilst a war to topple the king from the throne - as his cousin would feel duty-bound to do - was quite another.

Having all but left his sister and cousins to their fate, along with Loreon and Lizzie, Ren wasn't particularly glad to be away from King's Landing himself. But even he had to acknowledge that if he'd been there, he likely would've died in the massacre. First of all because he hardly would have let the Lannister men take the girls without a fight, and second because he was worth very little as a hostage. Coupled with the fact that the new king despised him and was, quite literally, enough of a bastard to kill him for that alone, made it unlikely he'd have done more good there than he would here.

But Joffrey despised Loreon even more. Ren hoped his friend had had the sense to get out of the city before the killing started. Lizzie was smart enough to blend in with the other servants and escape into the city - and who would bother to go looking for a lowborn servant of the Stark girls? - but Loreon was another matter altogether. Ren liked to think that Winterfell would've heard if the new king decided to stick his baseborn brother's head on a spike, but news wasn't so reliable these days.

At least no harm would come to the three girls; surely the Lannisters had learned from the Targaryen's mistakes, if nothing else, although this was heading worryingly in that direction. Cersei is not Aerys, he had heard his mother say recently, more to remind herself than anyone. She was sleepwalking again, he knew. He had come across her himself a few times, muttering about her father and brothers, nonsense about wildfire and sharp nails, tears wet on her cheeks that she never would've cried when awake. The third time he had found her, still asleep, she had clung to his arm tightly. About to return her to her rooms, Ren had stopped dead when she called him Jaime in a mumbled voice, and decisively not mentioned it the next morning.

Over the next few weeks, every bannerman of House Stark arrived at the gates of Winterfell. The lords were given chambers in the castle, whilst the camp outside the walls grew larger and larger. Robb played the part of lord well, greeting every new arrival graciously and thanking them for bringing their men. Ren always stood to his right, some way behind him; people seemed to think him a sworn shield of his cousin, which he supposed he was. I have a shadow that glowers at everyone, Robb liked to joke.

The northern lords were a proud bunch, and a challenge to deal with all at once. Greatjon Umber was a domineering force of nature, who, though he respected Lord Eddard immensely, had little respect for his son, and Rickard Karstark was a proud, prickly old man who offended easily. The worst, however, was his mother's husband.

Roose Bolton spoke very little, watched a lot and unnerved most people as a rule, and Robb was no different - hells, Ren's mother was no different a lot of the time, and she was married to the man - although he did a better job than most of hiding it. Ren remembered the days of his own childhood, where Lord Bolton was a feared figure, one to never look in the eye or be noticed by in any way. The man had never shown anything towards him more than mild disdain and disinterest, but those pale eyes had given Ren many a nightmare as a boy. He had walked in on the man being leeched once, when he was seven, and had been unable to forget the sight since.

His mother hardly felt much better about her husband did he did. There were few people that scared her, Ren knew that, but he had seen the wary look in her eyes sometimes around him. The reunion of Lord and Lady Bolton after over half a year apart was hardly a loving one. His mother came out to greet the party as she had done with all the lords, but there were no fond words or embraces between those two, merely a mutual incline of the head, and a very slight amused smile on Bolton's part that lasted a second. That was another disturbing thing about him; everything seemed mildly amusing, mildly irritating, almost like a distraction, a game.

The only silver lining of Bolton's arrival at Winterfell, as Ren's mother had muttered to him earlier that day, was the news he brought of his mother, Lady Margaret's death. Which said everything, really. Aileen had been mildly saddened, having been the old hag's favourite, but that hadn't stopped her joining Ren and Edrick as they celebrated in private along with their mother, under the excuse of a talk to catch up with a flagon of wine. The twins' half-brother Domeric, who had ridden with his father from the Dreadfort having returned from the Vale several months ago, joined them. Though he had seen Aileen and Morganna on his last visit, he hadn't seen Edrick since he began fostering at Winterfell two years ago.

"I'm not toasting grandmother's death," Aileen said flatly when Ren offered her a cup, though she was smiling slightly, and he laughed. Domeric had no such inhibitions.

"Here's to no more of our dear grandmother calling me a feeble Ryswell weed," He lifted his goblet with a thin-lipped smile. "No more being called a pillow-biter for liking books and playing the harp,"

"Here's to no more of the old witch pretending to mistake me for a stable boy and asking what in hells I'm doing in the castle," Edrick joined him with his characteristic way with words.

"Lady Margaret once told me that bastards should be left out in the snow as infants, and that Mother was planning to do it to me," Ren said. "This was after she tripped me up with her stick, outside in the yard," He showed them the scar on his palm where he'd split it open on a sharp stone during that encounter. "I think I was five at the time," Edrick snorted, whilst Aileen and Domeric looked on, amused.

"She tried tripping me, once," His mother smiled tightly. "I threw the stick in the fire. Then she had the nerve to say I'd clearly caught Aerys Targaryen's madness from spending so long in the south,"

"To Margaret Bolton," Edrick grinned. "Loving grandmother, gracious goodmother and a sweet, gentle lady, all agree," His mother snorted darkly, but they all drank, except Aileen.

"She was nice to me," His sister shrugged, then smiled slyly. "She said I'd make a better heir than either of you two," She nodded between Edrick and Domeric.

"She only liked you because you were a girl," Her twin nudged her with his elbow, and she swatted him away. He just laughed, turning to Domeric. "How was the Vale? Why aren't you a knight yet? Ren is," Domeric laughed lightly, whilst Ren smirked.

"Because I could beat him with a sword when I was seven," He had always liked his stepbrother, despite the three years between them in age, and had felt even more out of place than usual at the Dreadfort when Domeric was sent to Barrowton for four years aged ten, then to the Vale to squire for the Redforts.

"I'll have you know, Lord Redfort claims I have the makings of a tourney champion," The wording clearly amused him, knowing full well what most Northmen thought of tourney knights. "What say we try a joust, Snow?" There was a glint in his eyes.

"No. You'd win," Ren shook his head. "I can sit a horse well enough, but you're like Mother, Bolton. Half horse yourself,"

"Thank you," His mother said.

"How was King's Landing, my lady?" Domeric had always called her 'my lady'. Never 'Mother', which was fair enough. She had been kind to him as a child, but had never tried to be his mother.

"A cesspool of vipers and intrigue, as ever,"

"It sounds delightful," The sarcasm was barely noticeable.

"You'd hate it," She said. "No peace or quiet, and everyone wants to know your business," Domeric smiled at that.

"My father is good to let you travel so much," It was a passing remark, mere conversation. Hardly an impertinent or invasive question, but evidently Domeric had been away too long. Ren's mother's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Yes, isn't it good of him to let me," Her tone was barely polite, and the look in her eyes said plainly that she would've gone regardless, even if Lord Bolton had tried to stop her going where she wanted. She might be his wife, but she was fiercely Stark, and Stark still outranked Bolton.

It was a good point Domeric had raised, though. Ren had often wondered why Bolton permitted his lady wife to spend so long away from the Dreadfort in recent years, not only at her childhood home of Winterfell, but also travelling with her own handpicked guards to King's Landing and back, especially given she had a bastard son. Despite the fact she was a Stark and her beloved brother Lord of Winterfell, Roose Bolton was not a man who did anything he did not want to. He could easily have prevented her leaving, or at least limited her travels somewhat, as most husbands would have done. It made Ren think that he appreciated her being away. He wondered exactly what it was the man did that made him go to such generous lengths to avoid his wife's scrutiny.

There was a slightly awkward pause.

"Gods Edrick, I'd better not end up carrying you upstairs again," Aileen broke the silence, eyeing their brother dubiously as he drunk another cup of wine. Ren had noticed how much the boy was drinking several minutes ago, but letting him vomit himself to sleep and wake up with a pounding headache seemed a more effective lesson than chiding and nagging, which he would only ignore.

"You're my sister, not my mother," Edrick grinned, glancing at their mother with a daring look.

"Drink if you like," Their mother said. "But I'll be sure to tell the servants not to clean up any mess you make, and don't expect Robb to let you sit in on his war council smelling like vomit and ale,"

Edrick slowly drained the goblet, looking her in the eye. She arched an eyebrow at his insolence, which had no effect, to Ren's surprise. As wild as his brother was, that look could still have him obeying his mother last time they saw each other. Even Aileen looked a little shocked, though she narrowed her eyes at her twin, clearly trying to work something out.

"Pleased with yourself?" Their mother was clearly unimpressed.

"Very," Ren realised that Edrick did not even look that amused himself, despite the mocking grin. If anything, he seemed slightly angry. He's drunker than I thought. "What are you going to do, set your dog on me again?" The look in their mother's eyes went cold then, nearly as cold as they had during her argument with Ren after he arrived in Winterfell, but Ren was more interested in what his brother had to say. So was Aileen; she was watching like a hawk.

"You're drunk," Their mother said icily. "But if you continue acting like a child, I will give you a thrashing, I don't care that you're three-and-ten. You're not a man yet, so don't think I won't,"

"He didn't care I was a child," Edrick snorted. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Domeric," She smiled tightly. "It's been a pleasure, but would you excuse us? Your brother seems to have forgotten his manners. Aileen, you too,"

"Of course, my lady," There was a curious expression on Domeric's face but he nodded, getting to his feet. "Goodnight, my lady. Edrick, Snow," He left the room with good grace, holding the door for Aileen. When it became clearly she wasn't moving anyway, he left without a word, mercifully shutting the door before Edrick continued to speak.

"He had a sword at my throat," He was on his feet now. "He would've killed me, if not for you. Yet you still - " He broke off, looking angry, and Ren suddenly realised what was going on. He glanced to his mother, who met his eyes with a sharp look. Yes, he knows. Aileen was looking sharply at each of them in turn. Clearly he hadn't told even his twin. At least he could keep the secret. Until he has a few drinks, that is.

"Who would've killed you?" The look in the girl's eyes was rather unnerving. "This is why you've been acting strangely all this time, out with it,"

"Renan, take your brother to his chambers," Their mother said in a low voice. "Aileen, stay here,"

"Edrick," Ren said quietly. "Come on, get up. It's late and you've drunk too much," The look in their mother's eyes was dark as she leant back in her chair, her face half hidden in shadow from the firelight and candles. Edrick let Ren take his arm. Aileen watched, silent, as they left.

"Do you know?" The boy looked up at him, drunken but fierce, as they walked down the dark corridor. "About the Kingslayer?"

"I known for years," Though hadn't known for sure until several weeks ago. It was better to sound certain. "But you don't see me blurting it out in front of your half-brother like a fool,"

"You're as bad as she is," Edrick mumbled. "What's so great about Ser Jaime Lannister? He's cocky, violent, careless... rude... he broke Uncle Ned's leg... he ... " Sired three children on his twin sister and passed them off as the king's?

"You're not wrong," Ren couldn't help but smirk as his brother continued to list Jaime's many flaws, doubting his mother would disagree with many of them.

Having settled Edrick in his rooms, propped onto his side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit in the night, Ren returned to his mother, who hadn't moved from that chair, torchlight flickering across her face. Aileen was gone for now, but he doubted the girl would let this matter go. Perhaps it was because she hadn't been as troublesome a child and hadn't needed to be disciplined often, but his sister never seemed as affected by their mother's anger as the rest of them. She would certainly be asking her brother about it the next day.

"We're riding to war against the Lannisters," Ren started, and his mother gave a bitter laugh.

"Do try not to kill each other on the battlefield, at least,"

"He'd slaughter me in a real fight, if he wanted to," He said honestly. "I might be as good as he was at my age, but he's had seventeen years more experience. And thirty three is hardly decrepit," There was a pause.

"I don't think he'd do it," Her voice was quiet now, slightly softer. "Kill you, I mean,"

"No," Ren hadn't even considered that as a possibility, and it was rather discomfiting to realise she had. "I don't think he would," He had seen Jaime Lannister nearly every day since he was ten years old.

"Would you?" She asked. "In the heat of it all. You've never been in a true battle. Say he's cut down northmen around you, dozens of them, men you've fought with, men you're friends with. Would you be fighting to disarm, or fighting to kill?"

"Not to kill," Ren said after a moment. His mother nodded, turning away slightly.

"Edrick saw us, in the godswood," She said. "The day of Bran's fall. He must've listened a while, we were talking... I saw him, I didn't recognise him, he'd hidden in the bushes. Jaime reacted at once, of course, tearing off into the trees with sword drawn. When I caught up to them he had the sword at Edrick's throat. He would've done it, if I hadn't got there in time. And if he had done it, if he'd killed my son, I - " She broke off, voice catching in her throat. "I wonder what I'd have done if wasn't Edrick, if it was some kitchen boy. Yes, we could have have paid him to keep quiet, threatened too, but if that secret got out... I'd be dead the moment Bolton saw an opportunity, be that that in a day or a year. And it wouldn't take a genius to make the link to Morganna. Bolton would kill her too. To trust that secret to some child..."

"It wasn't some child," Ren said flatly. "It was Edrick, and you got there in time. You've told me before not to drive myself mad over what ifs,"

"I was right," His mother said, expression dark as she stared into the fireplace. "Though it's easy to give advice. Harder to follow it. I've made so many terrible, stupid decisions that I wonder how I'm still alive,"

"And in that sense at least, you and Jaime are a well-matched pair,"

"After all this time, that's the only likeness I can find,"

"You're hardly alike in many other ways," He had to admit.

"When we first met, he used to say I was like a statue," She smiled wryly at that, not taking her eyes off the fire. "Grey, dull, stiff and unsmiling,"

"A true poet, that one," Ren rolled his eyes. His mother got to her feet then, facing him.

"I know it's meant to be noble to die in battle..." She started, almost hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his arm. She shook her head. "Just... Please don't," Her words, very nearly vulnerable, coupled with the uncharacteristic display of affection, made any reply he might have thought of die in his throat.

All Ren could say was, "I won't,"

It was an empty promise, and both of them knew it.


The march for Moat Cailin left the next morning.

Ren rode at Robb's side as his cousin led the Stark forces, Grey Wind and Crow running at their feet. The bellowing of Greatjon Umber could be heard even from where he was directing his own men further back, and looking over his shoulder, Ren could see the small party heading north east for the Dreadfort, Edrick and Aileen amongst them.

"Edrick's furious at being sent back," His mother said from where she rode beside unlikely as it was that the North itself would be attacked, it would be folly to have all those of Stark blood under the same roof, and the Dreadfort needed a Bolton presence.

"He was already furious at not being allowed to come south," Ren said.

"He's thirteen," She said. "How well would you have taken being sent back home when there were battles to fight?"

"That would never happen," He smirked slightly. "At thirteen I was Jaime Lannister's squire, I would've been sent to war with him if I liked it or not, and who would object? It's not like I'm heir to anything,"

"The woes of being a lord's son," She gave a short laugh.

There had been a long debate over whether his mother would be riding south with them. Even she herself was torn over whether she would be more useful as a strong Stark presence to hold Winterfell, or riding with the Northern army. On the surface it seemed unlikely that she could do much to assist Robb, who had his lords to counsel him and his men to fight, but ultimately it was Ren who had persuaded her to come with them. They were riding against the Lannisters, he said, and who in the North knew them better than she did? And Robb needed another person in his retinue who was on his side, and his side alone.

Besides, they would likely meet Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik whilst crossing the Neck; it was better that Lady Stark would be the one to return to hold Winterfell and see to the Stark children, rather than Lady Bolton.

Sure enough, whilst they were camped at Moat Cailin, the wayward pair joined them. The atmosphere in that first meeting had been tense, Ren's mother still being furious with the woman for kidnapping Tyrion Lannister. Lady Catelyn also clearly had no intention of returning to Winterfell, and wished to join Robb in the south.

"My son needs me," She insisted, glaring at Ren's mother in the gloomy Gatehouse Tower of the ancient stronghold. "He is barely five-and-ten, leading an army, with his father imprisoned - "

"Robb is almost a man grown," His mother had said coldly. "Your other sons are eight and four respectively. They haven't seen you in months, and I was a poor sort of replacement. More importantly, do you think the men will respect Robb, if he fights a war with his mother trailing after him?"

"And I suppose an aunt is much better," Catelyn had said. "How will you help him in ways that I cannot, exactly, my lady?"

"I'm not his mother," She said. "And I'm capable of separating emotions from logic. A skill which you clearly don't possess, given that you've torn your father's lands apart on the vague suspicion that the Imp tried to kill your son,"

"Enough," It was Robb who spoke then, as Catelyn bristled with fury. He looked tired, older, as he sat in the chair at the head of the table. "Mother, Lady Rosennis is right,"

"Robb, if you mean to punish me then you don't have to do it like this,"

"The men won't show respect if they see me as a boy hiding behind his mother's skirts," He insisted. "Bran and Rickon need you. Winterfell needs you. I likely do as well, but it can't happen, you can't ride south with me. Aunt Ross is family, on my side but not so close as to hold back the hard truth. She also has an insight into the Lannisters that may prove valuable,"

"An insight," Lady Catelyn gave his mother the same look she gave Jon Snow whenever he dared to make a sound in her presence. Ren had been on the receiving end of that look several times himself. He wasn't sure if it was because of Catelyn's general dislike of bastards, or because she had recently clashed with his mother. "Is that what you call it, my lady?" Robb looked rather confused at that, but Ren's mother's eyes darkened.

"You met Varys in King's Landing, then," She said icily. "Your hear all sorts in that city. I spoke to Petyr Baelish when I was there last. He had things to say about you that would make your son's ears curl. Whether they're true or not, I do not know, nor do I care. His words are as true as we make them, as are the rumours and conjecture you're spouting now,"

"Enough, please," Robb said again, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. His lord's voice wasn't quite as good as Lord Stark's yet, and some of his agitation showed through. "Mother, I'm sorry. Ser Rodrik will escort you north to Winterfell, whilst we ride south to Riverrun," Lady Catelyn's expression faltered into hurt for a split second, before the cold mask of a perfect lady took over, the only weakness being her glassy eyes.

"As you wish, my lord," Holding her head high, she left the room at a brisk pace. Ren's mother's jaw set as she turned in a whirl of dark skirts and strode over to the window without a word.

"You did the right thing," Ren said quietly to Robb, who just ran a hand through his red-brown hair, looking weary. His eyes seemed more grey than blue, in this light.


Marching towards the Trident, their situation did not look especially good. All reports showed that Jaime Lannister had shattered the Riverlands forces at the Golden Tooth, capturing Edmure Tully as he did so, before laying siege to Riverrun itself. Lord Tywin's host was moving east, capturing castles along the way and closing the Kingsroad. The only way for the Northern army to enter the Riverlands, therefore, lay with the crossing at the Twins. A fact that Walder Frey would surely know.

Many things were said about Lord Walder, none of them particularly good. For this reason, most everyone advised Robb against entering the Twins himself to discuss terms for using the Frey's bridge. That duty ended up falling on Ren's mother, the only one highborn enough for the old man not to consider their choice of envoy an insult. Ren walked beside her as they entered the castle.

The majority of Lord Walder's vast family had a similar weak-chinned, weaselly look to them, he noted as the entered the hall to find them all assembled there. Lord Frey himself was a repulsive creature, old and shrivelled with a wife over seventy years younger than him. She was the eighth Lady Frey, and walked beside her husband, who had to be carried into the hall on a litter.

"My lord," Ren's mother inclined her head slightly. The old man squinted at her suspiciously.

"Is that it? No sweet words and a curtsey for an old man, Lady Rosennis? Why are you here? Is the Stark boy too proud to come before me himself? What am I to do with you?" Ren saw his mother's eyes narrow slightly.

"Father," Ser Stevron Frey said reproachfully. "You forget yourself. Lady Bolton is here at your invitation,"

"Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I'll hear no instructions from you,"

"This is no way to speak in front of our noble guest, Father," One of his younger sons said.

"Now my bastards presume to teach me courtesy," Lord Walder complained. "I'll speak any way I like, damn you. I've had three kings to guest in my life, and queens as well, do you think I require lessons from the likes of you, Ryger? Your mother was milking goats the first time I gave her my seed," Ren glanced at his mother, whose eyebrow was raised slightly as Frey continued to speak. "Danwell, Whalen, help me to my chair,"

Two of his sons carried Lord Walder to the high seat of the Freys, where the old man beckoned Ren's mother forward, clearly intending to kiss her hand.

"There's no need for such courtesies," She said rather coldly. Frey laughed at that.

"A woman as uncourteous as I am," He said. "Perhaps now my sons will do me the honour of shutting their mouths. Who's this?" He turned to Ren abruptly.

"Renan Snow, my lord," Frey leered at that.

"Your bastard, my lady. Heh," Neither of them said anything to that. Frey, realising that he wasn't going to get a reaction, scowled. "Why are you here?"

"To ask you to open your gates," Ren's mother said. "My nephew is fighting a war, and must be on his way,"

"To Riverrun?" Frey sniggered. "Oh, no need to tell me, no need. I'm not blind yet. The old man can still read a map," It might have been asked why Lord Frey was not at Riverrun himself, given that he was still a bannerman of Hoster Tully, but that question would have led them down a route none wished to spiral into.

"To the other side of the river," His mother didn't trust the man, that was plain from her pointed reply. "We want to cross,"

"Oh, do you? That's blunt. Why should I let you? The Starks are no friends of ours,"

"If you don't, we will remain on this side of the river," She said coldly. "Twenty thousand men eat a lot, my lord, and don't think we'll be wasting our provisions when there's plenty of fresh food around your castle, ripe for the taking.

"You think to threaten me?" Lord Walder said irritably. "If you wish to starve yourself against my walls, so be it. We have food plenty on the other side," She smiled faintly at that, a rather unsettling expression she had clearly learnt from her husband.

"A long summer means a long winter, all know that," She said. "And none better than the Starks. You also know, as well as I do, that we can't siege your castle without crossing the river, but we can forage our way through half of your lands easily enough, leaving your winter supplies severely depleted. When your smallfolk rise up, we'll come to you again, asking to cross,"

"Your boy lord's bannermen won't content themselves to waiting that long," Frey sneered, irritated. "They'll storm the walls in the end, mark my words, and leave twenty thousand corpses to feed the fishes,"

"The North is patient," She replied simply. There was a silence, that stretched far too long to be comfortable. After a full minute, Frey seemed to realise then that she wasn't going to haggle.

"I will have Robb Stark take a Frey bride," He said, taking up her bluntness. "Two of my sons will be wards at Winterfell. Four more will squire for Northmen, one being Robb Stark. Then you can all cross my bridge. I'll even give you men," His mother smiled again.

"So long as I gets to pick out my nephew's bride myself, now," It was an odd request, but his mother seemed to know what she was doing, as Frey laughed.

"Quite right, quite right," He leered toothlessly. "Can't have the boy disappointed. I'll admit mine is an ugly brood, or most of them anyway," All the Freys were present in the hall as they had been speaking, and soon all the eligible young ladies were lined up for inspection, like horses at a market.

The girl his mother picked in the end was not particularly pretty. Lady Marianne was a girl of fourteen, and had the Frey look, with a small chin and mousey brown hair, though she was somewhat less weaselly than many of her cousins, and her big brown eyes were even rather pretty. She was also remarkably tiny, with a skinny build, no breasts to speak of and narrow hips. Ren thought back to Lord Walder's earlier words about the girl, then remembered the passing comment that her Vance mother had died in childbirth along with her second child, after a difficult first birth.

He realised then what his mother had done, and wasn't sure whether to be disturbed or impressed.

"Why that one?" Even Frey was surprised, and somewhat suspicious. "Not Fair Walda? Roslin? Arwyn?"

"Arwyn is a child, my lord," Ren's mother said without missing a beat. "And Fair Walda is too old," Too old at nineteen? Hardly. "Lady Marianne is much closer in age to my nephew, and a granddaughter of your heir, Ser Stevron, is she not? If House Stark is to entwine its fortunes with such a large house as House Frey, I'm sure you appreciate a preference of wedding into the main branch?"

Frey grumbled a little at that, but couldn't find any more obvious holes to pick in her explanation.

Robb took the news of his betrothal remarkably well, though asked Ren afterwards whether the bride his aunt had chosen for him was comely or not.

"She looks like a Frey," Was all he said, and his cousin had grimaced.

They crossed the river at evenfall, though it took hours to get the column across, despite a large portion being left with Lord Bolton on the east bank to march south to confront Lord Tywin's force. His mother had had misgivings about giving her husband control of half their army, but he was admittedly a better choice than the Greatjon. Ser Brynden Tully joined them on the other side, and he was invaluable in concealing their march south from Jaime's army camped outside Riverrun, as he and his outriders picked off any Lannister scouts he came across. Marq Piper was sent to harry the baggage train.

Robb came to Ren's mother as the drew further south, asking her if Jaime Lannister was reckless enough to be tempted out of his camp by a raid led by the Blackfish. His mother had closed her eyes for a moment before saying he was.

The Lannister host outnumbered theirs almost three to one. Which made clever strategy key, if they wanted a victory. The eventual plan was a good one, Robb's idea. Whilst the northern army hid in a wooded valley, the Blackfish led a raid on the Lannister camp whilst bearing Tully colours, succeeding in luring a large portion of the army into following them north of the Tumblestone river.

From where they were hidden in the trees, Ren could see the column moving. Even in the moonlight, Jaime was unmistakable. He's not wearing a helm. Then Maege Mormont's war horn sounded, a long, low sound that signalled the last of the column had entered the valley.

Grey Wind and Crow both began to howl. It was a truly eerie sound, but only made Ren's blood race even faster, the hair on his neck prickling as he imagined how it would chill the Lannister men below. He glanced to his left, where his mother was sat stiffly on her horse, surveying the valley with sharp eyes, which looked black in the moonlight, though her pale grey dress appeared silvery-white. She would stay on the ridge whilst the battle raged, waiting, and he didn't envy her that.

The Greatjon's horn blew in response from the far ridge, Mallister and Frey from the east and west, Karstark from the north. Arrows flew whistling through the trees, and the screams of the men below could be heard. Ren glanced at his mother; she gave him a stony look. Then Robb yelled, and they charged.

It was a bloodbath.

Ren had never been in a true battle before. He had fought outlaw bands and lone criminals in the Kingswood, but never anything like this. He was part of Robb's personal guard - along with thirty or so others, generally the sons of the bannermen - and Robb made sure to position himself in the thick of the fighting. It was chaos, steel clashing, blood splashing, men yelling in pain, horses screaming as archers killed them underneath their riders. And Ren had never felt more alive.

There was fear somewhere, of course there was, but it was a somewhat distant, detached feeling, buried under the wave of adrenaline and battle-lust that filled him. His sword was an extension of his arm, cutting a bloody path ahead of Robb. Crow was at his side, lean, lethal and savage, a dread beast, never straying too far from Ren's side. Like Grey Wind, the rangy wolf tore of limbs with ease, savaged faces, and every now and then let out another mournful, chilling howl along with his brother.

The battle could have lasted minutes or days for all Ren knew. Time went strangely in the heat of it all. But soon he noticed, with vicious satisfaction, that the Northmen were winning. The Lannisters had been hopelessly outnumbered as it was, only expecting to fight a small raiding force of three hundred. All around him men died, and most of them wore red.

He saw Jaime many times during the fighting. The man had ridden at the head of the initial column, of course, but the next time Ren saw him, his horse was being killed underneath him, and he disappeared into the fray, sword whirling above his head.

As more and more Lannister soldiers fell, Jaime suddenly appeared again, a flash of gold to Ren's right. He saw the look in the man's eyes. Jaime knew they were lost, and was heading straight for Robb, having gathered what men he could for one last, mad push. As Ren watched, Eddard Karstark was cut down by a golden sword, and his brother Torrhen, with a furious yell, leapt in to finish his fight despite having lost his shield. Fool. Jaime was the best swordsman in Westeros, Karstark had no chance. The boy would fall, as would Dacey Mormont, Darryn Hornwood, Wendel Manderly, the rest of Robb's battle guard, and then Robb himself.

Before he thought about what he was doing, Ren had leapt off his horse and into the fight, not in time to stop Jaime's sword cutting Torrhen's left hand clean off as the idiot tried to block the blow with his shield arm, but managing to deflect what would have been a killing blow to Karstark's chest. He found himself crossing blades with the man who had taught him to fight. He and Jaime looked at each other for a moment, green eyes on green. He thought of his mother's words from Winterfell... what would you do? What would he do?

His father's eyes glinted. And then the fight began.

It wasn't in earnest, Ren could tell from the moment they started. They had had training sessions where he'd pushed him more than this, admittedly without the battlefield backdrop of death and chaos. Once, a display like this would have easily beaten Ren, and would surely be the death of most men, but now...

To onlookers, it must have looked very strange indeed. Ren tried to provoke him into trying harder by slashing him across the face, a, irritating minor wound he should've blocked, but it didn't work. There was an odd sort of smile on Jaime's face, almost the equivalent of a shrug, asking what the hell he expected him to do. So Ren won, of course, and a ragged cheer went up at the sight of the Kingslayer disarmed and defeated. It was a hollow victory. Jaime had let him win, after all, none too subtly. He gave Ren a wry grin as he sank to his knees, sword as his throat.

As the sun rose, the sounds of battle died away, and all that was left was the howling of the direwolves.

Ren, limbs aching and a golden sword stuck into his belt, found his horse trotting around the stream with broken reins and a snapped arrow in her hindquarters. He managed to catch the mare's reins as she blew and snorted in pain, and rubbed her neck absently. Best leave that arrow in for now, it'll only start bleeding. A moderate wound to his leg he didn't even remember receiving had started to hurt. It had been done by a Morningstar, so the armour was dented too, digging in.

"Easy," He glanced up as Crow appeared at his side, black fur matted with blood and gore. He threw his head back and let out another howl, and the horse skittered sideways. "Quiet," Ren muttered irritably to the wolf, more than feeling the weight of his sword arm and the heaviness in his eyelids now as the horse tugged at the reins. He drew the golden sword, eyeing it distastefully for a moment before strapping it to his saddle.

He forced himself to appear more awake as Robb came trotting up on a piebald gelding, different to the grey stallion he had ridden into battle. A mob of exhausted men trudged behind him, bloody, dented and dirty like he was, but all grinning and clapping each other on the back. Theon and the Greatjon were amongst them, and between them they dragged Ser Jaime Lannister.

"Come on, Snow," His cousin called as they approached. Wordlessly, Ren checked the girth before swinging himself carefully onto the mare's saddle, making sure his leg didn't disturb the horse's arrow wound and wincing slightly as his own injury was stretched. He rode beside Robb as they made their way back up the sides of the valley, to where Lady Bolton waited with her guards.

His mother was pale in the morning light, showing no signs of tiredness as she sat tall on her horse, barely seeming to notice how it skittered under her at the sight of the approaching party. She shared a look with Jaime as they threw him to his knees in front of her.

"The Kingslayer," Hallis Mollen, one of her guards announced unnecessarily. Jaime raised his head.

"Lady Stark," He said, blood running down one cheek from the gash across his scalp. "It's been a while since I saw your face. I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it. Your bastard saw to that," Her lips twitched slightly, sadly, as she saw Jaime's golden sword strapped to Ren's horse.

"Beaten by your own squire, ser?" She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I should be glad it didn't end with my son's leg being shattered under a falling horse like my brother," He actually smiled at that.

"I forgot how you hold a grudge, Ross,"

"A pity," She said cooly.

"You address her as Lady Bolton," Robb cut in coldly. He laughed hoarsely.

"I'll address her how I like, boy,"

"Kill him, Robb," Theon Greyjoy urged. "Take his head off,"

"No," Ren and his cousin both spoke at the same time. Everyone gave him a curious look, which he glared at, replying sharply. "Do you want Cersei Lannister to murder Lord Stark, his daughters and my sister?"

"He's more use alive than dead," Robb agreed. "And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle,"

"A wise man," Jaime said, clearly mocking. "And honourable,"

"Get some irons," Ren's mother spoke over him. "Greatjon, he's eyeing your sword like the direwolf does a steak," Jaime had the nerve to laugh at that, and she shot him a glare.

"Do as my lady aunt says," Robb commanded. "And make certain there's a strong guard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike."

"That he will," The Greatjon agreed.

"Goodbye, my lady," Jaime smiled at Ren's mother as he was led away. She glanced at him but said nothing.

"Why would Karstark want him dead?" She asked them instead. "Besides obvious reasons," Robb looked away into the woods, with the same brooding look that Lord Stark often got.

"He... he killed him..."

"Lord Karstark's son," Galbart Glover explained.

"Eddard," Robb said. "He crippled Torrhen and injured Daryn Hornwood as well,"

"No one can fault Lannister on his courage," Glover said. "When he saw that he was lost, he rallied his retainers and fought his way up the valley, hoping to reach Lord Robb and cut him down. And almost did,"

"He mislaid his sword in Eddard Karstark's neck, after he took Torrhen's hand off and nearly split Daryn Hornwood's skull open," Robb said. "All the time he was shouting for me. If they hadn't tried to stop him - if Ren hadn't gotten there in time..."

"Hornwood is fine," Ren said a little harshly. "Torrhen isn't, but he'll live, and it was his own fault for forgetting he'd lost his shield and trying to deflect a blow with his wrist. As for Eddard, well. He fought well. Rather him than you," An uncomfortable silence followed his words.

"He's right," His mother spoke. "They were sworn to defend you, and they did your job. Grieve when Riverrun is won, Robb. This was one battle, it won't win the war," Judging from the expression on Robb's face, he clearly agreed.

As Theon Greyjoy eagerly recounted the glorious battle to Ren's barely-listening mother, Ren tuned out. Until his own name was mentioned.

"Why did Lannister let you win, Snow?" Theon asked, half curious, half smirking. "I saw him fighting four knights at once at one point, and cut them all down too. You're better than most, but not that good, he was holding back for you," Ren gritted his teeth, seeing the look on his mother's face. This is how rumours start.

"The battle was lost, he was dead or a captive regardless," He said. "He's a cocky prat, but he's not a monster. Maybe he preferred to sacrifice some small pride than kill a boy he taught to fight," Greyjoy shrugged at that, soon moving on, but Robb was looking at him oddly, as were several of the other knights and lords that rode with them.


That night, as they sat around the fire outside Robb's tent, there was a commotion as a lone rider was dragged into the camp by several suspicious sentries.

"Just came riding up, milord," One of them said to Robb. "No livery, no arms, nothing. Says he's got a message,"

"Let's see it, then," Robb frowned, getting to his feet. "Let him go," The sentries stepped back, and the messenger straightened up.

"Beg pardons, milord Stark," The man was rather unremarkable, but Ren eyed the scroll of parchment he drew out of his pocket, sealed with plain grey wax. "The message is for Renan Snow alone," All eyes turned his way.

"Give it here," Ren stepped forward, breaking the wax seal and unrolling the message. Then he saw the familiar, surprisingly neat handwriting and smiled So you head isn't on a spike after all.