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

The Howling Of Wolves

Ren was there, when Robb read of his father's arrest. His cousin's face had darkened the more he read, and when he looked up, eyes steely cold, he looked more of a lord than he ever had done. More of 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.

Treason. His mother had scoffed at the word. Lord Stark was not capable of treason against Robert. His supposed son was a different matter, 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 Joffrey's true parentage from Robb, for now at least. A war fighting for the rightful return of Eddard Stark was one thing. A war to topple the King from the throne - as his cousin would feel duty-bound to do - was quite another.

Ren regretted leaving King's Landing. But even he had to acknowledge that if he'd been there, he would most likely have died in the massacre. He hardly would've let the Lannister men take the girls without a fight, not to mention he was worth little as a hostage. The new King also despised him, and was (quite literally) enough of a bastard to kill him for that alone. It was unlikely he'd have done more good there than he would here. Still, though. It was not a good feeling, knowing he had all but left his sister and cousins to their fate, along with Loreon and his uncle.

Not to mention, Joffrey despised Loreon even more, never mind Cersei. Ren hoped his friend had managed to get out of the city before the killing started. Surely Winterfell would have 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 Targaryens' 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. Ren had come across her himself a few times, muttering nonsense about wildfire and sharp nails, tears wet on her cheeks that she never would've shed whilst awake. Once, still asleep as he led her back to her rooms, she had clung to his arm tightly, calling him 'Jaime' in a mumbled voice. Ren had stopped dead, 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 in the town and 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.

"They all think you're my sworn shield," Robb said one evening, amused. "Or else, my shadow that glowers at everyone,"

"I might as well be, to them," He shrugged. "A sworn shield, that is. No one will question why you are bringing your bastard cousin to every council,"

"You know, that's not a bad idea," Robb said. "You don't have to do the whole kneeling and swearing performance, but as far as they all know, you did. You've got a reputation already as some sort of prodigy with a sword, they know you trained in the south. It might help some of them shut up every now and again,"

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 Ren's mother's husband.

Roose Bolton spoke little, watched a lot, and unnerved most people as a rule. Robb was no different - hells, Ren's mother was no different, 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.