Author's Note: This chapter is the longest chapter I've ever written, amounting to over 9,000 words! I'm planning on writing two or three chapters before the events of Game of Thrones, and they will probably have around the same word count. So, basically this story is about the daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. That black-haired boy that Cersei told Catelyn Stark about in early season one survived, but was a girl. Hopefully everyone is in character during this chapter, not sure about Robert and Cersei. Bear with me for the first few chapters, because they might be a little slow, but it's all apart of Kenna's development as a character. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and make sure to review!
The Lonely
Her daughter's hair was black, and sleek to touch. When she was upset, Cersei would let her eldest child lay her head upon her lap, and Cersei would stroke her hair gently. That seemed to be the only way to calm her for years. She had been a fussy babe, always crying and unsettled, but she mellowed. Kenna Baratheon was the opposite of her brother, Prince Joffrey, who had been a quiet, blissful babe, but even Cersei recognised that her son was slightly... uncontrollable.
It wasn't until Joffrey sliced open Kenna's cat, Lady Fuzz, that Cersei realised how cruel her son could be. But she still loved him fiercely, because Joffrey was her perfect son. The eldest child from her union with Jaime.
"My sweet, darling girl," Cersei cooed to her sobbing daughter. "I don't believe your brother meant to hurt you."
The words were lies, and Cersei knew it. Joffrey delighted in hurting his older sibling, and his younger ones too. There had always been competition between the two. Joffrey was jealous of how their father, the once great King Robert of House Baratheon, preferred his daughter over his son and heir.
Perhaps it was good that her son didn't love his siblings. Love was a weakness, but Cersei only wished that her other children wouldn't have to suffer.
"But he... he..." Another sharp sob escaped Kenna's throat, her body flinching violently. "He looked so proud, Mother. He said that he was d-doing Lady Fuzz and her kittens a kindness. I-I asked him why, and he said... he said th-that he was sparing them a life w-with me as their m-master. Am I really that horrid? Joff said I was. Is he right?"
Children fight, Cersei told herself. It's normal. Joffrey and Kenna have a healthy dose of sibling rivalry. Jaime and I had it... it's normal. It has to be. Robert called him a monster when Joffrey presented one of kittens to him, and he hit poor Joff so hard that he knocked out two of his baby teeth. Cersei wouldn't allow Robert to beat him. She would never allow him to beat any of her precious cubs.
"No, sweetling," Cersei said softly. "You're not horrid at all. Joffrey was just... he's just misguided. I'm sure that he will realise his mistake and apologise to you in the morrow."
"He won't say sorry," Kenna replied, bitterness laced in her tone. "Joffrey never says sorry. Not to me, not to Tommen, not to Myrcella. He ripped the head off Myrcella's doll once, and then he insulted her for crying. He was so mean, Mother, you should have seen..."
"You shouldn't speak ill of your brother," Cersei cut her off sternly. "He is to be king one day. A king deserves respect."
Kenna brought her head up from Cersei's lap, and narrowed her eyes at her mother. Though she had Robert's colouring, Cersei could see so much of herself in Kenna. Even at nine, Cersei could see that her eldest would blossom into a beauty. It was times like these, when Kenna would narrow her eyes and act stubbornly, that the queen felt like she was looking into a mirror.
"He's not king yet," she said, raising her chin proudly. There were tears stained on her cheeks. "He's only a prince. Father is king, and he even called Joffy a monster-"
"You shouldn't look up to your father," Cersei protested. She was worried about how much Kenna idolised her father. Nobody would want a drunken, loud fool for a wife. "He may be king, but he is not a good man."
"Why does he touch other women?" Kenna asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. "I see him, at the feasts, and he always kisses and feels the serving girls. Why does he do that?"
Cersei's pretty face was etched with a scowl. Of course the children would notice. How could Robert be so careless? Robert didn't think, and now his daughter was introduced much too early to how a man could treat his wife; like a disposable object.
She touched her daughter's cheek with her hand, and wiped away the dried tears. Her skin was wet from crying, and her eyes were red and puffy. Had it been under any other circumstance, Cersei would have scolded Kenna for crying. Crying is for the weak, she would have said, as she had said many times before, and a princess is not weak.
"You need not concern yourself with such things, my darling," Cersei said. "All you need to know is that your father loves you, and I love you." She rose from her daughter's bed. The sheets were red for Cersei's house and black for Robert's, with some gold for both of their houses. "Get some sleep."
Kenna nodded, though she still seemed concentrated on why her father touched other women. Cersei smiled pitifully, sorry for her daughter and for herself. Her hatred for Robert increased more and more each day.
She went to find Jaime, to rant and rave about how horrible Robert was.
"I swear it, Jon, by the all the gods – the Seven, the old, the red, the purple – that boy is a monster."
Jon Arryn sighed. He couldn't deny it. Prince Joffrey was eight years old, and while most eight year olds preferred to play with wooden swords and pretend to be gallant knights, the prince revelled in opened in up his sister's pregnant cat and showing his father one of the kittens.
"I am sure he will grow out of it," Jon said, though he wasn't sure at all. "Perhaps if we were to employ another whipping boy..."
"No." Robert shook his head. "That won't work. Joffrey enjoyed watching the last whipping boy get whipped. Pare, was it?"
"Pate, I believe," corrected Jon. Since he became Hand of the King, he felt ten years older than his actual age. Ruling Seven Kingdoms and Robert Baratheon was quite tedious, even for a patient man like him. "You could try spending some time with him. He spends all of his time with his mother and siblings, that cannot do him much good."
Robert chuckled. "Anyone would turn out like Joffrey if they had Cersei for a mother." He quickly sobered, digesting what Jon had suggested. "No. I'm not spending time with that wretched boy. Why did the gods decide to curse me with Joffrey for an heir? I'd sooner name kitten-loving Tommen as my heir! Or even Kenna. Any of them, but not Joffrey."
"The laws of Westeros state that the eldest son must inherit his father's seat," Jon explained. "Only Dorne have a different custom. Joffrey is your heir. Nothing can change that. But Joffrey is young. He can be changed. If you were to just consider spending time with him..."
Robert's tone was much sterner and harsher than before. "No. Joffrey is a Lannister, through and through. Let him be groomed by those golden-haired brats."
"This is the future king you are speaking of," Jon said. "When you are dead, he will rule the kingdoms. Westeros does not need another mad king."
The king rolled his eyes. "You can rule for him."
"I might not last that long. I am an old man, Robert."
"You've been an old man for years," he replied, with a booming laugh. "The Wall will melt before you give into death."
Jon let a small smile come upon his face. He truly was not in a position to die at the moment. He had no heir, and the realm was in a fickle position. If Joffrey was to come to the throne any time soon, the realm would bleed. Jon would have to make it as secure as possible before then.
"We haven't spoken of your daughter's marriage in a while," Jon said. "Since you refused the Tyrells her hand."
Robert scoffed. "A cripple isn't good enough for my daughter. And the Tyrells are a scheming bunch of shit-stirrers. I'm not sending my eldest to a flowery snake pit."
During the rebellion, the Tyrells fought on the side of the Targaryens, something Robert had not yet forgiven them for. Jon believed that a marriage between the houses Tyrell and Baratheon would ensure the Tyrells loyalty, but Robert remained stubborn.
"You care for her," Jon noted.
"Of course I care for her. She's my eldest daughter!" He said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. But due to his dislike of Joffrey, Jon was unsure if Robert had any affection for any of his children. "And my only child who looks any bit like a Baratheon. The rest are yellow, just like their mother. Have you spoken to her, Jon? She's the sweetest child I've ever met. And proud, too. And stubborn as hell. What Joffrey did to her cat... I wanted to beat him bloody, and I would have, if Cersei hadn't stopped me."
"She and her brother don't get along very well," Jon said. He warily glanced to Robert, wondering if he would like what Jon was about to suggest. Ours is the fury, those were the Baratheon words. And Robert Baratheon was certainly true to them. "Perhaps it would be best if we separated them."
"Separate them?" Robert echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Send her as a ward to one of the great houses," he explained. "And when the time comes, she might marry one of the sons."
It pleased Jon to see Robert caring for something that wasn't wine, a whore or something to kill. Robert studied Jon carefully, and Jon feared that he was going to let a roar. The realm needed this. When Prince Joffrey came to the throne, he would need allies. His sister could ensure the loyalty of her husband's house. Children might fight, but family were bound together by an unbreakable bond.
"Who do you have it mind?" Robert said gruffly. "Better not be a Lannister or some other family of scheming shits..."
"I was going to suggest the Martells," Jon said. The king was ready to pounce on him immediately. "You've already refused the Tyrells, Robert. The Martells have been... hostile towards the crown since the deaths of Elia Martell and her children. A marriage between your two houses could mend that."
He was a fool if he expected Robert to agree, the Hand realised. Dornishmen were not cruel, that he knew, and they had some degree of honour. More than Tywin Lannister. Much more than Tywin Lannister.
"I'm not sending her there, but perhaps she should be fostered. Some time away from Joffrey and her mother will do her good." Robert stroked his growing beard. In the three years since the Greyjoy's Rebellion, the king had gained weight. He tried to conceal his multiple chins with a beard.
Startling Jon, Robert stood up from his chair abruptly, nearly knocking it down. His bearded face split with a large grin. "I know who we should send her to." Jon sat back in his seat, raising an eyebrow expectantly. "Ned. He has a boy only a year older than Kenna, and girl only a few years younger. She can grow up with the Starks like I grew up with Ned."
Jon couldn't see the point in sending the princess north. The Starks were already tied to the crown because of Robert's brotherly relationship with Ned. There was no need to further their ties.
"Robert, the Starks are already our trusted allies," Jon told him. "There is no need..."
"And Kenna can marry the Stark boy when they both come of age," Robert went on, paying no mind to his Hand. "Like I was supposed to marry Lyanna. She'll like it there, I know she will. Ned will treat her kindly."
Jon sighed. "I have no doubts that he would, but we ought to use your daughter's marriage to strengthen ties with another house. Your rule is not yet fully cemented."
Robert waved his hand dismissively. He wanted something to happen, and when King Robert wanted something to happen... it happened. "I have other children. Another daughter, Myrcella. I can marry her to one of the other houses. Don't you see, Jon? Kenna can have the life I was suppose to have. She will marry a Stark, and be raised with them."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient. Robert wanted to live through his daughter. It wasn't the wisest course of action, but his Grace didn't care.
"And if your daughter does not want to marry Ned's boy?" Jon asked. "Will you make her? Will you force your eldest child to marry a boy she does not love so that you can live your dreams through her?"
That struck a chord in Robert. His excited face fell, and he sat once again in his chair. Obviously, he hadn't thought of his child's feelings, or Ned's child's feelings either. He pitied Robert. Even seven kingdoms couldn't make him happy. There was only one thing that could: Ned's late sister, Lyanna. Though, Jon questioned whether Robert actually loved Lyanna, or the girl's face and the idea of love.
Robert grabbed the wine pitcher and poured himself some wine. Warily, Jon watched him. His love of wine was famous throughout the kingdoms, almost as much as his love of women. If Robert didn't become more careful, his wine would drive him into an early grave.
Once he had gulped down the red wine at an alarmingly quick pace, Robert let out a heavy breath. He slammed the empty goblet on the table with a thud. "No," he said finally. "I won't force her to marry the boy. I'm not that hopeless of a romantic. But I still want her to become the Stark's ward. My word on that is final."
Jon glanced up to the heavens, and silently asked the gods why they had cursed him with such a stubborn king.
"I forbid it. You will not sell my daughter to those northerners!"
Cersei's face was red with rage. Her emerald eyes were narrowed at that oaf of a king she was forced to call husband. How dare he? Kenna was her daughter too, her eldest daughter. She was all that the queen had before Joffrey, her only light in this dark world. If it wasn't for Kenna, Cersei would have thrown herself off the highest tower in King's Landing. Even if she reminded her too much of Robert, Kenna was her daughter. She wouldn't her daughter to be sold off as she was.
A loud thud echoed through the dining room as Robert slammed his fist off the table. "I am the king, and what I say goes. Best you learn that, woman."
"You would not even ask for my opinion?" Cersei said, glaring daggers at the king. "You would not even ask the mother of your child if she was okay with this marriage?"
"It is a fine marriage, Cersei," Robert told her tiredly. "Anyway, I will not force the girl into anything. Why does everyone think so lowly of me? If she doesn't want to marry the boy, then she doesn't have to. But she will be Ned's ward, because I know she'll be much happier there than she would be with you or our golden haired shit of a son."
She wanted to laugh at him. Robert still believed that Joffrey was his son. But Joffrey was Jaime's, thank the Seven. Bearing one of Robert's children was hard enough, even if she did love Kenna. Now, her lord husband wanted to sell her off. Cersei wouldn't let her daughter be sold off like a common whore as she was.
"You know that there is bad blood between my family and the Starks," Cersei fumed, clenching her fists by her sides. "You know that, but yet you're sending her to them."
Robert took another long gulp of his wine. He drank too much, he ate too much and he fucked too much. Gone was the handsome man she once wanted to marry, and in his place was a fat, drunken whoremonger. Cersei's lip curled as she watched him. No woman desired him, but rather the crown on top of his fat head. She doubted that the great Robert Baratheon could even lift his warhammer any more. The thought gave her an immeasurable amount of joy. Was it normal for a wife to find pleasure in her husband's misfortunes? She knew that he found pleasure in her misfortunes.
The king lowered his goblet and shook it, swirling the red wine inside. "Kenna will go north," he stated, his voice threateningly low and his glare menacing. If Cersei was a weaker woman, she would have flinched. But alas, she was not. She was a Lannister of Casterly Rock; she was a lion. "And there is not a damn thing you can do about it. So you can go cry to your father or your brother or another golden Lannister – the gods know there's more than enough of them – but spare me your tears or your roars. Save them for someone who gives a damn."
As much as Cersei tried to hide it, there were times when she mourned for her marriage. They could have been happy, if Robert hadn't been so in love with Lyanna Stark's ghost. She rose from her seat, her eyes never leaving Robert, as his never left her. How could you not love me? A hundred suitors begged for my hand, bards sing songs of my beauty, but yet you treat me like waste. You poor, drunken fool. I could have been a great wife, if you let me. Damn you, Robert. Damn you.
She hurled the goblet of wine from the table. With one last glare sent towards her husband – her king – she stormed out of the dining room.
The serving wenches would be talking about it for weeks.
Kenna loved reading about dragons. She could recite the names of all the Targaryen dragons since Aegon's conquest. Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, Sunfyre, Shrykos, Morghul, Tyraxes, Syrax, Ghiscar... their names were like music to her ears. Her fascination with Targaryen history was something she kept to herself, knowing of her father's hatred of them.
The first and only time she mentioned the Targaryens, her father hadn't roared, nor had he hit her, though she expected him to. His voice had been cold and frightening, and it still haunted Kenna even though she only heard it once. "Dragons are monsters," he had said. "And what do we do with monsters?" A smile embraced her father's then clean-shaven face. It was a sick smile, like one worn by a sadist. "We kill them. We bury axes in their chests, and we kill their dragonspawn."
The dragonspawn – Rhaegar Targaryen's children – were slaughtered by Kenna's grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister. After she heard that tale, of how he supposedly ordered Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, and his men to kill the Targaryen children, Kenna hadn't been able to look the cold man in the eye, or at all for that matter. He was frightening anyway, with broad shoulders and a frigid face that betrayed nothing.
She glanced up, having heard the door squeak open. Her guard, Ser Willam Garrett, stood in the threshold beside a short, dark shadow. There was only one man who could cast a shadow so small.
"Tyrion!" she exclaimed, jumping up from her seat.
Most of the people in her family either scared her – like her grandfather, Joffrey, her father sometimes and her uncle Stannis – or they never could spend time with her because they were busy – like her mother, Ser Jaime, Uncle Renly, and the majority of the court. Tommen and Myrcella were too young to play with. They couldn't understand any of her games, and their sentences weren't very coherent.
Her uncle Tyrion was her favourite uncle. Whenever he came to King's Landing, he would come to her room first. He gave her books and toys and told her funny stories. Septa Patrys never told her funny stories. All that she did was scold Kenna for her messy needlework.
As soon as he had entered her room, with a huge smile on his face, Kenna attacked him with a hug. Uncle Tyrion laughed, and held her closely. They called him 'the Imp' around the castle, because he was so small. Kenna didn't like how they treated her uncle, not when he was so kind and gentle. He wasn't anything like the monster the courtiers painted him out to be.
"My, my, you've gotten big," he said, pulling away from the hug.
He wasn't the prettiest man. His forehead jutted out and his eyes were mismatched, green in the left and black in the right. But Kenna learned that looks could be deceiving. Joffrey was handsome, everyone said so, but he was cruel. She shivered when she thought of her dead cat and the poor little kittens.
She willed herself to smile. Her uncle was here, she should be happy. "Mother says that I am to be as tall as her someday," Kenna told him. "Do you think I will?"
Uncle Tyrion nodded and brushed a loose curl behind her ear. "Yes. And you will be more beautiful too. And more intelligent. What did I tell you the last time I visited King's Landing? About the mind?"
"That the mind is a weapon," she began, her face scrunched in concentration. It had been months since she last heard her uncle's favourite saying. "That a mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone."
He smiled proudly. Kenna loved when her uncle smiled. Despite his unattractiveness, his smile could light up a room. She didn't know how, but it seemed like his smile was brighter than Jaime Lannister's, even though Uncle Jaime was more handsome.
"Good," he commented. "Have you been reading, little princess?"
She nodded vehemently, and rushed over to the table to get her book. Her uncle loved dragons as much as she did. He didn't call her a fool for being interested in them like her mother did, nor did he scold her for it. Dragons were the main topic of many of Uncle Tyrion's stories, and he had dreams about them, just as she did.
"Bone to Ash – the History of Dragons," Tyrion read once she handed him the book. He flipped through the pages quickly. "This book is too complicated and explicit for such a young mind." Kenna narrowed her eyes at him, not enjoying his comment about her age. Her septa said the same thing; that she was too young to read about such horrible things. But she wasn't. She was mature for her age. Tyrion ruffled her hair, messing her intricate hairstyle. "You look too much like your mother when you frown. Don't frown."
Kenna tilted her head to the side. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in Westeros; tall, slender and golden. Looking like her was an accomplishment, surely, not a curse like Uncle Tyrion was making it out to be.
"What's wrong with looking like my mother?" Kenna asked. "She's very beautiful. You even said so yourself."
"Ah, yes, I did," he said, placing the heavy book on the table. He stretched his arms out, and Kenna heard a sharp crack. "But no one wants to see a pretty lady frown. No one wants to see anyone frown, for that matter. When we frown, we give off the impression that we're unhappy. Are you unhappy, little princess?"
She shook her head. "Just bored, and a little angry."
"At whom, may I ask?"
Despite her uncle telling her that frowning wasn't good, she couldn't help narrowing her eyes at the wall, and pressing her lips together. She would never forgive Joffrey. Not even if her mother asked her to. As long as the image of a dead Lady Fuzz, split in two and surrounded by a pool of blood, remained in her head, she wouldn't forgive him.
"Joffrey," she snarled, with a tone that sounded strange even to her own ears.
Tyrion gave a short nod. "Ah. Of course. Your brother is quite... malevolent."
An unladylike snort came out of her nose without Kenna's permission. Malevolent. He was more than that. Her mother said that children went through phases, and that siblings had rivalries, but their 'rivalry' wasn't normal. Sure, she had been jealous of Joffrey on numerous occasions. He was to be the future king, Mother preferred him and he was the child who got most of the attention.
Joffrey was jealous of her too. Their father preferred her because she looked like a Baratheon. Renly preferred her too. He paid no mind to Joffrey, though he played with Kenna from time to time and gave her the most wonderful presents.
Kenna couldn't see how anyone could like Joffrey. Could her mother not see how much of a monster he was? When he was three, he ripped the head off all of Kenna's dolls. When he was five, he pulled out a chunk of her hair when Kenna refused to give him Lady Fuzz. And then when he was eight, he killed Lady Fuzz. What Joffrey couldn't have, he killed or damaged.
"I hate him," Kenna blurted, seething with hatred. Everything she had bottled up since she was three began pouring out of her. It's not fair. Joffrey shouldn't be allowed to get away with everything. Tears pooled in her blue eyes, and one trailed down her cheek. "He killed Lady Fuzz. He killed her, and he didn't get in any trouble from Mother. None! And Lady Fuzz was pregnant with kittens! Father hit him, but Mother didn't even scold him. He gets away with everything! It's not fair!"
Princesses don't cry, she heard her mother's voice telling her. And Lannisters don't weep. But Kenna wasn't a Lannister, not truly, she was a Baratheon. Uncle Tyrion hugged her, holding her bigger body close to his. She was taller than him, and she had been since she was four. The people in King's Landing mocked him for his height, but Kenna thought that he was taller than the lot of them; in kindness and strength.
"You are worth ten of your brother," Tyrion told her. "Remember that, little princess. Even when your brother sits on the Iron Throne and you are leagues away, married to some noble lord. You are worth ten of him. Say it."
Kenna stood a little taller. She straightened her back – ladies did not slouch – and rose her chin. "I am worth ten of him," she repeated.
Uncle Tyrion smiled. "And don't you forget it. I have a present for you."
All propriety left her as soon as a present was mentioned. She squealed, and jumped an inch in the air. Tyrion didn't mind, she knew. If she was to misbehave in front of anyone, Uncle Tyrion would be the least stern.
He roared a name, and as quick as he had said it, a man came rushing in with more than twenty books. They were large books too, it would take her longer than a year to finish them all. Her face broke into a large smile. If anything could cheer her up, it was books.
The man laid the books upon her bed. Uncle Tyrion was watching her, grinning at her reaction. "And this, my lady, is to ensure that you never run out of whetstones."
She traced her finger along the cover of the book on the top of the pile. They were new, freshly printed. She opened the book and flicked through it, inhaling the new book smell. There was nothing like the smell of a freshly printed book.
When she found the will to look away from the books, she looked to her uncle, and gave him her brightest smile. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much."
The door creaked opened. Her uncle's expression visibly darkened when he saw who was at the threshold. Kenna glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.
"Sweetling, I was hoping to speak with you," her mother told Kenna, though she was glaring at Uncle Tyrion. She pointedly glanced at the door. "Alone."
Uncle Tyrion glared back at Kenna's mother, with anger equal to Cersei's own. She wondered why they hated each other. Her mother, though blind to Joffrey's horrid nature, was not cruel at any rate, and Uncle Tyrion was very sweet. Did something happen, that Kenna was not aware of? Her eyes darted between them both, expecting one of them to yell.
It felt like an age, but finally Uncle Tyrion nodded, though rage did not leave his mismatched eyes. "I will see you later," he said to Kenna, and kissed her forehead.
Her mother's gaze followed him wherever he went, her eyes narrowed and vicious. What had Tyrion done to deserve such hate? If Mother could love Joffrey, then why couldn't she love Tyrion? Surely Joffrey was a lot worse than Tyrion.
Once her uncle had left, Kenna asked her mother quietly, "Why do you hate him?"
Her question seemed to shock the queen by the way she flinched and looked at her as though Kenna had grown another head. Adults often looked at her like that. They didn't expect her to catch on to things, but she was smarter than they thought. She noticed how fake the courtier's smiles were, and how their pretty words were steeped with hidden meanings. They scared her, but that didn't mean that she didn't understand them.
"You shouldn't speak with him so often," her mother replied sternly. "He is a horrid little creature."
"Joffrey is the only horrid creature I know," Kenna muttered.
Once she realised what she had said, Kenna moved her head to meet her mother's gaze, worriedly awaiting a scolding. Her mother had heard, and she narrowed her eyes at her daughter. Tyrion's words came to mind immediately. No one wants to see a pretty lady frown. No one wants to see anyone frown. Cersei Lannister was unsettling when she frowned. Even her daughter feared her.
"Don't speak of your brother that way." Her tone was cautionary and strict. She never used that tone with Joffrey. "He is your flesh and blood, and someday he will be your king."
"If I was born a boy, I'd be king," Kenna said thoughtfully. She would be a fair king; just and kind.
Her mother didn't look angry any more as she sat down on Kenna's bed. Instead of yelling when she opened her mouth, she let out a heavy sigh. "But you were born a girl," she replied sadly, taking Kenna's hand and leading her to sit beside her mother on the bed. "And someday you will be a woman. Women don't have many options in this world, my dear. We are treated like cattle, to be sold and bought by the highest bidder. To be sent away to some far land to be a brood mare. I hoped that I could save you from this, but you're day has come, sweetling."
Firstly, Kenna was startled because of how quick her mother's humour changed. One moment she was angry, and the next she was kind and doting. She was like the weather. Then, she was shocked when her mother told her that she was to be sold to someone. Kenna had been told that once she had her first blood, she would be fit to wed. She was only nine, and there had been no sign of any blood. Was she to be married off before she even bled?
"But I can't be married," Kenna said almost desperately. She did not want to be married off so soon. "I haven't even bled yet."
"You won't be married for quite some time," her mother explained. "Not until you've flowered. Your father has been gracious enough to allow you some time to get to know your northern beast of a husband."
Her father was going to make her marry a beast? That didn't sound like him. Robert Baratheon wasn't the most attentive of fathers, nor was he the most loving, but he wouldn't make her marry a beast. Her mother didn't like the northerners, and her father knew that well. Yet she was to marry one.
A heavy lump formed in Kenna's throat. She tried to swallow it down, but the damn lump wouldn't budge. "What is his name?"
"Some Stark," her mother said. "Your father couldn't remember his name. The heir, I think. If it isn't then I'll murder your father myself."
Kenna nodded slowly. She was going to Winterfell, to the freezing, cold north. Southerners didn't belong in the North. She would be an outcast, and it would be so cold! What if this Stark boy – who, despite being betrothed to him, she didn't know the name of – was as cold as the wasteland he came from? Her mother described the northerners as savages, especially the Starks. But her mother wasn't the best judge of character, was she?
"I don't want to marry him," Kenna blurted. "I don't want to go north. I want to stay here!"
Her mother cupped Kenna's face in her soft hands, caressing her daughter's cheeks with her thumb. "Your father says that if you don't like the boy, then he won't force you to marry him. But as for going north... I'm afraid you have no choice, my dear. Your father is adamant that you become a ward of the North. And what the king wants, he gets." There was bitterness in her voice. She seemed to genuinely not want her to go. "I tried to fight him on this. I roared at him, I did everything I could, but still he wants to take you from me."
A sob almost escaped her, but she pushed it back. Her mother did not like it when she cried. The night that Joffrey killed her cat was an exception, as Cersei Lannister usually would not condone her children crying.
"What if they're cruel?"
The queen snorted. "I may not like the Starks, but they have a suffocating amount of honour. They will not harm you. Besides, you're Robert Baratheon's daughter, and Ned Stark loves your father as though he was his true brother."
Kenna nodded again, somewhat relieved. "Will you visit me?"
Cersei hesitated, and Kenna noticed. So she would be all alone, in a place she had never seen before. The thought frightened her more than anything. "Perhaps someday we will," her mother said. Kenna suspected that she was lying.
Her mother didn't leave her chambers that night. When Kenna's maids came to brush her hair and ready her for bed, her mother shooed them away and did so herself. She stayed with Kenna, and sung her to sleep. She held her daughter as she slept, as she thought of her future in Winterfell.
Septa Patrys searched for suitable dresses in her wardrobe. She would hand Kenna the dresses she found suitable, and the ones she did not like she would throw on the floor. All of the 'unsuitable' dresses were of fine silk.
"Such beautiful dresses should not be wasted on the north," her septa grumbled.
She wondered what Septa Patrys would do with them. Would she burn them? Or sell them? By the time she returned to King's Landing – if she returned to King's Landing – she would have probably outgrown her dresses. Kenna mournfully looked down at the dresses on the ground. They were another broken fragment of her life as a princess.
Everything was being taken from her. Her septa's fussiness and bossy attitude wasn't helping anything. She clenched her fists by her side in an attempt to stop herself from shouting. It wasn't fair. Joffrey got to stay with Mother. Joffrey got everything he wanted, and he didn't deserve any of it.
Perhaps he would grow out of his spoilt, cruel demeanour. Perhaps in ten more years, they would laugh about their complicated relationship as children. But that hadn't been the case for her uncle Tyrion and her mother, so she couldn't see it happening for her.
The septa was examining a grey and blue dress. "Dreary and depressing... this one will do perfectly for the north."
Kenna couldn't see the septa any more, she could only see red. She snatched the hideous dress from Septa Patrys – though the dress wasn't that hideous, in fact it was actually quite nice – and threw it to the ground, glaring daggers at her septa. It felt good to let her anger out. For too long, ever since she learned of her wardship with the Starks and her possible marriage to Robb Stark, she had contained her anger, and she contained it well. But she was tired of being the perfect little princess when all she wanted was to scream and yell and roar at everyone involved in this.
"Kenna," the septa hissed, her wrinkled face scrunched in a frown. Kenna's eyes drifted from her angry septa to the dress on the floor. It was ripped, and one of the sleeves was hanging onto the body of the dress by a thread. "Naughty girl, you cannot behave like this in the North. What would Lord and Lady Stark think?"
"I don't care what they think," Kenna spat. "Damn them. Damn my father. Damn them all!"
"Kenna!" Septa Patrys looked positively scandalised. Kenna folded her arms in front of her chest and huffed. There was a queer sort of freedom about misbehaving. Her whole life she had been told what to do, what to wear and how to act. It was liberating to shake out of some of those constraints. "You will not speak of the Starks like that again! They are most kind to take you in as their ward. The least you can do is to show them some respect."
"Why don't you show me some respect?" Kenna asked. "I am a princess, the daughter of King Robert of House Baratheon, and you are just a lowly septa."
Her septa's nostrils flared and she looked like Kenna had just slapped her. She realised that she had went too far. Pride was a sin, and she was being very haughty. "Respect has to be earned, young lady," her septa answered bitingly. "The Starks have earned your father's respect, and King Robert has theirs in return. If you do not act like a proper lady, then you will have no one's respect."
She stared at her feet and muttered an apology. Joffrey stormed in then, a wide smirk etched on his face. How Kenna wanted to slap him. Other boys his age didn't come close to how bad Joffrey was. Some were annoying, sure, but they weren't cruel.
He shooed her maids out of the room. Kenna scowled as he did. Those were her maids, not his, and yet he treated them like they were his to command. Her septa was the last to leave, casting her a sympathetic glance on her way out.
"Next time I see you, you'll be Robb Stark's personal brood mare," Joffrey said, so delighted with himself. "Perhaps you'll pregnant with his pup."
Kenna clenched her jaw as she flushed red. "Father said that I don't have to marry him if I don't want to."
"But you will," Joffrey asserted. "You'll want to marry him as soon as he pays you one ounce of affection. You've always been desperate, sweet sister. I'm sure he'll lure you into his bed too. Wait, do you even know how babies are made?"
She knew some. Her father boasted of his accomplishments with other women when he was drunk, which was often, but Kenna barely understood. It had something to do with the man and the woman lying together, and doing gruesome things to each other. Her father hadn't been able to get into great detail since Cersei interrupted him before he could.
"Yes," Kenna said through gritted teeth. "Of course I know how babies are made."
Joffrey cackled at her expense, seeing through her lie. She winced because of the harsh sound coming from her brother. Brothers were supposed to protect their sisters, not terrorise them. She feared for Myrcella and Tommen. Her little sister was only four, and Tommen was only three. Kenna had an inkling that Joffrey was only going to get worse.
"It will be a surprise then, won't it?" Joffrey taunted. His eyes glistened with delight. He was enjoying her discomfort. How could she be related to someone so cruel? "When Robb Stark fucks you for the first time. When he pushes his cock inside your wet cunt. But don't worry, sweet sister, I'm sure he'll be gentle. Although... wolves aren't known for their patience."
Before he could say any more, Kenna struck him. Her hand collided with his cheek, and she felt some sadistic pleasure when he cried out, and even more pleasure when a bruise formed on his right cheek. Joffrey touched his wound gingerly, his threatening stare not leaving her. She tried not to flinch. He was the one who should be scared.
"I'm telling Mother!" Joffrey declared. He removed his hand from his face and balled it into a fist by his side. "You'll be sorry!"
Dread filled Kenna as he ran out of her room. Her mother would be disappointed with her for hitting her precious Joffrey. But she was leaving in a few days, surely her mother wouldn't want to start an argument just before she left.
She sighed and continued to pack her clothes. Her mother had ordered a seamstress to make her warmer dresses and cloaks. They were terribly warm, but Kenna knew that she'd be thankful for them in the North. The dresses were also much darker. Was the North truly as dreary as everyone said it was? In King's Landing, she usually wore bright dresses, it would be strange to have to wear dark dresses for the next few years.
How long would she be staying? Mother hadn't specified, nor had Septa Patrys. Would she ever come back home? Would she be welcome in the North? What if they didn't like her, or thought she was too stuck up? Her mind was fried with all her worries and questions. Nobody had answers for her, and Kenna didn't think they knew the answers at all. She was frightened. She would have to leave everything and everyone she had ever met behind. King's Landing was her home, and her family was here. Chances were she wouldn't get to see three year old Tommen grow up, or see Myrcella become the beautiful woman she was bound to become.
She fought back tears. Princesses don't cry. Instead of dwelling on the thoughts of leaving home, she focused on packing. Her maids and her septa still hadn't come back in, and Kenna didn't know when they would.
"I saw your brother."
Kenna whirled around, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her father walked into her room, a grin on his face as he observed her. She tried to hate her father, though as a daughter she shouldn't. She couldn't anyway, no matter how much she tried. Robert Baratheon had infallible charisma, and Kenna loved him, even if he was sending her north.
"His face is purple," he said, looking at her knowingly. "Would you know anything about that?"
"He deserved it," she replied quickly, not wanting her father to scold her.
The king let out a roaring laugh. Despite her previous fear of a scolding, Kenna laughed nervously along with him. Her father had little love for Joffrey, but he was still his son. But he didn't seem to mind that Kenna had slapped Joffrey.
"I'm sure he did," her father agreed. "That boy's a menace. Your mother won't let me deal with him, but if I could..." All trace of laughter was drained from his face as it darkened. He shook his head. "Nevermind that. My daughter's going North." His grin appeared on his face once again, and he placed a hand on Kenna's shoulder, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze. " You'll be good for Lord Stark, won't you? No trouble?"
"No trouble," she echoed, and gave her father a cheeky smile. "I won't do anything you wouldn't do."
Another booming laugh came from her father. Kenna loved it when she made him laugh. It wasn't much of an accomplishment since he laughed so often, but she felt some sort of pride when he did. And he looked better when he was smiling; healthier and more of the man he once was. Years ago her father looked like a proper king, Kenna only got a glimpse of the man he was when he smiled.
"That doesn't reassure me at all," her father jested. "But I know my daughter. You won't make any trouble for the Starks. Seven hells, they have enough children to deal with anyway. Four – five if you count the bastard."
Her mother told her about Ned Stark's baseborn son that night she stayed in Kenna's bed. It confused Kenna. Ned Stark was supposed to be the most honourable man in the Seven Kingdoms, but yet he had a child out of marriage. Her mother hated her father's baseborn children, none of them were allowed at court. She wondered if Lady Stark hated the Snow boy like her mother hated her father's baseborn children, and she wondered if Snow was as dishonourable as her mother described baseborns to be. The queen called them lustful, jealous and scheming. She said to be wary around Snow, and to not associate herself with him.
She was brought back from her thoughts when her father smiled down at her, his blue eyes sparkling with pride. It made being angry with him even more difficult. He was delighted with her going north. Kenna wanted to please her father, and she knew then that she had.
"How long will I be there for?" she asked softly, careful not to ruin the king's good humour.
"I don't know," he admitted. Kenna nodded in understanding. If he didn't know, then nobody knew. Her time with the Starks was indefinite. She might never see King's Landing again. "You'll like it there, though. I promise you that. Ned has sons your age, and a daughter close. The northerners are kind folk too, so there'll be no bother with them. Don't you worry, girl. I don't see how anyone couldn't like you. You're my daughter after all!"
You're my daughter. Kenna wondered if her father knew how much those words meant to her. If he knew that when he said those words, that Kenna would do anything for him. He never said that to Joffrey, or Tommen or Myrcella; only to her. It made her feel special.
She smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming. "I'll be good. Just... write to me, won't you? Promise that you will."
He laid a hand on Kenna's shoulder, still smiling with so much pride that it made her heart swell. "You know that I will," he said, letting out another hearty laugh. "Seven hells, you'll be the only person I'll pick up a pen for! What have you done to me, girl? I've gone soft!"
Kenna giggled as her father scooped her up, holding her in his strong arms. Even though he'd gained weight, her father still had a powerful build. Kenna wasn't that light. She was a healthy weight for her age, but most men couldn't pick her up. Even Uncle Jaime couldn't pick her up any more. Not that he had picked her up often, only the rare occasion when she got into trouble and the queen told Ser Jaime to find her.
She hadn't been close with her uncle Jaime. She had an inkling that he didn't like her very much. Actually, Uncle Jaime didn't like anyone very much. Only Kenna's mother and her uncle Tyrion. He seemed especially close with her mother, though. She saw him entering her chambers late at night, when Kenna was chasing after Lady Fuzz through the castle, and then she saw him leaving her mother's chambers early in the morning. Kenna thought nothing of it. Perhaps Uncle Jaime was simply protecting her mother... from inside her chambers.
She would miss him. She would miss everyone from King's Landing. Even the bald, plump man that scared her. The Spider, they called him. All that Kenna had ever wanted was to go on adventures, like the ones in books. She was beginning to realise that King's Landing was the best adventure anyone could have.
"I'm going to miss you," Kenna stated, curling into her father's arms. "I'm going to miss everyone."
"You won't be gone forever," her father replied, even though he didn't know that for certain. For all he knew, she would die in Winterfell. "Maybe someday you'll come back."
Someday. Probably never, she thought, feeling a sob claw its way up her throat. But she pushed it back before the sob could pass through her lips, just like her mother taught her to. That was something both her parents' had in common. They both hated weakness in their children.
The words 'I don't want to leave' and 'please don't make me' almost rolled off Kenna's tongue. Instead of begging her father to let her stay, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly, relishing in the smell of wine and the slight stench of perfume.
The whole court came to see her off. Uncle Tyrion kissed her cheek and told her to be good. He gifted her with even more books, about five or six, and said that the libraries in Winterfell would have more. Of all the people in King's Landing, Tyrion would be among those she would miss the most. Every time she'd open a book, Kenna would think of him.
Her uncle Jaime gave her a curt, cold nod. Not that she expected any more from him. From the corner of her eye, Kenna saw her mother shoot Jaime a sharp look, though her uncle only smirked. His smirk was notorious throughout King's Landing, and probably beyond. As was his murder of the last Targaryen king; Aerys Targaryen, also known as the Mad King. The tales of the Mad King's slaughter used to frighten Kenna. She feared that someday, her uncle would do the same to her. But Uncle Jaime was a kingslayer, not a kinslayer. Even he wouldn't stoop so low. Would he?
Her father engulfed Kenna in a tight hug, whispering about being on her best behaviour. "Don't run off anywhere," he warned, a foreign sternness in his voice that hadn't been there before. "And don't become friends with wildlings."
Kenna giggled. As if she would become friends with wildlings. "I'll make sure to refuse their offer of eternal friendship."
She moved onto her mother then, after receiving a boisterous laugh and a pat on the back from her father. Her mother's face was much more serious, and she looked like she was losing her eldest daughter forever. Maybe she is. Maybe I'll never see King's Landing again. The thought kept popping up in her head, and Kenna kept pushing it away. She would return. The alternative was to frightening to think about.
"Be careful, my sweet girl," Cersei said, brushing a loose black hair behind Kenna's ear. Her tone lowered as she bent down to meet her daughter's height. "And do not trust. You trust too easily, and trust is a poison, as is love. When he trust, we open our hearts and become vulnerable, and that is when the poison sneaks in."
Sometimes, her mother shocked Kenna more than anything. Septa Patrys said that trust was earned, much like respect, and to only give it to those who wouldn't misuse it. She said that a love was a rare and precious jewel, to be treasured when found. But her mother was telling her to not trust at all, and to never love. The thought of a life without love and trusted friends scared her, even if she was being naive.
"I will be careful," Kenna promised, choosing her words carefully. She wouldn't promise not to trust, or to love, as she wanted to trust and to love. She wanted to make friends in Winterfell, friends that she could cherish and trust and love. "And I'll be... wary."
'Wary' seemed to satisfy her mother. The queen nodded and softly kissed Kenna on her forehead, declaring that she would see her soon. Kenna knew not to believe her. 'Soon' was whenever it was convenient. 'Soon' was any time between a year and thirty.
She embraced Joffrey. The bruise was still fresh on his cheek, and that was enough to turn Kenna's day around. He didn't say any cruel words to her while his father was there, in fear of a scolding in front of everyone, but before she could move onto Myrcella, he discretely grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.
"Remember, sister," he sneered. "When I am king, you will pay for this." Joffrey pointed to his bruise with a jewelled finger. She tried to hide it, but she was terrified. Someday he would be king, and her father would no longer be there to protect her. "You best get close with the Starks. Start by showing your 'teats' to Robb Stark. Soon you can warm his bed and pop out wolf pups."
He chuckled under his breath at her non-existent breasts. She wanted to hit him, to yell at him for insulting her again, to give him another bruise to match the one on his left cheek, but she thought better of it. A smile still graced both of their faces, hiding their less-than-friendly-exchange from prying eyes.
Kenna cleared her throat, and said in her most steady voice, "I look forward to seeing you again, brother."
"And I, you," he replied, a menacing grin on his face. She began to miss the forced smile, and Kenna hated forced smiles.
She knelt on one knee in front of Myrcella and Tommen, clutching one of their hands in each of hers. Tears fell from Tommen's bright, green eyes as he stared down at the ground. She heard Joffrey scolding him moments, calling him weak and a 'little girl' for crying. Her poor siblings would have to endure Joffrey all on their own, for surely their mother would be of no help.
Her thumb wiped away Tommen's tears. She lost the polite smile, and gave them both a genuine one. "We'll see each other again," she said, another empty promise.
She felt like a hypocrite. She criticised the empty promises coming from the lips of her father and her mother and all the others, but yet here she was, speaking the same pretty words. Kenna only wanted to make them feel better. Perhaps that was why her mother lied, and her father lied. To make her feel better.
Her siblings only nodded grimly, and Kenna stood up. She mounted her horse; a mare that she called Black Sun, because of the eclipse that occurred the day Kenna got her. Her riding lessons paid off, and she found that riding was one of the few things she was taught that she enjoyed. Well, that and anything to do with books.
Ser Willam Garrett rode beside her, and some guards rode behind her. Kenna didn't look back. She couldn't bare to see any of their faces. Not her father's, not her mother's, not Joffrey's or Myrcella's or Tommen's, not Renly's or Stannis', nor Uncle Tyrion or Uncle Jaime's. They all reminded her of everything she was leaving behind, and everything she wanted to go back to.