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———
As Tytan's eyes swept across the training yard, taking in the scene, he quickly spotted the reason he was out here in the cold in the first place.
Over on one side of the packed-earth square, near the weapon racks, stood Robb Stark. He wasn't alone. Theon Greyjoy was right beside him, along with the quiet, dark-haired young man Tytan now knew was Robb's bastard brother, Jon Snow.
A couple of tough-looking Stark guardsmen, probably regular sparring partners, stood nearby, leaning casually against the racks, chatting amongst themselves.
All of them Robb, Theon, and Jon were wearing some form of practice armor: boiled leather jerkins, maybe some mail patches, simple helmets tucked under their arms.
Robb and Theon both looked… capable enough, ready to train, but Tytan noticed they also looked a bit pale under their northern complexions, maybe a little tired around the eyes.
Clearly still feeling the effects of last night's feast and all the wine that had flowed freely. Jon Snow, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine alert, focused, seemingly unaffected by the previous night's revelries.
Tytan then glanced over to the other side of the training yard. And predictably, there was his younger brother, Joffrey.
He was lounging near the entrance archway, surrounded by his own little group. His personal sworn shield, the hulking, scarred figure of Sandor Clegane the Hound stood silently beside him like a menacing shadow.
A few Lannister guardsmen, wearing the crimson and gold livery of their house, stood nearby, trying to look tough and important.
From the bored, mocking expressions on their faces, the slight sneers directed towards the simple training yard, the grey stone walls, even the northern air itself, Tytan could easily guess what they were talking about.
His brother and his little clique were probably making snide comments, insulting the Starks, the North, Winterfell, probably all three at once.
Joffrey loved feeling superior, especially when he had his tough-guy bodyguard backing him up.
Rolling his eyes inwardly at his brother's predictable, idiotic behavior honestly, couldn't Joffrey try not to be an arsehole for five minutes?
Tytan ignored them completely.
He turned his attention back to the reason he was here and started walking purposefully across the yard towards Robb Stark and his companions. A slight smirk played on Tytan's lips as he approached. Time to get this over with.
"Young Stark!" Tytan called out cheerfully, his voice carrying easily across the yard, deliberately loud. "You're looking… well! Ready for our dance?"
Robb visibly winced at the loudness of Tytan's greeting, maybe his head was still pounding a bit. But he managed a weak smile as Tytan reached them.
"Prince Tytan," Robb acknowledged, pushing himself upright from where he'd been leaning against a wooden post. "You actually made it."
"Well, I said I would, didn't I?" Tytan replied easily, clapping Robb firmly on the shoulder, a friendly but solid impact. Robb swayed just a fraction.
"Though I figured I'd give you a bit more time to recover this morning. You were looking pretty merry last night when I left." Tytan then nodded towards the other two young men.
"Greyjoy. Snow." He gave them both a brief, acknowledging nod. Theon returned it with a curt, almost sullen dip of his head.
Jon Snow's greeting was stiffer, more awkward, a quick, formal nod before his gaze dropped back to the ground, clearly uncomfortable being directly addressed by the Crown Prince.
Robb grimaced again at the reminder of his condition. "Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, rubbing his temples.
"Maybe drank a bit too much northern ale. Honestly, I'm surprised you're not in the same boat. Pretty sure you drank as much, if not more, than I did last night."
"Well, obviously," Tytan replied with a good-natured chuckle, leaning back slightly, "I just handle my wine better than you northern boys."
"Oh, piss off," Robb shot back, but he was laughing now too, the tension easing slightly. A genuine smile finally touched his face.
Tytan then turned his attention to Theon, who was still standing there looking moody. Might as well try and be friendly, Tytan thought.
Extend an olive branch. Just because his family were treacherous pirate lords didn't automatically mean he was a complete waste of space. Maybe.
"How about you then, Greyjoy?" Tytan asked casually. "You looking in as rough a shape as your friend here?"
"No," Theon replied brusquely, his voice flat. He scowled, his gaze drifting around the yard with a sour expression, clearly unimpressed by everything and everyone.
Tytan cocked an eyebrow at the curt, unfriendly response. That wasn't just hungover grumpiness; that was genuine bad temper. He glanced questioningly over at Robb.
Seeing the look, Robb grimaced yet again, leaning in slightly towards Tytan as if sharing a secret, though his voice was still loud enough for Theon to hear easily.
"Sorry about Theon," Robb apologized quickly, trying to smooth things over. "He's… uh… in a bit of a foul mood this morning." He shot a sideways glance at his frustrated friend.
"Seems he paid a visit to the local brothel in Winter Town last night, hoping to spend some quality time with his favorite whore there. Only," Robb lowered his voice slightly, looking embarrassed, "he got turned away. Apparently, she wasn't taking any more clients." He shrugged helplessly, clearly hoping the Crown Prince wouldn't take offense at Theon's rudeness.
Tytan looked back at Theon, whose face had flushed slightly at Robb's explanation. A spark of amusement lit Tytan's eyes. Ah. Now it made sense.
"Ah, got a bad case of blue balls, eh Greyjoy?" Tytan asked, unable to resist teasing him just a little. He saw Theon try, and fail, to hide the withering glare he shot Tytan's way.
"That sounds rough," Tytan continued sympathetically, though his eyes were still twinkling. "So, why wouldn't she see you? Busy night?"
"Apparently," Theon spat out gruffly, the word laced with bitterness, "this Ros," he practically snarled the name, "is completely besotted with some stuck-up, arrogant ponce who showed up. Probably some rich merchant flashing coin. The bitch likely caught the scent of his gold and spread her legs for him like a dog in heat!" An ugly, unpleasant sneer twisted Theon's face as he spoke, his frustration and wounded pride plain to see.
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