Chapter 12 – A Lioness among Wolves
Myrcella
Hide. That was her only thought. Hide at somewhere dark and deep. In a place where no one could ever find her, the false princess, the bastard girl, born of incest, the abomination in the eyes of gods and men.
Once Robb had read that phrase to her, she panic-stricken ran away, while Robb was unbelievingly reading it over and over again. Away, she thought, away from everyone. Myrcella was running as fast as she could. Not in a certain direction, only away. She remembered the dream she had under the weirwood tree. A lion and a lioness hiding in a broken tower. So that's why Bran had fallen. Mother or Jaime had pushed him, because the boy had seen them.
She wasn't panicked because of her true origin, she was panicked because of the consequences. If Eddard Stark told Robert, the king would kill Jaime, mother, Joffrey, her and even little Tommen. And she was not worthy of being Robb's wife. She had no political use, she wasn't a princess, she was a bastard, born of incest. She could accept that, but the realm would not.
Myrcella kept running, gasping for air. Thousands of thoughts were flowing through her mind. One worse than the other. Perhaps her family was already dead, their heads on spikes in King's Landing. Perhaps King Robert was already marching on Winterfell to kill her.
She stumbled and hit on her knee. She had run against a direwolf statue, one of the statues at the entrance to the crypts. Blood was running down her leg. The crypts, she thought. No one would find her down there.
Hide. That was the only thing she wanted. She desperately entered the crypts and the cold promptly embraced her. Myrcella passed the tombs of Rickard, Brandon and Lyanna Stark. The stone statues were watching her, their eyes spearing her.
Full of fear she kept running further, deeper into the cold darkness. Myrcella passed the tomb of King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. She again fell to the ground and a harsh pain was shooting through her already injured leg, now both of her knees were bleeding. Trembling she stood up again and stumbled further downstairs.
The old Starks watched her angrily while she kept running. She was covered in dust and cobwebs, cold sweat running down her skin. Myrcella reached the deeper levels of the crypts where the Kings of Winter of old were resting. Dozens of stone eyes pierced her and direwolves hungrily gnashed their teeth, furiously looking at the pup lioness, that had dared to enter a wolf cave.
She was breathing hardly, desperately gasping for air, almost at the end of her tether, but she kept running, stumbling and shaking. Her dress was torn. Myrcella was running further and further, ignoring the aching in her knees.
Then she tripped over a hidden step and fell a third time. Myrcella could hear a nasty crack and she sensed a horrible pain in her right leg. She was unable to get up again. Her ankle was broken. Myrcella tried to shift her leg, but an insufferable sting forced her back.
At this moment Myrcella understood how foolish her behaviour had been. The burning pain had cleared her mind. Robb had warned her more than once not to enter the labyrinthine crypts without someone else. But now she was down there after her panic attack, injured, unable to move, apart from that she didn't know the way out; alone in the cold darkness.
She looked around. She was at a very deep level, even deeper than the place where Robb had kissed her once. The cold bit her and it was extremely dark, she could hardly see anything. No torches or oil lanterns were there, only a faint light was weakly illuminating the area. Myrcella looked around. She could see bearded, grim statues of old, forgotten Kings of Winter, wearing crowns with sword-shaped jags, resting on their stone thrones, direwolf statues guarding them.
Myrcella crawled on her elbows to the last statue in the vault, the statue next to her. Tired and desperate she leaned against the cold stone. Pain was throbbing in her right leg, her knees were bloody and the icy cold was biting down to her bones. She could see her own breath. Her ruined dress was too thin to keep her warm. It had been one of the few sunny day in the North and she wasn't wearing furs. Myrcella was shaking and she wrapped her arms around herself to protect against the cold.
She wondered if someone was looking for her. Of course, someone is, you idiot, she told herself. Most likely Robb was deeply worried now and was searching Winterfell for her with all of his guards. Why the hell she had done something so stupid? If Robb truly loved her, she was convinced he did, he wouldn't care where she really came from. Hopefully Robb would find her before she caught a dangerous fever in that icy cold, Myrcella thought and the ache in her leg drove tears into her eyes.
She ripped two strips of textile from her ruined dress and bandaged her bleeding knees. Then Myrcella looked at the nearby statues. All of them were watching her, bearded, grim and hostile. The Kings of Winter were cruel men. Hard men. The sons of winter, Robb had told her during their visit to the crypts. Now the wolf kings speared her with their cold stone eyes and the direwolves guarding their thrones were gnashing their teeth, hungrily looking at the pup lioness.
Her eyes were slowly clouding and the statues stepped closer, the stone kings were leaving their thrones, cold, rusty swords in their hands.
"You are not one of us", they seemed to whisper.
"I'm a Stark!", she shouted back, her voice shaking.
"False princess, false stag, bastard lioness, abomination", the wolf kings whispered.
Myrcella hit herself against her head. That are just statues, guarding the tombs of dead kings, buried there since thousands of years, the cold and the pain in your leg are tricking your mind, you are hallucinating, she said to herself. The Kings of Winter returned to their thrones.
Myrcella let her eyes wander around, to distract herself from her fear and the aching pain. She examined some of the statues closer. All of them were wearing stone crowns made of small swords and armours in a strange, ancient style. Some of the armours were engraved with runes she couldn't understand. The runes of the First Men, written in the Old Tongue, their meanings lost to every living human in Westeros, even to the Maesters of the Citadel. Only some of the Wildling tribes beyond the Wall were still using them, the Thenns for example.
Myrcella tried to estimate how deep she had run into the crypts. She looked for a stair leading further downstairs. But there wasn't a stair. Not anywhere. The statue she was leaning against caught her eyes. The last statue in the vault. The last one in the crypts, apparently. It was different from the others. Bigger and standing, instead of sitting on a throne. It was holding a scroll in its hands, not a sword. It was not the last statue, it was the first one.
Brandon the Builder, she remarked. The founder of House Stark, architect of the Wall, Winterfell and, according to some rumours, Storm's End as well, saviour of Westeros, final victor over the Others and dead since 8000 years ago.
She was at the deepest of all levels. Panic struck her again. How long she had been running, Myrcella asked herself. It must have been at least two hours. Even the level she had visited with Robb, where they had shared a kiss, was not that deep and it had still taken over an hour to reach it. It was very unlikely that Robb would find her in the next hours. She was exhausted, hungry, freezing and her injured leg was aching terribly. At least the pain prevented her from blacking out.
Robb
Robb was reading the letter over and over again. "Myrcella's true father is Jaime Lannister. She and her two brothers are bastards, born of incest." Robb didn't want to believe it. Maybe his father was wrong, tricked by King Robert's brothers, Stannis and Renly, to allow one of them to seize the Iron Throne. No, impossible. His father would never say such things, things that would shatter the realm to its foundations if he wasn't absolutely sure that it was the truth.
Robb looked again at the letter with is father's sigil and tried to understand the consequences. If King Robert had no trueborn children, the throne would pass to Stannis Baratheon. But the Lannister wouldn't just let that happen. The truth about the origin of Myrcella, Joffrey and Tommen would certainly cause a war, at least between Baratheons and Lannisters, if the truth was revealed. Many houses would gladly declare for Stannis, other houses would believe a jealous uncle was going to steal the throne and therefore support Joffrey.
In addition both of them, Joffrey and Stannis, were not well loved. It was quite possible, that some Lords would declare for someone entirely different. The realm would be more divided than during Robert's Rebellion.
But all those consequences concerning the whole realm were second-rate to Robb. He was deeply worried about Myrcella. His father had explicitly stated in his letter that he wanted Myrcella to leave Westeros, for her own safety. His father intended to tell King Robert and the King would display her head on a spike if he was able to take her. His father didn't want her slaughtered like Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen, together with their mother, Elia Martell.
Furthermore, Myrcella, a bastard, born of incest, had zero political use to the North, as his father had explained in his letter. The northern lords had hardly accepted a southern princess with golden Lannister hair as their lady, they would never accept a southern bastard girl, born of incest. But only if they would learn the truth of her origin and, more important, believe it.
He loved Myrcella. He loved her with all his heart. Myrcella was everything he wanted, he didn't want to have the daughter of some random northern lord in his bed. Robb only wanted Myrcella. They were married with the Old Gods as witnesses. Robb loved her, he had made a holy vow to protect her. Robb would protect her. Robb would lie to the world to protect her. He would protect her with his life, he would call the northern banners to protect her. Robb would follow his father's advise to prepare the North for war, but he would not follow his father's wishes concerning Myrcella. She was going to stay at Winterfell.
If King Robert wanted her, he should come and get her. But first he would have to overcome the swamps of the Neck, the Crannogmen with their poisoned arrows, the almost impregnable fortress of Moat Cailin, the deadly cold of the North, every northern army, the walls of Winterfell and at last Robb's own sword. Once Robert was a mighty warrior, but now he was only a fat drunk.
If Robb wanted Myrcella to be save at Winterfell, she would be save at Winterfell. If King Robert wanted to kill her, Robb would even side with the hated Lannisters in the wars to come.
Robb looked up from the letter to tell Myrcella that he didn't care where she truly came from, that he loved her. But Myrcella wasn't there.
"Myrcella!?", he said and looked around.
He couldn't see her, she wasn't in the godswood any more, only Maester Luwin was still standing next to him, looking shocked.
"Myrcella!?", Robb shouted. No one answered.
"Where is she, where is my wife?", he asked Maester Luwin.
"I don't now, she panic-stricken run away after you read that letter to her, my lord", Maester Luwin answered worried.
"Find her. I want to know in what direction she was running and I want every man in my service to look for her. Search everywhere, look into every corner of Winterfell!", Robb said, his voice shivering.
"What shall we tell our men, my lord?", Maester Luwin asked.
Robb shortly considered.
"Tell them she got a panic attack after I informed her that her mother was plotting to murder her father, KING ROBERT. That's only half a lie", Robb answered.
"So you are refusing to follow Lord Eddard's wishes about the girl, my lord?", Maester Luwin asked him.
"I am and the girl is Lady Stark and she will be Lady Stark in the future as well", Robb said upset. "As you wish, my Lord. You are the Lord of Winterfell in your father's absence and I will follow your orders. I am loyal to you, you can trust me. But you will have to answer for this to Lord Eddard after his return, my Lord", Maester Luwin said uneasy, but with sympathy.
Together they left the godswood to gather Robb's guards. After Robb had told the soldiers what to do, they started their search. No one had seen Myrcella, but Robb had 500 household guards at Winterfell and almost everyone of them was looking for the girl. With torches and dogs that had sniffed at the dress she had worn yesterday. Robb took Greywind with him too, the dogs of Winterfell had acknowledged the giant direwolf as their natural leader.
Robb divided his men into small teams, every one was scanning a different part of Winterfell. He even sent out riders to look after her in the area surrounding the castle. She could not have gone far, only twenty minutes before he had received that damned letter. Myrcella was not physically well trained and she didn't know Winterfell or the woods around it well.
Robb was leading the squad that was searching at the inner keep, next to the godswood, her most likely location, because none of the guards at the gates to the outer castle had seen her and she definitely didn't know about the secret tunnels. After an hour they scored a first success.
"Lord Stark. Over there", a soldier called him.
Robb hurried to reach the man, who was standing at the entrance to the crypts.
"Look, my lord", the soldier said and pointed at one of the stone direwolves.
A rag of dark blue textile from her dress was hanging at the statue. Fear gripped him. If she was down there...She didn't know the way out and she wasn't dressed fitting the cold.
"Call the men to the crypts. Myrcella is in there. I want everyone looking for her in the crypts and get more torches. The men shall take their furs on, the crypts are cold", he said.
Robb hardly tried not to panic. He knew every part of the crypts, he could find the way out from every place down there blind, but they were vast, larger than the castle above and labyrinthine. And awfully cold. It could take hours to find her, even with 500 men, if she had reached the deeper levels. Robb shivered and tried to calm down.
They entered the crypts well prepared and Robb again divided his soldiers in small squads, every team was looking at one of the immense and many different levels. Dead Starks from a period of time of over 8000 years needed a large space. The crypts of Winterfell could be one the largest tomb vaults in the known world, according to some Maesters.
Robb was leading his team deeper into the cold, their many torches effectively driving out the darkness. Their shouts and the barking of the dogs were echoing from the walls. Robb was looking for Myrcella with his team at one of the medium levels. The level with the statue of King Theon Stark, called the Hungry Wolf. Robb was desperately shouting out her name, but only his own voice responded, thrown back by the walls.
He had to find her quickly. He had to find her today. She could get a dangerous fever in that cold. Time passed away and they kept looking for Myrcella.
"Lord Stark. I have found something. Over there", a soldier called him, swinging his torch.
Encouraged Robb approached him hastily, but when he reached the man, his faith almost lost him. There was another rag of textile, on the ground, close to the stair leading to the deepest levels. And there was blood on the ground too. Her blood. One of the dogs had obviously recognized the smell. Myrcella was at one of the deepest levels and she was hurt.
At least this delimited the area. There was no need to scan the upper or medium levels any more. He could concentrate his men at the deeper ones. Robb told some of his soldiers to call for the teams searching above them to come downstairs. He ordered two men to wait for the others to arrive, while he was already entering the next level with the squads close to him.
They had to hurry. Myrcella was alone in that cold darkness, freezing and probably badly injured. All of them were calling her name now and they systematically looked into every corner, behind every tomb. Somehow Robb managed not to panic, to lead his men with discipline and strategy. They went further downstairs, now they were at the level where he had kissed her once. She was still nowhere to find.
He wondered how desperate and panic-stricken she must have been to run so deep into the crypts in such a small amount of time. The cold was biting him, despite his fur cloak and the many torches. Despair swept through him again. Where the hell is she, he asked himself. He knew every level of the crypts but the last time he had been at this one had been years ago. Together with his father and his halfbrother Jon Snow he had visited the crypts once. His father had told them about the history of House Stark. They had visited every tomb and his father had told him every name of every dead Stark. It had taken hours.
They kept walking further downstairs, the men were carefully scanning every level they passed but there was still no sign of her. He was really desperate now.
They entered the last and deepest level, containing the statue of Brandon the Builder, the founder of his house. What if he had been wrong? What if she wasn't in the crypts at all? No, impossible. She had to be here. They had found the rags of her dress and her fresh blood on the ground. Robb would not leave the crypts until he found her.
"My lord. Quickly. Over there. Next to that statue!", a soldier screamed.
Robb ran to him as fast as he could. Happiness swept through him. His faith returned. It was done. He had her back. He had found the girl he loved with all his heart. Robb reached the soldier who had called for him.
And there she was. Cowering against the statue of Brandon the Builder, her thin arms wrapped around her, shaking, her cheeks red from the cold, her bloody knees more bad than good bandaged with rags from her dress and her eyes widely opened. She looked like a frightened deer, nothing like a lioness. Myrcella was covered in cobwebs and dust, her dress ruined. Robb had never been so happy to see her and he allowed his men to leave.
"Myrcella", he said smiling, "What are you doing here? You gave me a huge fright", he said. Myrcella opened her mouth but she was too weak to answer anything. She tried to lift up, but failed, her face pained and with tears in her eyes.
Robb remarked that her right leg was oddly spread from her body, her foot severely swollen.
"You are injured", he said worried.
Myrcella finally got her voice back.
"Robb...I'm so sorry", she faintly stammered, tears running down her cheeks, "I'm an abomination...My parentage...I'm not worthy of being your wife."
Her voice was tiny and shivering, only a quiet whisper.
"You must never ever say such things again", Robb answered her and kissed her cold forehead. "Come. I will bring you out of that cold tomb. You are going to need a hot bath and Maester Luwin has to look after your leg. And you belong in bed", he said and carefully lifted the injured girl up.
