Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and I make no profit writing fanfics about it.

(AN): I wasn't sure what to do with this one.

Robb V

The lance Robb took to the chest felt like it knocked his lungs right out of him, throwing him from the back of his horse and leaving the Stark heir groaning in the dirt with his ears ringing. There was no doubt in his mind that his chest would be covered in black and blue splotches by evening.

"Up you get Stark. I still need to knock you on your arse a few more times before you can be considered a real jouster."

Glaring up at the clear blue sky through the slits in his helm, Robb lifted on arm and made a rude gesture, prompting another round of laughter from the Kingslayer. Gods, the man was a trial in patience, swinging back and forth between caustic advice and smarmy japes.

Still, even Jaime Lannister's presence beat another afternoon spent cooped up in the Tower of the Hand with his aunt and lordly cousin. There was something deeply wrong with that boy, what with the way he went on and on slobbering all over Lysa's teats and wailing.

If he had to endure another luncheon listening to Lysa's ramblings about her 'Sweetrobin', Robb thought he might truly go mad. At least if his brain leaked out of his ears while training with the Kingslayer Robb could claim he was doing something productive.

"Hello? You still alive down there?" Jaime prodded impatiently, bending down to yank Robb back upright. "Don't lounge around after getting knocked off your horse, or I'll think there's something wrong with you."

Robb offered a muttered apology, pulling off the dented helm he'd borrowed for the day's training. It was an ugly little thing, all grey and scratched like the rest of the armor he'd been lent, and after a few hours in the sun wearing it his hair was left sweat-soaked and matted.

Gold glinted under the sunlight as Jaime mirrored Robb's action, doffing his gleaming helmet to reveal glittering emerald eyes. "You want to call it a day then, Stark?" he asked, looking a bit disappointed at the younger man's lack of stamina. There was the difference between a green boy and a hardened warrior, he supposed. "Too much to handle in one go?"

Robb stiffened at that, wondering if the man was trying to insult his capability. "I can still ride, Ser.." he denied, whistling to call his errant horse back. He wanted to do nothing beyond lay in his feather bed for a few hours, but Robb wouldn't let the Kingslayer think he was weak.

The Kingsguard knight cocked an eyebrow, studying the student Robert had foisted on him before jerking his chin to the side. "We're done with the joust for the day, Stark. Go drink your fill. Find some leather to wear and a tourney sword. We'll start some melee drills in half a candlemark. There's more to life than the joust."

Watching in confusion as Jaime stalked off, Robb wondered if that was the Kingslayer's attempt at being nice. Neither of them had been exactly eager to follow the King's command, and they'd spent the entire morning hammering away at each other to work out that frustration. At what point did the animosity fade away into some kind of reluctant camaraderie?

Robb shook those thoughts away, hurrying over to the water barrel to take greedy gulps. He didn't have time to waste wondering over the Kingslayer's motives.

Drinking until his thirst was slaked, Robb tore off his gauntlet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Seven hells." He muttered, splashing his sweat covered face with the blessedly cool water. "The heat down here is unbearable."

"That's what you get for having ice in your veins, Stark."

Robb paused, brow wrinkling slightly as he turned. "Lord Renly." He greeted cautiously, eying the man's perfectly tidy blue silk doublet. The heir to Winterfell could smell the faint perfume of roses, and it made him want to sneeze. The Lord of Storm's End was in no way dressed for the tiltyard. "How can I help you?"

Folding his hands behind his back, Renly looked down at the redhaired young man and grinned. "Word on the vine is that you're getting quite cozy with the family, Robb. Robert can't stop singing your praises, Myrcella seems smitten with you, and even the Kingslayer decided to take you under his wing."

"I'm not sure that's how I would describe it, my lord." Robb demurred, shifting on one heel and casting a sidelong glance for Ser Jaime.

It was true that King Robert was kind to him, but Robb wasn't stupid, and the endless stories about life in the Vale only reinforced the fact that the King was interested more in his father than in him. It was also true that Princess Myrcella had stopped treating him like he had the plague, but exchanging courtesies was nowhere near smitten.

As for the Kingslayer, the man only bothered with Robb because of His Grace's command.

"Nothing wrong with a spot of modesty." Renly allowed, storm blue gaze twinkling with a mixture of humor and keen interest. "All of that said, I had a thought to invite you to dine with me and Ser Loras tonight. The Starks and Baratheons have always been friends, and I'd be a poor friend indeed if I didn't look out for you now that Ned's gone."

Robb wasn't sure exactly how to feel about Renly. On the one hand, the man was obviously trying to get something out of him. Favours? An alliance? But on the other hand he did have a point about their houses being tied, and the Lord of Storm's End didn't seem malicious; only flighty. "I'd like that." Robb decided, pulling off his other gauntlet and tucking them both under his arm. "What time should I call on you?"

"Oh, half a candlemark past the supper bell would be perfect."

"Stark! I'm not sacrificing my time so you can dawdle. Go change already!" The sudden cut of the Kingslayer's voice was sharp, and the Lion of Lannister stalked back onto the training grounds with a sour twist of his mouth.

Offering a hurried goodbye, Robb left the two older men alone as he hastened to the armoury. Just as he went to duck into the open door though, he chanced a glance over his shoulder and found his eye caught by the animated conversation Jaime and Renly seemed to be having.

It seemed friendly enough on the surface, with both knight and lord smiling widely as they spoke. But there was a certain tautness to Renly's mouth and a clench to Jaime's jaw that made it seem very cold. Family in a way they might be, but friends they were not.

That realization made Robb's blood chill despite the summer heat, and with a final curse he stepped into the armoury in search of a change of gear. Whatever discord there was between the King's brother and the Kingslayer had naught to do with him, and naught to do with the North.

(AN): Brr.