Chapter 7

The next day Lord Stark said that he would not be needing Jory or Nysa's services. He had things to discuss with Lord Baelish and the City Watch. And with the tourney happening today - and Jory's excitement to participate - Lord Stark allowed the siblings to have a couple days to enjoy themselves as well as the benefits of being in King's Landing. He knew that they had a rough beginning and warned them - and all his guards as well - that they were no longer in the North.

"I cannot believe that you're competing in a tourney," Nysa said as she helped Jory slip into some armor.

Lord Stark watched them before informing Jory that he was to see Lord Baelish.

"I do not like him," Nysa commented as her brother looked at her, "Lord Baelish."

"He is a friend of Lady Stark's and she urged Lord Stark that he could be trusted."

Nysa shook her head. "You did not hear him speak of Lady Catelyn in the small council meeting the way I did," she shook her head. "And earlier today when they talked about the tourney," she snorted, "he just has this look about him."

"Nysa..."

"Damn him," someone shouted as they entered the tent. Both turned to see Harwin coming in, gripping his shoulder.

"What happened," Nysa hurried to his side, helping Wyl and Cayn to remove his armor.

"He went up against Ser Meryn Trant," Wyl answered.

"I'm fine," Harwin answered, just a bit winded. He smiled at Nysa before nodding his head. "You best go and watch how they joust. Might help warn your brother," he chuckled.

"I don't need my sister to study all my opponents," Jory smiled as he walked closer to Harwin, looking him over.

Nysa glanced at Harwin and then back out the tent. The people here - especially the knights - were not always honorable people. It would be unfair if Jory went in without any knowledge of what was happening. She should have thought of that before Harwin had gone out and faced defeat at the hands of one of the Kingsguards. She walked past several tents, keeping her hand close to her thigh. Jory had told her to hide the dagger under her dress - just in case.

She looked towards the dais where Arya was sitting with Sansa and Septa Mordane. She would join her later so that the girl would not feel uncomfortable. But right now, she turned her attention towards the knights that were lined up. She listened to those who were being called. She recognized a few names and Houses from her lessons and every now and then would search for their banners to see their sigil.

"Ser Meryn," someone called out, causing Nysa to turn her head towards the voice, "your next joust will be Ser Perwyn Frey."

"Aye," Ser Meryn replied with a chuckle. "I'll win that one easily."

Nysa picked up her skirts and hurried back towards the tents only for them to announce that another Frey knight was about to begin. She looked towards the joust to see that the knight was rather large and imposing. She thought he would win the match easily. But what she saw, surprised her. The knight fell quickly.

She saw Ser Meryn glance over at the fallen Frey knight and shake his head. "See that," he gestured towards the knight, "I'll beat his brother the same way." The other guards around him began to laugh.

It unsettled Nysa greatly to see the Kingsguards treat the other men as though there were nothing. She remembered tending to Heward's wounds on the Kingsroad and how Ser Jamie had beaten him even after he surrendered. These were the knights that Bran looked up to, the knights that he desired to become like. She shook her head and hurried to see if she could find this Ser Perwyn Frey. Her eyes scanned to see the Frey sigil and followed the fallen knight back towards his tent.

What was she doing here, she thought.

She could get in a lot of trouble.

Her hand reached for her blade again - just in case.

"Oi girl," a knight shouted at her, causing her to jump back. "What are you doing here?"

She looked at him with a frightened expression. He seemed just as large as the knight who had fallen, maybe even larger. He stared at her, towering over her. "I came to relay a message to Ser Perwyn. Is this not where the Frey knights are..."

"And who are you to be seeking our brother's company," another knight appeared, not as tall as the other two.

Brother, Nysa thought. How many were there? "I am not seeking his company, Ser. I merely wish to relay a message about the joust."

"What about it," he questioned.

"I have some advice," she replied.

The second one night grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the tent. She didn't fight of scream and the two men paused to look at her before inquiring about their brother who had recently lost. She heard and then saw an old man yelling at him. She could only deduce that he was possibly their father. He said some vulgar words about the knight's mother causing Nysa to wince before he trotted towards the back of the tent.

"My brothers say you asked to speak with me."

Nysa turned to see a younger knight standing before her. He was possibly the same age as her brother but she could not tell. She also blushed at realizing that he was a bit better looking than the other knights.

"You should try to keep the lance closer to your body," she commented as the men stopped to look at her. "Do not press it against you but keep it close. If you lean too much into it, it will cause more damage than good." The knight turned to his brothers with a confused expression. "You face Ser Meryn Trant, do you not?" He nodded. "He defeated Harwin."

"Ah," the Knight nodded in recognition and then stepped forward. "And you wish to avenge this Harwin."

"Perhaps," she smiled. "As I said you need to keep your lance closer," she moved to his side. "Your brother has fought well. But unlike most of them," she nodded to two who were standing, "you lack the build that they have. You'll be thrown from your house before Ser Meryn's lance would have reached you," she teased as a few of them chuckled.

"I will keep that in mind," he nodded before smiling, "anything else."

She stepped closer. "Ser Meryn likes to slow his horse down just before you'd meet him. He likes to think that you'd give away your position when in reality it leaves a brief weakness open." The knight listened. "I saw your other brother is up against Ser Mandon Moore."

"Aye."

"Ser Mandon is highly skilled but his arrogance will be his downfall," Nysa explained with a small smile on her face. "I think your brother would be able to brace himself if he doesn't put all his weight onto his shield. And he should allow his horse to run at full speed. Your brother should not hold back."

"You have a dislike for the Kingsguard, don't you," he questioned.

"No," she smiled innocently. "I merely desire for others to win the tournament. It would be such a shame if only the Kingsguards were to win. There is glory enough to go around."

The knight smiled and reached for her hand. "Thank you, fair lady," he kissed her hand and smiled at her, "for thinking of me." Nysa blushed and quickly pulled back her hand.

"I wish you well," she replied.

Nysa exited the tent and made her way towards their own to see her brother preparing for his match. Jory turned to offer his hand to her. "I desire for my sister to accompany me into the field," he smiled.

She took his hand and climbed onto the horse behind him. She noted that Arya stood up and cheered as they entered. Nysa kissed Jory's cheek before climbing down. "Good luck, brother."

Nysa had just stepped onto the stairs when Septa Mordane nodded her head to the King and Queen, reminding her of her curtsies. She smiled at the two of them before doing just as she ought to. Surprisingly, the Queen smiled and addressed her.

"You look lovely today, Lady Nysa."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she smiled, completely shocked at the title of 'Lady' coming from the Queen. If the Queen was going to use her wits, then she thought she could as well. "I must confess that it is you who is far lovelier and the sight of radiance on this day."

The King began to laugh. "There is no need to flatter my wife. She knows how beautiful she is."

The Queen smiled again. "But it is pleasant to hear such compliments, my love. It is nice of you to join us," she turned her attention back to Nysa. "We had wondered where you had disappeared to?"

Whether the question was deceitful or not, Nysa was not sure. It appears the Queen knew the art of hiding behind her manners well. Nysa tried to calm herself before she answered. "I went to assist my brother as he fights in honor of Lord Stark, hand to King Robert Baratheon. We thank both you and the King for the honor," she curtsied again.

"The honor is all ours," Queen Cersei nodded to her.

Nysa released a breath she did not know she was holding in at how well her encounter on this day went with the Queen. She turned to sit by Arya and Sansa, only to have a hand appear in front of her.

She looked up to see Renly Baratheon smiling. "I will consider it an honor if you would sit with me, my Lady."

"I," she turned towards Septa Mordane but it was Sansa who answered her.

"Do not deny a Lord, Nysa," she urged.

It would seem as though Nysa was back in Sansa's good graces as well. She gave Arya an apologetic look before taking Lord Renly's hand. Renly smiled when Nysa sat down next to him. It was apparent though, from the outset, that he did it to infuriate the Queen. Nysa knew that Queen Cersei had only been nice since there were others present. She was reminded of her treatment as of late and was merely cautious around the Queen - even when her behavior was cordial. Renly Baratheon had spoken ill of the Queen during the latest small council meeting today - which surprised Nysa but made her smile. Sitting by him would of course, garner more displeasure from her. She did not want to bring reproach to Lord Stark but it was nice to let the Queen know that Nysa was making friends, regardless of what she spoke about her.

"Do not fret," Renly comforted her. "She will be on her best behavior today and so will the Prince," he whispered as she nodded to him.

The second Jory took off, Nysa was off her feet - forgetting about the Queen and being presentable. "Jory," she cheered for him. "Yes," she clapped as his opponent fell. She saw Lord Renly's face fall and it was obvious he wanted the opponent to win.

"Winner, Jory of House Cassel," the announcement was made.

Renly shook his head next to her.

"You cheered for the other," Nysa asked as she sat.

"He is cousin to my close friends, the Tyrells," Renly replied.

"I see," she smiled.

Renly chuckled before nudging her. "Go and see to your brother. And when you return, climb in through the side so you will not need to bow to her Grace again."

She nodded and went to leave only for the next jousters to appear. Like many of the riders before him, he waved to the crowds that cheered for him. Nysa barely paid any attention to the scenes of women who melted as the knights smiled or shamelessly winked at them. Whoever this knight was, circled around the crowds and then approached the front of the dais. She startled when the horse stopped in front of her.

"I would beg a favor from a Lady."

There stood the Frey knight she had spoken to earlier. She smiled and approached the front slowly. "I have nothing to give but the advice you received earlier."

"Who was this Harwin to you," he asked, "that I am to avenge him?"

"He is a guard for House Stark and fights under my brother who is his captain of the guards for Lord Stark," she gestured to Sansa and Arya as they eyed the knight.

"Nothing more," the knight again asked a question. She shook her head. "Then I shall not fear recompense if I should ask a Lady for a kiss?"

She could hear Sansa swooning behind her, Arya's groan of disgust as well as Septa Mordane's gasp of shock. Her eyes looked for her brother before walking closer to the railing. The knight leaned over and smiled. Her hand reached up to draw his face closer. Just as her lips were about to meet his, she turned and placed the kiss to his cheek. Smiling shyly, Nysa pulled away as she heard a few snickers.

"My brother would run you through with his sword if I gave you a real one," she answered, "and I rather you not die before you win your joust, good knight."

He smiled again as he gestured for her hand. "Then I will not disappoint you," he kissed her hand, "my Lady."

She went back to her seat, her hand shaking as Sansa gushed over the whole interaction and Septa Mordane applauded her discretion. Renly Baratheon cautioned her, stating that the knight was from House Frey.

"They are about a thousand of them living there in the Twins," Renly said.

"Surely not that much," Nysa replied.

Renly laughed. "Okay, maybe it is not that much but there are a lot of them. That old man there is their father, Lord Walder Frey," he nodded to a man she remembered seeing in the tent. Of course, he had been too busy groping a serving girl after scolding his son. "They say that Lord Frey is set to marry his eighth wife soon," he whispered the last part.

"Eighth," Nysa screeched as Renly quieted her down.

She stayed to see Ser Trant had been unhorsed by the Frey knight. She cheered happily before leaving quickly. She was not trying to avoid the knight, she merely wanted to see her brother before his next joust. Jory smiled at her as she entered the tent he shared with the other guards from Winterfell. Alyn had been there and preparing for his joust. She was not certain who he would be facing but wished him luck.

"I hear you kissed a knight," her brother said once Alyn had gone.

"He asked for a favor," she said with a blush.

Jory took her hands, having her pause as she worked. She looked up to see him with a gentle smile. "You have grown to a beautiful young woman, Nysa. You know of the marriage proposals that have come for your hand?"

"I do," she nodded as Jory's shoulders seemed to deflate. "You don't need to sound too displeased," she teased.

"In truth, I was hoping that there would be none," he replied as she playfully hit his shoulder. "I do not desire that you are wed to just anyone, sister," Jory said seriously. "I do not want to lose you."

"You need not worry on losing me to a Southern knight."

"Is that because your heart is in the North?"

Nysa didn't answer but turned to look away. "Were there any Houses you would not oppose," she asked thinking of Torrhen.

Jory smiled at her before placing a kiss on her cheek. "You know my answer to that already. I know we have spoke little of it but Torrhen Karstark did ask again about your hand and I informed him that it is not only up to me."

"I do not understand how there is so much fret about a lowly Northern girl to wed the third-born son of a Lord," she shrugged.

He could not help but chuckle at his sister. "That sounds like a high-born Southern Lady speaking and not the girl that I know who lived in the North," he teased before she relaxed. "I understand that it all seems tiresome. But believe me, Lord Stark and your Lord Uncle only wish to know that your future is a happy one. And because of that," he sighed, "do be careful with the knights here and the favors you would be handing out to all of them."

She hit his arm and he was glad that she was back in good spirits once again. He hated seeing her looking forlorn lately.

"I'm jesting with you, sister," he chuckled, "I know I will not have to defend your honor."

She smiled and looked down. Jory placed his hand under her chin and lifted it up.

"If your Uncle wishes for you to wed someone from the South," Jory began as Nysa shook her head, "if he does," he reminded her with a stern voice. "If he wants you to wed someone from here, make sure it is someone from a House that is far from the Capital. Do you understand?" Nysa nodded. "Get far away from the Lannisters as you can, sister."

"Yes, brother," she nodded again.

"Good," Jory smiled before pulling her out of the tent, "now show me the knight who asked for a kiss?"

"Jory," she moved her elbow to jab his ribs causing him to laugh. "You are horrible!" He continued to laugh as she shook her head. "And what if you should find some Lady here," his sister teased him. "Am I to scare her away with my bow or perhaps your dagger?"

Jory smiled and moved her so he could plant a kiss upon her brow. "I trust your judgement," he responded, "and like you, I don't know if I could stomach taking a bride from the South."

"I don't know," she shrugged, "we may find one who could stomach taking you as their husband."

They both laughed then as Jory walked them towards his horse. He was glad that his sister's mood was better than it had been lately. It was nice to jest with her, simply be brother and sister. It was pleasant not to worry about putting on false pretenses around the other guards, Lords and Ladies that were present. It was wonderful to just see her smile. Jory prayed that this journey would never take that away from her.

"You've been assisting my brothers and I throughout the entire tourney."

Nysa turned to see the Frey knight walking towards her.

"Even if one of us should fall," he motioned to his brothers who had lost the day before, "you are there to help tend to their wounds."

"You would think that here in King's Landing, they'd have proper nurses," she teased. "I must congratulate you on winning your third joust yesterday, good knight. I believe you beat out Ser Preston Greenfield to advance to today's competitions."

"Aye, you don't seem too happy?"

"He and Ser Barristan are the only members of the Kingsguard that I find respectable," she answered honestly. "And your brother defeated Ser Boros," her smiled widened, "that is an awful tale to tell."

"He lost his last joust to Ser Jamie though, something our father was not too pleased with."

"There is still a lot for your father to be proud of. You've made it this far in the tourney, something a lot of knights have not accomplished. He should be proud of that."

He smiled and leaned against the post, facing her. "Believe it or not, I was given good advice. Forgive, my lady but I seem to have forgot your name."

"Nysa," she smiled and then looked down, "Snow. My name is Nysa Snow."

He raised an eyebrow before taking her hand and lifting it up for a kiss. "Ser Perwyn Frey," he added before releasing her hand. "You sat on the dais with the King and Queen."

"And what would a bastard be doing there, you must be wondering," she replied.

Ser Perwyn chuckled. "I meant no offense."

"Of course, you didn't," she turned to look away.

"Truly, I did not," he touched her arm.

She nodded and gave him a smile to let him know it was forgiven. "Perhaps you are just shocked that the Queen seemed to find it in her good graces to associate herself with me."

"Quite true, she usually she is not as forgiving," he said in a soft tone with a smile. "So, what is your story then?"

Nysa took a breath before looking towards Jory who had just was preparing for his first joust of the day. "My brother and I serve House Stark," she began. "And Lord Eddard Stark is the Hand of the King. His daughter is betrothed to the Prince and one day I should become her lady-in-waiting," she turned back to Ser Perwyn. "I need no approval from this Queen," she gestured her head towards the dais.

He smirked and shook his head. "You are different from other women I have met."

"Have you met much bastard women?"

"I have, actually," he answered confidently. "I have several brothers and sisters who are of the same status. But what I meant is that you are different from other women in general." She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Meaning that you speak your mind and you have an eye for good fighting skills," he nodded towards the joust, "I like a strong woman."

"Then you will like the North," Nysa answered, "there are many women like that there, stronger than I," she smiled teasingly as he laughed.

"I think I'll go to the North one day," he replied.

"You should," she added as they both laughed.

"Or perhaps I'll wait until a Northern warrior lady comes to me," he tilted his head at her. "You know, one must wonder why you have been assisting my family," Ser Perwyn told her. "Perhaps you find us handsome," he jested as she smiled.

Nysa could see why Sansa was giddy all day. She turned away from the knight to hide her blush. "I merely dislike the Kingsguard gaining all the glory." She looked back at him to see him admiring her.

His hand reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair. "What advice do you have for me about this next one?"

"On that one, I cannot give," she answered.

"You cheer for the other man," he asked, pulling back his hand.

Nysa turned and smiled. "He is my brother," she told Ser Perwyn.

"Nysa?" Her head whipped around then to see Lord Stark calling for her. "I must see the King. I would ask that you tend to one of the knights that was injured."

"Yes, my Lord," she nodded before turning towards the knight. "I pray you have good fortune, Ser Perwyn. Until we meet again," she dipped into a curtsy and hurried after Lord Stark.

Following him, she noticed that her brother was correct. There were a few knights here who already had their arms around whatever maids had been passing. And a few whose arms were empty started to look her way. She best be careful of the next knight that she encountered. She followed Lord Stark towards the King's tent. They entered without calling out and to her shame, she was forced to look away. The King was getting dressed.

"It's made too small, your Grace. It won't go," she heard his squire explain.

She bit her bottom lip to stop the laugh from escaping her mouth.

"Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass, did you know that," the King barked.

The giggle flew from her mouth then and Lord Stark turned to smile at her. He shook his head and took a step forward as the King finally noticed their presence.

"Look at this idiot," the King nodded towards his squire as he removed the armor, "one ball and no brains. He can't even put on a man's armor properly."

Lord Stark nodded towards the King. "You're too fat for your armor."

Nysa's eyes widened, looking at Lord Stark in fear before turning towards the King. "Fat," King Robert said, "Fat? Is that how you speak to your King?"

"Your Grace, I'm sure," she took a step forward but stopped immediately when both the King and Lord Stark began to laugh. She smiled and looked away as the King's belly was exposed. In truth, he was too fat for his armor but it appears Lord Stark was the only one who could tell him. Looking up, her eyes landed on the squire who also couldn't help but chuckle at the King as well.

"Oh, it's funny, is it," the King turned to his squire.

The squire looked embarrassed and a bit fearful. Nysa immediately felt for the squire. "No, your Grace," he answered quickly.

"No," King Robert asked, "you don't like the Hand's joke?"

Lord Stark sighed, "leave the boy be, Robert."

"You heard the Hand! The King is too fat for his armor," he insisted.

"Your Grace," Nysa stepped forward again. He stopped and turned to her. "Perhaps your squire could help me look for more suitable armor for his Grace. I am off to tend to the injuries of another knight and would like someone to accompany me."

"Aye," he waved his squire off. "Go with Lady Nysa and find me the breastplate stretcher!"

"The breastplate stretcher," she asked in confusion causing Lord Stark to turn towards her and shake his head. "Why of course," she smiled. "That would be perfect for you, your Grace. Would you follow me," she turned towards the squire.

The squire hurried with her out of the tent. "Thank you, my Lady."

"There's no need to thank me," she turned to him. "And what is your name, good squire?"

"Lancel, my lady," he answered, "Lancel Lannister."

"Lannister," she felt eyes widen before she could turn away. "Tell me is the King truly set upon entering the joust?"

"I believe he is," Lancel replied, "and what a fine joust it would be. He could strike down any opponent he faces." Nysa had to fight back her laugh. Perhaps he could have done that when he was younger. She wondered about the son he had hiding in the Capital.

"But he is still too fat," she softly spoke with a gentle smile causing Lancel to smile as well. "You need not be truly afraid, good squire."

"One must not laugh at the King," he said.

"Of course," she nodded. "Now tell me Lancel, how did you come to be in the King's service?"

"The Queen told the King to bring me as his squire," he added.

She hooked her hand around his arm as they walked through the tents. "And who is your father?"

"My father is Kevan Lannister. He is a brave knight. I hope to become like him."

"My father was a knight too," she exclaimed with excitement, wondering if she was being overly dramatic. She dismissed the thought when she saw that it made the squire smile. "I know a boy back in the North who fell from a tower and does not have the use of his legs. He wanted to become a brave knight as well, even aspire to serve as a member of the Kingsguard. But he will never get that chance. You have a great opportunity to serve as squire and not just for anyone but for the King himself!"

"That's true," he nodded.

"And do not fret too much about the names that he calls you or your kin. Most squires receive such censure from the knights they serve," she nodded towards a squire who was being shouted at by a knight.

"Also true," he nodded.

"Well, here I must leave you," she said as she arrived at the tent she knew her brother was.

"But the breastplate stretcher," he protested, looking around.

"There is no such thing, good squire," she patted his hand. "But you could look around the grounds and enjoy yourself, away from the King," she whispered the last part and smiled. "In the meantime, you keep your head up, Lancel. You will cultivate patience that will help you in the future. And one day you'll be a good knight like your father."

He smiled and nodded. "So, I should just," he looked around.

"Have some fun," she pushed him lightly in a certain direction, "take your time going back. More than likely, Lord Stark will talk his Grace out of entering the tourney and you need not worry about putting on his armor."

She walked away from him then and into the tent where she knew the other knights had gathered. A gasp left her mouth as she spotted a few of the guards gathered together. Alyn looked up and beckoned her over. There in the middle of them, bruised and beaten was Jory. She hurried towards her brother, pushing the others on the side.

"What happened?"

"I am fine," Jory replied, "I lost my fifth joust but I survived."

"No one has made it that far and lived to tell the tale," Wyl patted him on the back as they chuckled.

"Who did you face," she asked.

"Ser Gregor," he looked at her.

Immediately her face paled. "The Mountain," she whispered, glancing at her brother's injuries. "I am glad that you survived as well," she threw her arms around her brother's neck before looking at his wounds.

"It is not as bad as the first knight he went across or the second or the third," Alyn continued.

"Do not joke about that," Nysa scolded, feeling angered that her brother could have been like the others who went against the Mountain.

"It is quite alright," Jory smiled and then motioned for her to come closer. She sat next to him. "Truly Nysa, I am well. A bit in pain but overall I am well," he assured her, before kissing her brow.

She had gone around assisting quite a few knights after making sure that her brother was indeed alright - questioning the nurses in the room again and again. A few of the knights and guards present shook his hand, congratulating him on making it so far. She was proud of him. If he had won, he would be moving on to the semi-final tilt. She found the Frey knights - minus Ser Perwyn - and received thanks from a Ser Danwell for her advice. Nysa had decided to go back towards the dais when another knight called her.

"Forgive me, if you were helping another," the knight said as he held out his arm.

"It is quite alright. Where are you injured," Nysa asked.

"Nowhere," he answered.

Nysa looked up to see him looking intently at her.

"I just wished to speak with you," the knight smiled kindly at her. "What is a maid like you doing here? Is there a knight that is to your fancy?"

"No, Ser," she pulled her hands away from his arm seeing that they needed no tending to.

"What is your name," he asked her. "That I may have a name to whisper upon the battlefield when I die?"

She thought it silly that he would say such a thing as that. But the more she thought about it, the more she began to realize that some Ladies - like Sansa - would most likely enjoy hearing words like those. She could not deny that there a small flicker of excitement that hearing she would be the last thought on the mind of a dying knight.

"Nysa," she answered, wondering what Wynafryd and Lyra would think of her now. "And yours?"

"Merlon, Ser Merlon Crakehall."

"None so fierce," she smiled.

"You know the words of my House?"

"I paid attention during my lessons," Nysa said as she went to stand.

"Will I see you at the feast tonight, my lady?"

"Perhaps, Ser," she curtsied before dashing out of the tent.

Nysa found her way towards the dais and was glad to see that Lord Stark was there, sitting by Sansa - instead of Lord Baelish. Though he was still close to her. She sighed and went to take her seat by Septa Mordane when another hand reached out.

"My Lady Snowflake," Lord Baelish smiled at her, "I would ask that you sit with me during the conclusion of the joust."

How she wanted to slap that smile off his face, she thought. She felt uneasy whenever he smiled the way he did. She still did not trust him nor did she like the way that he spoke about Lady Catelyn or his treatment of Lord Stark. Jory reminded her that it was not our place and that we ought to help Lord and Lady Stark in any way possible - and that would involve being on good terms with the ones that they trusted. She nodded towards him and went to sit down at his side.

"Who is next," she asked him to start off polite conversation.

"The match to decide all matches," he smiled, "We have Ser Loras Tyrell against," he motioned with his hand as Nysa turned to see the rider who had unhorsed her brother.

"Ser Gregor," she whispered.

"The Mountain is fierce," Lord Baelish commented as Nysa nodded.

She remembered the bruises on her brother's body, the knight who she tended to, as well as the other knights who had faced him. Ser Loras Tyrell came by then and gave a rose to Sansa. Despite sitting behind Sansa, Nysa knew that the girl sported a huge smile for the knight. He was exactly the type of knight that Sansa had read about in her stories. When he rode towards the front, Nysa turned towards Lord Baelish.

"I worry for Ser Loras."

"Do not let Renly hear you speak ill of his closest friend," Lord Baelish replied before turning around. "One hundred gold dragons on the Mountain," he stated.

Renly smiled. "I'll take that bet."

"Now what am I going to buy with a hundred gold dragons," he smiled at Nysa. "A lovely gown for the Lady Snowflake, barrels of Dornish wine," he looked over towards where Lord Stark sat, "and then perhaps still have enough left over for a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys because I would not want to dishonor Lady Snowflake," he took her hand and kissed it.

Nysa did her best not to snort. Petyr Baelish certainly knew the art of flirting - perhaps a bit better than the knight she met from House Crakehall. At the same time, it was good for her that Lady Catelyn, Lady Mariah Karstark, Lady Sybelle Glover and Lady Sarra Umber had taught her well about such things or she would be easily deceived as Sansa was.

"You could even buy a friend," Renly teased as Nysa began to laugh then.

Both riders took off at great speed. Ser Gregor was indeed fierce as they came. His horse pounded through the dirt. She winced and closed her eyes when their lances met. The crowd gasped around them as Ser Gregor fell off his horse. She heard Lord Renly's cheer behind her as well as Sansa's excitement.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger," Renly called out then, "it would have been nice for you to finally have a friend."

Nysa went to reach for Lord Baelish's hand, only for him to shake his head and smile. "Tell me Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend," he taunted. Nysa narrowed her eyebrows before turning back to see Renly uncomfortable. She watched Lord Baelish as he sat down. "It is wise to know people's weaknesses."

"I do not know what weakness it is that you speak of regarding Lord Renly but," Nysa smiled and looked down, "Lord Tyrion Lannister told me the same."

"You don't say," he turned to her.

Nysa nodded. "He said I would need them in King's Landing," she answered simply before looking at Ser Loras.

Lord Baelish leaned forward and touched Sansa's shoulder. "I was just about to tell Lady Snowflake here that Ser Loras knew that his mare was in heat," he looked back at Nysa, "quite crafty to use even a horse's weakness to his advantage."

"Ser Loras would never do that," Sansa snapped as Lord Stark turned to look at him. Lord Baelish looked back at the two of them and moved his hand. "There's no honor in tricks," Sansa finished.

"No honor," Lord Baelish nodded, "but quite a bit of gold."

"I suppose for Master of Coin it would be appealing to look for gold in all the right places," Nysa began, "even if it is in a dishonorable place." He stared at her evenly before she innocently turned towards the Grand Maester, hoping her conversation with Lord Baelish was done with. "Are you alright, Grand Maester," she patted his hand.

"Well, well, of course," he stuttered before coughing.

Ser Loras rode up towards the stands and bowed his head to the King as they all did. Sansa began clapping excitedly. Perhaps, Lord Stark could reconsider Sansa's betrothal to the Prince and wed her to someone gentler like Ser Loras. She smiled at the thought and decided to speak to Jory on the matter when she saw him. Perhaps Lord Stark would listen to him. And as of right now, she was sure that Joffrey and Sansa were still at odds with one another. It was then that her smile dropped as she saw the Mountain take out his sword and cut off his horse's head.

"No," she reached for the nearest person to her which happened to be Lord Baelish.

Everyone gasped as the Mountain charged forth towards Ser Loras. Sansa stood as well when Ser Gregor began to beat away at Ser Loras. He was on the ground, holding his shield in front of him when the Hound hurried from behind them and through his sword to protect Ser Loras. The two brothers began to exchange hits. Ser Barristan Selmy stood up and had his sword at the ready. A few other guards got up just in case the fighting got out of hand, including a few of the guards from House Stark.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King," King Robert shouted as Ser Gregor took one last swing at the Hound. The Hound knelt on the ground as Ser Gregor furiously marched away. The Kingsguard and a few others went to stand before him. "Let him go," the King shouted as Ser Gregor pushed him way through the crowd.

Nysa gripped her chest with her hand when she saw Ser Loras stand, knowing full well that that could have been her brother.

"My Lady," a knight bowed before her, "it would be my honor if you'd dance the next with me."

"Of course, Ser Preston," the girl smiled and accepted his hand graciously.

The Queen watched as the bastard from the North danced with knight after knight. Not only did Robert demand there be a tourney in honor of the Hand but there was also a feast to be held in honor of the winning victor. And at the feast, it had seen that the bastard was a favorite dance partner among the many knights here. She had danced first with a Frey knight before Cersei had snorted and stared heavily as one of Lord Crakehall's sons had been the next to dance with her. Of all the absurd things for a knight from the Westerlands to do - dancing with a bastard girl from the North! Her brother 'rescued' her after Ser Merlon had subjected her to quite a few dances, though Cersei knew that it was the knight who should have been rescued from the shame of dancing with her. She was pretty but not pretty enough to have so many knights fawning over her. How ridiculous could they get? And now she was dancing with a member of the Kingsguard.

She saw that the girl had talked one of the other knights there into dancing with the young Sansa Stark. Cersei encouraged Joffrey to attend to Sansa and treat her kindly. They had been here for weeks now and still his son refused to do so, threatening to burn the North. She did not like the fact that all these men had forgotten themselves, feeling the need to pay attention to a girl of low-birth and status just because she tended to their wounds and offered advice. Ser Barristan had even remarked on her kind and respectful manners.

"We thank both you and the King for the honor," the girl said pleasantly with a sickeningly adorable smile and modest curtsy.

Her hand reached out to pick up her cup and she caught the young woman by her, smiling. She sighed before sipping quickly. Yes, she was talking to one of her Lannister cousins - though she admittedly forgot the name. "Forgive me, my mind had wandered."

"It is quite alright, your Grace," the young woman said.

"What is your name again," she questioned before sitting back in her chair.

"Lanna, your Grace," she replied as Cersei nodded before turning back to the crowd. "And we were discussing my upcoming marriage to Lord Jast."

"It will be a beautiful one, I'm sure. And you will make a wonderful bride," Cersei said glancing at her kin, "and we Lannister women make the best brides, remember that."

"Of course," Lanna nodded and smiled.

"Did your brother participate in the tourney this week?"

Lanna's smile widened. "Aye, he did. He lost to Ser Gregor. He would have died the same as Ser Hugh if not for the young lady he is trying to steal from Ser Preston."

Before she could control her reaction, Cersei's cup slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Immediately serving maids came to clean up the mess and hand her a new cup of wine. She sipped at it greedily before looking at her cousin. The girl looked frightened for a moment before smiling softly at her.

"I meant to say that no true harm came to my brother, if that is what is alarming you. He did have a piece of wood lodged in his side but it was small and this morning he claimed to be all better," Lanna explained quickly as Cersei shot her head towards the bastard girl who still had her arm entwined with Ser Preston - but both were laughing and conversing with the young man she knew as Ser Lucion Lannister.

It was at that exact moment as Cersei watched the girl that she knew she'd have to learn more about just who this bastard was. She had spoke Lord Stark. She had met with Sansa. It was time to learn about this Nysa Snow.

I don't really like it here.

Nysa's letter to Robb began. Grey Wind whined a little before coming to rest at Robb's feet. "We don't really like it here, either," Robb patted Grey Wind's head before looking up, "not since you left." He sighed before turning back to the parchment.

That is probably a gentle way of putting it. I miss the cold - believe it or not. The weather may be warm but the people here are the opposite. I miss walking through the godswood in the early evening. I miss watching the Keep light up in the morning. I miss everyone, even Theon. Do not tell him that or he will think me in love with him.

Robb could not help but chuckle and shake his head.

Tell Bran that I miss him and stress the importance of how I would appreciate a letter from him, your sisters would enjoy it as well. We have many a tales to tell him. I cannot imagine what he is going through now or what Rickon is going through.

He closed his eyes and looked away. It was obvious that she knew that his mother was no longer in Winterfell. He wondered if his mother had seen Nysa. Had she spoken to her? He hoped she told Nysa that he would not be writing to her for fear of the danger they were in.

I hope that this letter finds you all well. Do not burden yourself with many worries, Robb. I know that whatever it is, you'll be able to get through it.

"Nysa," he whispered as his finger traced her name on the bottom of her letter.

He thought of her long, dark hair blowing in the cool breeze as they took those walks in the godswood before sup. How she would laugh and smile up at him, it made everything inside him feel warm. He thought of the jokes they'd tell. The way her eyes lit up when she'd smile or how her nose scrunched up when it was an improper joke Theon would share with them. His mind wandered to the time when he saw her carrying Calon - a guard's son whom she had helped to deliver. She looked like a mother and the way the babe cooed at her, it made him desire something he knew he ought not to have with her.

Robb wanted to defy his mother then and write back to Nysa, letting her know that he wanted her to come back home to him. He wanted to write to his father, saying to deny her Lord Uncle and send Nysa home to Winterfell. It just wasn't fair, not at all.

"Excuse me, my Lord."

Robb turned to see Maester Luwin approaching with a frustrated looking Rickon. He nodded to the Maester before he departed, leaving Robb there with his youngest brother. Nysa had always been good at settling him down. The first few days he tried to do the same things she did and for a time it worked. But Rickon was getting restless. He wanted their mother. He asked about their father. He complained that there was no Arya or Nysa - and even that there was no Sansa. When he took Rickon to the Sept - because he wanted to pray the same way mum did - he prayed that Jon would return because it seemed that Robb was no longer fun to play with.

"Bring Jon back so that Robb will be fun again," he remembered Rickon mumbling. It was bad timing. Jon left the same day that father left - the same day that Robb would have to step up and take over duties of being Lord of Winterfell. To Rickon it appeared that Robb doing the duties of Lordship meant he was no longer fun. And in truth, Robb prayed for the same as well, only he wanted them all to come back.

"Come here," Robb called Rickon over. "What is it," he asked as Rickon sat on the rock next to him.

"I don't want to write or draw anymore," he hung his head down and kicked the dirt. "I want to play with Bran."

Robb sighed and looked out into the godswood. "I want you to play with him too. But we have to understand that Bran is still not well."

"When will he be well?"

"When everyone comes back home," Robb answered.

"But they're not coming back," Rickon threw a small stick a few feet in front of them.

"They are," Robb replied, "in fact, I have a letter from Nysa right here," he gestured to it, "telling me that she misses home. She misses all of us, even you."

"She does," he cheered up about that.

"She does," Robb nodded. "And she wondered why is it that you have not sent a letter to her," he looked at his younger brother to see a small glimpse of guilt enter his eyes. "Even Arya and Sansa are thinking about why you have not written to them."

Rickon looked away as his face twisted with concentration. Robb knew he wasn't truly defying his mother's orders. She said that he was not to write to Nysa. She did not say anything about Bran or Rickon. And a letter from a child would be such an innocent thing. He'd make sure that he end up writing a small phrase on there for Nysa, somewhere in the letter.

"Can I send them a drawing," Rickon asked turning to face his eldest brother.

"Of course," Robb smiled.

The both went to see Bran and had helped to maneuver him into a suitable sitting position at a table where both wrote their letters to the girls at King's Landing. Robb watched as Bran wrote about his riding device and how he was glad to be out and about. The Maester had said that Bran could use a short bow to practice his archery. Bran told Arya to be prepared for the next time they met.

"I'd best her then," Bran looked to Robb with a smile.

"Of course you would," Robb returned the smile.

He read the letter over and noted that it was full of a child's innocence. He then turned to Rickon who was holding up a drawing of Winterfell. Of course, on the drawing there were figures of everyone there. Rickon pointed out who was who in the picture and asked if the girls would like it.

"They'd love it," he put his hand on his brother's head and ruffled his hair. "Why don't you write down your name on it?"

He nodded eagerly and turned to the drawing. "R," Rickon began to write, "is for Robb," he looked up and smiled, "my oldest brother."

Robb nodded. "That's right."

"I is for Ice," Rickon went back to writing his name. "That is my father's sword." Robb watched as Rickon's hands went to write the next letter. "C is for Catelyn, the name of my mother. K is for keep, that is where I sleep."

"That is a pretty smart way of remembering your name. Who helped you with that," Robb moved a chair over so he could see better.

"Nysa taught me," Rickson smiled and scooted closer to Robb. "She always comes up with fun games like that."

Robb smiled. "She does. Now show me the rest," he gestured towards the paper but Rickon shook his head. "What is it?"

"That is as far as we got before she left. She told me that mum would help me but," Rickon's voice got soft and sad. Robb placed a hand over his small shoulders and rubbed them gently. "I miss mum."

"I know Rickon," Robb replied. "Why don't I help you with the rest? You have two more letters to learn." Rickon nodded and put his hand down to the parchment. "O is for old," he tickled Rickon, causing him to laugh. He smiled when he saw Bran laughing with them. "It looks just like this," he helped Rickon move his hand, "do you know that here in the North, people say that we believe in the old gods and that our way is the old way," he explained as he saw both boys giving him their full attention.

"In the South, they worship the Seven," Bran added, "like mother does."

"That's right," Robb smiled as he gestured for Rickon to make the letter on his own. "There are some in the South that think because our way is the old way that it isn't the right way, you understand?" They both nodded. "But look at father," he leaned his head to Rickon and put his arm around him. "Father follows the old ways, believes in the old gods. He treats everyone with respect. He knows what is right and just. He is honorable to those under his lordship. He protects us, loves us. The old ways are what makes Father a wonderful husband and father, a kind and merciful Lord and a great man."

"I want to be like father," Rickon replied before looking at his letter. "O is old ways, the ways of my father," he turned back to Robb who nodded to him.

"Father would be proud," he smiled. "Of both of you," he added while glancing at Bran who nodded as well.

Robb realized that this was something his father should be doing. And with that, he recalled to mind a day his father had taken both he and Jon for a ride. It was time to tell Bran and Rickon everything his father told him.

"Now the last letter," he said as Rickon hurried to get ready. "N," Robb paused and looked over at Bran. "N is for North, where you are from, where we are from." Rickon looked back up at him. "The North is harsh and cold. It can be unkind to anyone. But if you can survive here, then you can survive anywhere. No one else knows the cold like we do. No one understands the rough land, the dangerous woods or the horrors beyond the Wall. We were made to overcome such obstacles, to endure such hardships," he nodded to Bran. "The people here are honorable and loyal. We fiercely protect what is ours. We always lend a hand to a fellow northmen in trouble." He looked both brothers in their eyes, "and we love our family twice as hard."

Robb paused to let that all sink in and saw that Bran sported a look of pride.

"Now," he cleared his throat, "where are we from?"

"The North," they both answered.