"I didn't think I would be coming to this city unless as a prisoner or a conqueror, but here I am as a guest" Tristan mused looking out over the looming city of King's Landing.

"I suppose the flames in my imagination will have to suffice," Lord Karstark growled from his side.

A laugh came from the other side. "It looks like it could do with a good fire, doesn't it, my lord?" said Ryman Frey, his small eyes gleaming vindictively.

"No. It looks like it already has," Tristan said softly. "Look." He pointed out towards a stretch of the city out to the east. It was all black, and even here, on the hill approaching from the northwest," they could see it.

"Leftovers from Stannis' attack?" Lord Clement Piper asked.

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Tristan said. "Send word to Lord Mallister. Bring the wagon up."

"Can't we leave it at the back?"

"Why should hostages be given places of honour?" Galbart Glover and Norbert Vance would both have had Jaime Lannister and Mace Tyrell in dirty prison rags if they'd had their way.

Cley rode up. "Because the king has agreed so," he said.

Tristan met his eyes and wordlessly thanked him. Cley was the one lord in this company he could fully trust to behave. His army of a thousand riders had been easier than this band of three hundred. But that was why they were with him, after all.

Robb and he had taken their wolves hunting the night before they departed Riverrun, and while the beasts stalked a great stag, the brothers had sat and spoken of the malcontents that Robb needed distracted. "Karstark and Bracken, Glover and Vance, these I name the most prominent Nostalgists of both of my kingdoms." These were the lords who looked back to the days before the dragon as though the world had been a great valley of plenty and glory and sought to return to those days. They were not so unified, as Robb had explained, for the Trident and the North had been very different back then. But until Robb had time to set his own agenda and confirm the direction of their new kingdom, lords calling for taxes to be revoked, the First Night to be reinstated and every law they found inconvenienced by to be revoked would find many a willing ear.

But away from their king, they could make no demands.

"Bring up the prisoners." Tristan said. The carriage with the two grand prisoners trundled forwards. It was a richly decorated piece, provided by Lord Manderly, guarded by his sons and draped in Stark colours. The two wolves at Tristan's side growled as the wagon got closer, even the quiet and tame one that had come south from Winterfell. "Now let's move."

As they approached the city, Tristan ran through the sequence of events that he was supposed to go through. At the gate he was greeted by ser Kevan Lannister. The Master of Laws was accompanied by a score of knights who fell in beside them as a noble escort flanking the northern party. His eyes were drawn to the nearby rooftops, alert for archers or crossbowmen, or the nearby alleys, looking for fighters hidden in them.

But there was nothing, only the faces of interested city-dwellers, looking out to see why so many mounted men were passing their homes. Clearly, there had not been a large announcement that this was the day the northern delegation would be coming, or else the crowd would be bigger. Was that an attempt to make him feel unimportant, or perhaps to keep the crowd away from the man who had starved them for several months? He didn't know, didn't want to.

When they arrived at the Red Keep, there was far more. Hundreds of men at arms stood in two great squares either side of the drawbridge, garbed in Lannister and Tyrell colours. A semi-circle of goldcloaks stood in front of them. From the walls flew the stag of House Baratheon and more soldiers manned the walls. Half held crossbows, the other half held trumpets that they raised when Tristan entered the courtyard before the keep and sang out a welcome. In front of the keep, safely positioned between the huge blocks of men-at-arms, were the king and his council, guarded by four white knights. Courtiers stood well behind them, in the shadow of the gatehouse. At the fore, tall and regal and hateful, stood Joffrey Baratheon. He was taller than Tristan remembered, taller than him, and if he didn't know what a rat he was, he'd say the crown suited him.

Bow at the waist and return the hostages, he thought as he dismounted, the rest of his noble entourage doing the same. The wolves stayed back, which was good, they represented the biggest potential disruption to these proceedings. Tristan stepped towards Joffrey and bowed at the waist. "King Joffrey. I come in the name of my brother, Robb Stark, King in the North and King of the Trident. Our kingdom prays for your health and our peace."

"As I, King Joffrey, pray for his and yours," Joffrey replied, as agreed. They embraced each other formally. Every muscle in him was tense, wanting to squeeze impossibly hard and crush the boy-king's bones. But he released Joffrey without injury.

"In the spirit of our new friendship and as agreed by the Treaty of Yore, I bring you your family," Tristan said, opening the carriage and letting out Mace Tyrell and Jaime Lannister. Both were dressed in their finery. Mace Tyrell in a doublet, deep green woven with gold thread, a thick foxfur half-cape fastened around his soft neck and his shoes were soft and lined in ermine. Jaime Lannister wore a red tunic with a Lannister lion stitched into the breast. His cloak, however, was the pure white of the Kingsguard. He wore a glove on his left hand but left the end of his right sleeve open and flapping about. Tristan escorted them towards Joffrey and stopped several feet away.

Joffrey spoke with all the politeness of a king, but Tristan saw the anger in his eyes. "And I, in turn, return your sister Sansa to your care," he said, turning and beckoning. The courtiers separated and Tristan felt his breath catch. Sansa approached in a beautiful gown of ivory and silver. Her hair was brushed, braided and burnished in the sun and her blue eyes shone. He remembered her at Castle Darry, a girl in truth, soft and kind and innocent. Now she was growing into womanhood. Her body had changed and there was a hardness to her soul. He couldn't stop his eyes sliding down from her face to her own right hand. The sleeve of the dress was tied off and folded away where there was no hand to cover.

Sansa stood before him. They locked eyes. Should he smile? Should he hug her?

She spoke for him and bowed her head. "Tristan, it's good to see you." Her voice was hollow, strained.

Tristan bowed at the waist. "And you as well, Sansa." She held out her hand and he kissed the back of it softly. "I have something for you," he turned and patted his thigh. One of the wolves stood and padded over quietly.

Sansa's eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. "Lady?" She asked.

She knelt down and held out her hand. Lady sniffed her fingers then licked the palm affectionately. Sansa looked up at him. "You brought her back?"

"The two of you have been parted for long enough," he said. On the way back from Oldstones to Riverrun, he had asked Robb for permission to send for Lady and bring her back to Sansa. Robb had been concerned, but he had promised that he could contain Lady if she got out of line. Not that he thought it likely. Somehow, despite everything, Lady still seemed to have something of Sansa in her. So they'd sent for Lady. It had delayed their departure some, but he was sure it would be worth it.

And he had been proven right. Sansa's smile turned wide and genuine.

"Prince Tristan," Joffrey said, drawing Tristan's attention. "For your first evening here, I would be pleased to dine with you tonight, and show you the hospitality of the south."

Yes, back to the formalities. "I would be pleased to join you, King Joffrey."

"Then let me escort you to the rooms we have provided for you. And a tour of the Red Keep for your fellow nobles."

The squares of guardsmen stepped back and the Kingsguard made way. Jaime Lannister, although just released, took command of them. A sword belt was now buckled on his waist and he walked as though he had no injury at all. Mace Tyrell had fallen in with his family. Margaery and her brother Garlan. The three of them were whispering and Tristan didn't try to listen in.

After the tour, where Joffrey led them through the outer buildings and ring of the castle, although not into Maegor's Holdfast itself, Tristan and his lords were gathered in the private apartments gifted to him for the stay.

They were well furnished, but with only a single bed, there would only be room for Tristan, and Sansa to stay here. Shield and Lady already stretched and lay down in front of the large fireplace. Several servants had had a near fright at the sight of the wolves, and the Kingsguard put their hands to their swords every time the wolves so much as glanced towards Joffrey and the royal family. Between the bed and the fireplace was a small table and two chairs, with a window looking inwards towards the heart of the castle.

"I don't like leaving you here," Lord Jonos Bracken muttered, glancing darkly at the door.

"If they were going to kill us, they would have done so already," Tristan said, although not entirely sure of it. "But best to be sure. Split up and head throughout the city, no more than two of you per inn. I don't want them able to strike at us as one."

"That sounds wise, my lord," Lord Alric Slate said. "When should we meet again?"

"Tomorrow, we'll meet in front of the Red Keep, write down the names of the inns you stay at, so I at least know where to look for you. I'll keep them on my person at all times, no one will find them. Be there at midday."

"As you say," Jonos said.

"And don't step out of line or you'll answer to me."

Alric laughed. "You've nothing to worry about in that regard my prince, well, not from me at least." He shot a wary eye towards Ryman Frey.

He wasn't the only one. Several of his lords shot furtive glances at each other. But Tristan trusted that nothing would happen. They all held each others' lives in their hands. They all knew it too. Lords Slate and Bracken he expected would cause no problems, or the others like them. Robb named them the Feudalists. These were the lords who sought a new kingdom with a weak king who would not dominate them, they wanted more powers in their own lands, free of oversight. They did not threaten Robb in and of themselves, in many ways they wanted Robb to do nothing, as opposed to the Nostalgists, who pushed for him to act in certain ways. But if they got their way, they could weaken the power of the king dangerously, leaving Robb or his heirs unable to act decisively. And they could make common cause with the Nostalgists to force Robb's hand. The feudalists were mostly from the North were mostly from families like the Slates, ones that had been kings before submitting to Winterfell. Those from the Riverlands did not have such a legacy. Many of the Riverlords had been kings before, but they disputed claims to kingship of the Trident, rather than ruling their lordships with a crown instead of a lordly title. The Feudalists there had lost over the last three hundred years. Lost prestige, lands, revenues and rights. Now they wanted them back. If they were to accept rule from another foreign king, ignoring that Robb was half Tully, then they wanted that king to lack the power to oppress them the way the Dragons had, or the Ironmen or Storm Kings before then.

"Shall we leave you to your dinner, my prince?" Jonos asked.

"Unless there's anything else, and when you find an inn, raise a glass for me."

"It's just a dinner," Cley pointed out.

"A dinner with Joffrey," he reminded them.

They laughed as they departed the keep to find their inns, but Tristan asked Lord Mallister and Cley to remain behind for a few moments. "What is it, my prince?" Lord Mallister asked.

Tristan waited to make sure that the rest were long out of earshot and replied. "I would like to trouble you both with a favour each. Cley, I need you to stay close to the keep. Find the nearest inn or boarding house you can. I want you close by in case anything happens."

"Do you think something will happen?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to take chances. Lord Mallister, While there is still light, I want you to ride around the city, find the gate that is least defended, and find an inn near it. You brought the most men with you and in the event we need to flee the city, I want you to be ready to take one of the gates for us."

Lord Mallister nodded. "That would be wise, my prince. I'll have men ready to secure our exit if it comes to that."

"Be careful tonight, Tristan," Cley warned him, before leaving.

Tristan had been surprised when Robb told him that he was to take Lord Mallister to King's Landing. Lord Mallister was a capable commander, honoured for his role a the Battle of Bayonne where Lord Tyrell had been taken prisoner. But there had been a reason for his coming, and that of the sons of Wyman Manderly as well. Robb named them among the Resourcemen. Another new faction of his court. Unlike the others, this group did not have demands on policy direction from Robb. The danger they posed was that they held key positions and strategic resources within his Kingdom. They could and were using these advantages to push for key positions of power in Robb's Kingdom. Lord Manderly was already minting coins and building ships for Robb. If Robb chose to emulate the southern court, that could give him a claim to be Master of Ships and Coin. But even if not, ships and silver were power. Lord Mallister commanded the easten coastal defences of the Riverlands against the ironmen, and his lands were largely untouched by the war. The Freys controlled one of the major crossings of the Trident, but were tempered by their marriage alliance for now, but Tristan just had to keep the most powerful of them away for a little time.

When the two of them left, he turned to Sansa, who was sat with Lady, running her fingers through the wolf's soft fur. "Shall we get ready?" He asked, not sure what else to say.

"I am," Sansa replied, not looking at him.

"Okay," he said, and quickly got changed into more formal clothing, not the finest that he would wear for the wedding, but a clean and pressed tunic and linen hose.

When a pageboy knocked on the door to escort them to the dinner, Tristan held out his arm for Sansa to take. They walked together like two ice sculptures, heads forward, towards the dinner that neither of them wanted and both would have to suffer through.

The royal family was in attendance for this meal. Joffrey sat on a hard-carved chair of redwood in the middle of the large table. On one side was his mother, Cersei and her brothers, Jaime and Tyrion, whom Tristan recognised from Winterfell. On this side of the table sat another Lannister, whom he could only assume was Loren Lannister, now Lord of Casterly Rock following Tywin's death. Beside Loren was a woman with soft brown hair, but dressed in Lannister colours. Lord Loren's wife, he assumed. On Joffrey's other side were three young blondes. Tommen and Myrcella he recognised, even though they had grown in the last two years. Beside them was another one. Older than Joffrey and his siblings, a cousin? Opposite them was an older man, perhaps fifty. Lord Tywin's brother maybe? He sat solemnly. Between this man and Lord Loren were two seats for Tristan and Sansa. Tristan sat beside this man and Sansa beside Loren at Joffrey's request.

"So wonderful of you to join us!" Joffrey beamed, his lips twisting.

"We are honoured by your welcome," Tristan said. Introductions were given as the first course, a thin leak soup, was served. Tristan was sat beside Kevan Lannister, Tywin's brother. The woman next to Lord Loren was indeed his wife, Lady Alysanne Lefford, and the older girl next to Myrcella was their daughter Lelia.

"Have you ever been to King's Landing before, Prince Tristan?" Lelia asked.

Tristan shook his head. "I was on my way here with my father, but I was forced to return to Winterfell before we arrived."

"And how do you find it?"

"Truly, no city I've been to can match it," for size or stench.

Joffrey shuffled in his chair, but before he could speak, Lady Alysanne asked. "Will you be staying after the wedding?"

"No, I will be returning home to assist my brother, and take Sansa home." Sansa kept her head lowered.

"I'm sure Lady Sansa can't wait to see Winterfell again," Lelia asked.

Sansa swallowed and looked at her. "Yes, I am very much looking forward to it," she said quietly.

"And of course to tell of our hospitality," said Cersei, sweetly. Her green eyes flicked to the stump of Sansa's arm.

Joffrey grinned and Tristan was glad Shield and Lady remained in their chambers. He closed his eyes and briefly warged into Shield to confirm that the two were still lying in front of the fire. He felt the anger of the wolf in him for the seconds he inhabited Shield's mind before returning to his own. Yes. Tristan was clenching his hand tightly around his spoon, but if Shield were here, the wolf might well have clamped his jaws around Cersei's throat and crushed the spine beneath to powder.

"I will miss Sansa." Tommen said quickly, grinning over at Sansa. He was relieved to see Sansa smile back.

"Me too!" Myrcella added.

"Indeed, our court will be lesser for her departure," Loren said firmly, "but I am glad to have Jaime back."

Jaime nodded at his brother. "We will all be where we should be," he said quietly. Carefully he brought his spoon to his mouth with his left hand and drank. He would likely never be used to that. Sansa at least had the rest of her life to get used to having only one hand. And at least she still had her right hand. Jaime had lost his sword hand in the prime of his physicality.

"The next course is here," Lady Alysanne said, breaking the harsh tension in the room.

Bowls of thick, beef stew topped with herbs and served with fresh bread on the side. The smell was delicious, and he breathed deeply. He hadn't eaten something like this in… How long had it been? At Riverrun they were still rationing with their food stores refilling from the war. It had to have been Winterfell, back when he was recovering from the injury Theon gave him that turned his hand into a claw. He couldn't wait to eat it.

So naturally, Joffrey chose that moment to speak. "You mustn't be used to food like this. Surely there's nothing at Winterfell that can compete."

Tristan ate a large mouthful of stew, chewing slowly so that he couldn't reply.

Tyrion spoke instead. "I don't know nephew, I remember the food at Winterfell was most excellent."

"So do I." Myrcella added.

"I won't deny that the food at Winterfell is different, you're right, your grace," Tristan said. "If you miss it, I can have some recipes sent down."

"I don't want any recipes," Joffrey replied, coldly.

"Then I won't send any. This is excellent, perhaps you can provide me some recipes instead," Tristan said, indicating the stew.

"I would be pleased to introduce you to the chef," Kevan said, before Joffrey could say anything.

He nodded, still chewing. "Did you have any plans before the wedding?" Lady Alysanne asked.

"I didn't," Tristan said. "But Sansa and I have a lot to catch up on."

"She can't catch much with one hand, but then she owes you for that doesn't she!"

The table went deadly silent. "Would the two of you like to go shopping with me tomorrow?" Lelia asked, desperation well masked in her voice.

"Or I can show you some of the best taverns," Tyrion added.

"That would be lovely, Lord Tyrion, Lady Lelia," Tristan replied through a tightly clenched jaw.

Joffrey's face was set in a smirk, and despite the best efforts of his family to keep the conversation going without him, he would not be dismayed. "Do you have the money for that, Prince Tristan? The North is such a poor place after all, compared to the south. Half the land of Westeros, a tenth of the wealth. Perhaps we could loan you some money so you could afford an appropriate tunic."

Tristan slammed his spoon down on the table, shocking everyone into silence. Jaime got to his feet, hand drifting to his sword, another of the Kingsguard at the entrance took one step forward, his hand going to his own blade. "King Joffrey" he said quietly, dangerously. "I am going to tell you something I doubt you have yet heard. I will tell you here, away from most of your courtiers and your vassals, for it would be disrespectful to speak so bluntly in front of the court. But perhaps, as a foreign dignitary, I can tell you what no others will. I hold the utmost respect for your rank, for your title of King and your position. I respect the line of your fathers, and I respect the throne on which you sit. I do not respect you."

No one spoke, though Joffrey's mouth moved. Finally words twisted out. "You do not respect me?" He said it as though he didn't understand the words.

"Correct," Tristan said. "I do not respect you as a person. And why should I?" Slowly, Tristan pulled off the glove on his clawed hand and placed it on the table. He held up the claw so that everyone could see it. "I have matched myself against a man with no hands who nearly brought a kingdom to its knees. With one working hand of my own I slew the Mountain in single combat and a hundred other men who wore your colours. I serve my brother, a king who earned his crown on the field of battle as well as his ancient blood right. What have you done that I, or anyone, should respect you?"

He waited to let his words sink in for a moment before standing up. "If you wish to keep your throne against rebels, any more rebels, then I would suggest you think on this. But now I find myself quite without an appetite. I look forward to the wedding, my lords, my ladies," he bowed his head to Joffrey. "Your Grace."

It was only back in their rooms that Sansa spoke. "You shouldn't have spoken to him like that," she said, sitting down on the bed.

"I know," Tristan replied, pulling off his tunic and laying it over the back of a chair. "Has he been like that the whole time?"

Sansa shook her head. "Worse."

He knelt before her and took her hand. She didn't pull away so he gave it a squeeze. "Sansa. I am so sorry for what happened to you. For what I did."

Sansa held the stump of her arm to her chest. "Joffrey did it."

"Because I took ser Jaime's. If I hadn't, he wouldn't have taken yours. I didn't think, and I am so sorry for that."

"Joffrey was just waiting for an excuse." She said, trying to reassure him.

It didn't work. "But I shouldn't have given it to him."

"But you did. And I do not hold you guiltless for that, but you did not cut off my hand. Joffrey did that, Joffrey murdered our father. Everything that happened to us, all of it is on his soul. And I can see, you are a different man to the one I knew. It's in your eyes."

Tristan stared at her, mouth agape. "How?"

She frowned. "How what?"

"How can you be like this? Everyone I know is a harder, harsher person following this war. Robb, Mother, Arya, my friends and battle companions. You suffered more than any of us, for longer than us, and you did it allone. But you have not hardened like we have."

Sansa squeezed his hand again. "I am harder than I was. The silk around my heart has hardened to ivory. My innocence was cut away with my hand. But I am still me."

Tristan shook his head. "I thought you were the most frivolous of us. Perhaps you were the very best."

"You and Robb got me back, don't forget that. But you are wrong about one thing. I didn't endure it alone. I had Daenerys, before her I had Jeyne."

"Jeyne! I thought she had died?"

Sansa shook her head. "No, she was here, but then Lord Baelish took her in. I haven't seen her since."

Tristan nodded and got to his feet. "Well then, it seems I know what I am doing between now and the wedding." If Jeyne Poole still lived, he would find her and bring her back to Winterfell as well.