Regained

by holdinghisheart

'Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold.' Those perilous words Myrcella had finally understood, after all these years. Now she must break free from the chains of lies, become a player in the game of thrones, watch the feral blood as it spills, and then regain the crown of truth. Myrcella/Robb AU

1. The Golden Princess

Summary: ''Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold.'' Those perilous words Myrcella had finally understood, after all these years. Now she must break free from the chains of lies, become a player in the game of thrones, watch the feral blood as it spills, and then regain the crown of truth Myrcella/Robb AU

Important changes; Okay, so basically this is an AU in which Myrcella gets a larger part in the games. I adore Myrcella, and I have long now wondered what would have happened if she had seen through her family's lies and stood up for herself, because she's literally drowned by her family's lies in the books and I've always thought of it as terribly unfortunate that she's too young to understand that. So, notice that I have made Myrcella the firstborn child of Robert (Jaime) and Cersei, so that she's fourteen; and that Joffrey is two years younger than her. I really do try to make these things as faithful to the books as possible, but Myrcella is older, and Robb and Jon will be one year older than in the books which makes them fifteen, although they start as fourteen. Other than that, the ages are just the same as in the books.

Cast; I often get this very question asked on my stories, so I decided to just tell you guys at the start! So, when I started to write this I had no clue in whom I imagined Myrcella as, but then out of nowhere I couldn't even write a simple word without imagine Myrcella as the very beautiful and, oh so, talented actress Lily James (who is most known for her role in Downton Abbey, Fast Girls, and her upcoming role in the new version of Cinderella, *cough* in which she stars with Richard Madden *cough*. Coincidence? I think not ;) If you want to see how she looks like, you can go to my profile.

UPDATED AGAIN; My amazing beta Maddie Rose, whom I'm very grateful for, has now looked through this chapter and helped me with the grammar... so that's why I've decided to upload this chapter again! :)

【 The Golden Princess 】

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Myrcella had all of her mother's beauty,
and none of her nature.

---

She watched the waves as they moved seamlessly across one another, black against black, dark against dark, freedom against freedom. They rose confidently against the wind, as if by their own will, as if to deny the wind's force and be stronger than ever before. Their war-cry was but a simple breath, a lingering sight of sorts, as if they'd truly grown tedious of the naughty gale. Myrcella took a deep breath from where she was standing, emerald-green eyes staring at the beauty of the sea. Truly, it was just as far away from her as it had always been; and she found herself in her presence alone, standing gloomily in her bedchamber and watching it with a longing heart. Although, she could practically feel herself being filled with the heady scent of a brewing storm, of power and of salt and of everything she had ever dreamt of. It was a bright sunny day, the sky a blue parallel in the horizon, and it reflected elegantly in the water waves and made it all so much more appealing when the darkness somehow seemed to fade underneath the mighty lighting of the sun's rays… it was such a day to be kept in her heart forevermore, to have in her memories whenever she felt sad and empty and longed for something to take her mind away for only a split second before she would return to the reality she called life.

Yes, Myrcella knew that her dreams would forever remain within this sight before her, the clear sea, so peaceful as its waves danced for the singing wind. Without any hesitation, she could - if possible - stand there and watch the lazy and dazzling waves until her last dying breath, and no complaint would leave her lips… not even once. It was only so awfully sad that the golden-haired princess knew that she could never do such a thing, could never live a life in such a powerful and consuming freedom. No, Myrcella was a princess, and such thoughts and dreams ought not drift through a princess's mind. Septa Eloisa had always told her that a true princess should be overjoyed by the wealth she had been born with, and that she should be the grateful and delighted little girl who will soon be the most beloved woman of all times. I am a princess, Myrcella thought to herself, yet happiness never engulfed her at that precise thought, nor did gratitude to the gods for the given. She had been born as the king and the queen's firstborn, a daughter, but she had also been what neither of them had truly wanted at that time.

Myrcella knew this, knew that a girl wasn't supposed to be crowned and reign over mighty kingdoms... No, they had needed a son; and two years later Joffrey had been born, and with him relief had followed like a sharp breath of air for the kingdom that had awaited for such a long time, the kingdom that he would - when he grew a man - rule over. Truly, after much of thinking... Myrcella knew that she had never wanted to be queen, but she wanted to be someone; someone to be cherished and loved. A soul for a soul, she wanted to gain a passion of heat to be felt until the end of time.

Yet Myrcella indeed knew that such a sensibility was not an easy one, and the golden-haired girl had yet to see true love before her very eyes. With an instant, her mind drifted to her mother and father, and how much she had once wished for them to love each other. It had been impossible for certain, she had always known so, and even though she refused to tell herself so. She had for a very long time remained being that foolish little girl that believed that love would always conquer hate, before one late night when Joffrey had overheard her prayers and called her stupid for praying for something that would never happen. Myrcella had only glared at him with silent but angry eyes, but yet she had known more than well that her younger brother had only but told her the painful truth; that love would never be possible for her parents, only anguish and resent could ever be seen, and Myrcella had stopped praying for a change a long time ago.

It had always been so terribly saddening to see two people loathe each other with everything inside of them… but then Myrcella remembered all the times Ser Barristan had taken her to the streets of the city, and she had with wide and awed eyes witnessed husbands and wives playing with their children, and she had felt her heart flutter as she had watched them. She distantly remembered thinking at six namedays that the men might not have been a knight in shining armor nor a highborn, handsome lord; but their wives had so obviously loved them more than their own life and, oh, so much more… and those memories still warmed Myrcella's heart even after all of the years of countless overheard fights between her beautiful mother and her king father.

But although so many people called her father heartless, Myrcella knew that he was anything but heartless. Her father was a broken man… undone… shattered… because he once had loved someone so strongly and true. Myrcella had many times heard tales and songs of the woman who had conquered her father's heart, who had been beautiful enough to make him so terribly blinded for any other woman. It was the fair she-wolf, Lyanna Stark, who had made her father to this man he had become, a dark and gloomy shell of the man who lived in those tales and songs, the man who Myrcella wanted to meet so terribly much that her heart clenched within her chest at the simple thought. The golden-haired princess remembered when she had one evening had her father all to herself and she had been bold and brave enough to ask him if he could tell her about those days himself, the days that made him happy for life.

Even this day, Myrcella remembered the way he had looked at her then, as if he was trying to figure her out, as if he had truly seen her for the very first time in his life. Nonetheless, he had told her what she had desired to hear, and never had Myrcella seen her father look so bewitched before as when he had told her of Lyanna Stark, acted as if in a haze of long lost memories that he wanted back more than anything. It had saddened Myrcella deeply to know that her father loved the memory of a dead girl with all his shattered heart and would most clearly never repair from losing her… but she knew that her father loved her, loved his daughter with his broken heart; and more Myrcella knew that she could never truly ask for. No, her father was not a heartless man, only a ruined one… touched by the tragedy of love.

Her queen mother though, the beautiful woman who Myrcella had always loved and admired, was anything but broken. Without any sort of hesitation, Myrcella knew that her mother was one of the strongest women ever lived in in this world. She was a golden-haired beauty, tall and fair and just as elegant as the songs of her were sung. Myrcella had all too many times in her life been told that she looked just as her mother when she was but a young girl, and although she should be grateful for the words; it had always awoken something deep within her, and she would always believe that she had something terribly hard to prove whenever those specific word were spoken to her. She was her mother's daughter though, that was most clear with only an innocent little glimpse at her. Myrcella truly loved her mother, and although Cersei very many times may not have spoken and acted as a true mother ought; Myrcella knew that Cersei loved her with everything inside of her, but somehow her mother seemed more bewitched with her brother Joffrey; while her father seemed to favor Myrcella more than her two brothers. It was so clear in every little harmless gesture… The way her mother would look at Joffrey whenever he did something… that's the affection Myrcella wanted too.

Deep within her heart, she felt that Joffrey did not deserve such an affection. He was terribly arrogant and childish, her brother; more so than a boy who shall be king within years should be. He had their mother tending to him every second of every day, and Myrcella wondered if it was her mother's powerful affections only or if it simply had been the crown upon their father's head, and the constant reminder that that crown would one day be upon his head as he ruled as a true king ought - that had made her brother start thinking that he was much better than everyone else in his presence. Doubtless, Myrcella knew she could not speak ill of Joffrey, her brother… She truly did love him, although it somehow seemed as if her brother wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her weep for the sake of his own twisted happiness… but she could not say that she hated him, for she did not, she could not. Most certainly, she had more memories that held naught than good whenever she thought of her brother, and she always found herself swatting away those many memories when they shamelessly crossed her mind.

Myrcella remembered when she had been nothing but eight namedays and her father had given her a graceful cat as a nameday-gift. It was such a small little thing, with a white chest and paws and then black all over and yellow big eyes that stared always, and she had never been so delighted before. The happiness had not lasted that long though, for only mere moons later Myrcella had learned that her kitten, whom she had named Siany, was awaiting kittens. She had told Joffrey who had been nothing but six namedays with a bright smile, believing that he would become excited about the news as well, and she even told him that both he and Tommen could get a kitten too. Hours later, though, Myrcella had walked down the stairs after hearing Joffrey calling her name with glee. He had been holding something in his cupped hands, something red and cold and lifeless… and it was only seconds later when she had caught sight of her cat sliced open behind her brother's slim frame, and her unborn and dead kittens still hanging out from her red, red, red stomach. Myrcella had wailed out a broken cry and fallen down to the ground so loud that both their father and mother had come running with several knights at their heels, swords drawn for possible danger. And although Myrcella would never admit it to even herself, satisfaction had bloomed in her heart when she had seen Father struck her brother so hard that Joffrey's two teeth had been knocked out and he had started to cry as well.

It was strange but terribly delighting that everything her brother Joffrey was, her youngest brother Tommen was not. No, Tommen was the sweetest and kindest boy that ever lived. Myrcella knew with all her heart that she would always love Tommen the most, even though she should never say or feel such. Her youngest brother had never done bad, nor was he mean or cruel to her in any way. He always enjoyed being in Myrcella's presence, even when she only read. It did not matter to him if she not always felt like playing with him or if she wanted silence to think; because for Tommen her presence alone would suffice, and he would always shyly knock on her door and ask to just sit and be with her. Her brother was a very shy little boy, and Myrcella found it that he could only ever be himself whenever he was with her. Tommen did not like to be with other people, and he always managed to creep away at such events, if not forced to stay by their queen mother. Either way, Myrcella knew that Tommen looked up to her, his sister, and that knowledge warmed her to the very bone. Just like herself, Tommen was not fond of Joffrey… and she could understand that most well as Joffrey always picked on him every chance her could possibly get. It was clear in every way that Tommen was no Joffrey… and for that Myrcella would always be grateful to the gods.

Myrcella looked back at the sea again, before she shook her head as if to escape the thick haze of forbidden thoughts she had been trapped within. The golden-haired girl took a deep breath, before she forced her green eyes away from the beautiful sight she witnessed while standing at her small bedchamber-balcony. She already knew that she would not be permitted to go down to the sea, even though she had nothing to do this day. Myrcella knew this very well, for she had lived through the same morning her whole life. Instead, as she always did; she walked back into her bedchamber and instantly approached the large wardrobe. Within a moment, she pulled out a beautiful silken dress colored in red and golden, her mother's gift. Even though Myrcella was a Baratheon, her mother was very desperate in reminding her that she was just as much of a golden lioness. Myrcella bit her full bottom-lip as she watched the fine gown, before she slowly eased herself out of her white nightgown and then pulled on the elegant dress and intertwined its white laces with quick fingers. When done, Myrcella looked into the mirror. She looked beautiful indeed, a split image of her mother in the dazzling lighting of the sun's warm rays.

At fourteen namedays, Myrcella stood taller than ever before. Within the last year, her body had begun changing for the better, and she watched as the red gown showed that well, her body more slender but her breasts grown larger, making the fair gown cling to her chest tightly. She remembered that she had blushed awfully much when her father's knights had finally started to notice her as a beauty, and seen her as a woman worth lusting after… and not the small princess who loved to play maiden fair in the gardens with her younger brothers. Her golden hair hung down in elegant waves to her lower-back, shining and glimmering in its beauty. Although living where the sun never left the bluest of skies, Myrcella's skin was pale and fair; and her lips full and pink. Her green eyes were staring back at her in the mirror, and for a split second it felt as if she was staring into the eyes of her mother, which was a common mistake she often found herself committing. Nonetheless, Myrcella truly was beautiful… she was her mother's daughter, not her father's.

''So much thinking, sweetling.'' A sudden voice spoke up from behind her, obviously grinning. ''It does not fit the small girl I once knew who thought that if she were to eat enough carrots, her skin would turn orange…'''

Myrcella released a sudden gasp of surprise and sharply turned around, her crimson skirts fluttering around her. She felt her heart flutter in pure happiness as she finally saw who the intriguer was. Her uncle Jaime was standing only mere inches away from her, his strong hands closing the door behind him before he looked back at her again. He was clothed in usual armor, fair and shining beautiful while the white cloak representing the King's Guard heavily hung from his lean shoulders. His golden hair was shimmering underneath the sun's rays that came awake from her chamber's window, and his emerald eyes were staring at her with amusement. He was a witty man, her uncle; and one of the few that Myrcella truly admired and trusted. And while her uncle ought to protect her because of the white cloak around his shoulders, and the oath he had sworn to defend the royal family; the golden-haired princess knew that he would have been just as protective over her if he had not been knighted. Her uncle had always been there beside her, loved her and tended for her in the exact way she needed, ever since she could truly remember… and that's what made Myrcella dare to frown playfully at the grinning man in front of her, hand still tightly clutched to her chest to try to slow her pounding heart.

Myrcella's green eyes narrowed, but she smiled brightly nonetheless. ''I would not have believed so if my dear uncle had told me otherwise.''

''Oh, I did not dare,'' said Uncle Jaime, walking closer to where she was standing while grinning the same. ''You looked so excited.''

Myrcella's frowned at the memory, but laughed despite herself. And within seconds, as Uncle Jaime had already expected; Myrcella ran forward and flung her arms around him. She created a soft thud sound when she collided with his armored chest, but the feeling lessened in hurt when she was engulfed by the warmth of her uncle's embrace. He caught her as always, strong arms protectively caging her to his chest. Myrcella's feet left the ground, and she could not help but let out a breathy giggle as he spun her around the chamber, her long gown swirling around the two of them. His deep laughter echoed hers, and Myrcella felt her heart tightening within her chest at the sound of his happiness that told her that he had missed her just as much as she had him. She tightened her slender arms around his neck, and buried her nose in his neck. Myrcella had missed him dearly, for it had been nearly five moons since he had left King's Landing to ride towards Casterly Rock to speak with his father about matters she did not know. Myrcella felt his lips press a long kiss to her golden hair, like he always did since she was but a small child, and she smiled into his hard armor. Before Myrcella truly wanted to, she let him go and felt as he put her down on the ground. She then released a small laugh again as she looked up at his face with lightened eyes.

''I missed you,'' she spoke. ''You mustn't ever leave us again…''

Uncle Jaime only smiled, ''Oh, I would never dare...'' he mused. ''You know how much your wrath frightens me, sweetling.''

Myrcella shook her head with a regained smile, her golden hair falling around her pale face. ''It is good to see that you have not lost your wit in Casterly Rock, dear uncle.''

''Never,'' Jaime grinned, and Myrcella's green eyes fluttered close when Jaime cupped her chin in his hand and leaned forward to press another kiss to her brow, ''But I do have a surprise for you.''

Myrcella's eyebrows shut up instantly at his words and she placed her hand over his own that still covered her chin, a smile of glee tugging at her rosy lips, ''A surprise? I am not certain if I should be worried or delighted…''

Her uncle laughed loudly, his green eyes brighter than before, ''What would you say if I were to take you down to the sea today, sweetling?'' He asked her, ''As we did when you were younger? Only you and I?''

Myrcella's green eyes grew wide, and it felt as if she could not fully comprehend his words even how long she would get in silence to figure them out. She knew that Uncle Jaime knew exactly how much she was bewitched by the sea's beauty, as she had always been. It was with him that she had spoken of the sea with, sung tales and told stories. Myrcella remembered the times when Jaime would be able to be free himself from his duties for just one day to do whatever he liked, and using that day to take her down to the sea where they would spend their day together in peace and happiness.

It was a very long time since he had been freed from his important duties, though, as it had been a very long time since Myrcella had not spent her days with Septa Eloisa; and it felt much like a dream now when she finally heard those beautiful words coming from his smirking lips. At last, when she understood that she would get a day with her Uncle Jaime again, after such a long time, Myrcella erupted in a beautiful smile and she watched him with bright eyes.

''Then I would call you a sweet, sweet, sweet liar,'' Myrcella beamed, before she suddenly leaped forward and embraced him again with all the strength she had left in her, and she heard him release a small oomph at the sudden and unexpected affection she gave him with an eager heart. ''Oh, thank you, Uncle Jaime. Thank you. Thank you!''

Out of nowhere, Myrcella's chants of glee and her uncle's loud chuckles were interrupted by loud knocks on her bedchamber door. Myrcella slowly leaned away from her uncle's arms, and her green eyes found his as confusion drowned them both under a layer of denial. Nonetheless, the hurried knocks echoed throughout her bedchamber again, and Myrcella quickly remembered herself. She chastely brushed at her red gown, before she made her way towards the door, distantly feeling Uncle Jaime follow her. Myrcella's heart thumped dangerously, even though she had no possible knowledge of what she would meet behind the door. Still, there were something terribly wrong with the knocks, so hurried… so full of grief, and Myrcella could feel it deep within her bones…the horrid feeling that something had happened, something most terrible. It felt as if Uncle Jaime could read her mind, for Myrcella felt his warm hand gently take a hold on her slender arm as she finally took a deep breath and opened her heavy chamber-door with trembling hands.

If her heart had thumped painfully within her chest before she had even opened the door and seen the truth; it was nothing compared to the painful feeling she was struck by as she was met by the sight of Ser Barristan and Ser Arys standing at her door, both knights wearing a look of sorrow. They had both revealed their faces by taking of their heavy helmets, and to see that something had happened was clearer than ever in their eyes. Ser Arys, whose light-brown hair had gone damp with sweat, looked down at her with bright, blue eyes; and Myrcella found herself swallowing hard at the words she knew he would speak within seconds. Myrcella felt Uncle Jaime's comforting hands squeeze her arm, and she knew that he could feel it too…. the horrible sense of dread and grief. The golden-haired girl felt her legs tremble with the restraint of not falling down on the ground, and she looked up at the two knights with green and wide eyes, silently begging them to not hurt her.

''Princess Myrcella,'' Ser Arys finally spoke up in the silenced chamber. ''We come with sad news…''

Myrcella's rosy lips parted in wonder, and she felt her throat tightening already, burning like wildfire. ''What's the matter, ser?''

Ser Arys looked at her with pity, as if he knew that she would be terribly saddened by his words, ''I am so sorry, my princess… but Jon Arryn's dead.''

---

There was nothing more than an empty shell left of the man who once was so terribly friendly, but now laid in state in the castle sept. I already knew that he had fallen so terribly ill, Myrcella thought to herself, and I am no more but a fool for standing here with my heart shattering out of both sadness and surprise. The golden-haired girl looked down at him again - No, it was not him anymore, it was nothing but a corpse now - and felt the desire to weep burn her painfully in the eyes. The desire to do so had haunted her for quite some time now, lingering even after all those hours she had spent standing at his side, green eyes watching what used to be him; and the sadness did not to go away even how many times she told herself that she needed to be strong and push away the tears that still broke free and fell down her cheeks silently, for she still remembered all those countless times Lord Arryn had found her; face tear-stained and body quivering with sobs, and told her, ''It is a waste of smiles to cry, my princess.'' She could still hear his husky voice tell her so, the words that had always made her lips tug up in a sad but true smile... and yet as she looked down at him again in a foolish hope that it had only been but an awful nightmare; her heart dropped in sorrow again as she witnessed his ghostly pale and lifeless face.

He is in a better place now, with the gods to tend his every need, she told herself, as if learned. Is that not what they all say of death? Myrcella was not certain anymore. When she was younger she had believed that death was nothing out of importance, but a path to another life, a better life. Still after she had watched Siany lain there, her yellow eyes wide and bloody and frightened after what Joffrey had done to her and her poor kittens, Myrcella knew that death was something cruel and dark. No, death was not something to take lightly, but something everyone feared… and yet something that everyone would have a taste of, even if sooner or later. Even though it did not make any possible sense, Myrcella found herself thinking of her cat Siany when she looked down at the old man. Lord Arryn did not look up at her with bloody and glossy yellow eyes, nor was his stomach slit open, nor had he dead kittens hanging out from his gut… but there was something that looked similar; innocence, she later understood, hands opening and closing underneath her long crimson sleeves. A dead man ought not look like this, Myrcella thought to herself, eyebrows knitting together in wonder. Even in death he looks restless… as if a man whose tongue was lost before he could speak with it. Myrcella licked her lips, her thoughts leaving her unsettled. Let him find peace, she prayed later, and let him rest if it pleases him.

Myrcella had heard whispers that Lord Arryn's wife Lady Lysa had fled from King's Landing with their son Robert only hours after his death, most likely to return to the Vale of Arryn. The words did not surprise Myrcella the slightest when they had first reached her, although her heart somehow clenched in pain when she understood that Lady Lysa would not visit her husband's body before they would take it away to never be seen again. The auburn-haired lady had always been so terribly strange to Myrcella, for somehow she managed to terrify her with as much as a simple glimpse of those, oh so, cold eyes. In Myrcella's harmless opinion, Lord Arryn and his wife had not felt love for each other, and they had more often spoken with each other in chaste words that meant nothing but what they needed to mean. Truly, Myrcella had not spend nearly as much time with them as she had needed to if she were to inspect their marriage further than that… but she had often played with their son Robert when she had been younger. It had been those times when she and Jadelyn and Tommen and Robert and Joffrey had decided to play Bear and The Maiden Fair, which was a game they had created after hearing a singer sing the well-known song at one of the feasts. Well, according to Myrcella; Robert had always been a spoiled little boy who always wanted to be first and best, much like Joffrey, and that's the thought that had her certain that she was not saddened with their sudden leave, mother and son the same.

But she knew that if it had been her own father lying there… so pale and unmoving and lost - Yet Myrcella could never imagine her strong bull of a father ever letting the gods take him before his rightful time - Oh, Gods, if it had been her father; she was certain that she would have gone mad and clutched herself to his dead body instead of fleeing leagues away from it. That much she was certain of, she loved her father too much to even consider not being with him when his eyes closed forever. She did not even care the slightest if she were to leave for Dorne, as she had heard people whispering around King's Landing that she may do as she may wed a Martell, for she would be there with him when he drew his last breath; be there for him like the loving daughter she was. Myrcella could feel her heartbeat pounding quicker when she doubted that Robert, even how spoiled and selfish, mustn't have felt any different. It must have been some reason for them to leave so chastely, something must have driven them away and robbed them of their farewell. Yes, it much have been something… or rather someone. The golden-haired princess wetted her full lips again at the thought that kept on burning her mind.

Myrcella's eyes had been filled with shining tears, and it was so terribly arduous to see anything but a blurred shade as she, once again, looked down at Lord Arryn. He was dressed beautifully in a blue wool tunic and breeches as dark as the cold nights. He laid upon the white pallet in all his glory, skin pale and chest still. A blue blanket of sorts had been drawn up to his thighs, and the bluer still falcon was gracefully spreading its wings upon the white moon; presenting House Arryn so prettily. The Great Sept of Baelor remained silent in grief of the King's Hand, people both old and young fitting the beautiful castle. Lord Arryn's body rested beneath the dome of glass, gold, and crystal. The seven broad altars had been lit with hundreds of candles, and Myrcella found herself inspecting the flames that burned so dimly and hauntingly around her. It truly stink of tears and mourning, the golden-haired princess found herself thinking, it feels as if I am going to empty my stomach in this obscure air. There were hundreds of people coming to see Lord Arryn farewell, ''So that he can find peace in the dying land he now travels to,'' Myrcella had overheard one plump lady say after her son had asked her why they did this when they had not even known the man, and Myrcella had only but watched as they both had kneeled down before the old man and sent him a silent prayer.

Now though, most people had done as expected and slowly crept away from the Great Sept. Myrcella remained before the man's dead body still, her green eyes watching him. It felt so unbelievably strange to her, that death was so close to her and she could not even feel it. She wondered how it must have tasted, how it must have felt… and her throat ached in pain as she started to wonder if he had been alone when he took his dying breath. It must be the most painful thing… to be alone when death comes for you. Myrcella felt one of her tears slowly creep out from the corner of her eye, and she quickly reached up and brushed it away gingerly. Of course, Myrcella had known that Lord Arryn had fallen ill, but she had not expected him to die… not for many years. He had always been there before she could remember, before she had even been born; and in her foolish mind she had always believed that he would be there after her time as well. Is that not what every foolish child believes? Yet thinking that everyone she keep close to her heart were invincible and could not feel pain and the dark touch of death - was pure folly. Pain could be felt by anyone, and everyone could die… that much everyone knew.

Suddenly, Myrcella could feel a tug on her golden-red gown; and her green eyes quickly flickered back to life by the sudden movement. At first, she was almost certain that she had imagined it just as she had imagined Lord Arryn's blue, gentle eyes opening again, or as she had imagined this day to be a beautiful one, with Uncle Jaime taking her down to the sea where they would swim in the warm sea and she could feel happiness glow within her - and she knew that just like those foolish believes that she had mistaken so horridly, the sudden movement must have been just like them… but then she felt it again. The golden-haired princess looked down in wonder then, her head feeling heavy and troublesome and her green eyes aching and burning, and she felt her heart squeeze in both love and sadness as she saw her brother Tommen standing beside her.

Tommen looked up at her through emerald eyes that told her that he was clueless and lost. His plump frame was so short that he only but reached up to her lower-stomach, but being short at seven namedays was not so significant. Her brother's golden curls hung down so they merely brushed against his broad shoulder, trimmed and combed through carefully until they were very nearly shining underneath the sun's powerful rays. He had been dressed very sweetly, and wore a red jerkin that seemed too big for him, and an even redder cape hung around his neck, although so short that it reached down to where his crimson breeches was laced with a golden tying. A rosette had been beautifully sewn into where the claps to the cape should have been, a big knot with the color of pure fire. He looked ever the Lannister. It was no wonder to Myrcella that their mother had dressed him this day as well… They looked much rather like Lannisters than Baratheons, Myrcella knew. Nothing must have been more to their mother's satisfaction.

Tommen's green eyes looked up at her, pondering. ''Why are you weeping?''

Myrcella looked down at the innocence that was her sweet brother, and she couldn't help but smile sadly, ''Because of Lord Arryn… It saddens me very deeply that he had to leave us this early.'' She chastely brushed away the fallen tears on her sore chin with her cold hands, before she reached out her slender arm and gently wrapped it around Tommen's small frame, her green eyes locking with his, ''Have you sent him a prayer, brother?''

Tommen's round face twisted in a grimace, troubled. ''I tried before… but I found it very hard to find something to say.'' He shrugged his shoulders sadly, eyes adverting from hers as he looked down at his feet instead. ''I did not know him as well as you did, Myrcella.''

''I did not know him as well as I wished I had, either…'' said Myrcella. ''But I do remember that he loved us as his own children, and spent as much time with us as he could while being a faithful and loyal Hand to Father.'' Myrcella's full lips suddenly tugged up in a timid smile. ''It was such a long time ago, I don't know how old I could have been - mayhaps nine or ten namedays - but I do remember that you were only but a little child with not much memory at all and Joffrey were young as well.'' Myrcella's fingers quickly found Tommen's and she intertwined them together, while she watched how his green eyes curiously listened to her every word. ''Well, I remember that we begged Father day and night to let us see Highgarden, as we all were very excited to do so after we heard one of the Tyrell's knights brag to us about the beautiful land at one of Father's feasts… I had never been so excited about anything at that time, and I listened so intensely as he talked of flowers and singers and pipers and fiddlers and the birds and the fruits. Joffrey and I and you at my hip all walked to Father and begged him to let us leave, but he would have none of it. ''Seven Hells… Highgarden!' I remember that he bellowed when we asked him for what must have been the hundred time that day. ''Are you mad, children? Gods be good, why would you want to go there!'''

''Gods, I was so sad when he didn't give us permission, and so certain that the sight of Highgarden would only remain in my dreams… But then just as we were to leave, Lord Arryn quickly stood up and told Father that he could take us all there, but only for a short time. It was almost laughable, the way we all perked up at those words and found ourselves at our knees begging for Father's consent. He looked weary, as he always does, but he trusted Lord Arryn enough to let him leave with us.'' Myrcella inhaled, as if in a haze. ''Oh, Highgarden was truly a beauty, Tommen... Everything was magical. It was just as the knight had told us, the birds were so beautiful and they sang the most dazzling songs, and I remember believing that the singers learned from the birds when they played their harps at the feast. The people were wonderful, as well. Lady Margaery was so nice to us, and she enjoyed swimming in the sea as well. Her brother Loras was often with us too, and although their brother Garlan was not there; their eldest brother Willas was. It was he who gave me that beautiful necklace I wore at the feast last moon, the one you told me was so beautiful, do you remember?'' As Myrcella saw Tommen shook his head in sadness, she squeezed his hand in hers again. ''It is nothing to be sad over, sweet brother… You were there, I do remember that. You looked so happy, and Lord Arryn carried you around at his hip the whole day.''

Tommen smiled, ''I wished I had thanked him for that. But I remember nothing… no Highgarden… no Lord Arryn…''

''Well, that's what you should pray for, I think.'' Her hand gave his a squeeze again. ''Thank him for taking us to Highgarden that day, and for being like a Father to us. He did protect us, Tommen, and the way we did not notice that was only but proof of how much he truly did do so, and loved us, and cared for us.''

''I remember that he was very friendly,'' Tommen said, green eyes innocent. ''Still, I wished that I had told him how grateful I truly am for him when I saw him the last time a few days before… But instead all I did was answer his question with a stupid answer.''

''You spoke with Lord Arryn a few days ago?'' Myrcella's eyebrows furrowed in wonder, remembering that she had not even as much as seen him in King's Landing for the last two weeks. ''What did he ask you, Tommen?''

''He asked me where I could find you.'' Tommen replied, not seeming to understand how Myrcella's heart twisted painfully at his words, dread filling her every sense. ''But I did not know where you were so I told him nothing more than that. It was the day you spent with Mother, so you were not even that far away. At least I could have looked for you with him, or asked Ser Arys or Ser Barristan where you were so that I could lead you to him, I am certain Mother wouldn't have minded… and he looked so desperate in finding you.'' Tommen bit his bottom-lip as if in pain. ''Please, Myrcella, do not be angry with me. I did not know he would fall ill; and Ser Pounce was hungry so I had in mind to give him some milk…'' Her brother looked up at her with sad, green eyes. ''I am so sorry, Myrcella. If I had known-''

''I am not angry with you, dear brother.'' Myrcella hushed him gently. ''Yet, I do need to know. Did Lord Arryn tell you what he were to tell me, or give any sign of what it might have been?'' It was only but a mere days before he died, and he was in such a haste to find me. It must have meant something. The words he carried must have been so feral, and it might even have been those words that made death come for his so suddenly.

Tommen looked troubled, and his green eyes narrowed as he tried to remember, ''He… He…'' He let out a sigh in sadness and defeat, ''I do not know, Myrcella. I don't think he said anything rather than that he meant to talk to you alone.''

Myrcella's green eyes grew blank, ''Oh…''

Everything seemed to sway around her, and although she knew that she remained just as before, everything had changed as if in a nightmare. Myrcella looked down at Lord Arryn again, pale and shallow and lifeless, and she felt her heart pound faster against her chest. He knew something, Myrcella found herself saying inside of her head, no more but a faint whisper, afraid of even saying it in her head. He knew something and meant to tell me. Myrcella started to wonder what had happened if her mother hadn't taken her away that day to train needlework together, and if she had spent her day in her bedchamber instead… if he had managed to speak with her as he had desired, if he had told her what may have caused his death - would she be resting here beside him then, her skin just as white, her eyes just as closed, her chest just as still, her mind just as numb, would she be just as dead? A strong wave of nausea filled her, and her hands grew sweaty in Tommen's grasp as she was drowned by it. The air around her seemed to grow more obscure again, the smell of tears and death making her want to empty her stomach… or maybe faint, she was not certain. She swallowed hard. If this what I am thinking is the truth, if it is not complete folly… then Lord Arryn did not fall ill, but was murdered. Myrcella knew that darkness would swallow her if she were to stay in this castle one second longer.

Her foot was unbearably heavy as she took one step back, her hand falling from Tommen's grip. She released a strangled breath into the silenced air, and before she knew what she was doing; she quickly turned around from Lord Arryn's body, gathered her golden-red gown with hurried hands, and fled down the path that would lead her out from the Great Sept of Baelor. Her golden waves of hair tumbled down from her shoulders when the air whipped them back, and her emerald eyes filled with burning tears once more. She did not know what went through her mind as she ran with quick feet. You are such a fool, she knew though, do you truly believe that you can be alone? A princess can never be alone. Still she knew that she could be quick and get a few moments of silence before Ser Arys or Ser Barristan or - Gods, have mercy. He would be so angry with her for running away without as much as a word, - Uncle Jaime would run after her.

The sun shone down on her as soon as she ran out from the mighty and beautiful sept. There were not even a cloud upon the pale, blue sky, and the brightening sun was almost blinding her eyes as she found herself staring at it. The air around her was somehow clean and slightly cold, and nothing had ever felt better than when she breathed it in with desperate inhales. The heat bounced off the streets, and caused a mirage of wavering images to her gawking eyes. In the distance, Myrcella could see a dog with brown fur and brown eyes standing, his tongue hanging out so far it was nearly comical in an effort to keep cool while his master worked away at his side.

It somehow made Myrcella want to smile, or release that pleasant noise that she always did whenever she saw a sweet dog or a pretty babe… but she found it impossible to even try now. Nothing stirred this day it seemed, no birds, no people. The sun beat down like a furnace with no breeze to lighten its fiery breath, and Myrcella found herself closing her eyes to try to imagine being in the sea with Uncle Jaime now instead of being so filled with sorrow. The golden-haired princess could not feel it, but she could see it… The water glistening with the reflection of the sun shining down on it, bouncing off in every possible direction like a beautiful crystal. Her breath quivered again, and she prayed to be there and not here, to be happy and not sad, to get a taste of salt-water and not a feral knowledge.

Myrcella closed her eyes in defeat as she heard running footsteps approaching her from behind, and she could not help but quicken her steps slightly as she walked down the pale stairs in desire of returning to her bedchamber. The quick sound of thump, thump, thump was heard until Myrcella could feel a presence right behind her. She felt her stomach clench in pain, for she wanted to speak with no one; she only desired to be left alone for a moment. It was not before she had reached the last remaining step that she felt a strong hand closing over her slender shoulder, and she felt her tummy knitting together again. Myrcella took a deep breath, before she turned around slowly, her skirts fluttering around her; looking at the intriguer with eyes red-rimmed and swollen and tired.

Much to her happiness and full relief, she found Ser Arys standing before her, his light-brown hair seeming even lighter in underneath the bright sun. Myrcella found herself inspecting the knight carefully, watching his plain face; sharp nose, strong jaw, thin lips. If it had not been for the white cloak representing the Kingsguard that hung around his broad shoulders; Myrcella would not have taken him for a knight. Yet he was one of the few ones under her father's guard that Myrcella found herself taking a liking to, for she knew that Ser Arys had been by her side countless of times through the long years, ever since she was but a little child, listening to her childish tales with interest in his eyes although he must have heard them a thousands of times, and letting her sing him songs although they did not make much sense to anyone's ears but a child's. She trusted this man with her life, and she felt guilt quickly fret on her when she found herself wishing for him to go away. It is cruel of me to tell him to leave me alone, she knew, and I cannot be cruel. Not to him.

''My princess,'' Ser Arys' brown eyes were warm and tender. ''It is a dangerous thing to leave without an eye to watch you and keep you from harm.''

''I am in no need of protection, ser,'' said Myrcella. ''My desire is to be alone, and alone I hope you'll let me be.''

''It was a terribly sorrowful surprise to all of us when we heard of Lord Arryn, and wanting to mourn alone is very understandable.'' He told her, brown eyes gentle. ''But you must know me well enough to know that I will not permit my princess to go unprotected.''

Myrcella looked up at him, green eyes softening. ''Even if your princess were to command it?''

Ser Arys nodded, ''Even so… I fear I have grown to care too much for her to let her blindly stumble through danger at her own hand.''

Somehow, a weak smile placed itself on her lips at his warming words, ''Well then, good ser. Escort me to my bedchamber, if it pleases you.''

Together, they started to walk towards the Red Keep to return her to her bedchamber. Myrcella found herself enjoying Ser Arys' presence, although her mind still lingered with Lord Arryn… but the way they talked of everything and anything but the painful death somehow made it so much more bearable for her. Minutes later, they crossed the Guildhall of the Alchemists, and Myrcella knew that they had only but a few moments left until they were to return to the Red Keep, and she would be left in silence. What am I to do when I finally return to my bedchamber? Myrcella wondered. All I can do now is think of questions I will never get answered. I will be lost. Myrcella found herself half-listening to one of Ser Arys' tales, but in the end her cruel thoughts had taken her over and his voice had been drowned out by her own worries. So, when the older man was finished and looked at her with expected eyes; Myrcella let out a laugh in feigned humor, pretending that she had been listening to him and not her own voice that kept on haunting her. The two of them remained in silence after that, and the golden-haired princess' mind maneuvered to that evil place again. The question burned her, the knowledge burned her… everything hurt; and she was not certain if she was more a fool or a half-wit when she suddenly blurted out a question that should have remained unspoken,

''Did you speak with Lord Arryn… before?'' She heard herself asking him, voice hurried and stumbling.

''Well… No.'' Ser Arys told her, clearly baffled by her sudden question. ''But I did see him many times before he fell ill, I wager.''

Myrcella's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips again, her hand opening and closing. ''Did he look to do anything... different, from what he used to do, as if to say...''

Ser Arys inspected her carefully, ''No, my princess. Not that I remember.'' He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, ''Why do you ask?''

If only I knew. Myrcella shook her head, her pale waves of hair swaying around her face ''Nothing of importance, I promise. ''

''My princess!'' A strange voice suddenly called out from behind them. ''Princess Myrcella!''

The golden-haired girl quickly turned around towards the voice that had called her name, and she felt Ser Arys do the same, quick as a snake might have been. She listened for the noise again, feeling as if she knew the voice from long back, but could not quite see the face for it. Instead she looked to where she believed the shout had emerged from, and she squinted her green eyes to see better. The heat still bounced off the streets, causing a mirage of wavering images; so to see whom it had been to name her was a very hard task, indeed. She felt Ser Arys bristle beside her, his hands quickly gripping the hilt of his shimmering sword as if he believed he might have to use it for some unspoken reason. Myrcella's legs grew weak, and she half-wondered if she should just simply ask Ser Arys to escort her to her bedchamber instead of looking around for the voice.

She was still pondering what to do next when a sudden cold wind breezed against her, and a loose strand of her golden hair stirred against her pale skin. And then out of nowhere, she heard the sound of boots scraping the stones on the ground mere inches away from where she and Ser Arys were standing; and Myrcella's eyes quickly flickered from her knight to where she had looked before. It was still terribly hard to see anything as the heat played their mocking dance before their eyes and made them weak and blurred… but it was not before long that a dark shadow slowly started to approach them from the wavering heat, moving hauntingly with its slender form. Myrcella could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she watched the shadow come closer, the fear of Lord Arryn's death bringing her to the edge of sanity. She took a step closer to Ser Arys, swallowing hard as her green eyes followed the shadow. May it be that shadow that murdered Lord Arryn? Myrcella found herself wondering. It can be after me now, believing that Lord Arryn succeeded in telling me the perilous words. The shadow kept on coming closer through the dancing heat the sun had created, and closer, and closer, and closer until… Lord Baelish. Myrcella was not certain if she wanted to weep or laugh in relief.

Lord Baelish approached them with graceful steps. Myrcella inspected him quietly as he came closer, her heart pounding and her mind aching. His lean and slender frame was clothed in a dark, thin cloak and a brown jerkin, with black breeches. The older man had gray-green eyes, and a small pointed beard on his chin, and threads of grey running through his black hair. Although Myrcella could not deny that he was a handsome man, Lord Baelish looked so haunted… he had done so until she could last remember. Also, he was all too witty for Myrcella to even understand what he was speaking of half of the time. She always found herself only being capable of nodding and smiling whenever she spoke with him. Now though, the sight of him getting reborn from that dark shadow that had made her want to weep only mere seconds before; made her more delighted to see him than she had ever believed possible. Before long, Lord Baelish finally stood before them, dark eyes watching her.

''My princess,'' He greeted her, thin lips curling up.

''Princess Myrcella wants to return to her bedchamber, and I intend doing as she pleases.'' Ser Arys told him from beside her, voice dark and gloomy. ''So, if you would be on your way, Littlefinger, you won't cause a problem I'd be more than glad to get rid off.''

Lord Baelish's mouth twitched, ''Ah, Ser Arys.. It is truly a delight to cross paths with you again.'' He seemed to completely ignore the knight's warning words and instead showed his arrogance as he looked back at Myrcella, dark eyes burning her very soul. ''I came here to ask if you would be so kind to walk with me, my princess… There are a few questions I would like to ask you.'' He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to brush against his pointed beard, eyes searching her face carefully. ''I could escort you to your bedchamber as I am already on my way to the Red Keep... of course if Your Grace would have me.''

Myrcella's lips parted in wonder. Questions. He must know what Lord Arryn were to tell her. The golden-haired princess had heard of all his little birds around King's Landing and even further away than that, people whispering their secrets in his ears. Yes… he must know. Myrcella swallowed thickly, green eyes staring back at the older man; and she wondered if he could see the secret that she had held hidden beneath her skin, beneath her very soul. She knew that Lord Baelish had spent a lot of time with Lord Arryn… yet Lord Baelish was not well known for his loyalty, nor for keeping secrets. It does not matter, does it? Myrcella thought to herself as she looked to the side to see Ser Arys looking at the man with burning eyes, hatred for him easy to witness. If he holds the secret I seek, he could save me from the dark pit I am certain I will fall into. Myrcella clasped her hands in front of her to prevent them from showing the two men how much she was trembling in fright, and she looked at Lord Baelish with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster.

''If it please my lord,'' she said. ''It would gladden me greatly to do as so finely asked.''

Ser Arys flared at Lord Baelish grin, ''My princess-''

Myrcella turned to him and settled her hand over his clothed arm in reassurance, her green eyes gentle. ''Do not fret, good ser. I am fine.''

She could see in his eyes that he did not trust the man in front of them, tongue bumping over a protest, ''At least let me walk behind you, my princess.''

Myrcella smiled, ''If that is what you want, I will not deny you.''

With those last words, the golden-haired princess turned towards Lord Baelish. She watched as he exchanged his arm to her, and she gladly took it, thankful for once again being able to hide how much her hands were shaking in anguish. They instantly started to walk down the warm path that would in time lead them to the Red Keep, Ser Arys walking closely behind them, brown eyes watching their every step and every breath warily. Myrcella felt her heart flutter at the way he was so protective over her, and although she had seen that he had not wanted to obey her wishes; she was very thankful that he listened to her and not refused her like Uncle Jaime often did. Jaime would not even have let me speak one word to Lord Baelish, Myrcella knew, remembering the way Uncle Jaime's green eyes could make any man run the other way. He would have most likely only grabbed my arm and made me return to my bedchamber without my answers. Now though, as they passed a few small children playing in the dusty streets, their laughter ringing lightly and their smiles big and bright; Myrcella found herself looking back at Lord Baelish who was already staring at her with those, oh so, knowing eyes.

Her hand tightened around his arm, anxious. ''So, Lord Baelish… You desired to ask me something.''

''Oh, yes.'' The man beside her nodded, steps still so graceful and long. ''It is in my belief that our Lord Arryn, the gods have mercy on his soul, in his last few days… sought you,'' His dark eyes burned her, ''Is that true, my princess?''

Is that what the birds are whispering in his ears? If so they must be better singers than I believed. Myrcella's stomach swirled painfully, ''I do not know, my lord… I had no chance to speak with him myself before he took ill.''

Lord Baelish nodded thoughtfully, every word of hers taking in. ''I see, my princess. When were the last time you spoke with him?''

It feels like he is as clueless as I am about Lord Arryn's death, and yet believes that it was more than a common death as well. ''It was two weeks ago, mayhaps.'' Myrcella told him, thinking hard. ''He was in Father's study, and we briefly spoke before he had to leave for his duty.''

''What did you speak of then?'' Lord Baelish asked.

Myrcella bit her bottom-lip, ''Nothing of importance, my lord. He asked me how I was feeling and if I had learned all the Houses of The Seven Kingdoms yet.''

Lord Baelish seemed to perk up at that, dark eyes curious. ''Why would he be asking such a question, my princess?''

Her lips erupted into a faint smile at the memory. ''Lord Arryn knew how much I loathed such lessons, and how my head always despised the idea of remembering all the names and sigils and sayings. I have done so since I was but a child, and he always found it amusing when I looked so sour after every lesson.''

Hope instantly faded from Lord Baelish's eyes, ''It truly is a hard thing to remember it all.'' He smiled at her, gracefully. ''So, nothing more was said or done that day?''

I am not that certain. Myrcella looked at him with blank eyes, ''Nothing, my lord. If there was I would gladly tell you, I assure.''

Lord Baelish tightly smirked at her, as if he found her words laughable. ''Of course, my princess.''

They fell into silence for a short moment, and Myrcella's heart twisted in pain as she finally asked, ''Is there a reason behind your questions, my lord?''

''Oh, a reason there is, my sweet princess.'' Lord Baelish told her, voice both dark and light. ''And it is always those questions that can be very feral, I've learned.''

Myrcella swallowed hard. The anxiety that his words created coiled in her stomach, invisible hands clawing at her throat and choking her until it felt like nothing of hers was left but dust. He knows, Myrcella knew. It was as clear as day; his eyes, his words… he knew the truth, while Myrcella did not. The golden-haired princess could only but advert her eyes from his, her tummy knitting together again with the most horrid of aches. She walked stiffly from then on, feeling awfully grateful for Ser Arys who remained behind them both, brown eyes still watching them warily. All the way to the Red Keep she wondered what it was that Lord Baelish knew of Lord Arryn's death… but mayhaps he knew something even more feral than that. Myrcella truly tried to tell herself that she was a fool for believing so… and yet the feeling remained within her, for deep within her heart the apprehension that something dark and perilous would be set upon them all; from North to Dorne - had haunted her long before the death of Lord Arryn.

---

The truth was, the princess was braver than her brother, and brighter and more confident as well.
Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing daunted her, not even Joffrey.

---

The council room had always been a wonder to Myrcella. For years and years and years to no end it had been somewhere she shouldn't be, or else she was certain that she would get awfully scolded at. Ever since she was but a child, it had always been there she had been sent whenever she had done naught… and Myrcella could sometimes still dream nightmares of those times. She remembered one pained memory precisely. She had been perhaps nine namedays, and she had seen a beautiful necklace in one of the shop windows while she had walked with Ser Barristan. They hadn't had time to buy it, though, and she had not been permitted to leave again to do so. Knowing that it would most likely be gone in morrow; she had walked down to the streets by herself... and been returned moments later in Uncle Jaime's angry arms, before she had been sent up to the council room to speak with her awaiting father. And oh, his blue eyes had been so dark, his voice so loud, his words driven with such fury… and she had never been more frightened in her life at that time. Her father had even been more furious than Uncle Jaime, who had grabbed her slender arm harshly when he had caught her walking up the Hook at the foot of Aegon's High Hill and almost dragged her back to the Red Keep while cursing how foolish she had been and how long he had looked for her, frightened of her hurt.

Yes… that's what this room was filled with, pained memories she would much rather forget than relive again like she did in her nightmares… it was enough to do so there, was it not? Yet that was not the only reason that this room made her stomach clench painfully. It was also a room full of secrets and duty, where important men huddled over and made decisions that could mean life and death, and if that was not wicked Myrcella did not know what was. Her father most often spent his presence here… although people said that it was no more than a lie and that he was at those inns instead - she would not speak of them, nor what they said he was doing there either - but Myrcella would not believe them when they spoke such, and it instead felt like this room had robbed her of her father - and it was also that thought that made her despise this room so much. The truth, though, was that Myrcella was not here because she had done something wrong, or disobeyed orders - Gods, she would never do such a thing again - No, she was here because her father had asked for her presence… and her heart surged painfully inside her chest.

Myrcella walked into the council room with careful steps, her green eyes searching. It was a rather big room, with only a large oaken-table with seven chairs seated around it. Myrcella walked further into the large room, and she felt her heart twist at the sight before her as her eyes once again flickered to the table placed in the middle. Her brothers were already sitting in two of the chairs, as far away from each other as they possibly could come; Joff on one end while Tommen sat on the other. It made her sick to the stomach to see them being like that, although she knew that they could not be in each other's presence for more than a chaste moment before they would start arguing about whatever they possibly could. Instead of greeting them as a sister ought to, Myrcella walked towards the chair that was placed in the middle of the oaken-table, her steps graceful and timid. She did not look at them when she sat down, but instead looked elsewhere, trying to find someone else rather than her two brothers - for her head was in too great of a pain to hear their stupid remarks - and yet she heard their voices instantly stop arguing when she made the chair scrape the floor beneath her and create a hiss noise.

Her green eyes flickered to the side when she heard a snicker, and they stopped at Joffrey. Her brother were clothed in a crimson wool jerkin with dark breeches, and his laces had the color of pure fire, almost making her eyes burn. His golden curls had been cut shorter than when she had last seen him the day before, and they now hung down a little further than to his shoulders, tumbling down in their beauty of lightness. His tall frame was sitting upon the chair lazily, his feet resting on the oaken-table before him. If he is to sit like such a fool on the Iron Throne when it is his I am more than certain that people will laugh at him rather than bend their knees in his glory. Her brother's eyes - that held the color of her own - were watching her with mild appeal, something between amusement and mockery flickering within them. Myrcella found herself pursing her lips at the sight of him, and she reached up her hands and brushed back her golden hair so her thick waves tumbled down to her lower-back elegantly. The princess straightened herself up in her chair, eyes challenging him silently to say something to mock her. He is too arrogant for his own good, Myrcella thought to herself as she saw his sly grin. A prince ought not be so.

''I saw you today at the sept… weeping like a little child.'' Joffrey's pouty lips curled up. ''Surely you must have understood how much of a fool you were. It was embarrassing.''

Myrcella's green eyes narrowed in anger. ''I am not a fool for weeping, Joff. Lord Arryn is dead, at least you must have brain enough to understand that.''

Joffrey rolled his eyes. ''I did not know the old man.''

Myrcella watched him through clueless eyes, ''Yes you did, Joff. You talked with him hundreds of times.''

Joffrey swatted away her words with a lazy flick of his wrist, ''Well then, yes I did.. but I do not have respect for men dying so gray and grim that the Northerners must awe them. I respect those who die in battle, die as men and not cowards.''

Myrcella flared, ''Lord Arryn fostered Father and Lord Eddard Stark as his wards in the Vale of Arryn, and was like a second father to them. When King Aerys II Targaryen demanded that he turned them over to most likely murder them for no reason at all rather than to watch them burn; Lord Arryn raised his banners in revolt. Joff, he fought in the Battle of the Bells and the Battle of the Trident, and won with glory in his name! He was Father's Hand for years.'' Myrcella looked at her brother with fury, ''So do not dare say that he was a coward… for tell me, dear brother, what have you done?''

It was as if wildfire burned in Joffrey's eyes, ''Do not speak to me like that, you stupid girl! I will be your king one day!''

''Yes,'' Myrcella swallowed. ''But not this day.''

Joffrey breathed, his nostrils flaring, ''Weep over old dead men if it pleases you then, sister, make a folly of yourself. What do I care?''

''Weeping does not make one weak,'' she told him, confident. ''It's just a human vulnerability.''

''Girls and women and helpless children weep.'' Joffrey laughed coldly. ''Oh, yes. Tears mean weakness… and princes are not weak.''

Myrcella's hands closed and opened and closed again, ''That's not the truth, Joffrey, and you know it just as well as I do.''

Tommen, who had remained in silence, now spoke up in a quick voice, ''I agree with Myrcella.''

Joffrey's green eyes snapped to him, outraged. ''Of course you do… You are as much of a weak girl as her. Mayhaps you ought to wear Myrcella's skirts as well!'' Joffrey grinned at his younger brother, most cruelly. ''If you can fit in them, that is.''

Myrcella was just about to open her mouth to defend her youngest brother, but was interrupted when the heavy doors to the council room opened again with a loud thud. All of their heads turned towards the noise, green eyes watching with surprise. Suddenly, their father and mother both walked into the room chastely, her father step's loud and uncaring while her mother's were quiet and gracefully silent. As she heard her father let out a low groan just as her mother said something Myrcella did not comprehend - the golden-haired girl's green eyes quickly followed him as he approached his children without as much as a glimpse at any of them, and then settled down in the biggest chair with a second groan from his thick lips that must have been one from the pleasure of sitting down and escaping his queen wife's voice for a split second.

Myrcella swallowed hard at the sight before her. Her father's large frame was clothed in a golden wool jerkin, with a thin black cape hanging around his broad shoulders. He wore green gloves over his big and stubby hands that he settled upon the oaken-table, and a belt hugged him around his stomach so tight that Myrcella could see his tummy sticking out underneath and over the black belt. His dark hair and his gruff beard were greasy after not having washed it for a longer time - and Myrcella quickly understood that he had not even dressed himself for Lord Arryn's funeral. He must be so heartbroken, Myrcella thought, sadness filling her. He loved Lord Arryn as his father.

Myrcella's eyes flickered to her side as she heard the chair beside her scrape the floor beneath, and she watched as her mother gracefully slid down upon it only a second later. Queen Cersei's blonde hair was pinned up in a delicate style, golden and silver jewels settled into her shining, silken strands. Her slender frame was clothed in a strikingly beautiful dress, golden and red; Lannister colors. Her sleeves were long, and her pale skin glimmered underneath the sun's dim and weak rays, looking so soft and flawless, as if porcelain. She had always looked so appealing, her smiles so hauntingly graceful, her green eyes so bright and glimmering, her hair so shimmering. Her mother truly was the most beautiful woman ever lived… that is what everyone always said, both in the songs sung just for her and all those tales written of her beauty. And yet they all say I look just like her, Myrcella thought to herself. How can I? Still, her mother now wore a look of disdain as her emerald eyes were settled upon her husband, and it instantly made the glimmering beauty that surrounded her at all times slowly fade little by little. She is much more beautiful when she smiles, Myrcella knew, but I do not remember the last time I saw her do so.

Her mother's red lips pursed, anger clear. ''Well, Robert. Tell our children that brilliant idea of yours. Tell them and see if they think of you as mad as I do.''

''Seven Hells, woman. Let me breathe a minute after your constant nagging!'' Her father breathed, big nostrils flaring. ''I will tell them.''

I am not surprised by their hateful behavior towards each other, but by their words. Myrcella licked her lips, ''What are you meant to tell us, Father?''

The King looked at his daughter, ''After Jon's sudden death I am in need of a new Hand, and there is only but one man I have left who can be that for me.''

Myrcella's heart thumped, for she knew the name of that man her father spoke of as soon as he was finished. Eddard Stark. Myrcella still remembered all those tales her father had told her of him and his closest friend Eddard Stark. He had countless times told her of all the battles they had fought side by side, both fighting for one woman and one woman alone, Lyanna Stark. Myrcella had heard rumors of Northerners, heard that they are frozen to the very core because of the cold weather that surrounds them day and night, summer and winter; people so grim and barbaric, feral and cruel. Yet when her father spoke of Lord Stark, he painted him as honorable… yes grim and strict, but the best man her father had ever met. To Myrcella, the Northerners seemed too odd for her to even try and imagine one; for all she could think of were cruel barbaric men covered in snow, howling and snarling and biting like the wolves that represented them. Myrcella looked back at her mother, whose green eyes were filled with so much fury towards her father that it must burn him, and Myrcella knew what must have made her so angry. She wishes for Uncle Jaime to become Hand, it was not a horrible thought, but Myrcella knew that her father had never been fond of Jaime. No, Myrcella knew that her father needed someone he could trust with his life… and there was no one left for him but Lord Stark now.

Joffrey was the one to speak up next, voice filled with boredom. ''Then whom is to be your Hand now?''

King Robert wasted not a second, ''My friend Ned in Winterfell… That is my decision, and gods be damned, it will happen.''

Queen Cersei hissed, ''It is madness, Robert! Jaime will be much greater than that old oaf!''

Her father's face turned red with fury, and he pointed a thick finger at her, ''Watch that tongue of yours, woman! I will not tell you once more.''

Myrcella swallowed thickly as silence filled the room again. Her father and mother were still staring daggers at each other, eyes burning with lingering anger and hatred that would never vanish nor fade. Joffrey was brushing away some dark dirt on his pretty jerkin, bored and burning with the desire to leave. It was no wonder that he did not care for Father's decision, all Joffrey seemed to want was to return to his bedchamber where he could be a little selfish brat by himself and do whatever his wicked mind desired to do. Tommen was looking at his feet, little and innocent and, oh, so sad. Myrcella herself were staring at her parents with blank eyes, her tummy tightening into a knot. It does not matter, does it? Myrcella thought. If Lord Stark is the man in Father's stories, then let him come here to King's Landing and be by Father's side… Why fight so horribly about something that will always grow into a much greater problem than it needs to be. Myrcella fiddled with her fingers in sadness, body quivering.

Into the silence, Tommen's innocent voice suddenly spoke up next, ''I think it would be exciting so see a Northman.''

''Hah!'' Their father's loud laughter barked out, and he reached out and harshly clapped on Tommen's back, making the young child release an oomph sound. ''That's my son! Believe me, you will see a lot of those grim bastards when we finally arrive in Winterfell! Ha!''

Myrcella grew pale at his words, ''What? Father… Do you mean for us to travel North?''

Her father's blue eyes travelled to her, and he smiled widely. ''Of course, Myrcella! What did you think? I would like to see those wolves in King's Landing. Hah! They would not even arrive to the gate before they would melt away!''

''You cannot mean for us to travel there… to the north! It's…It's cold and awful there!'' Joffrey exclaimed, suddenly alert. ''Make them come to us! You are the king, you can command them to do so and they'll have to obey your orders!''

The King's eyes narrowed at his oldest son, mouth pursing dangerously. ''You are as much of a fool as you look, my son. We will come to them, whatever you wishes it or not. If you are to be king one day you must learn courtesy, fool or not. You cannot only command and command, sometimes you must ask for what you wish.''

Joffrey only looked away, ashamed and angry.

Myrcella bit her bottom-lip, green eyes travelling from Joffrey to her father, ''When are we leaving then?''

The King smiled again, delighted. ''As soon as the sun rises in the morrow!'' He said. ''So, off with your lot... go and pack all your belongings until then!''

Gods have mercy, Myrcella thought to herself as she rose stiffly from her chair to do as commanded. Do not let the wolves be as feral as said to be.

---

''Winterfell!?'' Jadelyn exclaimed loudly, voice filled with wonder and surprise, ''That cold land far up in the North where the Starks lives with their heads down in the snow!?''

Myrcella found herself sitting on her bed, dressed in a fine, pale nightgown. Outside her window, the sun had started to go down, taking the warm light with it while leaving darkness and coldness in its place. Her whole body had grown numb, her eyes heavy and her mind thick with so many thoughts that she could no longer tell one from another. Her bedchamber had grown darker and darker with each passing minute, and Jadelyn had lit up a few candles that she had settled around the room. She found herself watch the flames for a split second, watching the fire dance and curl and eat away at the coldness that tormented her and gave her frail skin goosebumps. The big comb drew through her golden waves of hair soothingly again, making her emerald eyes close for a split second in peace and bliss. She had always loved it when someone played with her hair, even though Jadelyn now tried to sort out the tangles and knots that had been created under the day, tugging at it quite harshly to get it sorted out. Even so, it somehow calmed her, and it was exactly what she needed at this time. She was awfully grateful for Jadelyn, and she did not know what she would have done without her friend.

Jadelyn Stokeworth had been Myrcella's closest friends since she could remember, as she was only but one nameday older than Myrcella herself. With Jadelyn's House sworn to King's Landing; her family are more often in the capital than they are in the Crownlands. So, they grew closer and closer and closer until Jadelyn had wished to become Myrcella's handmaiden and remain in King's Landing so that she could remain by Myrcella's side at all times and live the life she had always wanted to live. Nothing more had gladdened the golden-haired princess, and she had begged and pleaded her father to let her closest friend stay… and with much nagging, King Robert had finally permitted Jadelyn to remain in King's Landing while her mother Lady Tanda, her father Lord Gyles, and her sister Lollys, who had wept and begged to stay in King's Landing as well - returned to the Crownlands. So, Jadelyn had been her handmaiden for four long years now… and Myrcella loved the girl as a true sister would. As Myrcella had only brothers; she had always enjoyed to have Jadelyn to talk to about boys and songs and tales and knights… much to Tommen's jealously.

Jadelyn had already been in her bedchamber when Myrcella returned after the news of Winterfell, folding her dresses after they had been washed. As soon as the golden-haired princess had stalked in and thrown her crimson cloak down on the ground in gloom - Jadelyn had understood that something had happened while she had been away. As a friend should, the dark-haired girl had quickly walked up to her before looking her deep in the eyes, forcing Myrcella to look upon her pretty face. For Jadelyn was indeed a pretty sight, with dark, long, curly hair and grey-blue eyes that always seemed so round; skin tanned, body slink, sweet freckles over her chins and sharp nose.. Jadelyn had then maneuvered Myrcella to sit down on the bed while she started to gingerly comb her hair… and it was then, when Myrcella had started to feel better and her heartbeat had evened out - that she told her handmaiden of Winterfell and that they were to travel there in the morrow. The thought was still strange to Myrcella, but she knew that it would happen the same. It had surprised Jadelyn at first, but she had recovered quickly enough and become just as positive as always. Jadelyn always saw good in things, no matter how dark they may seem; that was one of the many things that made her so unique and wonderful.

''Yes, that Winterfell…'' Myrcella's green eyes closed again. ''I have never journeyed north… I wonder if I even want to do so at all.''

''Oh, do not be like that, Myr…'' Jadelyn smiled, putting the brush down as Myrcella's golden hair was shimmering beautifully at last. ''It will be so great to see the north, to see the boys. Hmm, I do wonder how the boys are up there.'' Her dark eyebrows wiggled playfully, her grey-blue eyes filled with amusement. ''They must be very good at keeping girls warm, I wager. Don't you think so, Myra?''

Myrcella blushed pink, ''I doubt that, Jade. It would not be proper for me to…to… keep someone… warm.'' She felt the flushing heat creep up on her face, but she erupted into laughter nonetheless. ''Besides, I believe they have hard enough to keep themselves warm in that cold Winterfell.''

Jadelyn only grinned, ''But would it not be easier for two lovers to warm each other, huh?''

''Stop it!'' Myrcella laughed. ''Gods be good, I do not want some poor boy to feel Ser Jaime Lannister's wrath. ''

''Mayhaps the boy will fight him for your heart, for his little princess.'' Jadelyn smiled dreamily. ''And yet… What your knightly uncle does not know, does not hurt him.''

The golden-haired girl only shook her head, lips still smiling. ''You are so wicked, Jade. I will not wed a Northman… that is just absurd. Mother would never permit me to wed some cold barbarian and live my remaining days in the snow.''

Jadelyn kneeled down to her ear, grinning mischievously. ''You ought not sound so certain, Your Highness. The wolves are very… fierce animals, and they may surprise you.''

Myrcella reached up and swatted at Jadelyn's arm, her face bright red, ''Stop that,'' she laughed. ''Do whatever you wish with those wolves, but leave me out of it, I beg of you.''

Jadelyn only laughed, freely and beautifully. ''As you wish, Myra.''

Jadelyn remained by her side two hours into the night, helping her fondle her dressed and grab other things she would need in Winterfell. They spoke in hushed voices; spoke of Winterfell, spoke of everything and nothing at the same time. They packed more things than Myrcella knew that she truly needed, but she would never have been so far away from King's Landing; and she knew that the one holding her carryall would curse her as they travelled. They packed her silk dresses, thin and beautiful and not fit for the north at all… and yet they were folded the same. Soon enough, the books were the only thing left, books that she knew Septa Eloise would force her to bring. But when Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn who sat down on her bed, her blue-grey eyes heavy and glossy, her frame doubled over - the golden-haired princess knew that her friend was much more tired than she had confessed before. Myrcella instantly felt guilt bloom in her heart. She has helped me so much. Myrcella walked closer to her friend before gently telling her that she needed no more help and that she was free to return to her own bedchamber. Jadelyn looked ready to protest, her tongue bumping over in protest at her words; but Myrcella only shook her head, her golden hair swaying around her face, and told her that she truly meant it. So, Jadelyn slowly stood up, weeks wobbling, smiling tiredly; and Myrcella's eyes followed her as she walked out from the chamber and closed her doors with a soft thud in her leave.

The young princess released a deep breath, feeling the desire to sleep almost swallow her whole… but she knew that she had to pack down the last few books and then she could give into her dreams. So, the golden-haired girl started to walk towards her cabinet where she had laid the books upon. She quickly dragged the dark chair from the corner and settled it before the white-golden cabinet with exhausted arms, for she was all too short to reach the top of this mighty cabinet all by herself.

Myrcella carefully stepped up on the chair with shaking legs, and reached up her hand to graze her fingertips over the books that laid underneath a layer of dust after she had not needed them for over two weeks. She took down one by one, until she had three heavy books in her trembling embrace, and she quickly jumped down from the chair with a soft thud, and wiggled her way over to the bed where she let the three books fall down on the pale blankets with a pained groan slipping from her rosy lips. She took a deep breath, before she reached up her hand and brushed away a strand of her golden hair from her eyes.

The princess looked down at the books before she silently shook her head and moved over to her carryall. She carefully took the books one by one and placed it into the rest with her belongings. She tiredly read every title of the books as she took them into her hand. The first one was blue, with many pages although thin, and the title read, Baratheons' Dynasty. Myrcella dropped the book into her belongings. The other book was a green one, very thick, and the title read, Westeros' Reign. Myrcella dropped the book into her belongings as well, her green eyes burning with the desire to let sleep take her over. Still, the golden-haired princess reached for the third and remaining book, a purple one, and the thickest of them all, and the title read, The Seven Kingdoms; Houses. Sigils. Sayings. Myrcella's green eyes searched the book with gloom, and she let it drop to her belongings as well..

… but then her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she understood. She remembered the last day she had seen Lord Arryn clearer than she had ever before then, the way she had walked into her father's study in search for him but had found Lord Arryn there instead, and he had smiled at her so friendly. Her stomach dropped as she remembered his words, ''I have a gift for you,'' he had told her as they had been alone for the very last time, before he had turned around and then returned with a thick purple book in his arms. Myrcella remembered that she had stepped closer to him then, green eyes curious as she had read the title that had said, The Seven Kingdoms; Houses. Sigils. Sayings. She had glared at him playfully then. ''I hate those lessons, my lord, you know so.'' She had told him, her lips tugging up in a faint smile. She remembered that Lord Arryn had stepped even closer to her then, his grey hair looking white underneath the sun's glimmering rays.. his eyes burning her. He had given her the book then, handing it to her while his eyes held her captive, before he had reached up and cupped her face in his soft hands, and he had smiled, oh, so sadly. ''I know so, my princess, but I believe this book will help you through blind times the same.''

Myrcella's breaths grew heavy when she finally drifted back to reality, and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. With shaking hands, she carefully touched the purple book, frightened like a little girl, as if afraid that it may bite her fingers, and picked it up with her cold-sweaty hands. It felt awfully heavy in her hands, much heavier than it had felt mere seconds before. With a hand she quickly dusted away the dust that covered the book after being untouched for two weeks. I did not even as much as open it, Myrcella knew. Septa Eloisa never held such a lesson after that… and I meant to use it for the first time when I truly had to. Yet now… Myrcella felt her throat thickening in fright of what she would see in there. It could be nothing important… It could only be but a simple book; but what frightened Myrcella more was the thought that it may actually only be but a simple book. Only a gift out of friendliness. Myrcella closed her eyes, her fingers curling around the violet book's first page while she inhaled deeply… and opened it with one swift movement.

In the heavy air around her a letter came flying down to the floor, landing with not as much as a sound.

Myrcella's heart pounded faster than ever before as she carefully kneeled down to touch the pale letter with her fingertips, and then rose stiffly with it still in her hands. The princess took a deep and quivering breath, trying to keep herself calm and brave... but she did not know how such a thing could possibly be done at a time like this. She quickly licked her lips, closing her eyes for a second. She tightened her hands around the white letter, before slowly opened her eyes and cautiously turned the small paper around to see the black letters staring up at her with darkness, screaming at her to read them. The paper was trembling in her shaking hands, but she read the words nonetheless; heart heavy and her green eyes blurring with tears from feeling so terribly lost.

Princess Myrcella

As I am writing this I fear for not only my life, but yours as well.

I do not mean to frighten you, but I do not wish to see the darkness consume you as I fear it might do in time.

These words are too perilous to write in a simple letter, but I know that danger is upon me, festering like a wound, and the time I have left is not protracted.

You have a gentle heart unlike them, and a good nature, and I want you to break free from the chains that now cages you to a lie.

They make you see what they want you to see, Myrcella, for the shadows are dancing around you, playing you blindly.

I hope I will get a chance to speak with you before I fade, but if I do not, remember what stands here and carry it with you like a shield.

Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold.

---

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter... Now, I'm not certain about this at all. So let me know what you guys think. It would definitely mean a lot! :*

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