a flame against the frost.

“It is not about that,” he said quietly. “It is not about pride”. The princess could easily dismiss the night's events as harmless sport and simple fun. His gaze briefly moved toward the ring where the Northern king laughed and wrestled with a clansman. Jin Renshu had been treated with a sort of polite neglect for the majority of his years in the North. That changed after Meera Karstark's death. He was now tolerated by some, judged by many, and accepted by very few. It was best to navigate the court undetected, without so many eyes on him, without the kind of whispers that also affected the people of Sea Dragon Point as a result.

The princess' demeanor intrigued him. In a way, Ren could tell she was challenging him not because he was weak, but because he was holding back. Was he that easy to read? Or perhaps Astrid Stark simply had a keener eye and paid enough attention tonight.

When she moved closer, he did not step back. Instead, he studied her with quiet curiosity and a small measure of caution. He wasn't quite sure what to expect from this conversation, what the princess wanted from him, or from the evening in general. Ren not only weighed the challenge, but also the person delivering it. For a moment, it almost felt he was speaking to someone he was more familiar with, for the hall roared around them, yet the space of their conversation felt oddly contained.

she studied him a moment longer, more openly now, as if reassessing what she thought she knew. he did not step back when she moved closer, and that alone earned him a fraction more of her attention. her gaze lingered before she spoke again. “you’re chattier than usual,” she said lightly, though something deliberate lingered beneath it. “but i suppose that’s not such a terrible flaw, holding your tongue. better than being loud enough for the whole hall to hear your thoughts before you’ve had them.” a flicker of amusement crossed her features, quick and gone. anyone who knew her knew she was rarely so restrained, quick to let whatever thoughts cross her mind slip past her teeth before she could consider them. 

when he spoke of a drink, something in her posture eased, the tension unwinding just enough to let the moment breathe. “aye,” she said, exhaling a quiet laugh, “that we do.” her gaze followed his briefly to the empty cup in his hand, then returned to his face. “i accept your offer. though i warn you, if it takes us enough cups to reach a decision, i may end up brawling with you myself.” the tease was light, but not without a little edge.

the direwolf dacey caused her own was a gentle thing. rosey had never know battle or bloodshed, had never been known to bite or attack something she shouldn't, and could be fed right from the palm of somebody's hand. but a wolf was still a wolf, never truly tame, and she knew that she made the kennel master and his apprentices nervous simply by being there. it was how she found herself kneeling in the hay, brushing her wolf's grey coat until it was soft and clean.

in her crouched position, it would have been difficult to see her behind the walls of the stall. perhaps that was why she did not notice her sister entering the kennels, not until she had risen to her feet, brushing straw from her skirts and brush still in her hand. she had not noticed, before that moment, the door open, nor astrid's footsteps on the ground. it was as though she had simply appeared, the sight of it enough to make dacey startle a little, hand fluttering to her chest.

had it been cassana, she might have laughed about it, but dacey didn't quite know where she stood with astrid. she never really had, in a way, even before her sister had been warded in the riverlands. and so no light-hearted jokes left her lips, instead standing still, expression serious, hands coming to rest in front of her when her heartbeat resumed it's normal pattern.

"sorry," something about the kennel made her voice sound louder, even though she spoke softly. "i didn't expect to see you there. i didn't hear you come in." she could have stepped out of the kennel, but instead she stayed, close to rosey, her presence comforting.

“a hunter’s steps are always light, aye?” she said at last, stepping forward into clearer view, her tone edged with jest but not sharp enough to wound. the grin faltered just slightly as uncertainty brushed across her features, never quite sure how her barbs would land where dacey was concerned. pale eyes moved between her sister and the direwolf, assessing as she always did. “i think the whole of winterfell could fall and you would still be brushing her coat smooth.” reluctant amusement threaded through her voice. she admired that gentleness, though she would rather choke on iron than confess it aloud. dacey wore tenderness as though it were armor, and astrid had never quite decided whether she envied it or resented how effortlessly it fit.

“the godswood,” she echoed, thoughtful, gaze shifting toward the open stable doors where cold air slipped in and stirred the straw at their feet. the invitation caught her off guard. she and dacey had walked beneath those ancient trees often as girls, though memory colored those days unevenly, dacey serene and certain, astrid restless, forever reaching for a composure that never seemed meant for her. she brushed a stray piece of hay from her sleeve, granting herself a heartbeat to smooth whatever expression threatened to betray too much.

He had come tonight to celebrate his king not only because duty demanded it, but also because of the genuine trust and respect he had for Owen Stark. Much of the North had turned on him, judged his past actions, but the wolf king still vouched for him and trusted his heart remained in the right place. And so Ren's devotion for the man had only grown, and his continued service and support was shown in whichever way he could. Even if his presence on a night like this might draw some unease from other lords in the North. So he watched from a distance, cup in hand, content to let the night belong to others.

When the princess made her way toward him, her approach seemed quite deliberate, even if she didn't immediately state her intentions. Ren turned his head just enough to meet her gaze and inclined it in a silent greeting, politely acknowledging her without breaking the silence she appeared intent on keep. He took sip from his drink and continued to watch the king finish his match. It was then that Princess Astrid Stark spoke. Her words held the sharpness he'd come to expect from her. He followed her glance toward her brother’s triumphant grin. “I have no intention of fighting your brother tonight, Princess,” he said in a polite way. If possible, he'd do what he could to avoid having many eyes on him through the celebration.

at his quiet insistence that he wasn’t brooding, her grin softened just a touch. “observing,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue. “that’s a kinder name for it, i suppose.” her gaze drifted briefly back to owen’s laughter, to the rush of bodies and cheers. astrid had never been good at sitting idly by and observing anything, except a hunt, but that was different. she didn’t much see people the same way. “well, as you can see, the north doesn’t observe very often. it throws itself in, breaks a rib or two, and calls it bonding.” she glanced at him again, sharper now but not unkind. “you stand like a man expecting judgment instead of joy.”

his suggestion that she expected amusement from him elicited a low laugh escaped her. “oh, i won’t deny that i enjoy a spectacle,” she said lightly. “but if i wanted simple entertainment, i’d wager on which clansman lasts longest against my brother.” her eyes held his then, clear and bright. “i asked because you look like you’re bracing for something that isn’t coming.” no tonight. astrid wasn’t privy to everything happening around her, but she knew that a night like tonight was not one for settling grievances. for the most part.

she stepped half a pace closer, not enough to crowd him, only enough to let her voice slip beneath the swell of cheers. “does it?” she murmured, one brow lifting faintly. “well, if you’re going to stand there and watch so closely, it’s only fair you give it a go.” her gaze drifted deliberately across the hall, lingering on the southern lords who had already thrown themselves into the ring and been soundly humbled for their efforts. her lips curved, faint and knowing. “there’s a different sort of strength in the north, after all.”

but in the reach, it was something new, that feeling of not belonging only amplified. at least in the riverlands, he had been born there, had fought and shed blood and led armours for it. he knew the land well, even if he felt alienated within it. here in the reach, he knew it not, the customs and way of life so foreign to him that he had spent the entire time here feeling defensive in a way he didn't have the words to name.

his surliness was evident, plastered across his expression, and when astrid's familiar voice reached his ears, it was almost a relief, though undeniably tinged with irritation. he always felt like that when he saw her, never quite getting over the trouble she had caused him when she had been a ward of raventree hall, even now when he was pleased to see her.

"didn't realise it would be a reunion," he admitted, arms folding across his chest. "thought this might be a bit too far south for you northmen to march. assumed you'd all melt into a puddle south of the god's eye." his tone was as teasing as hers was, though he didn't quite lose the sour look upon his face. that was not her fault, not really, it was just hard for him to shake off a bad mood once it had set in.

she followed his gaze back to the displays, listening as he spoke, and for a moment she didn’t interrupt him, chewing thoughtfully on another grape. “you’re not wrong,” she admitted at last. “half of this is showing off. tyrell silk and glass and clever little promises meant to make everyone forget who still holds the grain and the swords.” her mouth curved, wry. “but that’s the point of it, benny. they’re not building for sieges. they’re building for peacetime, and they want everyone else to start imagining it too.” she rolled her lips, despite not being in war, she couldn’t imagine true peace anytime soon.

astrid leaned an elbow against the table, fingers brushing the edge of a painted diagram. “a glasshouse doesn’t have to survive a war to be dangerous,” she went on. “if it feeds a city through winter, if it makes one lord less desperate than another, that changes the stakes without ever raising a banner. quiet power.” she glanced at him sideways. “you of all people know how often the most important battles are decided long before anyone draws steel.”

She hadn’t changed as much as she should have. There was still that defiant tilt of her chin, that glimmer of danger in her smile, like she enjoyed being near the fire just to see if she could walk away unburned. His jaw flexed as she spoke; every word a test of his patience, every look a reminder of things he’d buried years ago. The sound of her voice was enough to drag him back to the North, to the cold stone floors of abandoned halls and the taste of ash and guilt.

“I see the wolves still have a knack for finding warmth where they aren’t wanted,” he said, tone easy, but his eyes were sharp, restless, prowling. “You must have missed southern wine… or southern company.” His smile came slow, deliberate, and entirely humorless. She’d goaded him, teased that he’d grown soft. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps he’d learned that some blades cut deeper when sheathed. “Careful, Princess.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the music around them dulled into nothing. The scent of wine clung to her, cold and sweet, and for a heartbeat the years between them vanished. “Tell me, Astrid,” he murmured, eyes catching hers, “what made you come here? Curiosity? Nostalgia?”

of course, that didn’t take away from the bitterness she knew he felt for her. it lived there in the flex of his jaw, in the way his gaze cut a little too sharply, as though bracing for a wound she hadn’t yet delivered. astrid had always enjoyed needling him, testing the edges of his composure, but she wasn’t blind to the line between provocation and cruelty. beneath her grin, a tightness coiled in her chest, a small, unwelcome ache she hadn’t expected to feel tonight. she didn’t want to see the lion bare his teeth completely, not at her, and not here, surrounded by those who would cheer at the spectacle.

still, her facade held, courtly and mocking in equal measure, even as her patience thinned at the edges. “i wanted to see if the southern company was as decent as i remember,” she said lightly, lifting a shoulder as her gaze drifted lazily around the hall. when it returned to him, it was cool, unimpressed. “i fear i’m disappointed.” the words were soft, but the sting was intentional, a reminder that she had not come here to kneel before southern pride.

when he stepped closer, memory struck her like a sudden gust of wind, sharp, unwelcome, familiar. her pulse quickened, traitorous, but she raised her chin in quiet defiance. she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. “can you blame someone for wondering what you’ve made of yourself?” she asked, head tilting as if to better study the man he’d become. “still arrogant, still loud. though you’ll be relieved to know the rumors don’t do you justice.” she let the words linger, a subtle barb wrapped in something dangerously close to sincerity.

The Lion Prince found the Concord boring and he was even more disappointed when he realized there would be no melee. Yes, Arron respected those who used their mind as well as their body. These were part of the tenets of the training on Fair Isle, warriors needed to be able to destroy men where they stood and appreciate the arts and academia as well, what use was a lord who could swing a sword but could barely read? He'd heard tale of the Baratheon's not being able to read and personally he thought it was embarrassing. Still who fucking cared?

There were talks of weaponry and arts and thoughts and ideas and while sure he imagined the spies would be plenty busy and those who wanted to be seen would either talk or tell on those who talked far too much. And he was sure it would be a great deal of fun when it was time to make lords answer for their grand ideas of how things so be ruled but that was probably months from now? What was he to do in the meantime? Party supposed. Parties were fun sources of information and offered something more exciting that the usual affair. He opened the door to everyone and yet he was still surprised when he spotted her because of course he spotted her.

"Princess Stark." He walked over to her, smiling as he always did even though he did not wish to smile at her. He wanted to know why she was here and then he remembered that the invites were open and that perhaps he didn't encourage his messengers to tell people it was Arron Lannister's party but he doubted that stayed secret for long, the ears always heard of what he was doing when the kingdoms were together. It was good for gathering information. Not encountering the past.

There were flashes, brief glimpses into small camps in destroyed or abandoned buildings. Secrets and whispers under stars while sat upon moss covered floors. Arron blinked carefully, readjusting to where he stood now as he drowned out distant sounds of laughter and screams mixing together.

"I'm surprised that a Northern woman has made her way here." He should have been clearer on his invitations. No first men and nor their women. Arron did not think about the past because he did not like to think about his past, to think about the memories of a life from before. Those were the acts of a boy playing at man and the real world shattered in his hands as the world he knew started to burn. His world was suddenly on fire and he pointed the finger at them all. They backed the sort of villain that would have her own people sacked and raided.

“prince lannister.” her grin curved, wolfish and amused. she was perfectly aware she was neither expected nor, likely, welcome here, but astrid had never let that stop her. the line between accident and audacity had always been her favorite to walk. she’d heard the music, the laughter, and the promise of something worth disrupting, and stepping through the threshold had been the only natural thing to do.

she blinked at his greeting, feigning surprise, her head tilting just enough for a few loose strands of red hair to tumble free. “oh? how come?” she asked lightly, letting the question hang between them as her gaze swept over him - quick, assessing, practiced. “forgive me for arriving unannounced. i assumed all curious minds of the realm were invited to witness this so-called true merriment.” she lifted her goblet in mock salute before taking a slow sip, her eyes drifting across the glittering room at nothing and no one in particular.

“i’ll grant you this, arron, you do throw a fine celebration. all this brilliance, and not a single sword swung. i’d almost think you were going soft.” her tone was teasing, her smirk quick and deliberate. “though i suppose even lions get tired of roaring." the princess shrugged, not stopping to gauge whatever expression might be upon his face right now. "still, it’s not true merriment without a touch of chaos. a duel of swords? or perhaps of words? tell me, what kind of trouble should we expect tonight? after all, i never knew you to follow the rules.”