#undeadned

Lord Eddard Stark, despite his name and fortunes and honors, was far less interesting. He was of King Robert's men. He was Renly's common brother at arms and for that Loras imagined he should have been more curious. But from what Loras knew of those men, they were built of stone, feeling what little they could as they donned their armor and swept into battle.

Loras was not one of them. He walked with pride, not honor. Renly had taught him that much, and his parents had taught him to do it tactfully. Though that part was much more difficult for him. Feeling was easy, but feeling properly was always hard.

"Have we cause such a great disturbance for you, Lord Stark? Our parents scolded us all for being so impatient, but my sister is but six and we'd grown tired of keeping pace for her so long," Loras shrugged, his eyes darting impatiently and willing the company of Lord Eddard's sons. The thought occurred to him to perhaps ask why the boy had scurried away, and for as much as he'd wanted to, he feared asking.

Except this was something different. And Loras was still staring, intruding on their intimate moment even still until he'd heard his name called. His eyes perked up, brows raised almost in surprise before he smiled at the man.

The mighty Lord Eddard Stark was more than an impressive figure. Far more dangerous than his Father had given him credit for. Even in his age, the man still looked a more than capable warrior.

"That may have been my fault, My Lord. My brothers and I are fond of urge our horses on faster. We must have raced half way here," Loras answered, his smile bright up at the man. In truth, he had little knowledge as to where his parents might have gone off to. Perhaps to rest after traveling with their unruly children. Perhaps they were exploring as Loras had been. But he knew they were more than pleased to simply have the opportunity to run off on their own.

"They were pleased to have the morning to themselves in truth. It has been some time since we were received by an entire fortress, My Lord," his voice rang, happy and pleased to have met the man before his parents had. Loras had begun following him, absently in search of his siblings rather than his own parents.

In fact, by the time they reached Winterfell, Loras was rather cross, unseating himself from his horse quickly, his year as squire making it difficult to hand the reins over. He was resisted the urge to help his brothers, or even Margaery down and watched, dumbfounded as they were greeted with kind hospitality. Even in Winterfell, the Tyrell name was known, but Loras hardly remembered he was one of them, and not a Baratheon as he'd so practiced.

Their introductions had been short, and the awe of another noble family was not quite so impressive. They dispatched, and Loras watched as his brothers trailed after their parents, Margaery walking ahead of them, her little bouncing curls unaffected by the chill.

But Loras was not so easy to follow. Instead, he left the family to find warmth, heading back toward the stables, looking at the Northern ponies and patting a few on the nose when they came by and whinnied at him. He chuckled as one latched it's large tongue over his fingers and tried to nip at him. He pulled his hand away and forgot for a moment that he wasn't in Storm's End, and these were not horses accustomed to him and familiar with him.

Leaving the stables, he crept around, ever silent, looking for the cracks and crevices of the great Northern Keep. He watched a boy, not much younger than him, come racing out of some wall and knocking into some poor boy. Loras smiled, watching as he scampered away. He followed him, watching as he crashed through the heavy doors of the Great Hall.

When he took in the sight of Ned Stark, so much taller than he'd ever truly pictured, Loras felt the impulsive need to protect the boy. Launching from his feet, he clamored in after the boy, almost knocking him over, but holding on to his shoulder to keep him upright.