"Found her walking away from the castle, your Grace".
"Away from the castle, without guards?," the Young Wolf asked.
"Just because she's pretty don't mean she's bright, your Grace," a particularly mangy one of his soldiers pointed out causing a bout of laughter in the overly serious room.
But the serious King from the serious family of the serious North didn't smile.
"Whatever else she is, she is a princess and you will address her in the manner she deserves. Are you hurt, princess?"
Finally someone looks at me. At the age of sixteen I am nearing 5'8, towering over Tommen, even taller than Joffrey when I wore heels…until he forbade it anyway. In the tent full of men honor bound to kill every Lannister they see I drew myself up to my full height before dropping into a curtsey so low my rear nearly hit the floor. Flicking my eyes up to the King I rise with a smile. Let them jeer, let them stare, I was born to do what they could only now begin to play at.
"Not hurt, your Grace, just a little weary from the long ride. I was in the litter the last time I came all the way North. Though of course, a great many things more significant than that has changed since then." With that I look him in the eyes for the first time, I see the dark pools of blue and see him as I remembered him when I visited with my family, before everything went so terribly wrong, and he was just the older, brave boy who Tommen followed around like a puppy and who Joffrey tried to treat like a dog. "I … would like to offer my sincerest condolences for all that has happened since then. It is a crueler world than even the stories old Nan could think up."
"How dare you Lannister bitch – your family, your brother-fucking whore mother, is the one who ca-" with that King Robb struck the man.
"Greatjon – take Ryther outside, he will be guarding the prisoners tonight. And let this be a lesson to all those here – it is a foolish man who not only disobeys his King, but confuses shared blood with shared blame"
"Apologies Princess, I'm afraid we've brought you to a terrible place."
At that, Grey Wind comes loping in the room, and just as he did when he was a pup and I was a scrawny foreign girl, he walked right over to me and licked my face and offered me his paw.
"Not so terrible, your Grace" I say as Grey Wind rolls on his back so I can scratch his tummy. I meet the King's laughing eyes for a moment before looking to his mother, who looks as though she's seen a ghost.
Strangely my life falls into somewhat of a routine in the camp. Every morning I wake and pray to the seven. I would then take my breakfast in my room and take care to mend my appearance with the limited means at my disposal.
Then I go for a walk. Sometimes I am accompanied by guards, but mostly by Grey Wind. With winter on the way, the fighters from the South have mostly retreated, and the king is mostly kept in strategy sessions. He had asked me on the third day of my imprisonment.
"It's just that… they do drone on and on, and Grey Wind gets so bored, but he never wants to leave my side. Or he never did, until you came here. Would you mind just…taking him on your walk? He may prove better company than Ryther."
"If it pleases your Grace, I would be glad to take the fresh air with Grey Wind at my side."
The king looks pleased with himself and says, "I am most grateful, Princess".
As he turns to leave I say, "Of course I wonder if Ryther would be as talented at catching my scent, should I ever hope to escape, as he will not have nearly enough time with me as your…pup."
For the first time in five years I see Robb Stark, King of the North blush. A trait, Sansa told me, he shared with his father. They only color when they have been caught out.
Never was I more thankful for my septa's sewing lessons than in those first few weeks. It seemed everywhere I went there was an errant branch just waiting for me to trip over. But more than that, it gave me something to do, something that allowed me to be useful to my captors.
I started with the young ones, the boys a year or two younger than me who inherited the fight rather than chased it. I saw that one of them had a torn knee of his pant and I ripped off the hem of my dress to make him a patch. As he walked away smiling I thought "One down, 30,000 to go."
Slowly I start to learn their names. I learn the sigils of the smaller houses of the North, learn to discern them from those of the River lands. I learn to avoid the Karstark's. I learn to never walk to the godswood when a Mormont is there. I learn that the cook, a Tully relation, will give me extra stew if I show her how to braid her hair.
I only see the King once a day. He likes to wait for me and Grey Wind after his counsel meetings. It's those moments, when I see him alone, that I can most remember him as a boy. One such night, as Grey Wind and I walk side by side, before I had even thought to look for him, a drunken Bolton walks up to me.
"You're just lucky, you little Southern cunt, that we Bolton's didn't first have the idea to rebel, or you'd have lost three fingers and a toe to the flaying by now" He gargles at me, his breath stale on my face. Before he can raise his hand to grab me, Grey Wind bites his arm and knocks him to the ground. He doesn't attack fully, years of battle have taught him the difference between war and discussion.
The king, having seen the whole exchange rushes over and says "Grey Wind heel!"
Grey Wind stays where he is, one paw on the Bolton's, Fry I think it was, chest, even bearing his teeth a bit further.
"Grey Wind to me" I say calmly. At that Grey Wind retreats and comes to my side, sniffing me as if to check for blood.
Fry moves to get up. "You'll stay where you are, Bolton. You are the lucky one that my father outlawed flaying in the North, for if he hadn't, it might be you missing a toe by now, or perhaps, your house missing a son. Princess Myrcella is a guest, she is here at my pleasure, not yours, and if I so much as see you look too long at her, I'll send you North of the wall and let Jon teach you the lessons I am clearly failing to. Come, Princess, I'll escort you to your tent."
As we pass our third group of boisterous soldiers I pluck up the courage. "Thank you, your Grace. So many people don't have the courage to stick up for their friend, let alone their enemy. It is a gift I don't expect to receive, but am grateful for all the more."
The king can't even look at me. He is staring at Grey Wind. "He…didn't listen to me."
"The Bolton boy? The house is not known for caution nor loyalty I believe."
"No Grey Wind. He heard me, but didn't listen until you told him to stop."
"You weren't the one he was defending."
"But I'm…he's…he doesn't even listen to my mother. What is it with you and him?"
"Well he's a part of you isn't he… what is it with you and me?" I say and immediately blush.
The king finally looks his twenty years and he stumbles for something to say.
"I…I just mean. I'm your prisoner and in many ways Grey Wind has been my jailer, but would I find someone to defend me more bravely than either of you should I have the need? You understand that when you take control of something, you are honor bound to protect it. It's a trait that the world could use a bit more of." With that I curtsey "Goodnight your Grace." And walk inside my tent. A minute later I pop my head back out of the tent and say "Oh, and I feed him bacon" and stick my tongue out at him as if I were still an 11 year old princess and he just the son of a Northern lord. I close the tent to the sound of him chuckling.
It isn't until I'm tossing and turning in bed hours later that I think to wonder, how did I know that he would have lingered outside my tent?