A/N: Sorry I haven't been writing for a while, I've been away, and also school's coming up later this week so I've been busy preparing for that. So here's a longer chapter to make up for it!

Chapter 13

Robb POV

I walk quickly along, not daring to look back, not slowing down until I've reached the end of the street. I saw who was in that car. And I don't like to think about what he would have done, had he seen me. Or what I would have done to him. After the events of yesterday, I'm admittedly slightly afraid of my own volatility.

I didn't see much of what happened next – I was too busy trying to disappear from the scene – but what I'm certain of is that Joffrey and his mother were pulling over, and I don't want to be too assuming (in light of recent happenings), but they seemed to be approaching my sisters.

It's not possible…is it? Could the Lannisters be trying to hurt Sansa and Arya in some way? Sansa and Joffrey are in the same form, after all. And I suppose, after the incident with Joffrey and me, the natural path would be vengeance. Guilt seeps into me, and I consider for the thousandth time why I never bother to think about things before I do them. Stupid.

With these regrets in my mind, I decide to do what I probably should've done yesterday, and let the matter go. Trying to intervene based on instincts alone would not only further anger Joffrey, but also possibly alienate my sisters. But what if he does something to them, Robb, and you weren't there to help? I push those thoughts out of my mind, and try to have a mature outlook on the situation with the Lannisters for once. I do make a mental note to ask Sansa and Arya about it later, though.

To distract myself from my mental onslaught of confusion and indecision, I take out my phone. I realise that I didn't check it at all yesterday afternoon, with Daenerys and all the revelations she provides distracting me, and I unlock it to find a bombardment of texts from Theon.

Hey, why no school this afternoon? Bunking off, tut-tut, wouldn't have expected that of you.

Wish you'd been there in Maths today. Got seated next to that girl I told you about, Ros. Applause to Mr Luwin for his seating plan.

Robb, did your phone die or something? Or have you died? Did those blasted husky dogs of yours drag you into a pit of their excretion in an act of revenge, and leave you to fester there? If they have, I'm sure you can find some signal down there.

Robb, seriously, dude. You can't just disappear for an afternoon. Not cool.

Robb, joke's over. WHERE ARE YOU?

I feel suddenly bad for overlooking Theon. While he's not someone I would trust with the sort of secrets I have at the moment, he's a good friend, and I value him. I text him back, relaxing into the gentle familiarity of our banter.

Someone's a bit protective. RELAX. Joffrey made my nose bleed during our fight and Nurse said I had to go home. Didn't have time to tell you, sorry about that :(

I press Send, hoping he believes my cover-up. A minute later my phone buzzes again, and I sigh to myself. Theon's always on his phone.

Oh, okay. Sorry about what that little bastard did to you, by the way. You don't go around hitting final year kids when you're his age.

I wince at the thought of most people not knowing it was me who threw the first punch. I suppose it's a good thing though, if most of the rumours going around aren't entirely true, or in Joffrey's favour. Putting my phone away, I turn out of a narrow King's Landing alleyway to face the Red Road, the main road that Iron Throne High sits parallel to. Theon's waiting outside the gates, unsurprisingly with his nose in his phone.

"Theon!" I call, pulling him out of his reverie, as I cross the road.

"Hey, Robb. Good to see your nose is better." He yells back, and perhaps I'm imagining it, but I think I detect a note of sarcasm in his voice. "How's it going with Daenerys?"

He says this so casually, that I almost don't realise how much he's deduced. "I'm sorry?" I say pathetically.

"C'mon, Robb. I know that Daenerys shares most of our classes, and I also know which two people I didn't see yesterday afternoon."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I went home because Joffrey Lannister almost broke my nose. I don't know anything about Daenerys."

He continues like I hadn't spoken. "I'm not going to pretend to understand your taste in girls, Robb. First Roslin Frey, with the creepy old dad, and then Talisa or whatever her name was, from god-knows-where in Essos- "

"Volantis, Theon. Hardly god-knows-where. Also, I was fourteen. Don't judge."

"Whatever. Anyway, I never saw Daenerys coming. Didn't think you liked all that hippie stuff." Theon smirks playfully, reminding me that he's seen through everything I've said.

"I don't like her, Theon. I barely know her." I say pointlessly.

"But you bunked off school with her."

"You're too smart, Theon." I reply, my voice a mixture of amiableness and resent.

"Glad you're admitting it. Anyway, good luck with Daenerys. Oh, and by the way, if you ever need help getting back at that blonde mummy's boy Joffrey, I grant you my support."

"Grant accepted." I say, inclining my head in his direction with a knowing half-smile, before losing him in the rush of students trying to get through the gates.

I sigh to myself. Of course I won't ask for Theon's help with the Lannisters, because vengeance is something I have to achieve on my own. Plus, he doesn't see it as any more than a slightly scandalous corridor fight. Or at least, I hope he doesn't. I would like to trust him, considering there's no reason not to, but there's a barrier between people like Theon, and unfailingly loyal people like the members of my own family. Or people like Daenerys. I can't forget her in the list of people I can trust.

Daenerys POV

I file into the packed assembly hall. I haven't spoken to Robb at all today, I saw him in the corridor but he seemed tied up in a conversation with his best friend, Theon. I've never thought much of Theon; to me he seems shallow and superficial, but Robb apparently sees something in him. He's probably not even thought about talking to me. But I suppose that's reasonable. After all, he did only meet me yesterday.

From my seat in the back row, the row reserved for final year students, I can see the entire hall. The same sight I've seen every weekday morning during term time for the past six years. Students sitting in rows according to age. Hawk-eyed teachers examining their every move from the edge of the hall. And a stage set up at the far end, where Mr Varys stands and delivers his daily motivational speech, him being more inclined to public speaking than Mr Baelish, Mr Pycelle or any of the other teachers. Today, he ascends to the stage like any other day, but what he says surprises me.

"Good morning Iron Throne," he says into the microphone, his voice high-pitched yet domineering. "You're perhaps used to me speaking on this stage, but today one of my colleagues requested that he have access to the pedestal." Mr Varys' pretentious tone makes my insides churn. "So may we hand over to your headmaster, Mr Baelish?" Mr Varys initiates a round of applause, another school tradition that has always sickened me.

As Mr Baelish walks onto the stage, and Mr Varys walks off, I notice the difference in their appearances. Mr Varys has a not especially fat, but more a rotund build, a bald head and an impressive collection of gaudily coloured traditional robes. You might see him as amiable and welcoming, if you hadn't heard the slippery note in his voice. Mr Baelish, on the other hand, looks exactly like the cunning and secretive man who I believe he is. He's thin and slightly hunched over, and always dresses in impeccably neat grey suits, with a cropped hairstyle that never seems to have a hair out of place. It's strange how two men who appear so different can actually be so similar.

Mr Baelish makes a show of lowering the microphone a few inches to reach his mouth. "Good morning to you all," he says, with his best attempt at a friendly voice. "I'm going to keep this short today, because I am not one for long deliberations on the meaning of academic success, unlike our friend Mr Varys." He casts a sidelong glance at Mr Varys, who now stands at the side of the stage. "I requested a spot on the bill for today's assembly because I had a message I wanted to share with you all. I don't teach most of you, so it's important that I teach you outside of lessons. But not Maths, or History. More like life lessons. For example, I know that family is something that residents of this fair city of Westeros take a lot of pride in. And that is a fine thing. But here at Iron Throne High School, we thrive as individuals, not as Lannisters, Starks, Targaryens, Baratheons, et cetera." I wince at the use of my family name. "My own family had nothing to take pride in, and I spent my whole life trying to become more than who they were. Hence I have a tattoo of a mockingbird on my back, my own personal symbol, not my family's. And, my friends, I am not saying you should cut your own familial ties like I did, but I am saying that you should always try to be loyal to yourself when you come to school, not your last name. Thank you for listening, and that will conclude assembly." He finishes his speech, and briskly walks off the stage.

I am speechless. I cling to my chair, and grit my teeth, and it takes a while before I can bring myself to walk out of the assembly hall. Mr Baelish has just delivered a thinly veiled criticism of Robb Stark's attack on Joffrey Lannister, in the guise of an inspirational speech! I'm sure I'm not the only one in the hall personally offended, not only because I have spent my life trying to bring success to my disgraced, formerly prestigious family, but because Mr Baelish obviously knows that Robb and Joffrey's fight was more to do with a family feud than a breaktime skirmish. I hope Robb can see this too, and really believed what I told him yesterday about the headmaster. Because now I can see that I'm right. We can't trust Mr Baelish, not even with the smallest things, and definitely not with the details of the Lannister-Stark feud.