Chapter 54: In Decision

Sansa, Arya and Jeyne were among those gathered to see off the Bolton party, finding their way to Domeric. They thanked him for helping them escape King's Landing and return North, but he brushed if off as he always did.

Once they stepped aside, waiting to watch them ride off, Sansa noticed Davos Seaworth making his way toward Domeric with Robb. While her brother spoke with Domeric, Davos moved to his son Devan, a skinny, square faced boy with thin brown hair. After a few words the two hugged, and once they were apart Sansa noticed Devan's eyes shift toward the ramparts where Melisandre stood. Sansa couldn't tell if Devan longed for her or feared the red priestess, but either way his gaze lingered on her even once he mounted his horse.

Robb shared a quick hug with Domeric, both of them seeming to speak and nod slightly before they separated. Once Domeric was in the saddle of his crimson destrier and started to follow his father through Winterfell's gates he cast a quick glance back to the courtyard, a slight smile touching his lips as he looked to her and her siblings. Sansa spared a quick wave which he answered with a nod before turning away, letting her gaze shift from the stallion's red fur to the burnished copper hair of Melisandre watching the men ride to the horizon.

Domeric's words echoed in Sansa's mind as they went to sup that night. Before they left for King's Landing Sansa never would have thought she could feel envious of Arya, but she did every time she saw her sister sparring with her brother and his guard. They were the only ones her mother trusted enough beyond Syrio, or so she said. Even her father practiced with Arya. Her sister knew what she wanted but still Sansa felt unsettled. Her time at King's Landing forever scarred the few dreams she had.

She spent most of the evening speaking with Jeyne as usual, but perked up slightly when she heard one of the men near the high table mention 'the bastard Jon Snow'. She did her best to not make her attention obvious while straining her ears to pick up his tale heard from one of the Bolton men of Jon's battle with the Mountain. The people around him were enraptured as he spoke of Jon suggesting he give up lest the gods curse him when Jon stabbed his heart, then moments later had stabbed through his visor.

It was as if the room grew quiet and she was not the only one listening to the man continue, telling how the blinded Gregor Clegane threw aside his shield when Jon taunted him, saying he suggested he face Ghost instead, but then remembered the direwolf had already bested the Mountain at Mummer's Ford. She felt her heart thump in her chest as he spoke of Jon dodging the Mountain's strikes while landing his own on the giant man's helm again and again before thrusting his shield into the ground and demanding he speak his crimes.

Sansa and half the hall were enraptured as the knight spoke of Jon telling the court Gregor had raped Elia Martell and killed her children, telling Gregor to beg forgiveness and thank the gods he faced a wolf of the North rather than burn to the dragons of the east. That had shocked more than a few people, including her mother. Sansa looked to her family and found Arya clutching the table, her gaze glassy while Robb wore a grin and her father's smile was full of pride. It was her mother who gaped as if finally realizing perhaps she was wrong to disbelieve Robb's assurance that Jon's disloyalty was an act.

"The fool threatened not only the bastard but our lord's daughters," the man said shaking his head grimly, "and Jon told him 'May the Lord of Light use your sin to fuel his flames."

Sansa's gaze shifted to Melisandre and saw her eyes flicker, surprise coloring the red priestess' features. Her interest grew as the knight spoke of Jon toppling the Mountain, and even when kicked by Clegane used it to run in and stab a dagger through his visor again, demanding the screaming man confess to his crimes. That was when the Mountain reached toward Tywin and begged for help, so Jon told Clegane the gods would judge his deeds and leapt to force his sword through Clegane's breastplate.

"And when he pierced the mountains heart, the blade itself ignited as if scorched by the Mountain's sin," the knight told those around him. "They only faded when he tore the blade from Clegane's heart."

"That must be lies," said an older knight.

A younger one beside the storyteller shook his head. "Four others all said the same thing. The moment he pierced his heart the blade was a flame."

Sansa glanced to Melisandre and found the red priestess's gaze lowered to her plate with a thoughtful expression. Beyond her however she noticed more than a few of the Baratheon lords and knights speaking in hushed whispers, some looking confused while others seemed almost panicked or afraid. Her own family looked shocked by the tale, though she caught Robb and her father sharing a somber look.

It was Rickon who leaned forward to ask, "Is Jon magic?"

When they finished their meals she was surprised to see Robb rise from his seat, going to her mother and sister, telling them he needed to see them in the Lord's solar. "Is something wrong?" Sansa asked turning to him.

Robb shook his head. "No. It's good news. I just want you all to hear it from me first."

Watching him leave the hall, she noticed him nod toward Dacey, who started speaking with her family as well. Catelyn rose first, taking Rickon's hand to lead him from the hall before motioning for Sansa and Arya to join them.

They arrived at the solar and found Robb pouring himself a cup of wine, stopping to motion toward the couches. "Please take a seat."

Catelyn frowned, sharing her daughters' confusion, but they did as he asked. Watching him seem to prepare himself Catelyn asked, "What did you think of that knight's tale?"

Surprised by the question, Robb shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sure some of it was exaggerated but I don't doubt Jon slew the Mountain."

"Do you think he truly said those things?" Catelyn clarified, "That he truly still thinks himself a wolf of the North?"

Robb laughed, though Sansa noted a hint of relief as he smiled to his mother. "I think so. You know his disloyalty an act. He helped father return to us."

"And then slew Stannis, saving the Lannisters," Catelyn said shaking her head. "He helped Tyrion."

"An innocent man," said Robb.

"If he is still loyal to us then what has he done to aide us?"

"His fellowship-"

"Act on their own," Catelyn said before he could finish. "Why hasn't he slain Cersei or written to tell us their plans, or-"

"He has written us," Robb said in frustration.

Arya gasped, leaping to her feet. "He has?"

Robb winced, glancing to the door as he held a finger to his mouth. "Yes. He has."

"What did he say?" asked Arya. "Is he okay? Did he really beat the Mountain?"

"He's fine," Robb assured, "but what he wrote doesn't concern you and isn't why I've brought you here. There's something I've kept from you all for a time, but I think you need to know. I want you to know the truth from me before you hear rumors from another."

"Is this to tell us you're… courting Dacey Mormont?" Catelyn asked dubiously while Arya and Sansa gasped in surprise.

Robb looked guilty. "You knew?"

A prideful smile took her lips as Catelyn nodded. "A mother always knows."

"Well, I thought I should tell you all that Dacey's pregnant."

It was Sansa's turn to leap from her seat. "You're going to be a father? I'll be an aunt?"

Chuckling, Robb avoided answering, turning his attention to Catelyn. He was clearly surprise to see her well up before standing and hurrying over to hug him. A second later they followed example and Robb was chuckling as he tried to get his arms around them all.

Once they parted, Catelyn beamed as she began, "We can have you wed before you leave and she can stay here when you ride out. I can-"

"We're not getting married," Robb said trying to cut her off before she got carried away, apparently knocking the air from her lungs as she turned to him.

"What?"

"We don't want to wed." Robb sighed. "I won't give up my place here nor she her place in Bear Island."

"Robb," Catelyn said in a broken whisper, "your child… he'll be-"

"A Mormont," he said, clearly anticipating her. With a flicker of agitation he said firmly, "They'll be a Mormont, raised by their mother and knowing their father a wolf."

"Will we get to see them?" asked a frowning Arya.

"Of course. Dacey and I agree they should know both of us, but they'll be of her line."

"She has other sisters who can take her place as Lady of Bear Island," Catelyn argued, her glassy eyes trembling with her voice.

"And it's her duty," said Robb, "much like it's mine to rule Winterfell, not Bran or Rickon. So long as I live I will be Lord of Winterfell."

Sansa blinked in confusion. "Can you be a king and a lord?"

For a split second Robb seemed annoyed by the question, as if she'd asked something he didn't want her to, but it was quickly washed away by amusement as he looked to Sansa. "Why not?"

"When will the baby be here?" Rickon asked, confused by everything.

Kneeling to his brother, Robb shook his head. "I'm not sure, but it will be a few months. Right now he's too small, so we'll have to wait until he grows a bit more before he can come see us."

Rickon's gaze narrowed slightly asking, "Would I be his uncle?"

"You would."

Leaning closer to his elder brother, Rickon asked with a frown, "Do I have to go to the Wall too?"

Robb quickly shook his head, reaching over to ruffle Rickon's hair. "Not at all. I want you here to protect them whenever they visit."

"What's his name?"

"I haven't decided yet," said Robb, "but for now we can't tell anyone about them yet, okay?"

Rickon nodded as if trying to dislodge his head. "I won't say anything."

After hugging Robb again they were sent to bed, Sansa helping Rickon, who spent the time whispering about how he wanted to play with the baby. Once she made her way to her room Sansa found she couldn't sleep. As happy as she was for Robb she felt frustration whenever she thought of the knight's tale at supper.

How had the glowering boy she remembered become not only the one she saw be knighted after winning a tourney, but a lord who defeated the Mountain. Jon Snow was supposed to be a bastard. He would be lucky to become the master-at-arms for northern house, and yet somehow he had become a southron lord who no doubt would have songs sung about his deeds if he didn't already.

The question lingered even when she woke and went about her daily duties, eventually making her way to the yard where she found a large group training. Robb's guards were paired off while Robb and her father helped Edric Baratheon wield a war hammer and Arya was off to the side dodging strikes from Syrio's wooden sword. Even Rickon was busy playing with Shaggydog while their mother was checking the stores and Jeyne was visiting the sept, leaving Sansa with no one. It felt like Sansa was alone more often ever since their return to Winterfell. Unlike the others, even her direwolf had been taken from her.

Sansa's hands were pressed against the fence when she heard footsteps to her right and turned to see Melisandre towering over her, a crimson dress clinging to her flesh much like the red gold choker across her neck, its ruby shimmering in the sun. "Are you enjoying your afternoon, Lady Sansa?"

It took her a moment to nod. "Yes. Yourself, Lady Melisandre?"

The red priestess looked to the men training. "I'm well. The king is skilled. Is it true he trained only under Winterfell's Master-At-Arms?"

"Ser Rodrik," Sansa answered with a nod, motioning to the stout knight stood off to the side working with some of the younger boys.

"Then he would have trained your other brother as well."

Sansa shook her head. "Bran and Rickon are too young."

A slight smile took her lips as Melisandre said, "I had meant your bastard brother."

Sansa winced, looking to the ground. "Oh. Well, yes, but he left years ago to train in King's Landing."

"And now he is slaying kings and Mountains," Melisandre said with amusement. "I wasn't at the battle of the Blackwater, but those who were say he was skilled and fearless. Is that how you knew him to be?"

Sansa glanced at the red priestess, taking a moment to think before shaking her head. "I don't know that I knew him well at all. Not here at least. I-I made an effort to not concern myself with him while I was in Winterfell… but he wrote to me.

"He told me of King's Landing. He told me the truth of it before I would ever accept it. He told me of Joffrey's nature and all I cared to hear about was the dinner with royals and lords. When they killed Lady, my direwolf, he let me sit with his direwolf, Ghost whenever I wanted. He didn't make fun of me for crying like Arya might." Blinking to stop her eyes stinging, Sansa concluded, "I treated him like a bastard but he only ever treated me as a sister instead of the fool I was."

"I doubt you're a fool," Melisandre said kindly. "You seem quite the lady in the making."

Sansa looked to the red priestess. "Thank you, Lady Melisandre. When I heard the Baratheons would bring a red priestess with them I hadn't expected… Well, the last I saw was Thoros of Myr, and he was quite different than you."

"Is that so?" Melisandre snickered. "I've heard of him. It seems he stands with your brother, the bastard one at least. Perhaps the Lord of Light will let Thoros guide your brother back to your family."

"Maybe," Sansa said quickly avoiding eye contact, as if Melisandre's gaze would let her see their secret. After a breath, she asked, "If I may, My Lady, how did you come to follow the Lord of Light? Is it common for those of Asshai to follow him?"

Melisandre's smile revealed her pleasant surprise as she turned to face Sansa. "Certainly more common than here. There are red temples all across Essos. I was brought to one and found my place among them." Her somber tone turned curious as asked, "Do you perhaps wish to learn more of R'hllor?"

Sansa nervously shook her head. "I follow the Seven."

"Do you?" Melisandre's voice held doubt as she continued, "Or were you raised to follow them?" When the girl frowned, the red priestess said, "Many find their way to the Lord of Light from the Seven."

Sansa shook her head. "I don't mean to abandon the Seven."

Seeing Sansa's wariness, Melisandre smiled. "Knowledge of other faiths harms only the ignorant. In Asshai no practice is forbidden. Many study under each god to find which they will follow, or simply to expand their perspective before returning to their old gods."

"Have you done that?" asked Sansa. "Studied other faiths."

"I've studied many things in my years," answered Melisandre. "Gods, sorcery, history, and all have led me back to the Lord of Light."

"Sorcery?" Sansa gasped, then asked quietly, "What kind?"

The woman seemed to examine her a moment before answering quietly. "I've learned ways to wield the Lord of Light's flames and known some who twist the shadows he cast. I've seen those who could weave streams as a seamstress does thread or even raise walls of water rivaling those around Winterfell. I've known those who could control the air itself and change the sky as they pleased while others could do the same for themselves and alter how the world saw them."

Sansa stood enraptured by the things she must have seen. "Are such things common in Essos?"

Melisandre shook her head. "It isn't so easy. Many believe magic in their bloods because their ancestors claimed such gifts, yet find they can do nothing while a slave with muddled blood can enter the dreams of a lord across the world. However such grand feats are no easy task and require study to master. Few are willing to dedicate their lives to something they have no way to know is even possible for them. So even those who can rarely take the chance."

"How can such things be possible?" Sansa said sullenly. "It seems the only magic here comes from Old Nan's tales."

"I have noticed that," Melisandre said with a contemplative nod. "To the south I've only heard of the Alchemist Guild, but here in the North I know you've tales of skinchangers and greenseers from before the Wall was built to hold off evil beyond measure. It seems as if sometime after such things faded from here. Some who have since turned to the Lord of Light believe it was the Andals bringing the Seven to Westeros which stole the possibility from the hearts of men."

"Do you truly think such a thing possible?"

"I believe anything is possible should the Lord of Light deem it so," Melisandre said solemnly. "I know you have faith in the Seven, but if you truly belong with them then I doubt much could sway your heart, so there is little harm in learning more. Or so I believe." With a smile Melisandre held her skirt to depart as she concluded, "But if you've doubts then know there is always a place for you in the warmth of R'hllor to learn and grow."

Sansa watched Melisandre turn to leave, then glanced back to the training yard where Arya had her hands behind her back as Robb swung a blunted sword at her. She watched as Arya's petite body gracefully danced around his strikes before he moved in close and swung at her. It was too close for her to avoid even if she leapt back, but Sansa watched as her sister kept her hands behind her back while rolling her body to handlessly cartwheel over his blade, which passed beneath the crown of her arming cap.

The moment she landed, Arya gasped and threw her hands in the air while Robb cheered and pulled her off the ground in a hug. Even their father wore a grin painted with pride while the others clapped and Syrio gave an approving nod and Rickon cheered for her.

As she felt a knot in her stomach, Sansa decided to break it and spun around to follow the red priestess.

After so long in King's Landing and Dorne, Myrcella found waking to two towers full of birds singing a pleasant change of pace. She noticed a few of the locals grouse at the birds waking them, but most had grown used to it and it was a novelty to her.

She and Sam had decided to stay in Nightsong for at least a sennight to think over what they would do next. In truth it was her who needed to think, Sam having given her the options he knew of and made clear he would do whatever she wished.

The obvious answer was to return to King's Landing. She would be with her family, but she would be with her family. As much as she wanted to be there for Tommen she knew she wouldn't be allowed to stay there. She would have to leave, whether it be sent back to Dorne or wed to another lord. At best she would be sent to Casterly Rock to keep her safe, but still unable to help Tommen.

But beyond Tommen, what did she have in King's Landing? Her handmaidens had all been older than her, her cousin being her first real friend apart from Jon, Sam, Loras and Domeric. She felt real with them, not the pawn she was to many others.

Her time with Sam in Dorne had proven as much, at least for him. She had put his life on the line to get her to freedom and safety, but even before that he spoke to her with respect few showed her. Many were reverent of her as a princess, but so many thought her simple minded so spoke down to her. None in Jon's group had treated her like that. They didn't treat her like a glass doll, they discussed books they'd read, teased her and shared jokes, spoken sincerely. To them at least she was more than a princess.

However she didn't think it wise to go North. As nice as it might be to have Domeric's help she didn't see how she would avoid becoming a hostage. Unlike most of the realm the Starks would recognize her and she would once again become a pawn.

It seemed as if all roads led to King's Landing. If not Domeric's help they could seek Loras', but he was in King's Landing. If she fled to Casterly Rock or other Lannisters she knew they would tell her mother where she was and be sent to King's Landing.

While Nightsong felt safe, it also felt as if she was trapped there. Heading north meant going through the Stormlands where half the families would be against her, risking being recognized and forced to play her part, chancing bandits through lands at war, or becoming a hostage, and yet going south would risk her being taken back to the place she had escaped.

It kept Myrcella up at night as she tried to think of what to do, leaving her exhausted throughout the day. Eventually every time she tried to think of what she should do she ended up with her stomach twisted in knots. She wished Sam would have been more of a help but he shared her uncertainty, noting how there seemed to be no safe places anymore.

A fortnight after their arrival that Maester Elmar approached Sam and Myrcella, who were sat with Seban Cartwell and his wife Sharley, who served in the kitchens. The man wore a somber expression as he came to a stop beside their table, holding out a small letter. "My lord, I was told to give you any letters address to 'My dear friends' should you be here."

Sam's eyes widened, carefully taking the letter. "Thank you." Sam glanced at it's contents and frowned. He found Myrcella giving him a questioning look as he turned to Seban and Sharley. "If you would please excuse us."

Myrcella joined him in getting up, though she stopped to curtsy to the pair. "Thank you for letting us join you again."

"Of course, dear," Sharley said with a wave of her hand. "I hope all is well."

Following Sam through the corridors, they returned to his chamber before Sam once again unrolled the scroll to read it as she asked, "Who is it from?"

"Your uncle, Tyrion," Sam said taking his time to read it over, not only to make sure he understood what they were saying but to make sure there wasn't some code he was missing.

Seeing his frown deepen as he read, Myrcella asked, "What does it say?" When he glanced to her and hesitated to answer, Myrcella felt a flare of agitation, stepped forward and yanked it from his hand. She quickly stepped away, turning from him to read it and ignore his muttering protest.

'My dear friends, we will be altering our plans for a time. We arrived in Sunspear and learned Gerold Dayne had slain Arys Oakheart and attacked Princess Myrcella. She was injured but lives, so we will take her to King's Landing with Oberyn's daughters. Should you need anything, we should reach Blackwater Bay within a month at the latest.'

The knot in her stomach returned as she read her uncle's words, thankful she had walked toward a chair so she could grab it and sit before her trembling legs collapsed. The letter slipped from her fingers as they rose to cover her mouth, a shaky breath filling her lungs when she looked to Sam. "It's my fault."

"No it isn't, Princess," Sam said hurrying over to her side, a hint of panic in his voice. "You can't believe that. If it's true then the only one to blame would be Gerold Dayne."

"If I hadn't made her switch places with me," she began.

"Then you may have died where she was only injured," Sam offered, frowning as he sank into the seat beside her.

"And Ser Arys," Myrcella put her face in her hands to hide the shame she felt as tears burned her eyes. "I thought-I thought such awful things of him. I thought he had betrayed me, that he might even harm me, but he's…"

Sam nodded sympathetically. "There were plenty of times he chose to take Arianne to bed rather than do his duty and watch over you. Any would doubt him, Your Grace. I think it better to see that at least at the end it seems he had not forgotten his duty as he had before."

"And what of Rosamund?" She raised her head and Sam frowned seeing her eyes puffed red. "What if it was because we switched places? If they found out-"

"Then he wouldn't have wrote that Myrcella had been attacked," Sam said pointing to the letter. "Whatever happened wasn't because you switched places. You're not the one at fault here. If this is true then Gerold Dayne is to blame."

"What do you mean if it's true?" Myrcella sniffed and wiped her cheek. "You think it a lie or some trick?"

"No, I don't think so," Sam said with a sigh. "I mean only that we don't know what happened, and even they might not know the truth. No doubt Princess Arianne will be desperate to cover up her plan to take you from Sunspear. For all we know she has blamed Dayne for her own failure, or they put the blame on him to hide the hand of another house. Only those involved will know the truth of it."

Sitting up, Myrcella took a breath and steeled herself before turning to face Sam. "Then let us ask her."

"Forgive me, Princess, but-"

"We'll return to King's Landing," she said rising from her seat. "If my uncle and Jon will be there then so will we."

"What of-"

"We'll stay in Flea Bottom, hide ourselves and find a way to contact him."

"Your Grace, if someone recognizes you-"

"I'll tell them you helped me escape after suspecting an attack and we were reluctant to reach out until we were certain there was no one from Dorne who would try to succeed where Gerold Dayne failed. However I think it should be simple enough for us to blend in among the masses of Flea Bottom." She concluded with a bitter edge, "None know my face well enough."

She had switched places with Rosamund enough to know how few people actually paid attention to her. The few who might recognize her face would have forgotten the details in the time she had been away, and she would make sure to keep her distance from the Red Keep. They could pay an urchin to get a message to Jon and Tyrion.

It wasn't the best idea, she wouldn't fool herself into thinking it was, but at least she made the choice. If all roads would lead her to King's Landing then she would go on her own terms knowing she would have people she could trust there to help her. It also didn't hurt knowing they could always escape aboard one of Jon's ships.

Sam nodded, looking up to the younger girl with a smile. "If that is what you wish."

"It is," she said with a firm nod. "We should try to time our arrival close to theirs, which will mean leaving fairly soon."

"It may be longer if we avoid the kingsroad," Sam noted.

Myrcella swiftly shook her head. "If we're to fool the people of Flea Bottom we can fool those on the way there."

Her firm tone surprised Sam, who nodded. "Then I'll have the cart and horses prepared by midday tomorrow."

Myrcella was tempted to tell him not to rush himself, but it would take near a month to return to King's Landing and she didn't want to risk missing Jon and Tyrion as they had in Nightsong. Instead she bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Sam."

After they said their farewells Myrcella and Sam rode from Nightsong, a somber smile touching her lips as she looked back to the shrinking towers when she heard the distant noon bells ring.

Having spent the night before thinking over what might come of this all she considered letting Rosamund go on as her. Myrcella's guilt made her want to give Rosamund all she could in hopes of making things up to her, so could let her live a pampered life as a princess while she returned to Nightsong. She could spend her days in the kitchen with Sharley, away from the game of thrones, and could be there to welcome Jon and his men home whenever he came ashore. It would be hard but she at that moment she felt she would be lucky to have such a life, not only because it would mean she could be with Jon but because a servants life was more than she deserved for letting her cousin get injured for her sake.

If things did end with her revealing herself and once again becoming a princess she would make sure her cousin wed a handsome lord who cared for her. Any who spoke ill of her wounds would find it folly to speak poorly of a lioness and her pride.

It was only as dusk settled into evening and they found a place to settle for the night that Myrcella grew annoyed with how her smallclothes stuck to her so excused herself while Sam prepared a fire. Sam nodded and turned in the opposite direction as he always did despite her walking well out of sight before lifting her skirt.

Myrcella felt her stomach drop as she lowered her smallclothes and saw a burgundy stain along the middle. She was frozen for a moment, flushed with embarrassment and dread. Not only had she not prepared for this, but now that she had flowered there would be no easy excuse to have a lord wait to marry her. She felt tears prick her eyes but quickly blinked them away and shook her head, taking a breath to calm herself as she pulled them back up and fixed her skirt.

Samwell looked up from the fire he's started with a flicker of relief upon seeing the rustling he heard we her return. He'd been jumpy every night since they left Dorne, anticipating some attack that thankfully hadn't come.

"I've enough goods to last us through the Stormlands at least," he assured, holding up a bag.

Myrcella offered a smile, then looked to the cart as she stood beside the fire. "Sam, did you pack any extra rags?"

"I've a few so we can bath," he said dubiously. "Did you want to bath? I'd suggest waiting until it's warmer. We can stop whenever you-"

"No, no," she said shaking her hands. Taking a moment to think she glanced down, frowning when she looked at her skirt before sighing and looking to Sam. "Could I… borrow your dagger?"

Sam shook his head, quickly rising to his feet. "Whatever you need I can manage, your Grace. I couldn't let you hurt yourself by accident. What do you need it for?"

Myrcella held in a growl of frustration, wondering why Sam couldn't just let this be easy, not that it even was. "I want to cut one of my dresses into rags."

Sam's brow knit, shaking his head in confusion. "Why would you want to-" He stopped himself, seeming to piece together why she might ruin a dress to make rags she suddenly needed. His plump cheeks turned bright pink as his eyes widened and he nodded, "I see. It's okay, Your Grace. Are you okay? I-My sister, Talla, she-" He sighed, walking toward the cart, "Just relax. Sit and give me a moment, please."

Myrcella flushed seeing him realize her problem, watching him dig through the cart before leaping off a moment later and returning to the fireside. Setting down a small box as he sat pulling a gambeson across his knees. After looking it over he began to cut the padded cloth into strips, making her eyes widen. "Sam, you need not ruin that! One of my dresses would be more than enough. You may need that for protection."

"I've others," Sam said smiling as he continued to cut his gambeson. "Besides, this one no longer fits me. I only brought it so I might hide my mail shirt beneath it should we go somewhere armor might stand out."

Myrcella still felt bad about his ruining his own gambeson, but smiled as she realized how much he had changed since she first met him. Not only was he braver than she'd thought him in King's Landing, but the Dornish sun had caused his belly to shrink some while his arms had seemed to grow. He was still large, yet seemed now more a bear or boar than a pig.

When he was finished he set the strips down beside him and opened the box he brought, revealing a set of needles and thread. Watching him begin to sew the edges of the strips he cut to keep the padding in, Myrcella gasped and moved closer. "I can help!"

Sam pushed the sewing kit to her. "At least they won't all be awful."

"I doubt I'll prove much finer," she said with a laugh as she threaded a needle and stitched an edge. "Sansa was much better with a needle than I."

"I feel that too high a bar even for a seamstress," Sam said with a laugh. "It might be like comparing my skill with a sword to Ser Jaime or Garlan or Jon."

Once they were done Myrcella went off again and changed her smallclothes, putting the gambeson padding rag in them while hiding the stained ones in her bag. When she returned to the fire Sam offered her a small skewer and cup. "Thank you, Sam."

"Of course," he said peeling a bit of meat taken from Nightsong off the skewer.

"No," she said meeting his eyes with a sheepish smile. "Thank you."

Sam flushed and shook his head, swallowing the mouthful of meat before speaking. "It's nothing. You handled it better than my sister," he told her with a laugh, "she spent the day in bed, weeping whenever my mother couldn't sooth her."

Myrcella made herself smile while carefully biting a piece of meat from the skewer, finding she envied Talla Tarly. While she might have been in pain, at least her mother had been there to care for her. Even if Myrcella had been in King's Landing she doubted Cersei would spend her day caring for her. Beyond telling her how to keep it from dripping down her leg or leaving a trail as some of the small folk supposedly did, the most her mother said of moonblood was that it had embodied her womanhood, not because of fertility but because it was fitting the only time she found solace from the desires of men was when she was made to suffer pains they couldn't share.

As much as Myrcella had disliked Lady Catelyn from hearing of her treatment of Jon, she still envied Sansa and Arya for having a mother who seemed to care for them. No doubt when they had their moonblood she would dote on the girls as Sam's mother had his sister. She had little doubt Lord Stark would dote on them as well, but Myrcella had no one. Her mother would probably be annoyed by her return to King's Landing, whether it be Rosamund or should she reveal their switch. And of course her father was dead, or at least the man she had grown up thinking of as her father if the rumors were true. Though it wasn't as if Jaime had cared for them more than an uncle serving the kingsguard might.

Maybe it was the occasional headache or sharp ache in her stomach, but Myrcella felt herself growing agitated as they traveled. It had been her choice to leave, but what other choice did she have? Without Sam she truly would have been alone. It might even have been her who was injured, or as Sam said she might have died where her cousin survived. Perhaps leaving Rosamund to spend her days acting as her wasn't some gift but a punishment. At least her own parents would care for her should she return to Lannisport rather than live with a mother who no doubt saw her as a possession and a potential father who likely saw them only as charges he would protect, not to mention the bastard spawn of incest.

Sam didn't miss her sinking mood, but was thankful she handled it better than his sisters, from whom he remembered a few tricks they used to ease their own symptoms. He suggested some and though few helped Myrcella appreciated the effort.

They were on their fourth day when they stopped for the night and he went about preparing their fire while she went to wash in a stream nearby. He was contemplating going on a hunt just to have a break from the preserves they had but doubted he could manage. While he had gotten better with a bow the thought of taking a life still left him queasy. If Myrcella wanted they could stop in a town for a meal, but she had also been the one pushing them to ride as much as they could.

Sam was warming his hands by the fire when he heard grass crunch to his left and turned toward it with a smile before realizing Myrcella had walked off to his right. With a gasp Sam leapt to his feet, rushing to the cart where he pulled an arrow from the quiver Jon had gifted him and notched it in his bow, aiming it toward the brush as he called out, "Who goes there?!"

He heard the rush of steps from behind him, glancing back to see Myrcella come to a stop upon seeing him drawing his bow. With a quick shake of his head he looked ahead, not seeing her rush forward to hide behind the cart. Inching her way to the edge she peeked around, a gust of wind blowing the brush before a giant white wolf stepped into the clearing.

Myrcella gasped and stood up as Sam lowered his bow. "Ghost?"

The albino direwolf was nearly as tall as a horse though seemed much larger as he stepped toward them, his crimson eyes briefly catching the moonlight. Myrcella walked around the cart, leaving her clothes on the ground behind it as she stood beside Sam.

"Shouldn't you be with Jon?" Sam asked as if the direwolf might answer.

Instead he came up beside them and licked Sam's cheek before turning to do the same to Myrcella, who chuckled as she pulled her head away, "I just washed myself."

Ghost ignored her to lick her again before turning and making his way to the fire, Sam rushing to calm the horses who tried to back away upon seeing him. Myrcella went to put her clothes away, thankful that her last gambeson pad had naught but a long dried spot when she went to wash in the stream. Once Sam calmed the horses she joined him in sitting by the fire which Ghost had been slowly circling like a sentinel.

"Did Jon send you here?" she asked, drawing the direwolf's attention as she took a seat. No sooner than her rear hit the ground did Ghost make his way toward them, laying beside her with a huff.

Sam chuckled. "I guess that's a yes."

Sat by the fire, Myrcella found herself smiling for what felt like the first time in days as Ghost laid his head in her lap, letting her run her fingers through his fur. Somehow his presence had eased her heart, letting her look from him to Sam and know that while her parents may not pay her mind she wasn't without those who cared.


AN:

Originally I considered having a bit thing where Robb and Dacey told their families together, but realized Dacey wouldn't need to keep it from her mother like Robb would his, so she would already know about her pregnancy. When Dacey turns to speak with her family here it's to let them know Robb's going to tell them. While we only get Catelyn initial reaction for now, we should get her thoughts on it all later.

I've already written a story about show Sansa twice, and as much as I like the idea of Jon/Alayne stories, I wanted to do something different with Sansa. So if Melisandre can turn half the Stormlands, why not a girl going through an identity crisis of sorts?

I'm sure some will find the period stuff gross, but I thought it fitting with one of the themes for Myrcella's section. She's becoming physically mature why maturing and taking a more active role in making a decision that is risky instead of just staying safe in Nightsong. She's shifting from cub to lioness.

So for this chapter I originally had a small bit about makeup which I cut, but it caused me to do research on medieval makeup which was interesting. I also did research on what medieval women did about their periods and saw a few places say it was either a rag or just doing what Myrcella describes for small folk.

When I was thinking about how Cersei might have prepared Myrcella for her period I tried to imagine what would be completely self centered and dumb.

Next Chapter: Domeric gets a glimpse of his father's plans for him and the realm. Tyrion and Jon learn what happened in Dorne and Jon learns about the Martells. After a stop at Ghost Hill Jon tries to earn a snake's trust on the way to Blackwater Bay.