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

The Howling Of Wolves

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.