A/N: Well everyone, I'm back! Sorry it's been a while, but it's taken a while for me to want to write again. Anyway, once I did, this chapter came out surprisingly quickly, and I realised how much I'd been missing these characters and this story.
I can't promise the same regularity with my posting as I did before. I don't think it would be a good idea to push myself to such deadlines. Plus, things in my personal life have changed since I've been away (in a good way!) and I have less free time than I ordinarily would. I hope you guys can appreciate that as much as I love writing (yes, I love it again!), my real life has to come first. The way I see it is, the happier I am, the better my writing will be, at least that's the idea.
I do want to thank all of you who left such lovely messages of support. It means one hell of a lot to me. Sorry I'm not individually replying today, I'm afraid I have not the time, nor I think enough words to express how grateful I am. I just hope you know how much I appreciate it all.
Sorry it's been so long, and thank you so much for your patience.
I hope you can remember when we were up to, and that you enjoy this new chapter.
Much love!
:)
XXV: A Grudging Truce
Myrcella
Robb was tense, Myrcella could practically feel it radiating from him as he paced up and down his study. Part of her wished she had stayed in their chambers, but since Jaime's visit she had barely been able to let her husband out of her sight for more than a moment. It had been three days since the confrontation with Arya. Her good-sister had been absent since, the only assurance that she was still within the walls of Winterfell coming from the few sightings of her that the guards had reported to Robb. Lady Stark had kept mostly to her rooms as well, which only served to heighten Myrcella's guilt. Both Robb and his mother had assured her that she didn't blame her, but Myrcella was not convinced by their words.
How could she not blame her?
Myrcella settled a hand on her stomach, feeling the odd fluttering sensation of the baby. It was still odd, but undeniably thrilling, feeling the movement inside her. She thought of the baby. She thought of anyone harming the baby. Of how she would feel. What it would drive her to do in retaliation. Her hand clenched slightly around the fabric of her dress. She would rip anyone limb from limb. She would gladly see them suffer and die if they brought pain to her child. Guilt flooded her again. It was her fault. Her fault that Lady Stark had been denied justice for Bran. She bit her lip, chancing another glance at Robb.
He'd promised he didn't blame her. He still held her at night. Still kissed her. Still rested his palm on the swell of her stomach. Smiled at her. Assured her he loved her. She could feel it though. She could feel the minute distance between them that had not been there in so long. For the first time in months she could feel the issue of her family pressing a wedge between them. It hurt. It hurt more that she had no idea how to make it better again. How could she ever make it alright? How was she ever supposed to live with the burden of her mother wanting to murder her husband?
If it wasn't so serious then she would laugh. It was ridiculous. Her mother was ridiculous. It was maddening. Frustrating beyond belief. Her hand clenched harder around the fabric of her dress, her expression hardening. If her mother were here now…
"Myrcella? Are you alright? The baby?" Robb's tone was laced with ill-disguised worry, and she looked up at him. There was a trace of panic in his eyes, which seemed to dart from her face to her clenched hand. She shook her head quickly.
"The baby is fine," she promised him easily. She could feel the slight fluttering again. He visibly relaxed, and she waited for him to resume his pacing. He didn't. He remained stood in front of her, his gaze conflicted. She looked back evenly, though the intensity of his stare was almost enough to have her head bowing towards her lap.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, and she almost started, her eyes widening.
"Whatever for?" she asked him incredulously.
He opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came out as a sharp knock came at the door. Myrcella tensed, and she could see Robb's back stiffen as he turned away from her and called for the visitor to come in.
Arya came in, face like stone and eyes like steely flints. Her mouth was set in a perfect line, her jaw clenched and her lips spread thin across her face. Myrcella swallowed hard. She really was wishing she had let Robb do this alone now. Arya's eyes rested on her for a moment, and she could see the contempt all too clearly. For once she felt as though she deserved it. She should never have spoken up for Jaime. She should have let Robb do his duty. Her eyes fell to her hands, folded in her lap, as Arya's eyes moved from her to Robb.
"Well?" Arya asked icily.
"Would you sit?" Robb asked slightly stiffly.
Myrcella kept her eyes cast down, but she heard the scrape of a chair and assumed that Arya had done as Robb had asked. Hopefully that was a good sign. A sign that she was willing to sit and hear him out at least. She held her breath, hearing the slight creak of the leather of Robb's boots. She assumed him pacing again, likely trying to summon the right words. After a moment she sensed that he had stopped, and she slowly let out her breath.
"I know you're angry with me," he said quietly, and Arya snorted. "You have every right," Robb continued, "I ought to have been honest with you when you came to me that morning. I ought to have told you that I knew about the Kingslayer, and I ought to have trusted you with the true reason I allowed him to go from Winterfell."
"What is it?" Arya asked him. Her tone was harsh, but Myrcella could hear the slight tinge of worry.
"There is a plot," Robb said, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully.
"What kind of plot?" the hostility was gone from Arya's voice, replaced with suspicion now.
"A plot to end my life," he said, and she could tell he was trying to sound carefree. It was how he had been since they had discovered the truth. Myrcella knew better. She knew he was more fearful than he made himself out to be. She knew that despite his rolling eyes that he was glad of the extra guards. Glad of the searches on what few travellers passed under the gates. She knew he held his breath each time a knock came at the door, or whenever he was approached by anyone. Myrcella hated it. She missed him being carefree. Missed his easiness. Tears welled in her eyes. Gods, this was all her fault…
"By who?" Arya finally broke the long silence that had followed Robb's confession.
"Cersei Lannister," he said briskly, and Myrcella could feel Arya's eyes on her. The gaze was burning into her and eventually she could stand it no longer, raising her head to meet the eyes of her good-sister. There was something there, something she couldn't quite find the word for.
"The Kingslayer told you?" Arya's gaze flickered from her to Robb, though they kept darting back to her face now that Myrcella had raised her head.
"Yes," Robb confirmed.
"Can I speak with her alone?" Arya nodded towards Myrcella, whose eyes widened momentarily.
"Why?" Robb asked suspiciously.
"I have some things to say, and I'd rather say them privately," Arya said evenly. Robb didn't move, and Myrcella swallowed hard. "Come on, Robb," she continued, "what do you think I'm going to do? I might not like her, but she's your wife, and she's with child. I wouldn't hurt her."
"I know," Robb said quickly, "I just -"
"It's fine," Myrcella cut him off, eyes darting from him to Arya, who nodded slightly at her.
Still Robb seemed hesitant, half turning his body so he could look between her and his sister. There was a clear conflict etched in his features. Myrcella turned her gaze on him, blinking slowly at him and trying to wordlessly convey to him that she was fine with being alone with Arya. His fingers twitched slightly, and she raised her brows slightly, her eyes flickering towards the door. A ghost of a smile flittered across his features. Gods, she missed his smile. Her heart clenched with the realisation of just how much she missed it. Silently she resolved that she would bring it to his face again. She would do anything to see the slight crinkles around his eyes and the dimple in his cheek.
"I won't be far," her husband finally said, hesitating once more before he swept down to press a firm kiss to her forehead before making for the door. He looked back once he had opened it, and she nodded reassuringly for him. He looked slightly placated, but still uneasy, before he closed the door behind him. Myrcella wondered if he would stay on the other side and listen.
"He won't," Arya said, and she jumped slightly, shifting her attention to the dark haired woman.
"Won't?" Myrcella repeated questioningly.
"Listen," Arya said, and she nodded her head slowly. "I still hate that you made him let the Kingslayer go," Arya went on after a moment, and Myrcella opened her mouth to protest. "You might not have asked him," her good-sister went on, "but he did it for you, whether you will admit it or not."
"I can't deny I wanted him spared," Myrcella decided to be honest. She had the feeling that Arya would see right through her if she decided to lie. Just like Robb could always see right through her. She wasn't used to people knowing her well enough to decipher exactly what she was or was not feeling or concealing. Only Tommen had ever bothered, and she had even managed to keep her deepest despairs from him. She had to, if only to protect him, to allow him to believe that she was indeed strong enough for both of them. Her fingers curled, but she forced her nails away from her palms. Robb would interpret it wrong if she left his study with crescents pressed into her skin. He would assume Arya had upset her. She would not be the cause of any more rifts between the Starks.
"Why?" Arya asked after a long moment of just looking at her.
"He came all this way to warn us, about my mother," Myrcella shook her head, anger clenching her stomach as it always did when she thought of her mother's plan. "I didn't want him executed on my account," she went on, "he came here for me, because he is one of the few members of my family who actually care for my happiness."
Arya snorted.
"I'm not condoning what he did," Myrcella almost snapped. "I would never. But if he had not come here then we may never have known what my mother was planning. Robb wouldn't be prepared. Anyone could have come through those gates. He wouldn't be on his guard, have Grey Wind with him and mail beneath his doublet. Someone could have -"
She choked. The image of Robb lying stony and dead flashed behind her eyes. It had been all she had dreamed about since the warning had come. Him dead. In so many ways. She had had no idea that she could imagine so many ways in which he would die.
"I still don't like you," Arya said bluntly as Myrcella quickly blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. "But," she could tell the word was uttered grudgingly, "I do believe that you love my brother, and that is something we have in common."
"I do love him," Myrcella confirmed, unable to help leaning forwards slightly to show she meant it.
"Can't you do something?" Arya asked her, clear desperation in her eyes and in her voice.
"Do you know how many times I have written to her?" Myrcella almost laughed at the ridiculous assumption that she could exercise any kind of control over her mother. "How many times I have told her how happy I am here with Robb, with…with all of you…" she tailed off, shaking her head slightly. "She won't have it," Myrcella met Arya's eyes and held them. "She believes Robb mistreats me, and nothing I have written has convinced her otherwise."
Arya made a frustrated noise, and Myrcella smiled wryly.
"The real truth is, this isn't about me," Myrcella shook her head sadly. "She may have told Jaime that, she may even have told herself that she is doing this for me, but she isn't. This is revenge. She never wanted this truce. She wanted Robb finished and the North back under Tommen's control. The pact my grandfather made was something she was whole-heartedly against. I can't make her see sense, Arya, because she wants Robb dead. If that means I lose the man I love…" she shrugged, "then so be it. My happiness means nothing to her, it never has. I used to delude myself into thinking it did, but Tommen and I were never supposed to amount to anything, you see?"
Arya looked faintly disgusted.
"I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me," Myrcella said quickly. "I'm just trying to make you understand that there is nothing I can do to make this go away. If there was, believe me, I would have done it already. Do you really think I want my baby being born into this?"
"No," Arya said quietly, looking uneasy.
"I don't blame you for not liking me," she laughed shakily, "I wouldn't like me either."
"You're not that bad," Arya muttered, not looking at her.
"High praise indeed," Myrcella said quietly, and the corner of Arya's mouth twitched slightly.
"I didn't want things to change," Arya suddenly blurted out, and Myrcella raised her brows. Arya's cheeks were slightly flushed, and she seemed unable to look at her. "I always knew you would come eventually," her good-sister went on after a moment. "But I never wanted things to change. We somehow managed to find some kind of happiness when all the wars were finally done. I didn't want you to come along and spoil it."
"I can understand that," Myrcella said quietly. Arya's words had stung slightly, but despite that she appreciated the honesty. Appreciated the fact that Arya had dropped her guard. Let it slip down and actually told Myrcella something real. She could sense the vulnerability from the other woman, and she knew just how that felt.
"I didn't like it," Arya continued in a rush, as though she had been dying to say this for a long time. "I didn't like it when I saw Robb starting to like you. I didn't like that he was allowing you to become part of our family. I didn't want anyone else to become part of our family. I know it's stupid," she shook her head, "Robb's king, he needs an heir. The Stark line needs to go on like it always has, but -"
"But you wanted it to be just you for that little bit longer?" Myrcella suggested quietly as Arya struggled to continue. The other woman nodded her head briskly, and Myrcella could see her eyes shining. "I didn't want to come so soon," Myrcella dropped her gaze as Arya moved her hand to her eyes. She sensed that Arya wouldn't want her to see her crying. "I wanted to stay with Tommen a little longer, but I had to come, I had no choice. And now…well, now I am glad I did."
"Robb deserves to be happy," Arya mumbled thickly. Myrcella kept her gaze away, focusing on her folded hands. "I still think he would have been better off with a proper, northern woman who knows how to wield a sword and shoot a bow," she continued, her voice sounding more normal again, and Myrcella couldn't help but laugh. "But then…" Arya clearly took a deep breath, "I suppose if it wasn't you it would have been a Frey girl, and I don't suppose any of them know anything about swords and bows either."
"Perhaps not," Myrcella said quietly, chancing a glance at her good-sister.
"If I ever get the chance, I will kill your mother," Arya told her, meeting her eyes determinedly. Myrcella nodded her head slowly, keeping eye contact. Arya mimicked her movement, and for perhaps the first time, true understanding passed between the two women. Myrcella could have sworn she saw a grudging respect in Arya's eyes.
"I know," she finally said quietly. "I understand."
Myrcella and Robb walked in silence back to their chambers. He had come back to his study not long after she and Arya had reached their understanding. His piercing gaze had glanced between the pair of them until Arya had finally cracked. She had told him she understood why he had let Jaime go, and warned him to watch his back, promising that she would be keeping her own eyes on him. They had embraced then, and Myrcella had taken a relieved breath. After that Arya had made her excuses to leave, and soon after Robb had offered Myrcella his hand so they too could leave. Grey Wind's claws clacked behind them as they made their way to their chambers, and Myrcella concentrated on breathing evenly as Robb held onto her hand just a little bit too tightly.
As soon as they entered their chambers he closed the door firmly behind them and gathered Myrcella up in his arms. She clung to him, closing her eyes as she buried herself in his chest. He may not have been lax in showing his affection towards her, but this was the first time since Jaime had come that his embrace felt truly real. It was almost enough to have tears spilling from her eyes, but she forced them back, digging her fingertips into his doublet. She could feel the hardness beneath, knowing that is was the mail he wore under his clothes. For some reason it made her cling even more tightly to him. One of his own hands came up to clench around her hair near the base of her neck. It almost felt like he would never let go, but Myrcella would be happy to remain in his embrace for as long as he wanted her.
His lips came to press to her temple after several long moments, and she couldn't help but exhale in satisfied relief. "I'm sorry," his lips fluttered against her skin, and she shuddered slightly at his warm breath against her.
"What for?" she whispered back. She could not imagine what he could possibly be sorry for. It ought to be her apologising. She had done, several times, though he had continually told her not to. As far as she was concerned he had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.
"I've been different," he pulled back from her slightly so he could look down into her eyes. "Don't deny it, I know you've felt it," he said, keenly guessing that she was about to protest. "I have no excuse," he continued, shaking his head, "only that I have been worrying myself sick thinking about the best way to keep you all safe."
"You should be concerned about yourself," Myrcella insisted, digging her fingers into his back again. "It's you who is in danger, though I wish with everything that I have that it was not so."
"You need to stop blaming yourself," Robb said knowingly.
"She's my mother," Myrcella said tiredly, not seeing the point of denying his astute presumption.
"And she'd want me dead even if she wasn't," he smiled wryly, and she snorted slightly.
"You might be right there," she said grudgingly, and a smile twitched at his lips.
"I refuse to live in fear," he said after a long moment of quiet, and she quirked her head to one side questioningly. "I want to continue being happy," he explained, "I want to worry about nothing more than keeping us warm this winter, and this." He slipped one hand down to rest on her expanding stomach, and she smiled softly at him.
"I thought you kept telling me not to worry about this," she said teasingly, moving to rest her hand on top of his.
"You know what I mean," he said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. She grinned, and a moment later his own face cracked into a smile. His eyes lit up, the creases appearing and the dimple showing through the bristles of his beard. It was all she could do not to burst into tears on seeing it. Knowing he was still able to smile at her like that made it feel like a huge weight had been lifted from her heart. She truly believed it then. Truly believed that he really didn't blame her for this.
"Thank you," she whispered, before she could stop herself. He frowned in response.
"What for?" he questioned her, and she shook her head, smiling again.
"Just…" she couldn't find the words, "just, thank you."
He met her eyes and didn't look away. She wondered if he perhaps understood what she had been unable to explain to him. His lips quirked up on one side, and she liked to imagine that maybe he did. His thumb rubbed against the swell of her stomach, and in the next moment he bent his head to brush his lips with hers. When he made to move back she involuntarily moved with him. He understood her movement, an almost wolfish grin adorning his features before he moved closer to her again and captured her lips properly.
His kiss was wonderfully real. It had only been days but it felt like several lifetimes since he had last kissed her like this. She didn't feel any distraction or distance in the way his lips worked with hers. She only felt the heady bliss and the familiar desire knotting her stomach. There was nothing false about this kiss, and she clung to that knowledge as tightly as she clung to her husband.
When he finally broke the kiss she was breathless, her heart beating seemingly twice as quickly against her ribcage. He smiled again, his lips a mere inch from hers. "I love you," he breathed, and again, the warmth of his words against her made her shudder in delight.
"I love you," she returned easily, firmly, wanting him to know just how much she meant it. She couldn't have Robb doubt her. For the first time she understood his desperate need for her to understand that he was being honest. She felt it now. Felt that need for him to know that the words that came from her were all truth. He had to know now more than ever before that she would never lie to him.
"I know," he whispered reassuringly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before enveloping her in an embrace again, his cheek resting against the top of her head.
After what could have been hours he finally released her, she made no protest as he encouraged her into one of the armchairs by the fire. He took the one opposite, the light dancing in the blue of his eyes, which were fixed almost quizzically on her. Myrcella could tell he wanted to ask her something, but she didn't press him, instead settling back into the comfort of the chair, her hands coming to settle on her stomach.
"Arya didn't upset you, did she?" he finally asked, and she could see the worry in his expression.
"No," she assured him easily, smiling at him. He looked faintly placated, but she knew he wasn't finished.
"She's not planning on doing anything stupid, is she?" Robb asked next, and she shook her head.
"Of course not," she said. It was the truth, at least, as far as she knew. Arya may have promised to kill her mother should she get the chance, but Myrcella highly doubted that she would ever get that chance. It was highly unlikely that her mother would ever lower herself to visit Winterfell ever again, and Myrcella thought it just as unlikely that Robb would ever take any of his family to the Capitol. Myrcella smiled again, and she heard Robb exhale as he relaxed back into his own chair.
"Good," he said, clear relief dripping from that simple word.
"Robb?" she asked tentatively after a long moment of watching him gazing intently towards the flames.
"Hmm?" he turned his head towards her expectantly.
"What you said before, about us being expected in the Capitol once spring arrives. We won't still be going, will we?" she asked him, praying the answer would be no. As desperate as she was to see Tommen again, the thought of Robb being anywhere near her mother filled her with a horrible, heavy sense of dread.
"It's like I said, we'll be expected," Robb said gently.
"But -," she started, but he hushed her.
"Don't think of it now," he soothed, though the nagging worry in the pit of her stomach refused to abate. "This winter could last for many months yet, years even, and we won't be even thinking of going anywhere until our baby is born."
The baby! Myrcella sensed a glimmer of hope. Her heart beating more quickly than usual, she tried to choose the right words. "Is it wise?" she asked Robb, her eyes wide. "To travel with such a young baby? What if something were to happen?"
Robb eyed her for a moment, and she swallowed hard. Judging from the look on his face he knew exactly what the motivation behind her words was. He didn't confront her on it though, merely shook his head, smiling slightly. "As I said, we do not have to think on it just yet," he said calmly, though Myrcella recognised well enough that the conversation was over. For now, at least.
"Very well," she agreed with him, keeping her eyes on him as he turned his own back to the fire.
"You know I would never risk you, or the baby," Robb said, his eyes not moving from the flames.
"I know," Myrcella agreed. "But you know it's not me and the baby I am worried about."
He said nothing, but his hand reached out across the gap between them. She moved her own hand to meet his, and he laced his fingers firmly with hers. Myrcella squeezed his hand, and he returned the pressure. She determined then, for the thousandth time, that she would not allow anything to happen to him. She never wanted to feel that hand cold and heavy and unmoving against her own.
She would not let her mother win.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! The next one will be up when it's ready, but I hope it won't be long!
:)
