The Long Winter | Jaime Lannister X Stark OC | GOT/ASOIAF

Green Eyes

King's Landing was unlike anywhere Ren had been before.

The cramped, crowded city seemed a whole other world to the vast open wilderness of the North. There were so many people, none of whom he knew bar his mother, Uncle Ned and the dozen Stark and four Bolton guards that had accompanied them south. His mother had chosen those guards for their speed on horseback, wanting to reach King's Landing as fast as possible, and return to the North equally as quickly.

She disliked the south, he knew. Ren might have only been ten-years-old, but he had heard whispers of the Mad King, who had kept his mother prisoner here during Robert's Rebellion. There had even been whispers that Aerys Targaryen was Ren's father, though Lord Bolton didn't allow such talk in the Dreadfort. Ren knew he wasn't a Targaryen, anyway. His mother hated Targaryens, and had his father really been the old King, he would not be here today.

His Uncle Ned also disliked King's Landing; the only reason they were here was because King Robert had demanded the presence of his uncle for the tourney to celebrate Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrcella's eighth nameday. Ren was unsure why his mother had come too, but was always eager to leave the Dreadfort, so did not question her too much.

Though he would never tell his mother, he quite liked the city. The overwhelming sights, sounds and smells were a lot to take in, but he found himself able to blend in here, stay mostly invisible in a way he had never been able to in Winterfell or the Dreadfort. There, everyone knew him as Rosennis Stark's bastard, and he had to do his best to stay out of sight of the terrifying Lord Bolton. Here, he was just another skinny boy in plain clothes, and everyone's eyes passed him by.

Ren left the chambers he and his mother had been given early the first morning after they arrived, unable to stay in bed when there was the entire keep outside. But first, he went to the practice yard, blunted tourney sword in hand, ready to train as he had done every day since he was old enough to pick up a sword. Ren loved sparring as much as his mother loved horses.

He expected to be the first one there - he always was, whether he was in Winterfell or the Dreadfort, and was always the last to leave before lunch - however an angry looking dark-haired boy, perhaps only two years his elder but twice as strong, was there already. The boy was determinedly hacking at a dummy with a sword that looked far too big for him. He was good, though. Not as good as Ren, but few people under sixteen were. Not many over sixteen were. That wasn't arrogance, as he often told his mother when she reproached him for it, it was a fact. Though this boy was definitely stronger than he was; Ren's weakness was that despite being tall for his age, he was still rather skinny.

"What are you looking at?"

Ren started as the boy looked his way, heavy brow lowered in somewhat defensive suspicion. He spoke with a Westerlands accent, like the Queen and the redcloaked guardsmen. Then he saw the sword in Ren's hand, and his angry eyes lit up.

"Do you want to spar? It's not as much fun with a dummy,"

"Yes,"

The boy was far stronger, but Ren was quicker. He also had an advantage in that he fought with his left hand, which tended to throw his opponent slightly, so - as normal when fighting with boys his own age - he triumphed, but after a longer fight than usual. The other boy really was good. Ren knocked the large sword - which couldn't have helped with balance - out of the boy's hands, and had his own sword at his throat.

The boy's dark blue eyes widened, clearly not used to losing. "You cheated," He accused, angrier than before. "I should've won, you're too weedy to beat me,"

Ren glowered at him, lowering his sword. "I didn't cheat, I'm just better,"

For a moment he thought the other boy would hit him. Clearly he was thinking about it, but then a bark of laughter sounded behind them. Both boys spun around, unaware they were being watched, and Ren saw a man stood in the shade, leaning against a column. Tall, with a mane of golden curls and an irritating smirk; Ren recognised him instantly. Even if he hadn't had vague memories of him winning the joust at the Riverrun tourney, Ser Jaime Lannister wasn't an easy man to mistake. His resemblance to the Queen was uncanny, and though the white cloak of the Kingsguard wasn't draped around his shoulders - he must be off duty - he wore a red tunic and the Lannister lion roared from the pommel of his sword.