Okay guys, so I've finally done another point of view! I'm eager to hear your thoughts about it!
Also, I'm really sorry abt the time this took, and I'm even more sorry to tell you I'll be leaving for Italy next week and to Germany a while after that (well I'm not so sorry about that) so the next chapter won't be for tomorrow either.
And I KNOW I ask this all the time but I keep asking and my request keeps being ignored so I BEG of you to review! :) I love reading reviews, it means so much more than just numbers and feels so much more real.
(Not sure if I'm entirely happy abt this chapter but oh well - I'll see what you think)
Myrcella's POV
The hard bed was uncomfortable, but only a day ago Myrcella had cried in gratitude at the looks of her new cell. It was not near as cold as the ones below and larger and lighter as well. She had spent her day peeking through the small window, trying to see what was going on. There was little use. She could scarcely see anything. The cells weren't high enough to have any sort of view on anything but walls, but she could hear the faint thrusting of the waves against the embankment. Sometimes, she'd lay her head against the wall she knew Tommen was behind, imagining he was doing the same thing. It was silly, but comforting.
Myrcella had only spent a day and night in the cell, but she was bored out of her mind already. The only thing she could do was think, and it made her head want to explode. In the black cells, she had been scared. Fear had taken over the many days and nights – or maybe there weren't that many- but at least it had completely blocked her mind from working. She had constantly felt the threat of the infamous fourth floor, heavy on her shoulders. Northmen were ruthless – they were notorious for their wild behavior. She had half expected them to rape her bloody when they found her, hidden in a heavily guarded room with her brother. They had killed every last one of the guards, many of whom were honorable knights and had clearly refused her mother's request to kill them both in case things went wrong. Cersei hadn't told her, but Myrcella knew from the way she had hugged them both goodbye, after the defence had just heard of the Tyrells's betrayal. Had it been a lost cause since then? Cersei had seemed desperate to hide all of her children, that's for sure.
But the Northerners hadn't hurt Myrcella and Tommen. They had looked almost pitiful. Until they dragged them to the black cells, of course. Tommen had cried and Myrcella's screams had gotten stuck in her throat as they had to walk over dead bodies and separated limbs. It had made her gag.
Myrcella could notice by the shadows that the sun was getting lower already, and her stomach was aching for food. How long would she have to stay there? Would they punish her and Tommen? What if they executed her family without even telling her? Myrcella's mind had run wild with possibilities. But no matter how she turned it, it was blatantly clear that Joffrey and her mother would die soon. She didn't care much for Joffrey; she had made peace with the idea a long time ago. He had always been cruel and vicious, and a terrible brother to her and Tommen. Her mother, on the other hand, was still her mother. Myrcella knew she had done many terrible things, but had always chosen to ignore them. She did not want to know about her mother's crimes. The greatest of all, the incest that had created Myrcella and her brothers.
When the rumours had first started to arise, around Eddard Stark's beheading, Myrcella didn't believe it at all. It seemed so ridiculous to her. Her mother had assured her that it was a lie made up by their enemies, so that's what she had believed. But then she had noticed some things about her mother and uncle Jaime, and had started to doubt. Moreover, not of the three children had inherited anything from the Baratheon side. And Joffrey made things more plausible. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Did the gods flip coins with every child born out of incest? If so, Joffrey's coin had fallen on the wrong side.
But even when she had thought of it, she refused to believe it. Only when she was sent to Dorne, she started to slowly accept it. Some things were undeniable, after all. She had been voluntarily blind to all of it but it was like the breath of fresh air had opened her eyes. Never was it said out loud, though. The thought of it had not threatened her. After all, as long as her family held the power, no rumour mattered. She had been so confident that they'd keep it, as they always had. But then, Robb Stark came. And he came much stronger than expected.
Myrcella knew she and Tommen, if saved, would be proclaimed bastards for all to hear. They'd have nothing left. They'd be the lowest of the low. One day a princess, the next a bastard. The fall was enormous. At least she had the promise of Trystane and the Dornish. They couldn't possibly set her aside now? No, she'd go to Dorne, marry Trystane and bring Tommen with her. She'd convince king Robb of it. They'd be out of his hair, and he would accept it, she was sure of it.
A pound on the door grabbed Myrcella out of her thoughts. A guard came in. "We are to escort you away."
Myrcella noticed the absence of a title as he addressed her and it made her flinch. Panic arose in her chest. Don't scream, don't cry, she told herself. "Where are you taking me? And Tommen, what about Tommen?" Her voice was shaky and gave away her fear. Her dignified composure was worthless.
"We are bringing you to your new living quarters. You and your brother."
Myrcella let out a breath. "Where? Why? Who told you to do this?"
Two guards entered and each grabbed an arm. They had a rough touch. "By the king's orders."
The guards said no more and Myrcella was taken out of her cell. She saw a glimpse of Tommen a few steps ahead as well, but had a hard time seeing him because of the tall guards escorting him.
As they walked, Myrcella wondered if they'd send them away. Kick them out of the Red Keep, to live on the street like the bastards they were. Or would they be sent to live with the servants, to work in the stables or the kitchens? Myrcella hoped Robb Stark was as honourable as they said he was. At least he'll let you live, she thought. That was all she could wish for, for now.
After a while she noticed they were heading to the Red Keep. Myrcella looked down to her dress; it was absolutely disgusting. Did she have to walk into the Red Keep dressed like that? It would be total humiliation. She'd even prefer to be brought to the servants' quarters.
Myrcella tried to make herself as small as possible to make herself hard to see through the guards escorting her. Northmen were tall and broad, they'd provide the protection needed. But she only wanted protection from peering eyes and harsh whispers. The fall of the false Baratheon princess was there for all to see. She saw glimpses of the noblemen and women staring and whispering, standing on their toes in an attempt to take a good look at her. Myrcella desperately needed a bath, a meal and a good night's sleep. Her burning cheeks were so apparent she had to bite on her lip to keep down the tears as well. Instead of holding her head high, she cowered in shame in the halls she used to rule.
After only a couple of minutes walking that had felt like forever, Myrcella and her brother were led to two rooms sharing a wall, just like their cells had. Myrcella's room was bare; the walls had only a faint colour, there was no balcony behind the large windows and the bed was not far as lavishly decorated as she was used to. Her room in Sunspear had been twice as big; her room in King's Landing even more. This one looked like a chamber for minor nobles, but Myrcella was grateful to be given a room meant for nobles anyways. Considering her newfound rank, she could've gotten much worse.
The guards left the room without telling her anything. She opened the closet and saw three of her old Lannister-worthy dresses, and four rather plain ones. Myrcella was no fool; she would be mad as to dress like a princess now. She quickly picked one of the new dresses and was happy to notice the bath full of water. She undressed and as she lowered herself into the soothing water, she realized this was the first time she'd ever undressed and bathed without assistance. The first of many.
Sansa's POV
Robb looked over to the enormous burning pile of dead bodies, assembled in the largest graveyard of the city, as if he was mourning every single one of them. Both Lannister and Stark soldiers had been placed in enormous funeral pyres. When complaints about the unbearable stench in the city had reached the ears of the Red Keep, Robb had decided to add the dead commoners of King's Landing as well. An army of Silent Sisters had prepared the bodies the night and day before. Only the central graveyard was large enough for 7000 dead men, 2100 of which had been fighting for him, Northerners, knights of the Vale and men from the Riverlands, placed one on top of the other.
Robb had insisted on giving them a proper goodbye, to have 3 days of mourning for the dead of the war in King's Landing. Catelyn had been impressed by the idea, saying the people would appreciate his acknowledgement of their losses. But Robb hadn't even thought of it. He had found it the right thing to do; his people had to be given the time to lick their wounds, to mourn their dead before moving on.
The High Septon read passages from the Seven Pointed Stars before the funeral pyres started to burn. There was a big audience of commoners, calmly singing holy songs when the septas started to sing.
Robb hadn't moved there since dawn, since the first funeral pyres. Sansa had been able to sit through a couple of them, next to the king, dressed in black. Her feet were getting itchy and she stood, deciding it was time for her to go.
Robb looked up at her, seemingly tired yet determined. "You're going?"
"Yes, I believe so." Sansa smiled. "You don't have to stay until the end, you know. The people have seen you."
Robb shook his head. "I'm staying. It would be disrespectful to leave the men who won my war for me."
"Most of those bodies were enemies."
"Most of those bodies were working for the enemy. It's not the same. They just happened to be born south of the North."
Sansa took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I'll have the cooks prepare something you like."
Robb smiled gratefully. "Go, now. Mother will be waiting for you."
Do it now, Sansa, this is your window. "Actually… I thought I could visit the West Barracks, where the wounded and injured lie. It could be uplifting for the soldiers' spirits to see the princess, don't you think? I'll express our support to the Maester and healers." Sansa hoped no blush had given away her true intentions. Did it even sound believable? She had no idea.
After a while, Robb nodded. "That is a good idea. But take men with you. They'll carry you there in litter."
Sansa kissed Robb's cheek as a goodbye and departed. She was relieved he hadn't noticed her nervousness. It was time for her to find out whether or not Tobias was still alive.
Gold cloaks, Lannister, Stark and Tyrell soldiers were all being treated in the entire barrack. Weapons and armors had been moved to the East Barracks temporarily, to make place for the impromptu hospital. They were all lying on thin mattresses and field beds, while healers ran around, tending to their wounds.
After the announcement of her presence, Sansa entered with her six guards. The Grand Maester, quite offended about tending to common soldiers, rushed to her side as fast as he could.
"My princess, we have not been given time to-"
"Don't worry, Grand Maester." Sansa cut him off with a hand on his arm. "No need to prepare anything. I'm just here for a quick visit. The King is eager to know how these men are all doing."
Gracefully, Sansa walked through the narrow spaces in between the beds, trying not to make it apparent she was breathing through her mouth. The smell wasn't too bad, but unpleasant still. She smiled at the soldiers who looked at her and stopped everyone once in a while to exchange a few words and give their hand an encouraging squeeze. It was difficult for her to hate the ones that had fought against Robb, partly because they weren't in armors so it was hard to tell, and mostly because they all seemed to suffer so.
"The north remembers, m'lady. I hope we did you proud." said a man as he grabbed her wrist with his only hand. She tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice the enormous gap on his other shoulder, where his arm should have been. He was sweating and weak; she doubted he'd live through the night.
"The gods want justice," she said as she sat down on his bed, holding his hand between hers. "You brought justice to the Lannisters and I will forever be grateful for it."
The man looked pleased as ever as he slipped away in a state of unconsciousness. Sansa let go of his hand and stood up, looked around, still trying to spot that one face without making it obvious she was looking for someone.
It was when another wounded man called out for her that she saw a glimpse of a man with his hair colour and a familiar-looking stubble. She ignored the call and walked towards the bed she thought she had seen him in, in a distant corner of the room.
Sansa's heart was beating fast as she realized she'd be crushed if she was wrong. The hope she had filled her up and made her unable to think rationally. Clearly she was walking towards one single person. But seeing Tobias in that bed in the corner, surrounded by only sleeping soldiers, her heart skipped a beat and she let out a breath of relief. She sat down on the bed next to his legs and settled her hand on his slowly yet surely rising chest. When his eyes opened she pulled her hand away, in realization, and did the most proper touching she could do; holding his hand.
Tobias smiled weakly and squirted his eyes, as if she was bringing light along. "I always knew were born to be a queen."
Sansa chuckled. "Close enough," she whispered.
Tobias grunted as he tried to sit up. "I was so happy when I heard you were safe, when I heard the city had fallen."
"I thought you were dead. I've been wondering for days."
"Don't worry, I'm not that easy to kill." he said, as he took his left arm out from under the covers.
At the sight of his hand, or rather, the absence of it, an urge to laugh maniacally overtook Sansa. This is so ridiculous, she thought, as she suppressed her grin at the indisputable irony.
Tobias was eyeing Sansa, trying to read her reaction, and looked confused as ever at her smile with pinched lips.
"I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle. "It's just- oh the gods love to laugh, don't they?"
Her husband and her lover now shared a great flaw. Together, they only had two hands. It was just so absolutely ridiculous that her chuckles turned into tears. She tried to make them silent and turn her face towards the wall. She bit her lip. It's not fair, she thought. The gods are fucking cunts.
"Don't cry, Sansa. It's just a hand. Well, it hurt like a bitch, but then I got a lot of milk of the poppy to make up for it. And if it makes you feel better, I killed the bastard who did it to me. I cut of his head like it was a piece of cheese." Tobias's pathetic attempt at making it less big a deal at least made her tears stop.
"I'm so sorry…" she whispered as he brought up his hand to wipe away her tears.
"I'll live. We both will."
Just not together, she thought. Our ways will inevitably part. Sansa knew there'd never be a real future with him, at least not out in the open, but thinking he was dead at least gave them an conclusion that didn't require her to end it herself. The truth was, she didn't even know if she wanted it to end.
"You have to go, now," he said. His hand fell back into his lap as he looked away. "All good things must come to an end."
He's ending it? It came as a sudden shock to her. His eyes were hard but she refused to believe he'd suddenly stop caring. "But-" she blurted out, not thinking of what to say.
He looked at her, waiting for her reply. Tobias was distant and cold and it made her uncomfortable. She desperately wanted the old him back, the one she saw just minutes ago.
"You said you'd never let Jaime touch me."
Tobias's face revealed nothing.
"You wanted to elope."
Sansa thought she saw a flinch, but it was so fast gone she wondered if she'd imagined it.
"You killed people to protect me."
She was waiting for a smile, a sigh, anything. But he just pressed his lips together.
"You called me 'my love'." She was trying very hard not to let her voice break. "So I think you might love me a little."
Tobias looked away and it felt like a tiny victory. It was like the evidence was too clear to deny. "Half the men in King's Landing are in love with you." He sighed and added, barely above a whisper, "The other half just hasn't seen you yet."
The fact that he was making what they had so meaningless was more difficult for her to swallow than anything else he'd said. "That's not love." she replied, her voice sounding harsher and more vulnerable at the same time. That's lust, she thought. Surely you feel more for me than just mere lust, she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.
Tobias avoided her eyes and grunted, running his only hand through his hair. He looked beaten, defeated. "Why are you making this harder?"
Sansa didn't know. She should've just accepted his words and left, and it would have spared her the pain of another goodbye. She didn't know if she loved him, but she knew she cared for him. And he loved her; it was so blatantly clear she wondered why his words had made her doubt it so easily. Was she just desperate to finally hear someone say it?
"I know this whole thing was a bad idea," he said, staring at his left arm that ended in a nasty stump. "But if I could go back in time, I wouldn't do anything differently."
"I wish I could say the same. But I shouldn't have let you run off on your own, look what it cost you," she replied, gesturing towards his missing hand.
"I wasn't born to be a coward, Sansa." Tobias declared. And for one second, Sansa wondered if he valued his pride more than his hand. He looked around the room. They'd been speaking for several minutes and it was looking suspicious. "You should go. Everything has eyes is this bloody city."
She stood, suddenly aware of the many pair of eyes on them. Hoping they were just eyes and not ears. "I'll come back," she whispered as she gracefully smiled at him and curtsied, before walking away as if to her, he was just the common knight he was.